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ace-marvel · 3 months ago

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Ananchronism

Alpha!Bucky Barnes x Omega!Reader

Synopsis: The world has evolved beyond needing designations and sub-genders, alphas no longer seek out omegas, scents are a thing of the pass while heats and ruts are a rarity. You're an omega who relies on scents and still gets heat, an abnormality in this modern world. Only you find solace in a man lost to time.

Word Count: 9k

Based of a prompt/idea by @black-cat-2

(A/N: This is set in a time where everything goes back to complete normal after they defeat Thanos, Nat comes back and Steve doesn't leave. I will also warn that Bucky has some old time views on relationships, we are talking 40's stereotype stuff after all.)

Ananchronism: used to describe a historical inaccuracy where something from one time period is placed in another.

You had never been normal.

In this day and age, sub-genders were nothing more than an additional label that went on your driver's license or something to be noted by an employer. You had presented as an omega when you’d hit puberty, like all the other people your age. It was a blood test done by the doctors to check, each sub-gender produced a certain enzyme that was checked when a woman got their first period and or a man started to grow hair on his chest.

Your results had been odd, your early teenaged years spent in and out of doctor’s offices as they poked and prodded with needles and endless tests to find out why your levels had been so strange. It was something more commonly seen in the early 1900s when sub-genders had been such a big deal.

“She’s a genetic anomaly,” A doctor had finally chalked it up, after looking at your records when you were fifteen.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Your mother was an alpha, which meant that she took charge, a stubborn and proud lady in her own right.

“Look, it’s a rare thing we’re seeing in very cases,” The old doctor huffed out. “Her sub-gender appears to not be suppressed, like evolution skipped her for whatever reason it decided to.”

That was the end of the poking and prodding.

You just weren’t normal.

A genetic anomaly.

Adjusting was horrid for your family, from the need to steal all the soft blankets, much to your mother’s dismay or your father’s disappointment, when you needed to skip school again because you had fevers and cramps from an ancient thing called a heat. After a year of missing almost two months of school, the doctor had put you on suppressants.

Things still didn’t get better from there.

Society was rough.

Equality meant you had to work, despite everything in your brain and body screaming at you not to. You shouldn’t be standing on your feet for hours on end at the coffee shop you worked part-time at as a teenager, you shouldn’t have to get up at ungodly hours to study for tests and sit in a room full of people that seemed like dead bodies.

You were sensitive, soft, and not made for this time.

Becoming an adult was hard; moving out of home had you in tears, and finally diagnosed with depression. But you had to trudge on in this harsh world, alone.

The only saving grace had been a woman who owned a bakery down the street, who had hired you after you’d come in one day craving something sweet before your heat decided to strike.

It turned out that Elise was like you, a genetic anomaly. She wasn’t an olden day omega like you were, but she had heightened senses and strangely strong despite her small stature. You’d seen her lift three massive bags of flour like she’d been carrying a little pillow.

“You look exhausted hun, have a seat for a little bit,” Elise had called from where she was punching a bowl of dough, flour smeared on her face as she smiled.

“That would make me lazy..,” You mumbled under your breath, despite your whole body screaming at you to stop, “I’ll go clean a little..,”

Elise didn’t argue, you always pushed your own limits even if your whole body screamed at you day in and day out. Grabbing the cloth and spray, you made your way over to the tables and began to wipe them down as the shop door opened.

Usually the smell of cupcakes, baked bread and sweet treats covered up the many unpleasant smells of the people around you, but something stuck out today. It was a musky scent, mixed with pine and the odd edge of something cold, like ice. You could always tell what someone’s sub-gender was based on smell alone, you avoided alphas at all costs because that was what felt right to you.

But this scent was so strong it made your stomach drop, hands suddenly holding onto the table as you took in the smell. It smelt right, so delicious and soothing that it called to something deep in your chest and awakened your every instinct. You wanted to be surrounded by it, pulled into its embrace and just left to soak in who ever the hell this person was

You finally managed to turn around on wobbly legs, your throat dry as you looked at the people who had walked in. Steve and Sam were regulars; hell, the whole Avengers and their superhero companions were. You were close to the tower after all, when they needed to stay in the city, they always dropped by the bakery to stock up on the baked goods. Elise had tried to push you towards Steve at one time, but you’d avoided the super soldier and he was just as awkward about your boss and best friend’s strange match making habits.

But there was a third person with them today, he was bigger than Steve but held an aura that was distinctly alpha about him. The way your hair stood on end made you just know, he was an alpha in every sense of the word.

He had the most stunning blue eyes, dark locks pulled under a cap and a red henley covering most of his body. His beard was short but neat, no doubt hiding a strong jaw line. But the thing that stood out was the black and gold metal arm on his left side, as he kept his arms holded over his chest.

And he was staring straight at you, eyes blown wide and nostrils flaring slightly.

“Hun, you okay?” Elise spoke as she turned around the counter, walking to your side, “You’re a bit flushed,”

Elise’s hand touched your forehead and the coldness made you whimper, the noise coming out strangled before she flinched backwards and frowned. There was a slight scuffle from the other side of the room, only your ears were ringing and everything was becoming fuzzy.

“You’re burning up,” Elise tutted, “I’ll call a cab, you get yourself home,”

–

Bucky found dating hard.

He wasn’t built for this century, something that Steve shared his sympathy with but he had at the very least found an omega for himself. In his day, dating was for marriage and nowadays it seemed to be for a quick fuck to get your rocks off. Bucky was considered a playboy in the 40s, he’d dated a few omegas and maybe helped a few during their heats, but he’d always been motivated to take care of someone, provide for them, and give them anything they wanted.

A lot had changed in all his years as Hydra’s perfect soldier.

The serum amplified everything. Steve had the same issues sometimes, too. Bucky was already considered a strong alpha in his time with high instincts, but it had only gotten worse since they’d pumped him full of that blue serum. His ruts came more often, Hydra had either pumped him full of suppressants or thrown a random woman for him to take the edge off with. He was more aggressive and more protective.

Omegas didn’t need knots anymore, they didn’t pick up on scents or could tell when his own turned sour when they threw themselves at him. Bucky wasn’t a fan of the fake lips or fake tits, he wanted something natural.

Someone natural to him.

“She ran away from you?” Sam asked as Bucky sat awkwardly in the backseat of Steve’s car, grumbling to himself, “Damn,”

“I scared her, okay?” Bucky stated, not wanting to think of his latest, horrible date, “That’s all,”

“You’ll find someone who's not scared, okay?” Steve spoke up, “It’ll take a while,”

Maybe if he didn’t die of blue balls first.

Steve pulled up next to a little shop and Bucky looked out the window, confused. They were supposed to be going back to the tower, yet Sam and Steve had raved on about some bakery that they had to stop at or both Thor and Nat would have their heads.

“It doesn’t look special,” Bucky remarked as he climbed out of the car, stretching his legs and groaning.

Some how Sam always got the front seat to the car, despite Bucky being almost twice his size.

“I’m telling you, man, this place is magical or something,” Sam went on as they walked to the front door, “We all come here whenever we’re in the city or do an order to get delivered out to us, the food is amazing,”

Bucky was still learning to appreciate food, he’d spent so long only eating for survival, he forgot how to enjoy it.

The bakery smelt like a bakery, bread and a slight sweetness to the air. Only all those scents seemed to fade away when he stepped inside behind Steve and Sam, his head whipping to a woman who was wiping down the wooden tables.

A distinct smell of plums and sugar filled his senses, mixed with a slight edge of something warm that he couldn’t but his finger on. This scent was so homey and delicious, it made his mouth water and something twist in his chest, a low rumble he hadn’t felt in almost a century awakening to life.

This woman finally turned around and it clicked in Bucky’s head and chest, he knew exactly what you were to him. The feeling had been told to him time and time again by his parents, his sister when she’d met her mate and his old army buddies.

You were his mate.

But an edge hit the scent and it almost made Bucky drop to his knees, the sweetness of an incoming omega heat, of his omega’s heat. Steve seemed to shift too, looking at you before he looked at Bucky as he heard the growl that left the man’s chest.

“Buck?”

Then there was the noise, that little noise that seemed to shoot through his ears and bounce around his brain. It was a cry for help and he needed to respond to it, surging forward only for Steve and Sam to both grab him.

“Bucky! Calm down!” Steve yelled out as they barely managed to wrestle him out the door and tackle him into the concrete footpath of New York City.

The fresh air seemed to jolt him back to reality, pushing both the men off himself as Steve held his hands out, waiting to be attacked.

“You good?” Sam questioned, panting, “Man, you super soldiers need to calm the fuck down sometimes,”

“Buck, you growled,” Steve questioned, “What was that?”

“Her..,” Bucky barely managed to grunt out. “It’s her, Steve,”

The blonde super solider look back at the bakery before looking at his best friend, bewildered. Bucky stood up, smoothing a hand through his hair before he suddenly the punched the concrete wall beside them. The surge of alpha hormones pumping in his blood was putting him on edge.

“Can we not destroy public property?!” Sam yelled.

–

You had spent a whole seven days in heat, which hadn’t been supposed to come for another month before it had suddenly triggered in the bakery that day. You had no idea who the man with Steve and Sam was, all you knew was that he’d triggered some primal urge in you.

Never had a scent triggered you into a heat. You didn’t even know that it was possible, everyone always smelt so off-putting that it almost had you gag when an alpha stood to close. Sometimes omegas, like Elise, were pleasant enough to withstand, but alphas were usually disgusting. The one and only boyfriend you’d ever had was an omega.

Returning the day after your heat had your body groaning protest, the cramps still slightly there as you walked into the back door of the bakery. Elise had opened, you usually took the late shift since you loved to sleep in especially more now that winter would be approaching soon.

“You didn’t have to come back so soon,” Elise spoke as she pulled a tray of muffins from the oven, “Jordy is happy for the extra shifts.”

Jordy was a casual employee for the bakery. She was studying at college and usually helped out whenever exams weren’t drilling her into the ground.

“I’ll be fine,” You smiled small as you placed your bag in the office before walking to the front of the bakery.

That smell hit you again and you almost buckled to the floor. The strangely cold scent of musk and pine filled the air, hands shaking as you turned towards the person who had just walked through the door.

He had cleaned up a little bit, his beard looked a little bit neater and he wasn’t wearing a cap today. Instead, he was in a plain black jacket and jeans, gloves on his hands. The gloves made you frown slightly, you had briefly remember him having a metal arm or was that some heat induced delusion?

“H-hi,” His voice cracked as he stepped up to the counter, “Uh..,”

“C-can I get something f-for you?” You stuttered out, gripping the edge of the counter until your knuckles turned white.

Everything was screaming at you to climb over the stupid wooden bench and throw yourself at this man.

“These are for you.”

His words came out rushed as he thrust a bouquet in your direction, the white orchids making your heart swell as you gently accepted them. No one had bought you flowers before, not that your dating history was rich with excitement and gifts from suitors.

You’d only dated one person before, and it had been an absolute train wreck.

“I’m Bucky.. Or James.., whatever you want to call me,” He cleared his throat, clearly nervous.

Your name was uttered from your lips in a whispered, holding the flowers close to your chest. Bucky’s face softened, you had accepted the flowers and that was a step in the right direction. Maybe his therapist would finally be happy that he’d done something good with his time.

“Uh, so do you-”

His words were cut off by a phone ringing, and you watched as he groaned, pulling his cell phone from his pocket and glaring at the device. The actions almost made you giggle because something was so relaxing about his presence and his scent. Bucky was the first alpha that didn’t make you want to crawl into a hole and never come out.

“I’m sorry, it’s important,” He sighed.

Bucky answered the call before basically rushing from the bakery, you watching him run down the street at an unusually fast speed.

“Finally!”

You screamed when Elise popped up from the kitchen window, making you jump and almost throw the flowers before you turned to your boss with wide eyes and heart racing fast enough to jump start a car.

“Poor guy’s been coming to the shop every day, waiting for you.”

Elise had been right, Bucky had been coming to the bakery almost everyday and he continued to do so. You always thought that the Avengers lived further away from the city, different members appeared in the bakery every so often. But Bucky kept up the appearances and you had settled into a steady rhythm with the alpha.

Bucky came around lunch time, you shared your break together before he left and then he walked you home.

The cool evening air wraps around you as Bucky walked beside you, the rhythmic sound of your shoes tapping against the pavement the only noise that fills the quiet night. You’d just finished your shift at the bakery, and even though it’s late, you can’t shake the exhaustion weighing down on your shoulders. Your body aches from the hours on your feet, the constant motion, the endless demands of the customers, the heat of the ovens. You’re drained—completely.

But the thought of leaving work, of stepping away from your responsibilities, has you feeling a little more at ease. The comfort of Bucky’s steady presence beside you is almost as much of a relief as being able to slip out of your apron and leave the chaotic bakery behind. It’s not that you dislike your job, but your omega instincts have always told you something else—that you’re not meant to be working so hard, that there’s more to your life than running yourself ragged in a place that doesn’t feel like home.

“You look like you’re about to collapse,” Bucky says, his voice low but warm, noticing the way you’re dragging your feet just a little bit more than usual. He glances at you with that look in his eyes, one that’s almost protective, like he can see exactly what you need.

“I’m fine,” you mumble, but even you know it’s a lie. Your body is exhausted, your mind too, and you can feel the weight of your designation, the constant pressure to be strong, independent, and capable.

“No, you’re not.” Bucky’s voice is firm, and for a second, it takes you by surprise. He doesn’t give you a chance to respond, instead slipping his arm around your shoulders and gently guiding you forward. “You shouldn’t be working so hard, you know that?”

You glance up at him, unsure of where he’s going with this. “What do you mean? I need to work. I need the money, and—”

“Forget that for a minute,” he interrupts, his voice softer now. “Omegas weren’t meant to be working themselves into the ground. Not like this. Your instincts—your body—they’re not built for it. You’re supposed to be pampered. Protected.”

You blink in confusion. “Pampered?”

Bucky chuckles, the sound rich and warm, like a secret only shared between the two of you. “Yeah. I know it’s hard to wrap your head around, especially with everything being the way it is now. But omegas like you? You’re meant to be taken care of, not pushed to your limits every day.”

You pause, the weight of his words sinking in. For the longest time, you’ve been told that working hard, being self-sufficient, was the way to live. Your parents had drilled it into you, given you no other choice than to support yourself. It’s what you’ve always known. The thought of not working so much, of letting someone else take care of you, feels foreign. It feels wrong, almost.

“But I have to work,” you protest weakly, feeling your tired muscles protesting every word. “I can’t just… sit around and do nothing.”

Bucky’s hand tightens slightly on your shoulder, not in a forceful way, but in a way that grounds you, reminding you that he’s here. “It’s not about doing nothing. You’ve got gifts, things you can do, but your role… it’s to be cherished, not to be constantly worn out. An omega needs rest, care, and someone who’ll give them the space to be soft, to be who they are without the pressure of the world on their shoulders.”

You’re silent for a moment, letting his words settle in. It’s hard to accept, to let go of the mentality that you should be doing more, pushing yourself to be productive and independent. But when you look at him—his warmth, the way he’s always there, steady and unbothered by what the world thinks—you feel the heaviness in your chest begin to ease just a little.

Bucky smiles down at you, his eyes twinkling with a gentle amusement. “You’re not a machine, sweetheart. You don’t have to keep running like this. You need someone who’ll take care of you, spoil you a little. Maybe even pamper you a bit.” He raises an eyebrow, and for the first time that evening, a genuine smile pulls at the corner of your lips.

“I don’t know about being pampered,” you mutter, feeling a little embarrassed at the thought.

“You’d be surprised,” Bucky grins. “But I’ll take care of you, okay? No more working yourself into the ground. You deserve to rest. You deserve to be protected.”

Your heart skips a beat at his words, the soft sincerity behind them reaching places inside you that you didn’t know needed mending. Maybe he was right. Maybe you didn’t have to do it all on your own. Maybe it was okay to lean on someone else, to trust them with your well-being, with your care.

“I don’t know if I can just… stop working,” you admit quietly, almost to yourself. But Bucky doesn’t seem bothered by your uncertainty.

“You don’t have to stop completely,” he says, his tone reassuring. “But you don’t have to wear yourself out like this either. You deserve to relax, to enjoy life without always feeling like you’re carrying the weight of the world. Let someone take care of the heavy lifting for a change.”

You exhale softly, a tiny chuckle. You didn’t have to worry about heavy lifting physically, because Elise’ strange gift gave her the advantage of hauling the heavy things around. But the tension in your shoulders begins to melt away as you walk beside him. The idea of letting go—of surrendering just a little to the care of someone else—feels freeing in a way you didn’t expect. Maybe, just maybe, you could let Bucky help carry the load.

And for the first time in a long while, the thought of being cared for feels less like a burden and more like something you can let yourself want.

“Okay,” you whisper, your voice barely a breath. “I’ll try.”

Bucky’s smile deepens, and he leans down just slightly to catch your gaze. “Good. I’ll make sure you get the rest you need.”

As the two of you continue walking, his arm still gently around you, the idea of being pampered doesn’t seem as strange anymore. Maybe, just maybe, you could get used to this new reality.

It had become routine for two weeks now, slowly enjoying his presence as you joined him for lunch again, the musk and pine scent making you relax and your body not scream in pain for once in your life.

“For a bakery, these are good sandwiches,” Bucky spoke as he scoffed down his second hot sandwich.

“Elise’ parents owned a bodega downtown. she got good at making them,” You beamed softly, sipping at the cup of water you usually had with lunch.

“You gotta eat too, doll,” Bucky pushed the sweet treats towards you, “Come on,”

He always made an effort to make sure you were well fed, as any good alpha in his time should have done.

“I’m getting there,” You laughed softly and nibbled on a pastry that had been made fresh that morning.

Your parents had always lectured you on not overeating but you seemed to crave food often, like your instincts demanded food to keep up with something.

“So,” Bucky leaned back in his seat, content in watching you eat, “Where did you grow up?”

“Chicago,” You told him with a shrug, “I do prefer New York,”

Bucky nodded, noting the way your scent had an edge of burnt caramel to it, “Your parents still living in Chicago?”

You couldn’t help but scrunch your nose up and Bucky thought how you looked like a bunny, all soft yet displeased with his question by your scent.

“I don’t really talk to my parents anymore,” You whispered, placing the pastry down.

For a moment, you expected him to ask before Bucky just silently nodded and smiled.

“Only family I got is Steve and Sam, like two brothers I never asked for,” Bucky confessed.

You giggled, a light floral scent blooming from you, and Bucky felt his heart swell.

Your days continued like that, a lunch date and a quiet walk home in the early evening. The walks home were usually silent, just walking side by side down the street before you and Bucky bid each other goodbye at your building door.

That was until one day they didn’t, and you were displeased when Bucky didn’t show up to share lunch. Elise watched as you sat sadly in the booth, hardly touching lunch before returning to work with silence as you served customers.

Had Bucky found you boring? Did he find out that you weren’t normal, your instincts and genetics wired differently? Had it scared him off?

It was starting to get even colder now, the threat of snow looming over New York. You were lost in thought as you stepped onto the street, turning to lock the door until a click and something pressed against your lower back.

“Don’t move.” The voice was muffled, but you knew what was pressed against your back as you stood, shaking on the bakery steps.

This person’s scent made you want to vomit, your instincts going haywire as you didn’t dare to move and face your assailant.

“You’re kinda cute,” The alpha sniffed, “Turn around, bitch,”

You did what you were told, slowly turning as tears rolled down your cheeks. This alpha held a gun to your body, snickering and smirking as he looked you up and down. It was violating, feeling his eyes scan your body.

“Unlock the door and get the cash from the register,” He hissed, the gun now pointing to your head.

“P-please..,” You whispered.

The next moment happened so fast that all you saw was a glimmer of metal before the attacker was sent flying into the wall.

–

Bucky was going to strangle someone.

He had asked for uninterrupted time with you, which he had gotten for the most part. Staying at the tower mostly by himself had been nice, getting away from all the smells in the compound was clearing his head. But your scent seemed to be burnt into his brain, because he could smell the lingering scent no matter where he was.

His instincts wanted nothing more than to steal you away from that bakery and keep you locked up in his room at the tower, marking you, mating you, and scenting you. Sometimes, it irritated him when your smell of sugar and plums wasn’t mixed with his scent. In the forties, scent mates usually got married within a week.

But Bucky was a gentleman, something this time didn’t appreciate so much anymore.

Getting sent on that mission was stupid; he shouldn’t have had to go, It was easily handled by Sam and Steve, after all, Bucky was nothing more than a sniper and a look out. He should have been here with you, sharing lunch and hearing all about your life and loves. His best friends had noticed his irritation, and Steve had picked up on his burning scent, but neither of them had mentioned it.

Now, he was rushing down the cold New York streets, looking repeatedly at his watch as he made his way to the cozy shop. The Bakery closed at seven thirty, and it was almost that time, meaning he could at the very least apologize for missing lunch and walk you home.

Turning down the street, Bucky picked up on your scent easily but it didn’t smell right this time. That smell of burnt caramel mixed with the plums, indicating that something was wrong and it kick started Bucky’s system into overdrive. He was running before he knew it, straight towards that little bakery.

Years as a soldier made petty thieves seem like ants to him, grabbing the other alpha by the throat and throwing him into the concrete wall before he stalked over, making sure your attacker was out of it.

Would he need medical attention? Yes.

Did he deserve it? No. Not in Bucky’s eyes.

You sobbed, and all of Bucky’s instincts zoned in on your shaking form.

The scent was something he wanted to erase, he never wanted to smell burnt caramel again because it meant you were upset. You were shaking, tears rolling down your cheeks even as he reached out and cupped your cheeks, metal and flesh fingers wiping away the tears.

“Can I?” he murmurs, his voice barely above a whisper, offering you a choice even though you both know what you need.

You nod wordlessly, your throat tight. It’s like your body knows the comfort he’s offering even before your mind catches up. When his arms wrap around you, pulling you into his chest, it’s like the last of the tension in your body melts away. The overwhelming scent of him envelops you, and you instinctively breathe him in, the warmth of his embrace sinking into your bones.

Bucky frowned; he hadn’t done this in a while, consoling an omega with scent. But he pushed his scent forward, rubbing his wrists over your neck while wiping the tears away. You finally calmed down when Bucky pulled his massive jacket off and placed it around your shoulders.

It warmed you up instantly, the musk and pine scent calming all your nerves and emotions as you collected yourself again. You can feel his eyes on you, gentle and understanding, but there’s something more—something primal in the way his scent seems to flow around you, slowly calming your racing heartbeat. His natural warmth seems to bleed into the space between you, and even though you're still shaken, you can’t help but lean slightly into him.

“Hey,” Bucky says softly, stepping closer, his voice quiet and soothing. “You’re okay. He’s gone. You’re safe.”

“Y-yeah..,” You stuttered out before letting out another sob as the wave of emotions hit you now that the shock was gone.

You needed something a lit bit more, stepping forward and wrapping your arms around his bigger frame. You hadn’t had time to stop yourself before you hugged him, your instincts and desire just craved the physical touch.

Bucky didn’t say anything, just wrapping his arms around your frame and holding you close. The pressure of his embrace combined with his scent, eventually calmed everything until you could take a step back and finally breath.

“Thank you..,” You uttered.

“Come on, let’s get you home.” Bucky placed a hand on your back, guiding you down the street towards your apartment building.

Like every other day, it was silent, but it was a peaceful silence. Bucky’s sense of protectiveness was thick, his musk getting heavier, and it almost made you want to fall asleep for some strange reason.

As you approached your apartment building, your mind raced before it landed on a conclusion.

You were going to ask Bucky inside.

“I..,” You started, Bucky looking at you intently, “Do.., you want to come up?”

He was frozen in spot and you mentally face-palmed. Was that the wrong question to ask? It didn’t have to lead anything, not that you hadn’t fantasized about this hunk of a man in front you for your entire heat and any little sessions after that.

“I’m sorry..,” You apologized quickly.

“No, no, Doll, it’s not like that,” Bucky quickly spoke as soon as he realised why you were apologizing, “I’d love to, I mean, I would but I want to do this right..,”

“Right?” You questioned, “Bucky, you just saved my life.”

“Yeah..,” He nodded, “I mean, let me take you out on a date.”

Your heart swelled at the question, quickly nodding your head before going to pull the jacket off your shoulders. Only Bucky stopped you, readjusting the jacket and keeping it firmly on your shoulders and even zipping it up.

“Keep it, Doll,” Bucky smiled, “Makes you smell like me.”

Not only did that make your heart flutter but your pussy did too.

“Okay..,” Your voice came out small yet excited.

“How’s Saturday?” Bucky asked, “I can pick you up from the shop.”

You nodded eagerly. “Saturday is perfect.”

–

Steve, Sam, and Nat’s arrival at the Avenger’s tower late Friday afternoon had sent all of Bucky’s plans into the dirt. It was like the two alphas and beta knew Bucky was seeing you and decided to mess them all up with a flurry of questions and interrogation.

“You’re going on a date?” Steve asked as they stood in the kitchen, Bucky messing with his shirt.

“Yes, a date,” Bucky huffed, “With the omega from the bakery,”

“The one you went all weird macho alpha on?” Sam teased as he sipped his drink, “Poor lady must have some weird kinks-”

The snapped Bucky’s attention, making him growl again and glare at Sam. The beta took a step back as Nat entered the room, the only one keeping the cyborg at bay was Steve.

“You really think she’s your scent mate?” Steve asked, “Buck, that stuff doesn’t exist in these days,”

“Evolution changed all of that,” Nat spoke up as she grabbed a beer from the fridge, “But then again, you’re an ancient man,”

Bucky didn’t respond to Nat’s statement. He knew what the red room had done to all those girls and woman that were trained to be Black Widows. They targeted alpha girls as children, trained them and harnessed their senses but made them never able to connect with a mate. Scent glands removed and removal of the reproduction organs.

At the very least, Hydra hadn’t taken that from him while they had taken it from Nat.

“You three better not stalk me,” Bucky huffed.

“We won’t,” Steve nodded, giving his best friend and fellow alpha a pat on the shoulder.

Sam’s comment made Bucky roll his eyes, “But Redwing might!”

Bucky had picked the perfect place for your date, it was quiet and not overly busy, so you wouldn’t get overwhelmed. He’d seen the way you got flustered when a lot of people came to the bakery at once, so it was something low-key and you could just focus on each other.

You had been anxious for the two days before Saturday, Elise had been nothing but excited on your behalf and even tried to give you some pointers but it flew in one ear and out the other. All you knew was that you were looking forward to see Bucky, regardless of the date or not.

But the one setback in your mind was, once again, how unusual you were.

Could he deal with something like that? He saved people every day as an Avenger. Was this something long-term or just trying to mess around?

The doorbell chimed and you jumped, turning to see Bucky standing at the door in a black coat and washed out, grey jeans. His hair was tied up for once, but it looked nice. You wore a simple dark blue dress with long sleeves to combat the Winter that was now setting in and hugged your waist slightly.

“Hi,” Bucky greeted as he stepped forward and that scent filled the space, filling you with ease.

If things didn’t work out, you were probably going to be spending the rest of your life alone.

“Hi Buck..,” You stepped out from behind counter, a shy smile on your face while Bucky pulled something out from his pocket.

“I..I got you this,” He cleared his throat, opening up a little box, “It’s a bracelet.”

Your eyes shifted to the gold link band, that had a little black star charm on it. No doubt it was made specially to compliment his arm, something matching to remind you of the super soldier. Gingerly, Bucky locked the bracelet around your wrist, while you watched the gold twinkle with awe.

“Hey, supes!” Elise called out, “Have her back by midnight!”

Bucky just chuckled as he offered up his arm, something you gladly took, and walked out of the bakery.

–

The place is cozy, with vinyl booths and checkered floors, the kind of spot where the air smells like comfort food and old-time charm. The soft hum of background music fills the space, and the low murmur of other diners adds to the quiet atmosphere. The smell of sizzling burgers and fresh fries teases your senses, but it’s the calm, welcoming vibe that makes it the perfect place for a quiet night out.

It was quiet, thankfully. Bucky thanked his lucky stars as you were sat in a booth, watching you go over the menu before you both ordered. You didn’t usually eat too much, making food was a passion but working had you so tired most days that you lived off noodles or leftovers from the bakery.

You felt a little bit lighter in his presence but deep down, weighing on your soul was the shame you’d been carrying because of your sub-gender. It made you uneasy on how it might progress your relationship with Bucky or stop it all together.

“So,” Bucky cleared his throat, “How long have you worked at the bakery?”

A small smile plays on your lips, and you relax just a little bit. It’s easy to talk about the bakery, about the work you do.

“Four years,” you say, your fingers nervously tracing a pattern on the table. “I started there right after I left home. Elise was looking for someone part-time, and it just… clicked. I love it. I love the people. I love baking. It feels like I’m doing something meaningful.”

“I gotta say, the food is amazing and I don’t usually like sweet thing,” Bucky confessed, “And it smells so good,”

You laugh softly, a light flush creeping onto your cheeks. “Well, I do try to make the best cinnamon rolls in town. People seem to like them.” Your voice falters a bit as the conversation shifts, the weight in your chest slowly building again.

Bucky watches you, his eyes soft with curiosity. He notices the shift, the way your shoulders tense, and doesn’t push, simply waiting for you to continue.

You decided now was the time to be truthful, lay the cards on the table and see what he was dealing with.

“My parents kicked me out when I was eighteen,” You nibbled on some fries as you spoke, “They couldn’t handle..dealing with me, I barely finished school and no college wanted to accept me, I was nothing but a burden,”

Bucky’s face hardened, noting the way your scent smelt like candied plums now, an indication of fear and shame. He never wanted you to feel like that. Reaching across the table, his flesh hand covers your own, grounding you in the moment.

“Listen to me,” he finally says, his voice soft but resolute. “You’re not a burden. Never have been, never will be. And I don’t care what your parents think. I want to build a home with you, one where you don’t have to worry about that kind of shit. I’ll take care of you, and you’ll never be alone again.”

“Bucky,” You placed your fries down, “I’m not like other omegas,”

“Why’s that?”

“I’m..an anomaly,” You confessed, “I can smell people’s sub-genders. I’m submissive because my brain tells me to be..I…I get heats, I hoard things!”

Heats were the most shameful part for you.

It was silent for a moment before Bucky smiled, chuckling even as he took in the information. Fate was a bitch, Bucky Barnes knew that enough but maybe fate was now being kind, giving him an omega that he could help, provide for and please.

“Doll, I’m from the 1940’s and I’m well over a hundred years old,” Bucky chuckled. “That’s normal where I come from. You’re perfect,”

You were dumbfounded.

Bucky grins then, breaking the tension with a light chuckle. “I mean, we all have our weird quirks, right? Like, I’m pretty sure I’m not exactly normal either. I have a metal arm and super human strength”

You raise an eyebrow at him, a small laugh escaping you despite yourself. “Oh really? What’s so weird about you?”

He leans back, pretending to think, then smirks. “Well, I hoard things too. I mean, I’ve got about ten knives at home, and I don’t even cook.”

You can’t help but laugh out loud at that, and Bucky’s grin grows wider. “See? Everyone’s got their thing. What’s yours?”

You bite your lip, the smile fading a little as you think about it. “I… I hoard blankets,” you say, almost sheepishly. “I just feel like I need a lot of them. It’s, uh… comforting. I don’t know, I guess it’s a weird thing, but I don’t like being cold.”

Bucky’s eyes light up, and he chuckles again. “Hoarding blankets? That’s not weird at all. That’s just your instinct, sweetheart. Omegas like to have soft things around them—makes them feel safe, it's your nest.”

“My what?”

Bucky turned, his arm whirred as he did so and looked you in the eyes. Those blue eyes were filled with a mix of concern and amusement that came out in his scent as an almost citrus undertone.

“Your nest,” Bucky stated, “Do you not know what a nest is?”

You shook your head.

“It’s your.. Safe space,” He explained, “For you to rest, spend your heats…, have pups in,”

You swallowed thickly at the word pups, it made your instincts suddenly kick into over drive. The thought of pups with Bucky? Divine, you couldn’t think of anything better in this universe. He’d be an amazing father no doubt, you’d let him breed you as many times as it took until you had a full soccer team of kids.

“Omega,”

The deep drawl pulled you out of your haze, watching the way Bucky’s eyes seemed to be clouded over and his nostrils flared slightly. He could smell you, no doubt about it.

“Calm down before things get out of hand,” Bucky managed to cough out. “How have you been spending your heats?”

“Alone,” You mumbled, “I..I had a boyfriend once, he was an omega like me but.., it just didn’t work,”

Bucky almost wanted to scoff. Of course, it wouldn’t work; an omega wouldn’t be able to please you like an alpha. No, like he would. This day and age might have lost a lot of the sub-gender characteristics and norms but some things were still engraved in those instincts.

Specifically with mating.

“Um, Bucky?” You whispered so softly that he almost didn’t hear you.

“Yeah?” He spoke back just as softly.

“Can you help me with my nest?”

–

The sound of a nest was so lovely and exciting to you that you forgot that your apartment wasn’t best-looking one in New York. It was small, with one bedroom and a bathroom, as it was all you could afford if you wanted to have any money left over from what you earned at work.

Bucky found the space cute, the mismatched furniture, the blankets piled high in one corner, the cozy rug decorated with throw blankets on the couch, hanging plants, and lots of books. Everything feels like a reflection of you: warm but full of character. The kitchen was tiny and you didn’t have a dining table. The space made him want to provide for you more, a rumble in his chest indicating his intent that he was trying so hard to keep down at the moment.

This moment was for you, helping you make a nest.

Nests were so sacred in the 40s. Most homes came with a specific room for omegas to create nests in, you could buy blankets, pillows and a range of other items from nest specific stores that just didn’t exist anymore today. Omega children often learnt nesting skills from their omega parent or siblings. An omegas nest was the most vulnerable part of them and you asking for his help was the most trusting thing you could do.

After all his years in Hydra, Bucky didn’t think he’d ever be in an omegas nest again.

Your room was also small, with a massive bed and a set of draws with some bed side tables. It wasn’t too heavily decorated, other than the piles of blankets and pillows that seemed to be thrown around the room.

Bucky stopped at the door because that smell that hit him wasn’t just your usual scent, it was something stronger. The smell of sugar plums with floral notes, warm caramel and freshly baked cinnamon rolls invaded his senses and he couldn’t help but slump slightly against the door. He could die a happy, happy alpha in this room.

You rushed to pick up a few of the blankets, moving them into a corner.

“Um, this is my bedroom,” You uttered out, a lit bit embarrassed as she space was so small, “Sorry it’s a mess right now, I didn’t think you’d be coming over-”

“Omega,” Bucky’s voice deepened and you went hazy again, empty headed as you just looked at him, “Come here,”

Trudging along the floor, you stopped in front of him. Bucky was already a big guy but now he looked massive in your tiny apartment. His metal hand softly cupped your chin and the other rested on her collar bone, his thumb moving along your skin.

A strong scent invaded your senses, that musky pine making your knees weak and lulling all your worry and anxiousness away. It was a time to listen to your instincts, which made you want to find something soft, something warm.

Bucky watched as you gathered up the blankets, arranging them on your bed and fluffing out the pillows. It wasn’t neat but nests weren’t supposed to be, they were meant to be however you liked it.

At times, you would shake your head in frustration, sending a pillow flying from the bed, only to swap it for a blanket instead. The switch was an intricate ritual of comfort and restlessness intertwined.

His heart tightened with a mix of emotions as he watched you retrieve the jacket he had gifted you just a few days prior. With deliberate care, you tucked it into one of the pillowcases, as if enshrining a precious memory. You arranged it meticulously amidst the sea of pillows, creating a sanctuary of warmth and familiarity.

Finally, you nestled into this cozy haven, curling up with a sigh of contentment. Your face burrowed into the inviting softness, seeking solace in the comforting embrace of fabric and sentiment.

“Will you join me?”

That jump started Bucky’s brain.

“You sure?” Bucky asked, “This is a vulnerable place for you to be in.”

“I made it with the intent of having you in it, A-Alpha.”

That one word had him spiraling, quickly kicking off his shoes and breaching the collection of blankets and pillows. Bucky had no intention of anything physical today, but a cuddle in your nest was more cherished than sex.

Bucky laid down slowly, letting you get comfortable. His metal arm whizzed slightly, and Bucky couldn’t help but frown. It was a reminder that he wasn’t whole, maybe if you’d met him back in the 40s, when he had been a young man not yet affected by the war or years of brainwashing, you’d have liked him more.

“I can take it off,” He whispered.

“The sound is soothing,” You hummed as you laid against his metal arm, cuddling up to the device with content, “And it’s a part of you,”

There was no way in hell Bucky was ever letting you go now.

A rumbling sound vibrated from your chest and your eyes opened, confused. Bucky felt a lump form in his throat, letting a deeper sounding rumble from his own chest.

“What am I doing?” You asked.

“Purring,” Bucky cupped your cheek, his thumb running over your nose, “You’re purring, doll, you do it when you feel safe and happy,”

Little tears filled your eyes before you shifted closer to him, the purring louder as you took in his words. The world made you feel like an outcast, something placed out of time and having no place to belong.

But Bucky had fixed up those feelings in these short weeks.

As you drifted off to sleep, Bucky silent pulled out his phone and dialed Steve’s number.

“How’s it going, Buck?” Steve’s voice called from the other end, “All is well, I hope?”

“Steve,” Bucky swallowed as he spoke, “I need to buy a house,”

–

The next morning was supposed to be peaceful, calm and loving. Bucky had stayed the night, both of you cuddled up in your nest. But you woke in the early hours before the sun rose, aching and sweaty as you crawled out of the nest and only the cold, hard wood floor. Your dress was discarded as you worked to cool yourself down as the fever was quickly rising.

Bucky must have sensed you move because soon enough, he was awake and next to you on the floor.

“Hun,” He whispered softly, “Hey, look at me,”

“It..,” You groaned, “Burns.., It’s so hot,”

The sweet smell that filled the room was a sign your heat had started and Bucky knew, he knew that if you waited any longer, you’d been in more pain. You were already curled up on the floor, slick coating your thighs while you whimpered. The musk of Bucky’s scent only helped take the edge off a tiny bit, if anything, it made your instincts more heightened as your body screamed for him.

Bucky shushed you, one strong hand slipping behind your back, pulling you into his lap. His metal fingers ghosted over your bare thigh, leaving a cool trail that contrasted the fire burning inside you. “I know, Omega. I know. Just let go, I’ve got you.”

You mewled, squirming in his lap and fingers digging into his shirt. His scent was thicker now, you could get hints of smoke amongst the musk and pine.

“You’re doing’ so good, sweetheart,” he murmured, his breath hot against your neck. His voice was thick, laced with the deep rumble of his Alpha instincts, but he held himself back—for you. “Just breathe. Let me take care of you,”

His lips found the sensitive spot on your throat, where his mark should be, and he pressed a lingering kiss there. You melted, body instinctively arching for him, trusting him completely.

“Mine,” he growled, possessiveness thrumming through his scent as he held you closer. But even in his need, he was gentle, letting you set the pace, letting you surrender only when you were ready.

And oh, you were so, so ready.

Bucky hauled you back up into the nest, making sure you were comfortable among the pillows and blankets as he hovered over you. That possessiveness stayed thick in his scent as he kissed you, lips tugging at your own and you melted again.

The heat was starting to become unbearable. It clawed at your skin, leaving you breathless and aching, every cell in your body crying out for something you didn’t quite know how to ask for.

But he did.

His lips moved down your throat again and when he bit softly, you couldn’t help crying out in pleasure. You wanted that bite mark to be deeper, you wanted his teeth to be embedded in your skin, your instincts wanted to be marked.

“B-bucky..,” You cried out and he gingerly cupped your face.

“I don’t wanna hurt you, doll,” He whispered.

“You wouldn’t hurt me,” You managed to gasp out, “I..I need you,”

That was the line that broke all reason.

His metal arm ripped the remaining clothes from your skin, a whimper leaving your throat as Bucky’s hands wandered over your body. The coolness of the metal arm was oddly soothing as it worked over your breasts and his lips wrapped around one of your nipples.

In your only previous experience, you hadn’t been liked to be touched so much. Your omega ex-boyfriend hadn’t been confident like Bucky was.

His tongue swirled around the hardened bud, your body writhing underneath him before Bucky proceeded to press kisses down your skin. He could smell your slick, the floral scent filling the room and it was starting to make him dizzy.

When his fingers trailed down with his lips and collected the slick coating your thighs, you almost screamed when he used the same fingers to swirl around your sensitive clit.

“Oh god...oh god Bucky!” you cried out, your body surging at the gentle contact. You were so sensitive, it was almost too much, but it felt so good. Your hands reached out for him, desperate to hold onto anything as he kept teasing you, driving you insane with want.

You could feel his breath ghosting over your aching core, a promise that had your body trembling in anticipation.

“Need this too?” He teased, voice thick.

“Please,” you begged, “please Alpha.”

That did it. His lips latched onto your quivering pussy and the world turned white as your back arched off the bed and into his waiting hands. You came apart with a choked cry as he held you through it, tongue never stopping until he’d wrung every last aftershock from your trembling body.

But it wasn’t enough. The heat still clawed at you, still demanded more.

“Please,” you whimpered again softly, and Bucky bit the inside of his cheek.

Giving you his knot would make everything all better but he wasn’t even sure if you knew what a knot was. From his understanding, alphas didn’t knot their omegas anymore.

Hell, Alphas didn’t even seek out omegas anymore.

“This will change everything,” Bucky groaned, your scent invading his senses and almost making him lose control, “Are you sure, omega?”

His words were fuzzy as he spoke, like hearing underwater. All you knew was that you needed him, all of him, your instincts screaming for Bucky to fuck you and breed you.

“Need you,” you breathed, almost sobbing with it. “Please, Bucky.”

He couldn’t hold back anymore. He didn’t want to. The metal hand pulled his own clothes off while his flesh hand stayed on your thigh.

The next moment, Bucky’s hands were on your hips, pulling you into him as he buried himself inside of you in one firm thrust. You cried out, the mix of relief and overwhelming need washing through you as he filled you completely.

“Oh fuck,” he grunted, his voice raw as he started to move, slow and controlled at first but quickly giving in to the urgency of your heat. “S-so tight, Omega...”

The feeling of him inside you was everything you needed and more. Your legs wrapped around him as he drove into you over and over, each thrust sending a dizzying wave of pleasure through your body.

“Don’t stop,” you gasped, clinging onto him like he was the only thing keeping you from floating away.

“Never gonna stop,” he promised, his breath ragged and his movements slow in the beginning.

Bucky's cock inside you was hot and thick, filling you completely and sending shivers of pleasure through your body.

The sensations were dizzying as you felt every ridge and vein of his cock moving inside you, each one adding to the pleasure coursing through your body. Fat tears rolled down your cheeks at the sensation, pleasure erupting through you in a wave.

Bucky’s pace got faster, rougher, his cock pumping in and out of you while his hands remained on your hips. He was guiding your body against his, pressure building with each desperate thrust.

You felt the heat coil tighter, tighter until—

“Oh god!” you cried out, clenching around him again as you came for the second time. The force of it made you see stars and your whole body trembled violently under him.

But Bucky didn’t stop. He knew what he needed to do to soothe your heat entirely. He could feel it in the way your body still begged for more, your slick coated cunt sucking his cock in, in the way your scent still drove him wild.

The grip on your hips tightened and Bucky growled low in his throat as he held you flush against him. His thrusts became frantic, driven by pure instinct and need. And then you felt it—his knot swelling inside you, locking the both of you together.

A feral sound tore from his chest and he bit down on your neck at the same time as his knot stretched you impossibly wide, marking you forever as his omega.

It was the aftershock that had you crying out, fingers digging into Bucky’s broad shoulders as emotions slammed into your body. You let out a sob and Bucky soothed you, a low growl vibrating through his chest as he pulled you upwards until you were sitting in his lap. His knot was still locked deep inside your cunt, but it wasn’t painful.

You felt complete.

“B-Buck..,” You sobbed.

“I got you,” Bucky’s deep voice cooed at you, “Promise..,”

Then a purr began to vibrate in your own chest.

Bucky’s hand came up to cup your face, his thumb brushing over your heated cheek with utmost tenderness.

“Good girl,” he murmured, his words thick with affection as your purrs vibrated against each other.

You were wrapped around him in every possible way, mind hazy with the overwhelming sensation of being so completely claimed and content. The heat that had seared through your body was now a warm, comfortable buzz, soothed entirely by Bucky and his knot.

It was everything. It was perfect.

He shifted slightly, careful not to jostle you too much and you whimpered softly at the motion. He had never thought he’d have this, never thought he’d be tangled up in blankets with an omega in his lap and a bond forming between them. After never finding his scent mate back in the 40s, Bucky thought he’d never have this type of happiness.

But here you were.

Your fingers played at the ends of his hair as you calmed down from the high, as reality settled in that this wasn’t a dream for both of you.

#alpha bucky barnes x omega reader #alpha bucky x omega reader #bucky barnes x reader #bucky x reader #abo bucky x reader

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v6quewrlds · 3 months ago

Text

REWIND, JOE BURROW.

pairing⠀⁎⠀joe burrow x doctor!reader. word count⠀⁎⠀10.8k.

summary⠀⁎⠀a collection of firsts & special moments.

author's note⠀⁎⠀thee timeline fic! featuring a little backstory about wifey. another installment in my 'joe can't shut up when he's in love' campaign. incorporated things discussed in the wifey tag <3 warnings⠀⁎⠀18+ mdni, established relationship, some smut & angst but mostly fluff.

read more⠀⁎⠀joe burrow masterlist / series masterlist.

BACKSTORY, about her.

Honor Roll student, president of every club she set foot in, certified over-achiever. From a young age, she knew exactly what she was put on this earth to do: succeed. She had always been perfectly self-motivated, a tireless perfectionist whose determination landed her a full ride to MIT.

Living in Boston taught her a lot about life.

Double-majoring in Biology & Psychology while designating yourself as a Pre-Med student is not for the weak.

Gummies make her tummy ache.

It's never a good idea to mix liquor with beer.

She needs her pilates fix even if it might bankrupt her.

Those lessons paled compared to the one she learned from the 6-foot-tall Economics major who lived across the hall from her. Junior year made for a lot of ups and downs as she began her studying for the MCAT. Mr. Economics ruined her perception of love and forced her to swear off men. Indefinitely.

For the next few years, that decision proved to work out well for her. Perfectly on track, she attended medical school at UPenn. Though she was unfortunately separated from her best friend and college roommate, Leah, she made it a point to stay on track. No time for serious conversations - much less relationships - with men.

By some miracle, she matched into Case Western's Dermatology program, where Leah also matched for Anesthesiology. To celebrate, she and Leah immediately found an apartment in Cleveland and decided to throw a hybrid graduation/housewarming party. Kyla, deciding she had enough of her best friend's swearing off of men, extended an invitation to her brother's childhood friend: Cincinnati Bengals starting quarterback, Joe Burrow.

Coming off of a season-ending injury his rookie year, Leah sent Joe a charming text urging him to stop by under the guise of good vibes, a promised slice of cake, and a girl she thought he should meet.

"What do you think? Denim skirt with the black tube top or the red mini-dress?" Leah asked, holding up two options as she stood in front of the full-length mirror in their shared bathroom. She sat on the edge of the tub, swiping through her phone, distractedly offering an opinion. "Red mini-dress," she murmured, her thoughts already drifting to the party preparations.

The apartment was a modest two-bedroom in an up-and-coming Cleveland neighborhood, a place they'd both be calling home for the next few years as they embarked on their medical residencies. The walls were a soft shade of cream, with hints of pink and blue in the accent pillows and curtains. The living room was a cozy blend of second-hand furniture and IKEA staples provided by Leah's parents, now transformed with strings of fairy lights and a makeshift bar set up on a folding table.

She was already dressed, her own leopard mini-skirt paired with a black corset top that accentuated her curves. She'd spent hours getting ready, her hair in loose curls that fell down her back, her makeup a perfect blend of smoky and natural. The scent of her favorite vanilla perfume lingered in the air as she lifted her gaze from her phone to look at Leah. Her best friend looked stunning in both outfits, but the red mini-dress was definitely the winner. It hugged her figure in all the right places and brought out the life in her brown eyes.

The doorbell rang, jolting her out of her thoughts. "Oh, shit!" Leah squealed. "Help me decide on shoes!" Leah grabbed a pair of strappy black heels and a set of red ones, holding them up to the dress. She nodded towards the black ones, her hands reaching to help Leah zip her dress the rest of the way up. "Aren't those Kayla's?" she asked with a knowing smile.

Leah rolled her eyes. "In the breakup box for a reason. But they're the only ones that don't kill my feet." She stepped into the shoes and twirled around. "Alright, let's do this," she said, leading the way to the front door as they headed to greet their first guests.

The party grew in numbers and volume as the night went on, the laughter and chatter filling the air. She felt the tension of the past few months of exams and residency applications slowly unraveling as she mingled with her friends from Penn, Leah's from Ohio State, and those they both met at MIT. The music played a mix of their favorite tracks, and the smell of pizza and various flavors of wings wafted from the kitchen. Leah's friends from high school had brought a few board games, which had devolved into drunken versions of Cards Against Humanity and Jenga.

Joe Burrow had arrived nearly 30 minutes prior, his towering frame and perfectly coiffed golden brown hair preventing him from fully blending in with the rest of the crowd. The guests had buzzed around him, eager to talk about his recovery, his future in the NFL, and the upcoming reunion with one of his wide receivers from his national title-winning LSU team. She had caught glimpses of him from across the room, it was hard not to as he stood head and shoulders above the vast majority of the partygoers.

She was vaguely aware of Leah's connection to the Bengals starting quarterback. Her younger brother had played with him in high school, Leah and Joe hadn't been particularly close since then. Yet, here he was, looking like a god in a room full of mere mortals—the others in the room certainly treated him like one.

"Babe!" Leah's voice cut through the chatter as she approached, her cheeks flushed with excitement. "I want you to meet someone." Leah grabbed her hand and practically dragged her across the room. "Joe, this is my roommate and best friend," Leah announced, her eyes gleaming with mischief as she made the introduction. "Babe, this is Joe. He's really good friends with Alex. We grew up together," she added with a dramatic flair.

Joe extended his hand with a polite smile. "Nice to meet you." His deep voice sent a shiver down her spine. He had a firm handshake, undoubtedly honed over years of convincing rich old men to take a chance on him. She could feel her face heating up, a meekness that she hoped the dim lighting would hide. She took his hand, giving it a firm shake back. "It's nice to meet you too," she replied, her voice surprisingly steady despite the sudden jitters in her stomach.

Leah practically vibrated with excitement as she played matchmaker, conveniently leaving them to navigate the awkwardness of their first encounter. Her eyes locked onto Joe's, noticing the playful twinkle in his baby blues as he watched Leah depart just as suddenly as she'd arrived. He took a sip of his soda, his bicep flexing against the fabric of his t-shirt, and she found herself momentarily speechless.

"Can I get you a drink? An actual drink?" She offered, trying to shake off the nerves with as brilliant a smile as she could muster.

Joe's eyes lit up at the prospect of a break from the lukewarm soda. "Sure, what do you have?" he asked, long legs trailing behind her as she led him to the makeshift bar. She grabbed a chilled can of vodka soda, popped it open, and handed it to him. He took it with a nod of thanks.

Two High Noons, a shot of tequila, half a spilled drink, and two hours later, she found herself in a corner of her crowded living room, almost chest-to-chest with Joe. The music had gotten louder, the lights dimmer, and the party had evolved into a dance floor with a pulsing bass line. Up close, he was magnetic. Intense blue eyes, an impossibly broad frame, and a smile that could melt the panties off a glacier. In the span of two hours, they had managed to exchange their entire life's stories—his football triumphs, her medical school horrors, and their near identical gym playlists.

"Come on, you can't be serious," Joe said with a laugh, holding his ice water contained in a red Solo cup against his chest.

She leaned against the wall, shaking her head with feigned distaste. "There isn't a single universe where Eminem has the best verse on 'Forever'. It's all Wayne," she insisted, watching his expression over the top of her own cup.

He raised an eyebrow, a smirk playing at the corner of his mouth. "Did we listen to the same song? Because Eminem's verse on that track is untouchable."

She rolled her eyes, her smile growing wider. "I'm not saying Eminem's verse isn't good, but Wayne's verse just hits different," she said, taking a sip of her drink, feeling the cool liquid wash down her throat.

"Eminem's verse was so good, Kanye rewrote his verse after hearing Em's. That's gotta say something," Joe countered, his eyes sparkling with the same passion she had for her argument. She laughed, subconsciously taking a step closer to him, enjoying the debate more than she'd enjoyed any non-academic conversation with a man in a long time. She took a deep breath, the scent of Joe's cologne—something clean and masculine—mingling with the faint lingering aroma of pizza and the heavy scent of alcohol.

Her hand brushed against his bicep as she leaned in to make her next point, feeling the heat of his body even through the fabric of her own clingy top. "But Wayne's was so well written, had the better flow, his personality shines through. You can't just ignore that," she argued, her eyes meeting his.

Joe took a step closer, his voice dropping an octave. "Okay, okay, I'll give you that. It's a close call, but for me, Eminem takes the cake," he conceded, his smirk growing. The room spun slightly around her as she took another sip of her drink, her eyes lingering on his full lips.

"Why aren't you drinking with me?" She asked him, half whining. She swayed to the music slightly, the alcohol loosening her inhibitions, making her more flirtatious than she normally allowed herself to be. His eyes searched hers, the playfulness in her gaze clear.

Joe took a step back, holding his cup of ice water up as a defense. "I gotta drive back to Columbus tonight," he said, his voice a low rumble. "Can't be drunk driving. You know how it is."

"Hmmm," she hummed with a nod. "NFL superstar… right. Image comes first," she teased, her eyes twinkling. "But what if you didn't have to drive?" she asked. She leaned in closer, her breath warm and sweet, hinting at the stolen sips of some vodka lemonade mix she'd gone back to throughout the night.

Joe looked down at her, his expression unreadable. "If I didn't drive…" he began, the challenge in his eyes unmistakable. "Where would I crash?"

She felt the heat rising in her face but held his gaze, her voice dropping to a murmur. "Well, I have a perfectly good couch. Or, if you play your cards right, get lucky, you could crash with me." She bit her bottom lip, her eyes fluttering shut as she leaned into him. "I'm really warm," she continued. "And cuddly."

Joe's laugh was low and deep, sending a thrill down her spine. "Is that right?" His gaze swept over her, lingering on her cleavage before meeting her eyes again. "I don't think I should." He shifted his position, the fabric of his shirt brushing against her bare arms. The coolness of the wall settled against her back as he stepped closer, a muscled arm reaching around her to place his drink on the windowsill beside her. "But maybe I could use a good cuddle," he teased. Instead of retreating to his side, his hand found her waist, his thumb brushing gently against the exposed skin of her midriff.

She felt a shiver of excitement. "Maybe," she echoed, her voice barely audible over the music. She leaned into his touch, her eyes searching his for any sign of hesitation.

The room was spinning, but she wasn't sure if it was from the drinks or Joe's pull. She took a deep breath, trying to keep her cool, but her heart was racing. His lips twitched with a hint of a smile. "Why would you want me to stay in the first place?" He leaned in, his breath warm against her cheek.

"Just because," she replied, her voice playful but laced with a hint of desire. She couldn't help the sigh that left her lips at the feeling of his skin on hers, her eyes dropping to his mouth before returning to his eyes.

"That's not a good reason," he hummed lowly, his hand sliding around her waist, pulling her closer. The room was a blur of colors and sounds, and she could feel the bass from the music pounding in her chest. His touch was surprisingly gentle despite the strength of his arms. "Which is a shame, because I'd love to stay."

Her breath hitched as Joe leaned in closer, his voice a warm caress against her ear. "I should go," he said, his hand dropping from her waist, his grip loosening. She felt a sudden coolness where his touch had been, and she realized she'd been holding her breath, waiting for his next move.

"Wait," she said, a hint of desperation in her voice as she reached out to stop him. Her hand found his bicep, feeling the firmness of his muscles under the softness of his skin. "Gimme your phone."

Joe raised an eyebrow, his smirk unwavering. "My phone? Why?" he asked, his voice a low rumble that sent a shiver down her spine.

"You know why," she replied, a gentle laugh bubbling up from her chest. She held out her hand, palm up, expecting him to just hand it over.

Joe looked at her for a moment, his expression unreadable. "No, I don't think I do. You wanna tell me?" His voice was teasing, but there was an underlying seriousness that made her heart race even faster.

"So I can get a better look at you," she murmured, her eyes tracing the strong line of his jaw. She knew she was being brazen, but the alcohol had loosened her inhibitions and the way he looked at her made her feel invincible. "When I'm sober."

Joe chuckled, the sound deep and resonant. He pulled out his phone and handed it to her with a playful eye roll. "Fine, but only if I get yours too," he said, holding out his hand expectantly.

She grinned, handing over her own phone. "Fair trade," she murmured, watching as he took her device in his hands, making her phone look miniscule in his grasp. His thumbs danced over the screen with dexterity, and she couldn't help but wonder how those same fingers might feel on her skin.

"Okay," he said, handing it back. "Now I have your number. What's the plan?"

She mirrored his actions, their devices safely storing one another's numbers. She felt a strange mix of excitement and apprehension as she took in the sight of the new contact in her phone. "No plan," she started, her eyes meeting his once more. "Just… maybe we could go out sometime?" The words slipping out before she could overthink them.

Joe looked at her, his blue eyes piercing through the haze of the party. He took a moment before nodding, his expression unreadable. "Maybe we could," he agreed, his voice low and heavy.

They stood in simmering tension, their eyes locked, for just a moment longer. Then, Joe took a step back, pocketing his phone. "I should get going," he said, his voice a touch rougher than it had been earlier. "But I'll call you?"

She nodded. "You better," she replied, trying to sound cool. "Drive safe. I'm expecting a text when you get to Columbus," her voice shook slightly as she felt herself drawn into a hug, his arms wrapping around her in a gentle embrace. The warmth of his body was intoxicating, and she felt a jolt of electricity run through her as he leaned in and whispered into her ear, "See you soon."

I should've done it.

The text from Joe had lingered in her thoughts all week, a silent drumroll of anticipation in her mind. His admission that he should've done it, should've kissed her, had set her heart racing every time she read it. And now, here she was, in his kitchen, surrounded by the sweet aroma of pumpkin spice and the quiet hum of his oven preheating in the background. The room felt electrified as they baked together, a dance of open stares and stolen smiles, each waiting for the right moment to make their move.

"When it says fold in the cream cheese…" Joe began, his voice trailing off as his eyes darted from his iPad to her side profile. Her hands were busy, scooping the pumpkin mixture into white paper liners. His spatula hovered in the air, a dollop of cream cheese frosting threatening to drop onto the counter as a result of his hesitation.

"I thought you said you've done this before," she teased, briefly looking over to find his eyebrows scrunched together, his tongue darting over those pink lips she'd been dying to feel against hers.

Joe rolled his eyes, his cheeks flushing slightly. "I have. It's just… this recipe is worded weird." His biceps flexed as he worked the spatula through the sugary mixture. With the cupcakes safely tucked into the oven, she stepped closer, peering at the screen over his shoulder, their bodies almost touching.

"It looks simple enough," she said, her voice suddenly dropping to a whisper, her eyes darting from the recipe to Joe's.

"You're laughing at me," Joe accused, though the corners of his mouth twitched upwards in a smirk. The prettiest splash of pink appeared on his cheeks.

She shook her head, pursing her lips together to hold back her laugh. "I'm not," she lied, attempting to avoid his eyes. "I swear I'm not."

"Well, if you're so confident, you do it." Joe stepped aside, offering her the spatula and the bowl of frosting. She took the challenge, shaking her head as laughter finally spilled from her lips. She dipped the spatula into the bowl, motioning for Joe to sift the powdered sugar as she folded the creamy goodness in on itself. The cool metal of the mixing bowl felt good against her fingertips, a welcoming reprieve from the heat that seemed to pulse through her every time she caught Joe's gaze.

He leaned against the kitchen counter, watching her intently. She felt his eyes on her, and she couldn't help but feel self-conscious under his scrutiny. "Okay, hold the bag open. I'm gonna scoop the frosting in," she instructed, trying to keep her head clear of the looming kiss she knew was on the horizon. It was almost nausea inducing, the anticipation of finally feeling him close to her, tasting the sweetness of his lips for the first time.

The plastic crinkled in her hands as Joe took the spatula from her, scooping a generous amount of frosting into the bag. She held her breath, feeling the warmth of his body so close, the scent of him—a blend of clean laundry and the faint hint of his cologne—surrounding her. She watched his strong hands manipulate the bag, pushing the frosting into the piping tip with a gentle squeeze.

"I gotta wash my hands," she muttered under her breath, turning towards the opposite counter to hide her anxiousness. She hadn't been this nervous in years, not since her first kiss ever back in high school. The kitchen tap's cool water brought her back to reality, and she took a deep, steadying breath. When she turned back, Joe's back was to her, his tall frame silhouetted against the kitchen window, the setting sun casting a warm glow over the scene.

Confusion melted into amusement as she watched him turn to face her, a spoon dipped into the bowl. He scraped at the leftover frosting, the silver utensil shining in the soft light. "Joe," she said with a laugh, "What are you doing?"

He shrugged, the corner of his mouth quirking up in that signature smirk that she had grown to adore. "Taste test." The spoon dipped into his mouth, and her heart skipped a beat as she watched his eyes close, savoring the flavor. "It's good," he murmured, opening his eyes to find hers locked on him. He dipped the spoon into the frosting again, offering it out to her. "You want to make sure we're not serving subpar dessert, right?"

Her stomach flipped, but she stepped closer, accepting the spoon with a nod. The creaminess of the frosting coated her tongue, the duality of the tang and sweet a delicious symphony in her mouth. She swallowed and nodded. "It's good. But I think I need another taste."

Joe's grin grew wider, his blue eyes sparkling in the light of the setting sun. "I figured you might," he said, scooping up more frosting. This time, when he offered it to her, she leaned in, closing the gap between them. The tip of her nose brushed against his, and she felt his breath warm against her lips. Her eyes fluttered shut, and she waited for him to bring the spoon to her mouth.

But instead, he held it just out of reach. "What are you doing?" she murmured, a hint of laughter in her voice.

He didn't answer, simply hovering the spoon there. She could feel the tension building, a palpable force that made her lean in even further, her chest brushing against his. His eyes searched hers, looking for a sign, a silent question that she was ready to answer. And she was, more than she had ever been. Impatience bubbled up within her. She moved for the bowl, removing it from his grasp before she reached up, placing her hand on the back of his neck, pulling him down to meet her.

Their kiss was tentative at first, a gentle brush of their lips that sent a jolt of electricity through her. She felt his hand, now rid of the spoon, come up to cup her face, his thumb stroking the soft skin there as their mouths opened slightly. The sweetness of the frosting mingled with the taste of him, a heavenly combination that she hadn't anticipated.

His other hand found her waist, pulling her closer, making her feel as if she were melting into him. Her hand slid from the nape of his neck into his hair, the soft golden strands mingling between her fingers. The kiss grew deeper, more urgent, as if the weeks of unspoken tension were demanding their due. She could feel his heart pounding against her chest, a beat that matched her own. The room around them faded away, leaving only the two of them in a warm, sugary bubble of newfound intimacy.

As they parted, breathless, Joe whispered against her lips, "I've been wanting to do that since the moment we met." Her heart swelled with joy, her pulse racing in her ears. She finally opened her eyes to meet his gaze. "Me too," she admitted, her voice barely audible.

Her knees felt weak, grateful for his arms still holding her close. She searched Joe's eyes, finding the same wonder reflected in the blue pools that had captured her from the start. They remained like that, frozen in the sweet moment, until the timer on the oven beeped, jolting them back to reality.

"Looks like our cupcakes are ready," Joe murmured, his voice low. He made no attempt to separate from her. The bite of his bottom lip and the flicker of his eyes to her lips saying everything he couldn't put into words.

She felt a shiver run down her spine as she nodded, her hand still tangled in his hair. "We should check on them," she said, her voice unsteady.

Joe leaned in and kissed her again, this time with more confidence, his hand sliding to the small of her back, pressing her even closer. When they finally pulled away, she could see the hunger in his gaze, the desire that mirrored her own. "Yeah," he murmured, his voice thick with lust. "Cupcakes."

Joe was due to arrive any minute, and she couldn't help but feel a little nervous as she chewed at her bottom lip. Leah looked over from the open bathroom door, her grin widening as she saw her fidgeting. "You're so down bad for him," she teased, swiping a brush through her straight hair. "It's cute."

"I'm not down bad," she shot back, trying to keep her voice light as she straightened up from her laptop. "Just… excited for a chill night, you know?"

Leah stepped out of the bathroom. "Uh-huh, sure. Chill like Netflix and Chill?" She winked at her best friend, who rolled her eyes playfully. Just then, the doorbell rang, the sound echoing through the apartment. "And cue Mr. Ohio," Leah announced sarcastically.

Her heart skipped a beat as she walked over to the door. She took a deep breath, composing herself before swinging it open to reveal Joe, his tall frame filling the doorway. "Hi," she breathed out, trying not to sound too eager.

Joe looked her over with a smile, his eyes crinkling familiarly at the sight of her. He stepped in, his backpack sliding off his shoulder to thump onto the floor. Her eyes trailed over his tight, athletic body, and she felt a rush of heat to her face. He leaned in for a kiss, his lips pressing against hers gently before pulling away. "Where's Leah?"

Leah sauntered out of their bathroom, a wide smile on her face. "I'm about to leave for my family dinner. I'm honored you would ask, Joe," she said with a wink.

"I wasn't asking to be nice," Joe said, his sarcasm thick as he stepped aside for her to lock the door. "Usually I can hear you before I see you."

Leah chuckled before walking over to the couch, picking up her purse. "With ears like those, I'm sure you do, Burrow."

She curled into his side, breathing in his scent as she watched the two of them go back and forth. He was warm, the kind of warmth that seeped into her bones and made her feel safe. The kind she missed in his absence.

"Why don't you tell her to be nice to me?" Joe playfully complained, his hand soothing over her lower back as he pulled her closer.

Both she and Leah feigned identical offense. Even-toned gasps circling him from the two friends. "I like her just the way she is, Joseph," she said with a teasing squint of her eyes. "I'm already nice enough to you. She's here for balance, to keep you humble."

Leah giggled, reaching for her keys. "You got that right," she said, turning to Joe. "But I'll be out of your hair for the weekend. You two can do all the 'balancing' you want." With a knowing wink, she leaned over to press a chaste kiss to her cheek, a challenging glint in her eyes as she whispered, "Don't break him. He's expensive."

She laughed out loud, hugging her best friend tightly before she left. The moment the door clicked shut behind Leah, the air in the room shifted. The playful banter evaporated into a heavy silence filled with unspoken desires. She turned to Joe, her heart racing, and found him watching her with an intensity that sent a shiver down her spine.

"I was gonna order some food," she said, breaking the silence as she leaned up to kiss Joe again. He tasted faintly of mint, his stubble delightfully rough against her cheek.

"Sounds good," Joe murmured against her mouth, his hands slipping under her shirt to feel the warmth of her skin against his palms. "I can put my bags away while you order."

She nodded, pulling away to lead him to her bedroom. "What do you feel like eating?" she asked, her legs crossing as she sat on the bed, focusing on the Uber Eats app. The room was bathed in soft light from the floor lamp, the scent of her favorite candle, vanilla and coconut, filling the space.

Joe set his bag down and began unpacking, his eyes lingering on the way her thighs looked bare and exposed against the plush comforter adorning her bed. "Whatever you want," he said distractedly, his words short with desire.

She took the opportunity to watch him as he pulled his hoodie over his head, revealing the tight muscles of his stomach. The white t-shirt he wore underneath was snug, showing off the curves of his biceps. She couldn't help but let her gaze linger on his broad chest, the fabric stretching over the muscle there. She couldn't tell how long she had been staring for when he turned to her with a knowing smile.

"You good?" Joe asked, his eyes meeting hers, a smirk playing on his lips.

She nodded. "Yeah," she managed to say, her voice a little weaker. "Just… deciding."

His eyes focused on hers as he stepped closer to the bed. "Deciding?" He echoed her, his voice low and gravelly with need. "On food or…?"

She felt the heat of his body as he leaned over her, his breath tickling the sensitive skin of her neck. "Or?" she murmured, her hand reaching out to trace the line of his jaw.

He didn't answer. Instead, his mouth found hers in a kiss that was anything but chaste. His hand found its familiar place, his tongue dancing with hers, tasting like the mint of his gum. Her eyes fluttered shut, and she let out a sigh, feeling Joe's hands roaming her body, laying her back against the bed. The heat of his touch was like a brand, searing into her skin, leaving her desperate for more.

The solid wall of his chest pressed against hers as Joe's hand slid up the length of her thigh, delicately squeezing the soft skin under his palm. She gasped into his mouth, her hand reaching up to tangle in his hair, pulling him closer. The kiss grew more urgent, his tongue delving deeper into her mouth, exploring and claiming every inch. His other hand found the hem of her shirt, slowly pushing it upward until it was discarded on the floor.

His head dipped to kiss her neck, his teeth grazing the sensitive skin there. Her eyes rolled back in her head as she sighed, his touch sending delight down her spine. She felt the brush of his fingertips as he brushed over her bra, and the cool air hit her newly exposed skin. His thumbs traced the edge of the lace before his palms cupped her. She arched her back, pushing herself into his touch, a soft whine escaping her lips.

Joe's eyes were dark with lust as he broke the kiss, looking down at her. Her breath hitched, her thighs parting to accommodate his hips as he settled between her legs. He kissed her neck, his teeth grazing her collarbone before moving to her chest, his mouth finding one of her nipples. He teased it with his tongue, swirling around the sensitive nub before sucking hard, eliciting a moan from her. She ground down on his thigh, her core pulsing with need.

He chuckled darkly against her skin. "I can feel how bad you want it," he murmured, his hand sliding down her stomach to pull at her shorts. She nodded, unable to form coherent words as his fingers danced over the fabric. Her hands shook as they pulled at the hem of his white shirt, desperate to feel his bare skin.

She sat up, moving to straddle him, and pulled his shirt over his head. The sight of him, all muscle and summer-tanned skin, took her breath away. She ran her hands over the expanse of his chest, her nails scraping gently against his skin, watching as his pupils dilated and his breath hitched. She leaned down, kissing a line from his collarbone, up the column of his throat, to his lips again. The tip of his cock nudged her through his shorts, and she could feel him twitch beneath her.

They kissed with an urgency that had been building for weeks, their breaths mingling as they explored each other's mouths. "What kind of condoms do you prefer?" She asked between kisses. "Durex, Trojan, Skyn?" Her voice faltered as his hands traveled down to cup her ass, his fingers digging into her flesh. "I have a few sizes, just in case." Her back arched into him, a silent admission of his effect on her.

He rolled his hips against hers, his hands sliding down to her thighs, pushing her shorts down her legs. "Magnum?" she murmured against his lips, unable to hide the laugh in her voice.

Joe smirked. "Is that what you think?"

She shrugged, her voice thick with lust. "I like to be prepared."

Joe chuckled, the sound vibrating against her skin. "You're something else, you know that?" He leaned back on his elbows, his abdomen contracting with the movement.

She reached over the side of the bed, her hand rummaging in the drawer of the nightstand. She pulled out a single condom, the gold wrapper glinting in the soft light. "Take your shorts off," she whispered as she sank down the bed. Her eyes held his gaze, her hands smoothing over his skin as he complied. The bulge in his boxers grew, and she licked her lips in anticipation. He groaned out as she kissed down his stomach, her mouth hovering just above the waistband of his boxers.

With a bite of her bottom lip, she tugged the condom from its wrapper. She took him in hand, stroking him gently before rolling the condom down his shaft. His cock was thick and hard, the latex stretching over his length. He watched her, his eyes dark with passion, as she straddled him again.

"God, c'mere," he growled, his voice thick with need. She complied, moving over him, her breasts brushing against his chest, the friction making them both gasp. He reached up to cup her face, his thumbs caressing her cheekbones as he kissed her hard, his tongue sliding against hers, tasting her. She could feel his length, the head of his cock nudging at her, begging for more.

Joe shifted their position with ease, his hands firm on her hips as he flipped her onto her back. He kissed her with a fierce hunger, his tongue plunging deep, as if he was trying to devour her whole. His fingers found her center, stroking it gently, and she gasped, her legs spreading wider to give him better access. The anticipation was driving her crazy, her body thrumming with need.

With a wicked grin, Joe reached for the lube she had left on the nightstand, flicking the cap open with a practiced ease. He slicked his fingers, watching her reaction as he slid one inside her. She moaned, her eyes fluttering closed as he moved it in and out, stretching her. She felt the blunt tip of his cock press against her, and she took a deep, shaky breath, ready for the moment she had been fantasizing about for so long.

"I need you," she murmured, her voice a desperate whisper against his lips. He leaned back, pulling at the waistband of her panties, sliding them down her legs. He took his time, the intensity of his gaze making her squirm with excitement. With one final tug, they were gone, leaving her bottom half fully exposed to him.

Joe took a moment to appreciate the sight of her, his eyes raking over her body with a hunger that made her feel powerful. He lined himself up with her opening, his cock nudging against her folds. She reached down, her hand guiding him in, feeling the tip of his cock push against her wetness.

He groaned, his eyes closing tight as he sank into her, inch by delicious inch. The pressure was incredible, stretching her in a way that made her toes curl. "Oh, fuck," she whispered, her head falling back against the pillow.

She felt filled to the brim with Joe, his cock pushing into her, filling her up, the sensation overwhelming. She tightened her grip on the bedspread, her eyes locked on his as he watched her face contort with pleasure. He took his time, savoring the moment, his movements slow and deliberate. Her eyes fluttered closed, her hips rising to meet his, urging him deeper.

When he was fully sheathed in her, Joe paused, his muscles tense with restraint. "You okay?" he asked, his voice strained.

She nodded, her eyes still closed, her breathing ragged. "More than okay," she replied, her voice a low purr. "Just… don't stop."

Joe leaned in to kiss her again, his hips moving in a steady rhythm that made her moan. Each stroke was long and deep, filling her completely before pulling almost all the way out, leaving her gasping for more. The sound of skin slapping against skin filled the room, punctuated by their muffled groans and sighs.

"Talk to me, baby, tell me how it feels," Joe murmured into her ear, his breath hot against her neck as he began to pick up the pace. His hand roamed over her thigh, pulling it up to wrap around his waist as he pushed into her harder.

"So good," she managed to gasp out, her eyes fluttering open to meet his. The intensity in his gaze sent waves of pleasure through her. "Joe, oh, Joe…"

He took her words as an encouragement, his pace increasing, his strokes growing more forceful. Her hands clutched at his shoulders, her nails digging into his skin as she matched his rhythm, her hips rising to meet him, urging him deeper.

Their kisses grew sloppier, more desperate, as their bodies moved in tandem. The slick sound of Joe's skin smacking against hers grew louder, mixing with the quiet whimpers escaping from her throat. She could feel her orgasm building, the tension coiling tighter and tighter in her belly.

"Need your hands, Joey," she breathed out, her voice a mix of desperation and pleasure. She was so close, so fucking close, and Joe's cock was hitting all the right spots, but she needed more. She needed his touch on her clit, the sweet friction that would send her soaring over the edge.

Joe's eyes widened, his own need reflecting back at her, and he nodded. He reached down, his hand sliding over her stomach to the juncture of her thighs. His middle and ring fingers found her clit, the touch sending an electric current through her body. She arched up, her mouth opening in a silent cry as he began to rub in gentle circles.

"Mmhmm, like that," she moaned, her eyes fluttering closed as Joe's skilled fingers worked her clit. The pleasure was building, each stroke pushing her closer to the precipice. Her body was tightening around him, her muscles clenching as she neared the peak. "Fuck, Joe, I'm so close."

Joe's breath was hot and heavy against her neck as he whispered, "Come for me, baby." His thrusts grew more urgent, his strokes inside her deep and sure. The pressure on her clit increased, the circles tighter, and she could feel the orgasm begin to crash over her.

"Oh god," she moaned, her hips bucking up to meet him, her muscles clenching around his cock. The waves of pleasure crashed into her, her body convulsing as she came hard. Joe's grip on her thigh tightened as she shuddered beneath him, pushing him over the edge.

He buried his head in the crook of her neck, his breaths hot and uneven as he pumped into her, her orgasm milking him until he couldn't hold back anymore. With a final groan, Joe's body went rigid, his hips stuttering as he filled the condom with his release.

She felt the aftershocks of pleasure ripple through her body as Joe collapsed onto her, his weight a comforting warmth. They laid there for a moment, panting, their hearts racing in sync. "So good," she murmured against his ear, her hands stroking his back, feeling the dampness of his skin.

He kissed the side of her neck, his breathing gradually evening out. "You're fuckin' amazing," he whispered, his voice hoarse.

Joe dreaded bye weeks. They were supposed to be a time to relax and recover from the grind of the NFL season, but they usually just left him feeling restless and out of place. He thrived on routine, and without practice or games to structure his days, he usually found himself aimlessly bored; itching to get back to the field.

This season’s bye week was different. For once, Joe had something to look forward to other than endless hours of film study and tedious brand meetings. He’d be spending it with her.

The drive from Cincinnati to Cleveland had been surprisingly therapeutic, the rolling hills and the changing colors of fall providing a picturesque backdrop to Joe's thoughts. He couldn't wait to see her, to bask in the warmth of her presence that always seemed to wash away the stress of his football-centered life. When he finally pulled into the apartment complex, he was beyond restless. A week of almost uninterrupted time together was a rare treat, and he had every intention of making the most of it.

It took all of one day for the two of them to slip into a good rhythm. The mornings were filled with the scent of brewing coffee and the hum of her getting ready for work at the hospital. Joe would linger in bed, watching her through half-closed eyes, admiring the way she moved with purpose and grace. He would attempt to convince her to stay home, to no avail, and eventually drag himself out of bed to drive her and Leah to the hospital for their shifts.

The rest of the daylight was his, to conquer the tasks he'd brought from Cincinnati, get a workout or two in at a local private gym, or explore the city on his own.

By the time the sun set, he was driving back to the hospital, eager to pick her up and hear about her day. Dinner plans involved the PDF meal prep instructions she insisted that he send over from his personal chef. Cooking with her was oddly relaxing, despite his usual preference for takeout or having someone else handle the kitchen. She took the lead, allowing him to chop and prep under her direction. The occasional touch of her hand on his, guiding him, or the way she would laugh at his insistence to follow a recipe-to-T filled him with a longing to feel this way more often.

At night, she would attempt to get some studying in while Joe answered his emails, warm, full, and happy. The need for sleep would overtake him before her, and he'd end up sprawled across the bed. His head resting snuggly against her sternum, her free hand softly scratching at his scalp. The sound of his deep, contented breaths soon lulling her to sleep as well.

This morning played out as it typically did. Joe was up early, making himself useful, brewing coffee and assembling her lunch box, while she slipped into her scrubs, packing her bag for the day, and applying touches of makeup here and there. The apartment was bathed in the soft glow of dawn, the air filled with the scent of freshly brewed beans and the distant sound of the city coming alive.

"You know what we need?" She said, zipping up her bag on the couch. "A real coffee table."

Leah hummed out her agreement from the kitchen, where she was busy packing her lunch. "Definitely," she chimed in. Their "coffee table" was a stack of medical school textbooks balancing a metal tray courtesy of the UH Cleveland Medical Center cafeteria. It was functional but not exactly a real piece of furniture.

"I could get you one from Ikea," Joe said, his eyes lighting up at the prospect of a mission. "I've got the day to myself. Might as well do something useful."

Her eyes widened. "Babe, no. I can't ask you to do that. You're here to relax."

"Are you really refusing free labor?" Leah called out from the kitchen, a laugh in her voice. "When are we gonna have a chance to get one? If we’re not at the hospital, we’re studying or volunteering. Joe’s not doing much except for a couple of workouts and emails today anyway, right, Joe?"

Joe nodded faithfully, an overgrown curl bouncing with the movement. "Yeah, I've got nothing but time. You guys pick a table out and I’ll go get it."

She looked at him, the corners of her mouth twitching into a smile she couldn’t quite hold back. "You do know that the nearest Ikea is in Columbus, right?"

Joe shrugged, handing her the packed lunch box with a kiss to her forehead. "It’s only two hours away, babe." Seeing the hesitation in her eyes, he added, "Let me do this for you. I really don’t mind."

Relenting with a sigh, she opened her laptop and navigated to the Ikea website. She clicked through the pages of sleek designs and minimalist furniture as Leah hovered over her shoulder. They settled on a simple table that they both thought would complement their living room.

"Alright," Joe said, clapping his hands together. "I'll drop you guys off and head down to Columbus. Send me the name of the table."

She rattled off the name and specifications of the coffee table they had chosen, and Joe typed them into his phone.

The day passed in a blur of activity and quiet moments. She and Leah accompanied their attendings on rounds and completed their first-year gruntwork. Meanwhile, Joe embarked on his solo trip to Columbus, reporting on his success to her through a series of photos and texts. By the time he arrived back in Cleveland, the sun was setting, painting the sky with oranges and pinks.

Her shift was almost over when she received a text from Joe.

Just got off the highway. Be there soon.

She couldn't help but feel a flutter of excitement at the thought of the surprise waiting for her. She and Leah had spent the day trying not to think about the coffee table, focusing on their patients and notes, but the anticipation had been bubbling beneath the surface all day.

When Joe finally pulled into the apartment complex, the car's headlights bouncing off the pavement, she and Leah exited first. They watched him unload the flat-packed furniture with surprising ease, his muscles flexing under his shirt as he maneuvered the heavy box. Leah nudged her best friend, whispering, "You’re drooling.”

She rolled her eyes but couldn't deny the warmth spreading through her chest. She loved Joe's willingness to go the extra mile, especially when it came to making her little apartment feel more like a home.

They brought the box into the living room and spread the contents onto the floor. Almost immediately, his eyes sharpened in focused intensity as he studied the instructions. She sat down on the floor with him, sipping a cup of tea, watching his concentration.

"Okay, so the first thing we need to do is assemble the legs," Joe said, holding up a bundle of wooden pieces.

She leaned over, her eyes scanning the instructions. "Are you sure? It looks like we should start with the tabletop."

“Babe," Joe said, pointing to a diagram. "It says legs first."

"But that doesn’t make sense," she protested, her finger hovering over a different step. "The legs won’t even stand without the base."

Joe raised an eyebrow, a hint of challenge in his gaze. "Baby, trust me. I've put together Ikea furniture before."

"Your janky ass is gonna mess up my future coffee table if you keep going off-book," she teased, swiping the instructions from his hand.

Joe grinned, not at all deterred. "You love it when I improvise."

Their playful banter grew more intense as they worked, each insisting they knew better. The instructions lay forgotten between them, as they tried to piece the table together through sheer force of will.

"Burrow, please don’t fuck this up," she said, trying to keep a straight face as Joe held a wooden peg between his teeth, his hands occupied by trying to align the legs.

"I know what I’m doing," he shot back, his voice muffled by the mouthful of furniture.

She ignored him, squinting at the instructions she had rescued. "It says, 'insert peg A into slot B, then secure with screw C.'"

"I've got pegs and slots," Joe said, holding up two wooden pieces. "But where's screw C?"

She looked down at the instructions again. "It's right here." She reached for a tiny screw in a sea of plastic bags, her hand lifting to remove the wooden peg from between his teeth with a chuckle. "Here."

Joe took the screw with a grin, forgetting about the headache of the furniture for a moment. The words, "God, I love your bossy ass," slipped from his lips before he could catch them.

Her eyes snapped up to his, surprise and delight swirling in her gaze. Without a moment’s worth of hesitation, she replied, "I love your stubborn ass."

The room grew quiet, the tension palpable. They stared at each other, the weight of their words hanging in the air. The warmth of the moment washed over Joe, a feeling he hadn’t anticipated feeling so deeply. He felt his heart swell with affection, his chest tightening as the reality of what they’d just confessed hit him.

She cupped the side of his face, her thumb brushing over his bottom lip, leaving a gentle caress. "You really do, huh?" He asked, pupils dilating slightly as his eyes searched hers.

"Yeah," she said, voice soft. "I really do."

The air grew thick with unspoken words and unexplored feelings. Joe set the screw down and took her hand, pulling her closer until she was straddling his lap, the coffee table pieces forgotten around them. Her arms settled over his shoulders, fingers finding the softness of his hair. He caressed her waist, pulling her into him. The kiss was tender, a gentle acknowledgment of the love that had been simmering between them for months.

"Say it again," he whispered against her lips, his voice soft with wonder.

She pulled back slightly, her eyes sparkling with affection. "I love you, Joe Burrow."

Joe's eyes searched hers, the intensity of his gaze making her heart flutter. "And I love you."

"You guys just managed to squeak out a win tonight. I know Joe has emphasized having, quote: 'no room for excuses' all season. But there isn't much time to dwell on the mistakes when you're in the middle of a playoffs run. So, how will you make sure that he stays focused on the next game, instead of dwelling on the imperfections of this one?" The reporter's voice was sharp, cutting through the buzz of the press room as Zac Taylor took a sip of his water.

Zac leaned into the podium, a hint of a smile playing on his lips. "Well, you know, Joe's a perfectionist. That's what makes him so great at what he does. But I'm not too worried about his focus, he knows better than anyone what's at stake. His girlfriend will be in town the next few days. I'm sure she'll keep him grounded."

The room went silent for a beat, and then the air was ablaze with the clicking of keyboards and murmurs of surprise. Her heart skipped a beat as she watched the livestream on her phone, her hand tightening around it. She was sitting in the back of her Uber, her eyes darting up to the driver who chuckled at the head coach's words. "Grounded? Busy's more like it," the middle-aged man commented. When she asked him if it was alright to listen to the post-game press conferences, he had been more than enthusiastic. Now, she wished she had just waited until she was in the comfort of Joe's home.

Her phone buzzed with notifications, and she knew that the dam had broken. She had seen it before with other athletes and their significant others, the sudden rush of interest that could either elevate or destroy reputations. It was the price of his fame, but she hadn't been prepared for it to be her reality. Not like this. The Uber pulled up to the house, and she took a deep breath, trying to compose herself before walking through the door.

Joe's brother, Dan, was the first to reach out to her from his family. "Well, looks like the cat's out of the bag," his text read, followed by a series of laughing emojis and a screen recording of Zac's slip-up. She couldn't help but chuckle despite her nerves. She replied with a simple "Yeah, guess so."

As she stepped out of the car, she saw Joe's text light up her screen. "Zac sends his apologies. You okay?" He was always considerate, even in the midst of his own chaos. She took a moment to gather her thoughts before responding. "Yeah, tell him thanks a lot." Her thumb hovered over the screen for a beat before he read her mind, "We'll talk when I get home. Don't worry about it."

Joe arrived just as his parents came through the front door. Jimmy and Robin were similarly in town for the game, but their presence was less newsworthy than hers. The four of them greeted each other with the kind of relief that comes after a nail-biter of a match. Inside, the living room was a warm cocoon of familiarity, a stark contrast to the impersonal press room where the Bengals' PR team was forced to shut down any attempts at confirming Joe's relationship status, per his request.

"Cat's outta the bag, kid," Jimmy laughed deeply, a comforting side hug enveloping her. "You're a champ, though. You two'll handle it."

"I'm sure Joe already has a million and one solutions for handling this," Robin said with a knowing smile, giving her shoulder a gentle squeeze. "But if you need anything, anything at all, just let us know."

She managed a smile, trying to ignore the knot in her stomach. "Thanks, I'll be okay," she replied, her voice sounding more assured than she felt.

After his parents left for their room, Joe turned to her with a concerned expression. "I'm sorry, I know we both wanted to keep this private for as long as we could." His voice was gentle, the blue eyes she had come to love looking into hers for reassurance. Her arms wrapped around his waist, hands gently rubbing his back as she leaned her head against his chest.

"It's okay," she murmured, taking a deep breath in of his scent. "It had to come out eventually."

Joe sighed, stroking over her hair. "I just don't want it to mess with your career. Or your peace of mind." He gathered his thoughts for a moment before speaking up again. "I signed up for this life, not you. It's not fair to throw you into this mess."

She pulled away slightly, looking up at him. "I know what I'm signing up for, Joe. We've talked about this." She paused. "As long as you're okay with it, and we can keep some parts of us just for us, I think I can handle it."

Joe nodded, his gaze searching hers. "You're sure?"

She took a deep breath. "Yeah, I'm sure."

The moment showed itself weeks later in Kansas City. She was a nervous wreck, the Arrowhead stands were a sea of red and black, the Chiefs' colors, but there was a noticeable splatter of Bengals' orange and black jerseys. Amongst them, she stood out in her Burrow jersey, her hair in loose waves that fell over her shoulders, her makeup intentionally flawless.

Her heart hammered in her chest as the national anthem played, a mix of excitement and dread swirling in her gut. This was it. The hard launch. She'd been preparing for this moment since Joe had asked her to be with him at the game. He'd been adamant that she be part of the victory, should they win.

When the confetti came floating down from the sky, signaling the Bengals' victory, she felt a wave of relief wash over her. The game had been a nail-biter, and she had been on the edge of her seat for the entire four quarters. The families of the players were being ushered down to the field, and she took a deep breath, steeling herself for what was to come.

She spotted Joe, surrounded by his teammates, a look of pure elation etched on his face. He saw her and broke away from the celebration, his stride long and purposeful as he approached her. She couldn't help but feel like all eyes were on them, even as the cameras were still swarming the players and coaches.

She stepped aside as he greeted his family first, the love and pride on their faces palpable even amidst the deafening roar of the stadium. Then his eyes focused on her. He wrapped her in a tight embrace, whispering words of gratitude and love into her ear. The warmth of his body and the words spilling from his lips brought a smile to her face. This was their moment, the one she had agreed to share with him, despite the impending storm of media attention.

The cameras clicked and whirred, a cacophony of flashes piercing the air. She felt a tremor of fear as Joe leaned down to kiss her, his lips pressing gently against hers. It was a declaration, a public affirmation of their relationship, and she knew it would be the image plastered across social media in a few short minutes.

"Leah has another year of residency, right?" Joe asked through a mouthful of popcorn as he leaned against the kitchen counter.

She looked up from her laptop, where she was typing away at her Google Calendar. "Yeah, why?" she replied, curiosity lacing her voice.

"Has she started looking for a new roommate yet?" Joe's question was casual, but the way he chewed his popcorn betrayed a hint of nervousness.

She paused, a frown furrowing her brows. "Why would Leah be looking for a new roommate?" She knew him well enough to recognize when he was trying to ease into a conversation he didn't quite know how to start.

Joe swallowed hard. "Well, I just figured, you know, with your residency ending soon, you'd be moving in with me."

She stared at him, the silence in the room thickening like the humidity before a storm. "Moving in with you?" she echoed, her voice a mix of surprise and confusion. "Joe, we've never talked about that."

Joe looked taken aback, his hand pausing mid-air with a piece of popcorn. "You mean, you didn't… I just assumed, with us being in a serious relationship and all…" His voice trailed off as he searched for the right words.

She felt a twinge of annoyance. "Joe, assuming is not the same as asking," she said firmly, closing her laptop. She stood up, crossing her arms over her chest. "You know I have connections in Cleveland. It's where I planned on starting my career after my residency."

Joe's eyes widened, his grip on the popcorn bowl tightening. "You never mentioned that," he said, his voice low and defensive.

"Because you never asked," she laughed incredulously, shaking her head. "You can't just assume I'll drop everything and move in with you. I have a life and a career, too."

Joe's face fell, the weight of her words sinking in. "I didn't mean it like that, babe," he said, setting the bowl down and approaching her. "I just thought, with us being together…"

She raised a hand to stop him. "You thought, you assumed. That's not how this works, Joe," she said, her voice steady. "We need to communicate, especially about big decisions like this." She took a deep breath, trying to keep the frustration from bubbling over.

Joe's shoulders rose with tension. "Well, I'm asking now," he said, his voice tight. "Move in with me."

She sighed, her eyes searching his. "Joey, It's not that simple," she replied, her voice softer. "I've worked hard for this. I have plans, honey. I don't want to just uproot everything because you expect me to follow you around."

"Follow me around? Babe, I don't expect that," Joe said, his voice rising slightly. "I just thought we could be together more, especially since you're going to be done with your crazy hours at the hospital. You could focus on studying for your Boards without worrying about rent and all that."

Her eyes narrowed. "I can handle paying rent, Joe," she said, her voice even. "I don't need you to take care of me. That's not what I want out of this."

Joe took a step back, his expression a mix of surprise and hurt. "I never said you couldn't handle it," he retorted. "I just thought it would be easier for you."

She felt the tension in the room thicken, the air charged with unspoken words. "Easier for me, or easier for you?" she asked, her voice measured.

Joe's eyes searched hers, trying to gauge her emotions. "What does that mean? You think I want you to be dependent on me?"

Her voice remained calm. "I don't know. Do you?"

"No? Why would I want you to be dependent on me?" Joe said, throwing his hands up in the air. "I just want us to be together, babe. We've been together for almost three years. I thought we were on the same page."

She took a deep breath, feeling the weight of their words. "Joe," she sighed, touching his arm. "I love you, but my career is important to me. I can't just leave it all behind because it's more convenient for you."

Joe's gaze dropped to the floor, his shoulders slumping. "I know," he mumbled. "It's just that… I don't know, I guess I've been thinking about it for a while. When I'm on the road, all I want is for you to be there, waiting for me in our home. It's selfish, I know. But it's hard being apart like this."

Her heart softened at the vulnerability in his voice. She stepped closer to him, placing her hand on his cheek. "Joey," she said gently. "Why didn't you just open with that?"

Joe looked up, his eyes searching hers. "I didn't know how to," he admitted. "It's just, you're all I think about. I just want to come home to you every night."

She felt a pang of guilt. "Joe," she said softly, "I feel the same way, but that doesn't mean we should rush into something this big."

"Then, what do you need from me?" Joe asked, his voice barely above a whisper.

She took a moment to gather her thoughts before responding. "I need you to understand that this is my career we're talking about. I've spent years working up to this moment," she said, her thumb gently brushing against his chin. "I don't want to lose the part of me that's worked so hard to get here."

Joe nodded slowly. "Okay."

She studied him, looking for any signs of anger or frustration, but all she saw was the raw, honest love that had brought them this far. She took a deep breath, feeling the tension in the room begin to ease. "I don't need you to fix everything," she whispered. "Don't try to pay off my loans or buy me a new car. I want us to build together, on equal terms."

Joe nodded, his eyes never leaving hers. "Okay," he said again, his voice stronger this time. "I get it. I just… I don't want to lose you."

Her heart swelled with affection. "You won't, baby," she assured him, leaning in to kiss his cheek. "Do you want to ask me again?" she asked, a hint of a smile playing on her lips.

Joe took a deep breath, his eyes searching hers. "Will you move in with me?" he asked, his voice sincere.

She felt a warmth spread through her chest. She knew Joe was trying, really trying, to understand her perspective. She took a moment before responding. "I would love to."

#&. cassie writes.#&. joe x doctor!reader: fics.#joe burrow #joe burrow x reader #joe burrow imagine #joe burrow fanfic #joe burrow fan fic #joe burrow smut #joe burrow x black!reader

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acid-ixx · 28 days ago

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Future Posts Lineup (in no particular order of when to be posted) (uc)

a/n: some of these were also taken out from my planned fanfics post a few months ago whilst some are new ideas. just know i already have drafts written for all of these, hence why i decided to post this for anybody curious on further updates. anything labeled as uc means I'm too lazy to add a proper description yet.

Chapter 6, Part One - Part Two: Where the family finally gets to relive memories of you long buried, further deepening the deep-seated guilt and shame for just how much they've left you out. Whilst on the other side of the city, you get a new, feline friend you named Mr. Stinky who seems to be too just cranky for his senior age, and a new guy to crush on, Conner, whose flirting has you distracted from the watchful pair of eyes following you from when you left the alleyway where you found the cat. You realize after your lovely call with Conner, though, that your newfound motivation to leave Gotham wasn't as easy as planned, and that you couldn't possibly do it alone.

All Eyes on the Prize, Part Two: Bruce should've never left you, not when he now realizes how frighteningly great of a parent you are when him and his children find you smothering both Jon and Conner affection under the watchful public eye, and how brightly you glow beside Clark who's set on showing everybody that you already belonged to him. Your ex-children aren't also too keen on how their envy makes them wish that it was them being so closely monitored and scolded by you instead of those two, new 'self-proclaimed' kids of yours.

Confessions of the Damned and Unwanted: A day spent sitting beside you, silent and distant, unnervingly watching the rainfall patter on the silken grass with empty eyes has Bruce desperate to repair whatever love left you had for him as a father— it made him spill words he never meant, made you retaliate with details of your life far beyond what he could've comprehended. And under the watchful eyes of the fog encapsulating both your broken confessions does Bruce realize just how deeply the emotional cuts he inflicted on you were, just how much he never had been a father to you even after all the time he's spent with you after you've been unwillingly taken away.

Family Dinner: Silly, old you can't seem to stomach the fact that they're all looking at you now at the elongated table when months ago you were a mere ghost in their eyes whilst they chatter happily amongst each other. Unfamiliar with how communicating with a family who estranged you works; you end up having a panic attack in the middle of dinner when Damian attempted to hug you.

Once Your Son, Always Your Son: Your routine with your beloved son, Jon, leaves nothing else to be desired as you set about your usual nightly schedule of helping him clean up, fix his bed, and read him bedtime stories— something you've grown accustomed to love naturally as being a parent does. But when Damian comes to visit you once Jon falls asleep, he enviously demands you do the same to him and to return to the manor where a better family is waiting for you.

Flowers on My Grave: Flowers don't only bloom inside your lungs when you're rejected by someone you love romantically, they can also manifest through platonic love unrequited. Vomiting a bouquet of yellow carnations and an arraw of purple and blue hyacinths, you set to sever the bond of love you once felt for them once and for all.

Paper Weights (UC): (Loving Family, Unpalatable Desire oneshort too which you try to serve Bruce divorce papers disguised as a contract for designer items you pretended to want. It's only when it's the next day where Damian angrily stomps all the way to Bruce's study with Alfred in tow does he discover his idiocracy and why you seemed so intent on having him hurriedly sign the papers. One of your new posts on your private account with a new wedding ring attached to your finger also stirred plenty of drama online).

Nightmares and Consolations (UC): (Again &. Again. Fluff oneshot where you get nightly terrors and they scheduled periodic breaks to comfort you every night through your sleep paralysis. The mission? Get you to sleep properly. The task? Failed successfully, because they instead end up awake throughout the night with you just trying to bond with you instead)

The Night Cryptid (UC): (Horror/NSFW series. Where a new, heartless monster introduces itself into the heart of Gotham City and induces a new kind of fear into its citizens. Except Batman and his team of kids end up smitten with this creature (and how they don't want to admit their curiosity upon whatever those tendrils of yours can do to them)).

Like Him, Redo (UC): (Yandere Batfam x Reader. Where your mother's resistance against having you be introduced to Bruce both made and broke you once you realized just how misdirected your rage towards Bruce was).

What Money Can Buy (UC): (Yandere Batfam x Broke Reader. Where you're dirt poor and go to the same school as Damian, became a friend of his, and also ultimately had to resort to criminal activity which captured the attention of his family and made them insist on having you work them. Except you refuse because you don't want to be seen as a charity case (They see you as a new addition to the family instead)).

The list will be updated occasionally.

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hanginginthevoid · 23 days ago

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Curiosity Killed the Cat, but Satisfaction Brought it Back

pairing: bob reynolds x reader

summary: almost every customer you see is the same. when you finally meet someone that’s different, you can’t help but let your curiosity pique. you shouldn’t have though, new doesn't always mean good or better. sometimes new can ruin you.

a/n: HI!!! I love the idea of character x powerless!reader almost as much as i love the idea of reader who can take care of themselves. SLOWBURN!!!!! I also wrote like 10 pages straight of this before i slowed down and remember how much i HATE writing endings…

warnings: reader gets screamed at, probably ooc bob, lmk if i missed anything!

wc: 8.2k

---

Your life would be considered mundane. You spend most of your time studying, if you weren’t studying you were at work. But to be honest, you were studying at work too. Sure you still go out with your friends, but you’re not paying thousands upon thousands of dollars to not get this degree.

The bookshop that you work at is cute. The brick walls painted sage green, the bookshelves that lined the walls, along with the display tables, were a nice dark mahogany. Small bouquets of different flowers were painted around the shop, like easter eggs for customers to spot.

If the customers actually look at the design choices, you’d never know. Most of the customers that you saw were business or finance bro’s and ladies trying to assert themselves in their corporate jobs.

They’d pick up some ‘life-changing’ book, and you’d never see them again. The first floor of the shop was entirely dedicated to non-fiction because of this. Gotta make it easily accessible for the clients.

You prefer fiction, and honestly, it’s a better vibe having to go upstairs to find some whimsy than just staying at the same level. Every once in a while you’ll see someone venturing up there, maybe just to take a few pictures, maybe to actually buy something. Not nearly as often as you’d like though.

Most of the time you keep your head down, busy jotting down notes or highlighting your textbook. You greet customers when they come in, help them find the book they’re looking for if need be, and give them a polite smile while asking about their day as you check them out. But their faces blur together, and none of their responses stick with you for more than a few minutes.

Today was different though.

Today two men walked into the shop. One with shaggy brown hair, deep blue eyes, and a wobbly smile like he’s worried about something, and the other with blonde hair, a beard, and eyes so icy blue you could mistake them for gray.

The one with brown hair takes to the shelves after returning your greeting. He scans them for a little bit, checking around the displays as well before coming up to you at the checkout counter.

“Hi.. again.” You look up, but he’s avoiding eye contact, looking everywhere but you, “Do you guys have any books not based not on real stuff?”

You nod along with him, “Yeah, of course. All of our upstairs section is for fiction books.”

“O-oh. Thank you.” And he’s moving away, looking like he’s sizing up the stairs ahead of him.

You feel a little bad for the guy - the guy he’s with is just standing at the door, and he seems unsure about everything.

Your better judgement fails, putting a tab in your textbook so you don’t lose your place, “Are you looking for anything specific?”

“Ummm.. Not really? Just - anything fictional.” He’s starting up the stairs before he remembers something and continues his response, “And a series. Something with a lot of books.”

You smile at him, a general customer service smile but it’s softened by the want to be kind to this man, “The Maze Runner is pretty good. Five books in the series.”

With a final nod, he’s up the stairs and it’s just you and the blonde man. You think about asking if you could help him with anything, but any normal person would have already looked around if they wanted to.

They both look familiar. Not excessively, but similar to someone who you would see walking around campus but never had classes with. Like the friend of one of your friends, who only shows up once in a blue moon.

You can’t place them before the brown haired man comes back with a book.

He hands, not places down, hands, you a book. Upon glancing at it, you see he picked your recommendation.

“I think you’ll like it, I was really into it when I read it for the first time.” You scan the book, placing it with the front cover down onto the simple brown packing paper you picked out this morning.

“I think so too. You would be the expert after all,” He huffs out a laugh at the end of his sentence, handing you a credit card to make his payment.

You smile along with him, sealing the book with a ‘Thank you!’ sticker. After the card clears you hand it back to him, along with the book, and send him off with the hope that he enjoys the book.

As he turns around, he motions to his blonde counterpart, and they both head out the door. Before it shuts though, the man turns around one more time leaving you with a ‘Have a good day!’ and a warm feeling in your chest because there really are still good, kind people out there.

Unlike the normal clientele that you see, you think about this man for the rest of your shift.

He was attractive, so you’d almost doubt that he didn’t have a girlfriend. Or maybe even a boyfriend, but there’s no way that was the blonde man. He seemed more like a bodyguard…?

He was also kind. He might not have been confident, but that didn’t take away from his other redeeming qualities.

You think mostly about the fact that he took your recommendation. He didn’t ask for one, so it’s truly surprising that he took what you said into consideration. Paired with the fact that he spent a decent amount of time up there, seemingly pondering his options, just to come back with your recommendation still.

It’s a shame that you’ll probably never see him again. People usually don’t have the time to keep stopping by the same bookshop in this city. Assuming he’s the same as everyone else, he’ll just order the next one online and call it a day.

—

You’re almost immediately proven wrong. Just three days later, the same shaggy haired, blue eyed man walks back into the bookshop.

This time, he’s accompanied by a woman. They greet you, ask how your day is going, then venture upstairs.

You eye them more than you’d like to admit. Trying to figure out these two, the woman is clearly more invested in him than his blonde companion had been.

She's got black hair, green eyes, and an accent. Exotic.

She stands with him as he browses, inputting her opinion, giving suggestions. Ventures off by herself for a minute before coming back with a book, you assume to recommend it.

Maybe this is the girlfriend. The one who gets to go home and call him her own. By your guesstimate, they’ve only been dating for a little while. Too many boundaries between them to be a really established, committed relationship.

Eventually, you go back to your textbook. Reducing its value every time you annotate, a highlight to show importance, and a note to explain why exactly it's important.

As you're figuring out how you want to color code this set of flashcards, someone gently clears their throat in front of you.

You look up to see the ocean eyed man. He’s smiling at you, soft like he doesn’t want to scare you off.

“Hey, find everything alright?” You’re standing now, resting your folded arms across the counter.

He nods as he responds, “Yeah, yeah everything was findable.”

His girlfriend wasn’t beside him anymore, instead she's perusing around the displays about ways to drastically improve your life.

When he hands you the book, you see it’s ‘The Scorch Trials’, the second book in the series you recommended. Guess they spent all that time up there just to flirt.

You scan it, placing it face down on the same brown packing paper as the last book, “Am I safe to assume that you enjoyed the first one?”

“Y-yeah, I didn’t think Alby would die like that. Y’know? He felt like the glue and then boom! He was gone.”

It’s sweet. He’s not afraid to show his joy from the story. Accentuation his ‘boom’ with his hands, and, holding eye contact.

“Me either. My favorite is Newt though, so I’m just happy he made it out of the maze.” You’ve sealed the book with a ‘Have a great day!’ sticker, and then you’re handing it back.

“I don’t have a favorite yet, but I’ll keep Newt in mind! He seems like a good guy.” And then his girlfriend is back at his side, ushering him out the door. He yells a ‘Have a good rest of your day!’ over his shoulder, and then they’re disappearing into the busy New York sidewalk.

You wonder if he’ll finish the second one as fast as the first one. Though, you hoped not.

You wouldn’t be working that day and even if he had a girlfriend he was still a breath of fresh air that you wouldn’t want to miss the chance to inhale.

Maybe you’d go find a dandelion to wish on after your shift. But then again, he’s just a man. You don’t even know his name for God’s sake.

Yeah, no dandelion for you.

—

Sunday is the universal reset day. Least you’d think so. You bring your laundry down to your apartment building's laundry room, let it start to do its thing in the washer then head out.

First grabbing a coffee at the cute coffee shop a couple of blocks down. You swear they make the best macchiatos.

Then you’re on your way to the grocery store. Getting the most important things first; Greens and proteins. Then the things important to your heart like carbs and cheese, ice cream if it’s weather permitting. Then everything else, from snacks to garbage bags, to dryer sheets, to a new mascara, or maybe even some flowers.

The trick was getting everything you needed, but not too much that it became difficult to haul home. Today was not one of the days that you got the ratio right.

Maybe you bought too many snacks, but you’ve got a hell of a lot of assignments due this week and that permits a hell of a lot of snacking.

Thankfully, you brought a nearly empty backpack with you, so you’re able to stash some groceries in there and not kill your wrists. It doesn’t help much though, by the time you make it to the elevator your fingers are throbbing and turning white from the lack of circulation.

You put away the refrigerated and frozen items before making your way down the stairs. Gotta burn your calories somehow.

After switching your laundry from the washer to the dryer, you head back upstairs. Starting in the living room you put away stray books, highlighters, pens, and papers. Straighten up the couch by fluffing the cushions, and folding the blankets before grabbing any cups or mugs that may have been left out and bringing them to the kitchen.

You go through the dishes fast, most of them being able to fit into the dishwasher. Then it's putting away the rest of the groceries, and wiping down the counters.

The bathroom and bedroom are tidied up daily so besides changing the sheets, you forgo taking care of them. Instead vacuuming so that you can just put on a movie and fold your clothes before making dinner.

You can barely hear your phone going off from where it rests on your kitchen counter. It gets ignored though, probably just one of your parents checking in, worried because you’ve been swamped with school. You can just text them back before you start folding.

After the vacuum is shut down, and properly stored in your coat closet, you head back downstairs to retrieve your laundry.

The basket goes between the couch and the coffee table, ensuring you have enough space to section out all your clothes. But you still have to pick a movie. Something you’ve seen before, so you won’t get distracted. Yet still something interesting, so you don’t give up on your laundry halfway through and leave it all around your apartment.

By the time you remember your phone and the aforementioned text from your parents, you’re about thirty minutes into ‘Madagascar’. The thought of leaving it, and continuing with your progress passes through your mind. And you mull over the idea for a few minutes. But then you remember that not everyone has parents that care about them, and you push yourself off the couch to go get your phone.

When you turn it on while walking back to the couch, you notice that it wasn’t from your parents. Instead you're met with a message from Tasha, your coworker. Maybe the shop ran out of a popular book? Or a customer wanted to return a, clearly, read book again.

Opening the chat, you see that it’s neither of those.

Tasha: Some guy came in today asking about you

What guy could come in asking about you? Would this be your chance to meet some millionaire who’d pay for your tuition. God you hoped so. At the very least please let him be hot. Well, hot is an overstatement, let him be not horrid to look at.

You’d never know if you didn’t ask though, so you type out a quick reply before sitting back on your couch, digging your hand back into the laundry basket.

Y/n: What guy?

The response is nearly instantaneous.

Tasha: GIRL

Tasha: YOU TOOK

Tasha: SO LONG

Y/n: mb, yk sunday is my reset

Y/n: left my phone on the counter while folding clothes so i didn’t lose my flow

Tasha: does NOT matter

Tasha: he was FINE

Tasha: TALL

Tasha: DARK HAIR

A tall, dark haired man was asking for you? That’s like - half the businessmen in New York. She’d need to be more specific.

Y/n: you gotta gimme sumn else

Y/n: thats like half the people who come in

Tasha: like long dark hair

Tasha: blue eyes

You start typing before you can really think about the implications.

Y/n: did he get a maze runner book??

Tasha: yeah

Tasha: so who is he

It’s comical how Tasha thinks that he’s interested in you. It’d be nice if he was. You’d definitely accept a date with him if he ever offered. But you’re not a homewrecker.

Y/n: just a nice dude who doesn’t treat staff like theyre garbage

Y/n: he’s got a girl tho, she came w him last time

It’s getting late, and you’ve fallen behind on your mental schedule. You’ll start dinner while you finish up your conversation, then after you eat you can finish your laundry and head to bed.

Getting up you take out the ground beef you bought just a few hours ago. Splitting it into two portions you put one half in a ziploc bag and stuff it in your freezer before putting the other half into a pan to brown. As you’re opening a can of crushed tomatoes, your phone dings with a new message.

Tasha: idk

Tasha: didnt seem like he did when he was describing you

You shake your head as you start adding seasonings to your beef. Also putting a pot of water to boil before wiping your hands to respond.

Y/n: hes just nice

Y/n: dont read into it

Y/n: see u tuesday girly

Then your phone ends up on do not disturb. You’ve got to finish these chores if you want to be able to properly focus on your studies.

Unfortunately you think about Tasha’s texts until you crawl into bed. She was adamant that he was feeling you in at least one sense of the word. The idea makes your cheeks warm. Not much, since it would just be a delusion, but enough for you to recognize the familiar flush.

Next time you see him, you’ve got to block the messages out of your mind. Otherwise you’d make a fool out of yourself. He had a girlfriend, and you’d respect that.

Plus, he didn’t even know your name! How could he have any sort of feeling for you without knowing your name? You supposed it could be similar to how you’ve got a flutter in your chest when you see him, but that’d be dumb, men don’t think that way.

—

You’re hunched over your laptop, typing up a storm when you hear the bell jingle. It doesn’t stop you from typing, you’ve got a flow going and you wouldn’t stop it for the world.

When your half-hearted greeting is replied to by a known voice you freeze. It’s brief, so you hope he doesn’t notice, but it still happens. Then you’re back to typing, throwing a ‘let me know if you need anything!’ in his general direction.

Truth be told, you were just typing mumbo-jumbo. Trying to manifest a proper thought that would never come. You wanted to look up. See if he had come by himself today, or if he had brought his girlfriend along. But curiosity killed the cat, and living in the fantasy that he could possibly like you, was far too nice to trade.

You switch from typing on your personal laptop, to typing on the shop’s pc. If you weren’t going to be productive with your essay, you could at least be productive by ordering some much needed stock.

That’s the only reason you switched. Not because you wanted to take a look around the shop. Not because the flutter in your chest was still happening, minutes after just speaking to him. And most certainly not because you remembered, curiosity may have killed the cat, but satisfaction brought it back.

You wanted it to be conspicuous. Nonchalant. Just a casual glance around the shop to make sure no one was stealing anything.

However, a shout made you spring your head up. Staring directly at the man you're infatuated with, and his companion for the day. A tall man, with a graying beard.

He really has no shortage of friends. All different shapes and sizes too.

“Sorry!” He’s waving at you, an embarrassed look overtaking his features.

Before you can tell him that there’s no need to apologize his friend is speaking, loudly, again “Why do you apologize? We do nothing wrong, nothing.”

“Because! It’s a bookshop, and it was quiet. Silent even! Before you shouted.” He’s whisper shouting, trying to make his point in the quietest way possible.

Huffing out a laugh, you go back to your essay. Even with nobody else in the shop, this guy still has the manners to not want to mess up the vibe. Maybe he has a twin you could get with.

You barely hear from the two again until they're right up in front of you. Your ears pick up on ‘Alexi’ and ‘over there’, before you’re approached by ocean eyes himself.

“Hi. Sorry again, about him.” It looks like he’s rocking on his feet a little bit, but you’re not tall enough to be sure. “ He - uh. He’s not the best in social settings.”

“Ah, I see. So. What’re you getting today?” Your hands are out, like a child waiting to accept a present.

He places ‘The Kill Order’ in your hands. “Newt died. You kinda gaslit me into believing he was a safe favorite character.”

The way he says it is flat. It makes you worry a bit, and he’s looking at you straight faced like he’s really got a bone to pick. “My bad! He really was my favorite. Even though he kicked the bucket. I didn’t think you’d really pay more attention to him if I mentioned it.”

You hope your apology is taken seriously. Your eyebrows are creased, eyes conveying your sincerness, at least you hope they are. But then he’s laughing. Why is he laughing?

“Sorry, I - I wasn’t serious. I did think he was a safe character to like but I thought it’d be funny to pull your leg a little.” Oh. Thank god he wasn’t really upset.

Then you’re laughing a little bit along with him, “You got me. I’ll give you that.” You scan the book, proceeding along with the same routine as always. This time you’re wrapping it in a deep burgundy packing paper, sticking it with a ‘Come again soon!’ sticker before handing it back.

“Don’t take this the wrong way,” He raises his eyes to meet yours when you start speaking, “but you read a lot.”

“I’ve got a lot of time on my hands. It’s nice to be immersed in a different world sometimes.”

“Gotcha. Well it was nice to see you again…” You trail off, hoping he takes the hint and gives you his name.

“Oh - Bob, I-I’m Bob. What’s your name?” He’s back to avoiding eye contact. But he hasn’t moved away from the counter yet, so he can’t be that uncomfortable.

You give him your name, and he repeats it. Trying it out on his tongue, figuring out the syllables and the way to say them that makes them sound best. Then he’s leaving, well, more like getting dragged out.

His huge friend has an arm wrapped around his shoulders and he’s walking with a purpose that Bob can’t resist.

As they start to make their way down the street, Bob spares you a grin and a wave through the window.

You wonder when he’ll finish that book. When he’ll be back and you’ll get to look into his eyes again. When you’ll get to dream about how soft his hair is.

As long as you’re on shift you couldn’t care less though.

—

This goes on for a few months. Bob comes in, always with a companion, picks out a book from a series you’ve recommended. The two of you crack a couple of jokes, or Bob asks you about your studies. And then he’s gone for a few days.

Sometimes he doesn’t show up at all. Usually just for a few days, which wouldn’t be bad but it's abnormal for him. Once in a blue moon it's for a or over a week, he never explains, just apologizes.

His companions are always one of 6 people. They fluctuate, sometimes the same person joining him two times in a row, sometimes they rotate like a wheel and you don’t see the same person for a few weeks.

Then they stop coming. Well not entirely. But they stop coming inside. At first they just stand outside the shop, lingering just outside the door.

Eventually they start to ‘drop’ Bob off. Walk with him till they get to the shop, the two of them exchange a few words, then Bob walks in, and his companion walks off.

They make sure to pick him up after. It’s always on their time though. Bob will come in, pick out his book, check out, and then talk to you the rest of the time.

It’s all basic conversation, favorite colors, what drew you to get your degree, why you chose NYU over something closer to home, favorite ice cream flavor, what Florida was like.

It seems silly to assume that he likes you. But it seems even sillier to assume that he doesn’t. No way would he waste all this time just to not care at all.

He still asks Tasha about you when you’re not there. She thinks you two are a match made in heaven. Well as close to one as she can get without really knowing him. But he’s attractive, attracted to you, you say he's kind, so what’s not to like.

You see Bob and his female blonde companion, Yelena you think her name is, talking outside the shop. You can’t hear them, but you can see Bob wringing his fingers together and Yelena putting her hands on his shoulders, giving him a decent shake.

Then it’s like something in Bob shifts, and he gains confidence. Looking into her eyes he smiles a bit, not too much, but enough for it to be noticeable. And he's turning around, and opening the door to the shop.

“Good morning, how’s it going?” He’s smiling, looking directly at you.

You can tell he’s really taking you in. How you did your hair, the sweater that you’re wearing, maybe he even notices the mascara you put on just on the hope that you’d see him today.

“Good, how’s it going with you?”

He’s not moving from the counter, still studying you. “It’s good. Hopefully it’ll be better in a minute.” The look on your face, warm, comforting, understanding, interested, encourages him to continue. “I was hoping you’d maybe…” Bob has to take a breath to steady himself, “W-would you get coffee with me sometime?”

It takes you a few seconds to process. Bob wants to get coffee with you? Like as in a date? You’ve been dreaming about this for months. When you’re done thinking it through, the giddiness gets to you.

Beaming at him, “Of course. I would love to get coffee with you Bob.”

“Really?” His mouth is gaping a little, like he really thought you’d reject him.

“Really. I’m not working on Thursday if that works for you?” You really hope that there aren’t hearts in your eyes. The blush on your cheeks is prominent, you can feel it, and it would be embarrassing if Bob didn’t have a matching one.

“Thursdays gre-perfect. It’s perfect.”

You’re discussing which cafe to go to before you shoo Bob away to go pick out his book. God forbid Yelena comes back and he still hasn’t checked out.

There’s a pleasant warmth in your chest when he leaves. And you’re light, like every stress has been lifted away. Maybe it’s adrenaline from your crush being reciprocated, or maybe it’s the bloom of puppy love, either way it's welcomed.

—

When Thursday rolls around, you’re more energized than ever. Practically bouncing around your apartment as you get ready. Using the same body wash, and lotion so the scent really sticks.

Putting on makeup, not too much, but enough so that it enhances your face and gives you some extra ‘shine’.

You also make sure to dress comfortable, cute, but comfortable. You’ve only seen Bob outside of his sweaters a handful of times, and you doubt that a coffee shop date would be the spot he decides to bring out all the stops.

Wait. What if he doesn’t see this as a date. Maybe he just wanted to become friends with you outside your job. Wanted to add onto his never ending revolving companions to accompany him around on his errands.

No. That’s not right. Bob wouldn’t do that, anyone would have to know that would be leading you on and he doesn’t have the hate in him to do that. No way.

When you get there, Bob’s already sitting down at a table. He’s people watching, looking out the window at all the unsuspecting people passing by.

His hair looks like he styled it instead of letting it do it’s own thing, and he's got a comfy crew-neck on. The slopes of his nose and lips and the way that his lashes lightly brush his cheekbones when he blinks. He’s beautiful like this, unfortunate that you have to break up his peace.

You slide into the chair across from him, “Hey.”

He’s smiling at you, one of the biggest you’ve seen, “How was the walk?”

“Not bad, a little chilly but that’s nothing new.”

“Well, let me get you a drink to warm up, yeah?”

You give him your order, and then he’s gone. Up at the counter in a flash, and seemingly back in even less time.

Like a proper gentleman he hands you yours first. His hand was a little too big on the mug, leaving you no choice but to brush your fingers against his as you go to grip it. Believe it or not, it’s the first time you’ve touched.

Suddenly, the world is being painted black. It’s creeping up all around you, spreading from where you stand, up the walls, to the ceiling. For a split second it’s just you in this neverending black box.

Then you’re in the backseat of your first ever car. “How the hell?” You’re looking around, trying to figure out how you could have possibly gotten here. You were just with Bob, at a cafe, on your first date.

Then you start murmuring. Not you you, but the younger you, the one sitting in the front seat. She’s talking about how tiring it is being perfect, doing everything that everyone ever asks, always being the one that people know they can rely on, or at the very least fall back on to talk shit about others to. And before you can even finish your rant your fathers screaming back at you. How he owns the house, he lives in the house, he bought your car, he provides everything and asks for so little back.

You feel the tears before you recognize that you're crying. But you hear her sobs. The way her chest shakes with every breath, the way it's painful to inhale. How the hell did you get here, and why can’t you just get out?

The screaming doesn’t stop, it keeps going, getting progressively worse. You’re clearly ungrateful, and you need to remember your place. When you get your own place, then you can have the thoughts and feelings that you’re currently having. Until then suck it up.

You try to leave, opening the door of the car, but you can’t, you have too much respect for your father.

The adult you is staring. This was the whole reason you left home after all. All the talk about having a place of your own, the arguments over the way you kept your room, or didn’t clean a specific area of the house.

It ends with the sound of you sobbing still. Worse than before. Your airways are already compromised with the snot blocking it, and the way you’re trying to suppress the sobs is only making it worse.

And then it’s melting away. In the same way that it started, but in reverse. The scene fades to black, the ceiling gets its color back first. The rest of the scene coming into view, Bob staring at you is the last thing you register.

“I-i-i’m so, so sorry. Are you okay?” He’s worried, the stutter proving your thoughts. But how does he know something is wrong? You didn’t see anyone else in there with you, just your own personal hell.

“Did.. Did you do that?” You’re trying to piece together this puzzle. No way that you slice or dice it does it look good.

His eyes are frantic, you think that’s what tipped you off, “I. I did. I didn’t mean to though! I promise it was an accident.”

Then you’re pushing past him. Not slowing down as he calls after you. When you make it to the sidewalk, you book it.

What the hell?

What was wrong with him?

What was wrong with you?

How did he even do that?

Did he bring you out on a date just to humiliate you?

Maybe that’s what you deserve, his girl friends probably told him to do it. Even if you don’t understand how it worked, it would make sense; embarrass you to the point where you’d never bother him again.

—

You take the next week off of work. Any shift you can, you give to Tasha. The shifts that you do work, because you need money to live, are the afternoons. Just a few hours, essentially in and out.

As long as no one sells you out, Bob would never know and would never come during that time.

You told Tasha that the date went bad, but that was all you had disclosed. You hoped she’d be kind enough not to meddle.

She did inform you that he came in often, almost everyday, looking for you. He’d asked when you’d be working next, Tasha told him it was illegal for her to tell him.

He’d left notes with Tasha, and she passed them along. Just for you to toss them in the bin. The one at work, so you wouldn’t be tempted to dig through the trash and see what he wrote.

He asked what you liked, if there was a gift card or book he could get you to apologize. Tasha told him to kick rocks.

She did let you know that he looked awful. His hair was messy, tousled beyond its normal amount; like he spends all day running his hands through it.

His eyes had bags under them. They were extremely sunken in, and had a purplish hue to them. His eyes themselves were red, sometimes puffy, most times half-lidded, like opening them took too much energy.

He was almost always sniffling. His nose red from irritation. You told her this had to have been allergies, Tasha insisted it was from crying.

And lastly, his hands. Always fidgeting. Picking at his nail beds, wringing around each other, or cracking his knuckles.

Bob looked worn down. His body, mind and soul. But what did Tasha want you to do about it, it’s not your fault.

—

It’s another week later when a blonde walks into the shop.

You take a glance at the clock on your computer before speaking, “Hey, just wanted to let you know that we close in a half-an-hour. Take your time though.”

“I’m actually here for you.”

That sends a chill down your spine. This is New York so it wouldn’t be completely unheard of to be taken hostage. But you haven’t done anything and you have essentially no value, so why are they here for you?

For the first time, you really look at the person in front of you. You know her. Not entirely sure from where, but she’s familiar in a way.

You take the non-threatening approach, donning a soft smile before you speak, “Yeah of course. What can I do for you?”

She’s staring at you, and you swear she hasn’t blinked once. It’s like she’s staring through your soul.

“Bob told me that he sent you to a shame room.”

“What?” Breath catching in your throat. You remember her now, Yelena. Bob’s most frequent companion. Maybe if you can keep your cool, you’ll get off easy.

“On your date. At the place that does the uhhh, latte art?” Yelena’s still holding eye contact.

You’re really trying not to sweat, “Oh. Yeah, what about it?”

“You’ve been ignoring him since.”

You can’t deny it. You literally switched shifts just so you wouldn’t have to see him. So you nod, hoping that suffices.

“He didn’t mean to. He can’t control it.”

What is she even talking about, “Sorry? Can’t control what?”

“The shame room. Where you went when he touched you?” You hum a bit in response before she continues, “He can’t control that. He’s been good for months, so he thought he could get through a date, with you, safely.”

You don’t understand though. Why can’t he control that? Why can he do that, period. It’s not normal but Bob’s definitely not a superhero that you’ve seen on your TV before.

“Why.. Why can he do that?” If she’s gonna corner you here, you’re at least gonna ask some questions too.

“It’s a long story, not mine to tell. But I’m sure Bob would tell you. If you let him.” Then she’s turning, heading straight for the door.

That’s it?

That’s all she had to say?

What, was she trying to scare you into talking to him?

Your heart ached. You thought he liked you, thought he had maybe cared for you like you cared for him. And it’s okay if he didn’t but why did he have to make it the most painful way possible?

—

You don’t get much sleep that night. Tossing and turning as you replay the past few months in your head. Bob was a lot of things, but he wasn’t the type to be malicious. Not the type to purposefully torture others.

And you doubt he sent Yelena after you. She probably just saw him hurting and decided to step in. Completely understandable, and in its own way that hurt too.

It hurt because it meant that Bob was hurting. He missed you as much as you missed him. And he’s had much less context for why you’re avoiding him.

You decide you’ll go to the shop in the morning. Hang out with Tasha and maybe, if you’re lucky, run into Bob.

—

You manage to fall asleep, not for long but it's better than nothing. The anxiety you have is making you shake.

Whether it's your hands, your arms, or your legs, somethings been moving all morning.

To calm yourself, you take the long way. Make a stop at a cafe, getting Tasha a coffee as well since you’re an amazing coworker.

When you come up on the bookshop, you can see Bob through the window.

While you can’t see his face, you know he’s not 100%.

His shoulders are slouching, caving in on himself it seems. He’s saying something to Tasha, trying to get her to accept another note by the looks of it.

The jingle of the bell above the door makes both of them freeze.

Tasha’s eyes widen, recognition that you’re finally facing the music flashing through them. And that must be what makes Bob turn around.

He turns slowly. Eyes slowly roaming over your body before finally landing on your face. His mouth falls open, not a lot, but enough to be noticeable.

Then his lower lip starts to wobble, tears gathering over his waterline making his eyes glassy, and he’s moving towards you.

Slow, unsure steps lead him to a few feet in front of you. His hands move over your shoulders, not daring to touch you, but hovering close enough for you to just barely feel their warmth.

“I’m so,so,so, sorry. I’ve been working on it, and I just..” He swallows before continuing, not breaking eye contact, “I feel so calm. Like - like I’m at peace, when I’m around you, so I thought it wouldn’t happen. I thought I could break it to you slowly, a-after you accepted a second date.”

You’re just standing there. The damn coffee you got prevents you from wringing your hands, and it’s difficult to bounce your legs when standing.

The urge to back away from him is strong. But you can tell he’s trying, you can tell that he wants you to believe him.

When Bob realizes you aren’t going to respond, he continues, “I thought it would be too heavy, you know? To tell you about all of this baggage that I have. Thought that if I told you, everything would change.”

“A warning would have been nice.” You’re not looking at him anymore, instead staring at your shoes. It’s a shame you didn’t trip on your lace on the way here, then you wouldn’t have had to come.

“I know.” Bob sighs, “I know that now. And if I could go back, I would have told you. Warned you even if I ended up being the boy that cried wolf.”

You see his hands retract, no longer hovering over your shoulders. You don’t understand why he pulls his sleeves over his hands. But then he’s placing his, now covered, hands on your shoulders. The grip he has is strong, but not painful, “I need you to know. I didn’t do it on purpose. I’d never do anything to hurt you. Intentionally at least.”

“So you’d do it unintentionally?”

You’re being difficult. Intentionally. Mostly because he’s not making sense, what type of scumbag says he’d never hurt you intentionally. That’s like the bare minimum.

“There’s… A lot to explain. I’ll explain it all, if you’ll let me!” He’s leaning a bit now, bending at the knees to get a look into your eyes.

When you do meet his eyes, you can see the sincerity. They haven’t stopped glistening, still shiny with unshed tears. But it looks like he wants you to look into his soul, to understand that from deep in his core he is apologetic.

A scumbag wouldn’t do that. They wouldn’t have covered their hands to prevent touching you. They wouldn’t have been trying so hard to get in contact with you.

So you nod.

You’ve agreed to meet him again. Not on a date, but for some answers.

He wants to do it today.

You tell him that you need time. To process or prepare, you’re not sure. But you know you need time.

Your feelings about him haven’t had the proper time to dissipate, so a small part of you still hopes that everything could work out.

—

When you do come around and text Bob that you’re ready to talk. His response comes almost immediately.

You invite him to your apartment. It’s more intimate than you would like, however it would save you the embarrassment of how you would end up if he were to send you to a ‘shame room’ again.

When Bob gets there, he's nervous. Just a little twitchy, not too much but enough to be noticeable.

He’s brought pastries. Something about his mother telling him to ‘never show up empty handed’ tumbles from his lips as he hands them to you.

You offer him a drink, like this is just going to be a fun catch up between pals.

Not sure what to expect, you lead Bob to your dining room table. It’s a good space to have this conversation, not too comfortable like the couch, but not too formal like standing near the door.

“So -” You can barely get it out of your mouth before Bob starts spilling his life story to you.

He doesn’t go too deep into any one topic, but he makes sure that you can paint a clear picture in your mind.

He had a rough childhood, never close with either of his parents. That led him to drugs, which then ebbed into addiction.

The addiction sent him all around the world, sometimes trying to get better, most times trying to find more, better, different drugs.

He ended up in Malaysia, they offered him a test run of some new drug. One that would make him ‘better’.

Everyone could be better, him more than others.

But then there's a blank slate in his memory. No recollection of what happened after they gave him the drug.

Until he ends up in some bunker with 3 of his 6 companions. They escaped together and have been working to make the world a ‘better place’.

“Wait. What do you mean you've been ‘working to make the world a better place’?” It’s the first time you’ve spoken since he went on his tangent, and Bob looks surprised that you had something to say.

“Well, they do. Not me, I focus on… Communications mostly. Because I don’t have a good enough grasp on my powers yet.”

“And what exactly do they do?”

“It’s uh - Classified?”

You scoff, “Classified..? What do you think you are? The Avengers?”

After you mutter your rhetorical question, Bob looks away.

“No way. You’re an Avenger?”

“Technically.” His heads down, leaving you to stare at his scalp instead of his eyes.

“And all the people you came into the shop with? They’re Avengers too?”

“Yeah. They’re more flashy. I’m kind of surprised you didn’t recognize them, to be honest.” He huffs out a laugh, seemingly glad that you’re actually taking part in the conversation now.

Your response is quiet, “It’s a psychological thing.”

Bob hums in response, urging you to continue.

“When you see someone, like a superhero, out of where your brain assumes they would be, most times you miss it. Some of your friends looked familiar, but I couldn’t place where I saw them, until now.”

“That’s… Wow, I never knew that.” Bob’s looking at you with a bit of awe in his eyes.

But then he’s straight back to business.

He tells you about how before, his bad days were bad and he’d black out. But now after the treatment, another, worse side of him has awakened.

That’s how he transported you into one of your worst memories.

“At least one person from the team stayed with me, all the time. That’s how it was when I first met you.” Bob’s tapping his fingers against the table, in a slow rhythmic pattern, “But then I wanted to take you out. And who goes on a date with a chaperone when we’re adults, right?”

“Yeah, right.” You’re laughing at him, or maybe with him.

“So, I started working on containing my powers more. Working on making them my own, so that I could be by myself. M-more like so I could be alone with you.”

“Just with me?”

He’s nodding, “Just with you. And it went really good! To the point where I could go out on all sorts of different errands by myself.”

His cup has started to sweat. All the condensation building up on it from being untouched this whole time. Because you care about your well loved table, you reach across and lift his cup before placing it on a coaster. It slows him down for a second before he can continue.

“It was the nerves. O-or at least I think it was the nerves. I don’t know for sure what causes it; nobody does.”

“So, you being nervous about being on a date made you send me to my own personal hell?”

“Being on a date, with you specifically, yes.”

The way he’s opened up to you has greatly increased your trust in him.

If everything he’s saying was true, he had a bad deal in life and he’s doing the best with what he’s got. The Bob you knew did have some confidence problems, taking a while to open up to you originally so it wouldn't be surprising that he would be nervous.

It also wouldn’t be surprising that him being nervous would send his powers out of wack. There’s been articles about it before, how super powered individuals don’t realize the way their emotions are affecting their powers before it’s too late.

And if he’s lying. You’d have to give him a shot for just how damn good of a lie it was. No one could lie that good without a purpose.

So you reach across the table, towards Bob’s fidgeting hand. His eyes aren’t looking up so you only know that he sees you when his fingers stop tapping.

“I want to try.” You gulp and take a steadying breath, “I’d like to try with you if I didn’t put you off too much.”

You’re not touching him. Even though you would be the one suffering, it only felt right for him to make the first move. Not wanting to overstep by triggering his powers again.

After a couple of seconds he still hasn’t moved. Hasn’t looked up at you, hasn’t grasped your hand, hasn’t even twitched his fingers.

Then, softly, like if he speaks too loud the room would crack around him, “Are you sure?”

“Yeah. Yeah I’m sure.”

Slowly, his hand rises up to meet yours. When they connect nothing changes.

No black tendrils crawling up your walls, no darkness consuming you with no escape, no flashbacks to things you don’t want to remember.

The only thing you feel is the warmth from Bob’s hand. The calluses on his palm, small, but still present. You feel the tender way his thumb brushes over your knuckles.

Once he realizes that nothing’s happening, he grips your hand tighter. It seems unconscious, the surprise from nothing bad happening overtaking him before he can stop it.

He’s beaming at you. A kiddish smile, one that allows all the joy to really shine through.

You’re no better. Smiling so wide that if you didn’t stop, your cheeks would start to hurt.

Everyone has baggage, some of them more than others. But that doesn’t mean that anyone is undeserving. Doesn’t mean that you shouldn’t give someone a chance to prove that they can be more than their baggage.

You wouldn’t deprive yourself of this opportunity. Wouldn’t be so unkind to deprive Bob of it either. So with the promise that he would be honest with you. That he would communicate to you, the good and the bad, no matter what. You and Bob start your relationship.

Moving over to the couch, finally able to be comfortable, instead of cordial. The two of you settle into a movie, sitting close. Close enough to touch, but not actually touching.

Until halfway through, when your head comes to rest on his shoulder, and the blanket that you have resting on the back of the couch comes to rest over your laps.

Your curiosity over Bob may have ‘killed’ you, sending you into a week-long depression for many different reasons. Leading to you shutting out the world, not willing to accept the fact that you were wrong about him.

But the way that you’re feeling right now. Feeling Bob lifting his arm to wrap around your shoulders, letting your head fall onto his chest instead of his shoulder. Hearing his heart thumping in his chest, almost lulling you to sleep.

You know that this is satisfaction. It’s bloomed deep in your chest, taking a permanent residence there. Deeply rooted like it's attached to every neuron in you. And you know that it’s brought you back.

likes/comments/reblogs give me buffs to my character (greatly appreciated <3)

#bob reynolds #bob reynolds imagine #bob reynolds x reader #bob reynolds x you #marvel x reader #robert reynolds #robert reynolds imagine #robert reynolds x reader #thunderbolts x reader #thunderbolts #thunderbolts*#bob reynolds angst #bob reynolds x reader angst #bob reynolds x reader fluff #slowburn

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aventurineswife · 5 months ago

Note

Hello, I just had the cutest idea, for Jing Yuan, Blade, Sunday, and Jiaoqiu, what if the reader dressed up their toddler in a mini version of their father's outfit, ngl lie I think that would be so cute.

Little Reflections

Tags: Jing Yuan x Reader, Blade x Reader, Sunday x Reader, Jiaoqiu x Reader, Fluff, Family Bonding, Domestic Moments, Miniature Costumes, Parental Love, Tender Interactions, Slice of Life.

Jing Yuan lounged on a garden bench in the Luofu’s arboretum, a cup of tea balanced delicately in his hand. The peaceful atmosphere seemed to mirror his unhurried demeanor. Despite his reputation as the "Dozing General," his eyes missed nothing—especially not the sound of small, uneven footsteps heading his way.

He turned his head, a smile tugging at the corner of his lips. You approached, holding the hand of your toddler, who waddled toward him with as much dignity as a two-year-old could muster. Jing Yuan's sharp gaze softened when he noticed what the child was wearing: a perfectly tailored miniature version of his own uniform.

The tiny cape draped over your child’s shoulders fluttered with each step, and the golden accents on their blouse glimmered in the sunlight. Even the nian-inspired armor on their right arm had been lovingly recreated, though made of light fabric instead of metal.

“Look who’s decided to join the Cloud Knights,” Jing Yuan teased, setting down his cup. He crouched and opened his arms as the toddler tottered into his embrace.

“Say hello to General Jing Yuan,” you teased back, watching as the child babbled nonsensical sounds, clearly more interested in tugging at Jing Yuan's ponytail ribbon than any formality.

Jing Yuan chuckled, adjusting the red ribbon so it wouldn’t be pulled loose. “I must say, this little knight already looks the part. Who made this for them?”

“I had some help from the tailors,” you admitted. “But the design is all mine. Do you like it?”

Jing Yuan stood, cradling the toddler in one arm while placing a hand on your shoulder with the other. “Like it? I love it. Though I think they might upstage me at the next council meeting.”

You laughed. “Well, maybe they’ll share the workload, too.”

Jing Yuan smirked, looking down at the child now trying to gnaw on the tassel hanging from their hip. “Perhaps. But for now, I’ll enjoy having both of my little stars by my side.”

Blade was rarely one to let emotions show, but when he stepped into your living quarters and saw your toddler standing proudly in the middle of the room, even he paused.

The child was dressed in a miniature version of Blade’s attire, complete with a tiny replica of his tailcoat. The red inner lining peeked out with every wobbling step they took toward him, and the dark blue embroidery shimmered faintly in the dim light. They even had a bandaged arm and a toy sword strapped to their waist.

“Is this your idea?” Blade asked, his voice soft but laced with curiosity.

You smiled from where you sat nearby, a sewing kit still on the table. “Do you like it? They wanted to look like their papa.”

The child reached Blade and tugged at his coat, their bright red eyes looking up at him expectantly. Blade knelt, his usually piercing gaze softening as he reached out to brush a hand over the child’s head.

“You’ve done well,” he murmured, though it was unclear whether he was speaking to you or the toddler.

The child giggled, gripping the toy sword and thrusting it forward with all their might. “Fight bad guys!” they announced, their high-pitched voice echoing in the room.

Blade chuckled—a rare, genuine sound that you hadn’t heard in a long time. “You’ll need a lot more training for that.”

You approached, resting a hand on Blade’s shoulder. “I thought it might make you smile. Do you like it?”

He stood, the child now perched on his arm, their small hands gripping his coat. “I do,” he admitted quietly. “It’s...perfect.”

Sunday was deep in thought when you entered his study, guiding your toddler into the room. His sharp eyes shifted from his documents to the sight before him, and he froze.

The child wore a small version of his regal Halovian outfit, complete with a tiny halo hovering above their head—a clever accessory you’d crafted using lightweight materials. The gold cross-shaped cutouts on their gloves and the navy wing-like vest were lovingly recreated, and the soft gray blazer hung slightly oversized on their small frame.

“Is this...my little successor?” Sunday’s voice was tinged with amusement, though his piercing gaze softened as he took in the sight.

You grinned. “They wanted to dress like their papa. What do you think?”

The toddler toddled toward him, their hands reaching out to grab at the papers on his desk. Sunday leaned down and scooped them up, careful not to disturb the halo balancing atop their head.

“I think they’re a vision of perfection,” he said, his tone warm. “Though I might need to keep them away from my work.”

The child giggled, their small hands patting Sunday’s face. “Papa!” they exclaimed, clearly delighted to have his attention.

Sunday chuckled, pressing a kiss to their forehead. “Perhaps this is a sign,” he mused, looking at you. “A reminder to step away from work every now and then.”

You smiled. “I thought it might bring some joy to your day.”

“It has,” he said, cradling the child in one arm. “Though I think our little angel might outshine me in this outfit.”

Jiaoqiu sat quietly on the veranda, his feather fan resting on his lap. Despite his blindness, his ears perked up at the sound of light footsteps approaching, accompanied by your soft laughter.

“Who’s there?” he asked gently, his closed eyes tilting toward the noise.

“It’s us,” you replied, guiding your toddler closer. “And we brought a surprise.”

The child toddled forward, their tiny hands gripping the edge of Jiaoqiu’s robes. They were dressed in a miniature version of his healer’s attire, complete with a feather fan of their own. The soft salmon-colored fabric matched Jiaoqiu’s hair perfectly, and their fluffy fox ears twitched with excitement.

Jiaoqiu’s lips curved into a smile as he reached out, his fingers brushing over the child’s outfit. “What’s this?” he murmured.

“They wanted to be like you,” you explained, kneeling beside him. “Do you like it?”

The child climbed onto Jiaoqiu’s lap, giggling as they waved their tiny fan. Jiaoqiu let out a soft laugh, his hands resting gently on the child’s shoulders.

“It’s perfect,” he said, his voice warm. “Though I think they’ll make a better healer than I ever could.”

You leaned against his shoulder, watching as he playfully ruffled the child’s hair. “I just thought it might make you smile.”

Jiaoqiu turned his face toward you, his gentle expression full of gratitude. “It did,” he said quietly. “Thank you—for reminding me that even in the darkness, there is light.”

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rose24207 · 5 months ago

Note

Mafia lando smut where reader was mad at him from an argument the other day, so she spends heaps of money on his bank account. He doesn’t find out till the bank calls to make sure it wasn’t fraud. And he punishes her

Stress Shopping

Summary: After a heated argument, you storm off on a stress-shopping spree with Lando's card, prompting a call from his bank, but the fight ends in heartfelt apologies and a reminder of his love for you.

Genre: Mafia!Lando, angst, fluff

TW: arguing, spending way too much money

A/N: loved the idea but I changed it a little! Hope you don’t mind! English is not my first language. I hope you enjoy it though! Requests are open and welcome!

Masterlist

The sound of the door slamming reverberates through the mansion, shaking the antique fixtures on the walls. You stomp into the grand foyer, your heels clicking sharply against the marble floors, your anger palpable in the air. Lando's sharp voice follows you, his British accent more clipped than usual.

"Don't you dare walk away from me, love!" he barks, his footsteps quick behind yours.

You spin on your heel to face him, eyes blazing with fury. "What do you want me to do, Lando? Stand there and listen while you talk to me like I’m one of your employees? Like I’m beneath you?"

His jaw tightens, the muscles working as he clenches his teeth. He’s wearing that infuriatingly expensive suit you helped him pick out, and right now, you’d love nothing more than to rip it off him—not in the fun way. "I don’t treat you like my employees," he growls. "But I am in charge, and you seem to forget that sometimes."

You laugh bitterly, crossing your arms. "Oh, how could I forget? You love reminding me every chance you get."

Lando rakes a hand through his perfectly styled hair, messing it up slightly. Normally, the sight would make your heart soften, but right now, it only fuels your fire. "You’re being unreasonable," he snaps. "We had an agreement—"

"No, you had an agreement!" you interrupt, your voice rising. "I never agreed to this ridiculous, controlling nonsense, Lando."

His amber eyes flash dangerously. "Watch it," he warns, his voice low now, like a storm about to break. "You’re pushing me, and you know I don’t like being pushed."

But you’re too far gone to care. "And I don’t like being treated like some trophy wife who needs to follow orders. I’m done with this conversation."

Without waiting for his response, you grab your purse from the console table and march toward the front door. His voice chases after you. "Where are you going?"

"Out," you snap. "Don’t wait up."

Before he can stop you, you’re out the door, the evening air cool against your flushed skin.

The mall is your sanctuary. Under the glow of bright lights and the hum of happy chatter, you lose yourself in racks of designer clothing, rows of shoes, and glass cases of sparkling jewelry. Lando's black card burns a comforting weight in your purse, and tonight, you intend to make full use of it.

You start at Chanel, swiping the card for a pair of heels and a matching bag without so much as glancing at the price tag. Next is Cartier, where a sleek watch catches your eye. After that, you make your way to Dior, where a silk gown feels like the perfect antidote to your frustration.

Each purchase soothes the ache in your chest, replacing anger with satisfaction. By the time you leave the mall, your arms are laden with bags, and the backseat of your car is filled to the brim with boxes and tissue paper.

But your phone buzzes just as you’re pulling out of the parking lot. You glance at the screen and see Lando’s name flashing. You don’t answer.

Back at the mansion, Lando is pacing his study, his phone pressed to his ear. The man on the other end clears his throat nervously before speaking. "Mr. Norris, this is Daniel from Barclays. We’ve noticed some unusual activity on your account and wanted to confirm if your card has been compromised."

Lando pinches the bridge of his nose, exhaling sharply. "What kind of activity?" he asks, though he already knows the answer.

"A series of high-value transactions," Daniel replies. "Chanel, Cartier, Dior... altogether totaling a little over seventy thousand pounds. Should we freeze the card?"

Lando smirks despite himself, shaking his head. "No, Daniel," he says, his tone resigned. "It’s just my wife... throwing a tantrum."

There’s a brief silence on the other end. "Ah," Daniel says finally, clearly unsure how to respond. "Very well, sir. Shall we flag the transactions as authorized?"

"Yes," Lando says. "And don’t call again unless it’s life or death."

You return home hours later, your anger dulled by exhaustion and the satisfying sight of your new purchases. You push open the door to the mansion, your arms laden with bags, only to find Lando waiting for you in the foyer. He leans against the staircase, his arms crossed over his chest, his sharp features unreadable.

"Have fun?" he asks, his voice deceptively calm.

You ignore him, stepping past him with your head held high. But before you can make it far, he grabs your wrist, stopping you in your tracks. His grip is firm but not painful, his thumb brushing against your skin.

"Don’t ignore me," he says softly, dangerously.

You whirl around to face him, the fire in your eyes reigniting. "What do you want, Lando? To scold me for spending your money? Go ahead—I’m sure you’ve got plenty of lectures lined up."

He doesn’t rise to the bait, his gaze steady on yours. "It’s not about the money," he says. "You know that."

"Then what is it about?" you demand. "Because I’m tired of fighting with you over every little thing."

His jaw tightens, and for a moment, he says nothing. Then, finally, he speaks. "It’s about us," he says. "About you running off every time we argue instead of dealing with it. You think throwing my money around is going to make things better?"

"It made me feel better," you snap, yanking your wrist out of his grip.

"Fine," he says, his voice cold now. "If that’s what you want—things, clothes, jewelry—then take it all. But don’t pretend it’s going to fix what’s wrong between us."

His words hit harder than you’d like to admit. You stare at him, your chest heaving with the effort of holding back tears. "Maybe if you treated me like your wife instead of your possession, we wouldn’t have these problems," you say quietly.

Something flickers in his eyes—guilt, maybe. But he doesn’t respond, and you don’t wait for him to. You turn on your heel and head upstairs, leaving him standing alone in the foyer.

Hours later, you’re sitting in the walk-in closet, surrounded by your purchases. The excitement you felt earlier has faded, leaving behind a hollow ache. You sigh, running your fingers over the soft fabric of the Dior gown, wondering if you went too far.

A knock at the door startles you, and before you can respond, Lando steps inside. He looks tired, his tie loosened and his hair disheveled. In his hands, he’s holding a small box tied with a black ribbon.

"I brought you something," he says, his voice soft.

You raise an eyebrow. "More things? Haven’t I spent enough of your money today?"

He ignores your sarcasm, setting the box down on the bench beside you. "Open it," he says.

Curious despite yourself, you untie the ribbon and lift the lid. Inside is a delicate necklace, a simple gold chain with a tiny heart-shaped pendant. It’s nothing like the flashy pieces you bought earlier, but somehow, it feels more special.

"It’s not to bribe you," he says quickly, as if reading your mind. "I just... I wanted to remind you that I don’t care about the money or the fights. I care about you.“

You look up at him, your heart softening. "You have a funny way of showing it," you say, though your tone lacks its earlier bite.

He kneels in front of you, his hands resting on your knees. "I know," he admits. "I’m not perfect, and I don’t always know how to handle you when you’re upset. But I’m trying, love. I promise I’m trying."

For a long moment, you say nothing, letting his words sink in. Then, finally, you reach out and cup his cheek, your thumb brushing against his stubble. "I’m sorry too," you say. "I shouldn’t have stormed off like that. It wasn’t fair to either of us."

He leans into your touch, closing his eyes briefly. "So... we’re okay?" he asks, his voice tentative.

You smile softly. "We’re okay."

The next morning, you wake up to find Lando already dressed, his tie perfectly knotted and his usual confidence back in place. He leans over to kiss your forehead, his lips lingering against your skin.

"Breakfast is ready downstairs," he says. "And I told the bank not to call me again if you go on another shopping spree."

You laugh, pulling the covers over your head. "Good. Because I might need a few more things."

He chuckles, his hand brushing against your hair. "Just try not to spend the GDP of a small country next time, yeah?"

You peek out from under the covers, grinning. "No promises."

And for the first time in days, everything feels right again.

Thank you for reading!

#lando norris #lando x reader #lando imagine #lando x you #fluff #angst #mafia!lando #f1 #f1 mafia au #mafia #formula 1 #formula one #rich life #money

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audentiaspacesworld · 3 months ago

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Smart & Functional Kids Study Table Design for a Productive Space

A well-designed kids study table design creates a perfect learning environment for children. It should be ergonomic, clutter-free, and have enough storage to keep books and stationery organized. A good study table enhances focus and comfort, making study time more enjoyable. From compact wall-mounted tables to spacious desks with shelves, there are various designs to suit every need. Choose a study table that blends style with functionality to boost your child’s productivity and creativity.

#study table design #study table with bookshelf #modern study table designs #study table designs for students #study table with bookshelf design #kids study table design #study table design for bedroom #bunk bed with study table #modern study table design for small room #study table ideas #corner study table design

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catdia · 6 months ago

Text

Arcane Characters with a Puerto Rican Fem S/O

Jayce, Viktor, Vi, Caitlyn, Mel, Ekko, Sevika, Vander (nsfw)

Jayce

I like the idea that he is also Latino/Hispanic

Maybe Brazilian or Colombian

My sexy Latin Papí

In Piltover there isn’t really a big Latin community, so when he heard that you were Puerto Rican he befriended you reallllll fast

You studied botany and tech ecology, while he engineering

You wanted to save your islands flora and fauna by incorporating advanced tech, while he wanted to improve lives with magic

You believed his dream since the beginning, even if you looked at him sometimes like he was crazy

“You have no idea what these crystals are capable of! What if we combine those aqueducts you designed for plant growth with runes? We can triple food production by 110%!” Jayce wrote equations on the board, mind going miles per second

“You think it can regrow completely deforested areas in less than 40 years?” You humored him.

“What if we can do it in less than 10?! The possibilities are endless! I promise that when I crack this, I will paint the whole world green for you.” Did he know how to warm your heart…

Jayce is a super touchy person and always has to have skin to skin contact like a new born

You get mistaken for a couple a lot before you even officially started dating

Always kisses you on the cheek when you greet each other. A very Latino thing!

Piltover’s greetings are very cold, only handshakes and shoulder pats. So he was ecstatic to finally have someone to do it with outside his family

Viktor became a victim of your kisses. But he secretly enjoys it

Jayce always smells good! Ximena taught him good hygiene since he was little. Whenever he feels a light sweat coming on he immediately hits the showers

Has a gold chain! Never takes it off. It was originally his father’s.

Doesn’t speak very good Spanish, but you teach him in between Hextech protects and meetings

You guys talk endlessly about your backgrounds and even bring treats to each other

“Mmm— oh, fuck!” He moaned shoving another spoon full of food into his mouth. Eyes rolling to the back of his head

“Jayce it really isn’t that good.” You were blushing like crazy, completely forgetting the plate in front of you. You just wanted to do something nice for him

“What are you taking about?! It’s the best thing I’ve had in weeks!”

He had been working his ass off building the new Hextech towers and surviving on sandwiches for the past month

“I also brought dessert, if you are interested…”

Jayce looked at you with puppy dog eyes. Absolutely enamored. Cheeks full like a chipmunk

“I. Love. You. Soooo. Much.” Jayce said grabbing your face and kissing you all over

“Te amo, mi rey.” (I love you, my king.) You said while gently wiping the side of his lips with your thumb

Jayce can dance! And I mean really dance. Ximena put him in classes when he was little because she didn’t want him to forget his roots

Dancing with Jayce is about passion, making love on the dance floor. Bodies pressed against each other, hands running above hot pumping blood and flesh. Heavy eye contact that yells sex and pleasure

You guys have sex in the forge all the time, instead of pounding hot metal he pounds that wet pussy (hahaha!)

Watching him pull the chains of the fire pit just gets it going for you. Back sweaty from the flames and work. Tan skin so glossy like copper

From you just wanting some papers to be signed for an new upcoming project turned into you having him on the workshop table

“Just like that, mi reina (my queen ). Como me haces sentir tan bien.” (You make me feel so good.)”

Jayce was thrusting into your cunt, the wood of the desk rattleing with every give and take. Your hands on his bare ass and his bracing your sides

When Jayce found your cunt’s sweet spot, the one that made your head fall into his shoulder with your eyes rolling back; pornografic grunt on your lips, he found gold

“You like that?” He grinned, finding solace in pleasure he gave you. Amused at how his body served yours so well

“Mmmm— yeah…” You licked the sweat of his jaw, slight stubble rough against your tongue

You loved him so much. Him with his stupid little smiles and big hands. And oh those eyes that made you dream of a safer tomorrow

“Esos ojitos de miel son tan bonitos. Te quiero comer enterito, papí!” (Those honey eyes are so pretty. I want to eat you whole, love!) You were practically going feral at his grasp. Eating at his neck and chest, savoring the taste of ash on his skin

You leaned back on your elbows, breasts jumping at his thrusts. Grabbing his wrist and bringing his hand up to cup your tit. Watching his cock drill in and out of your pussy. He was close by the knit of his eyebrows. Hips becoming harsher and sloppy

Jayce teased your clit, moving his fingers in the way you liked. Loving the clench of your walls as you grained your pelvis on his dick

“Assssíííí, cabrón—”(jusssstt like that, fucker—)

You came together in a world wind of grunts and curses. You creaming on his cock. Jayce rested his body weight on you as he came undone. Easing his head from your collar bones and giving his lips a peck. You loved how disheveled he looked, all fucked out with empty watery eyes

“Want me to give you a blowjob as you sign these for me?” You said brushing the hair of his face. Thankful for the shower he had installed at your request

“I would be an idiot to say no!”

Jayce is the king of aftercare! He will always have a snack or even a little trinket to give you after sex

“Look, I made a little pendant of the PR map!” Jayce showed you the little piece of metal. White teeth glinting as he was so proud of his artistry

“Oh my God— it uhmm… It has character alright!”

It looked more like a disheveled bean but you wore it proudly everywhere! You love your man

When you start dating Jayce, Viktor became your much appreciated third wheel

You always pack extra goodies and food in Jayce’s lunch box so that he gets feed too

Getting sad when Jayce comes home with tears in his eyes because his friend doesn’t take good care in himself

You even go as far as bringing him homemade meal preps to his house so he always has a warm dinner

Jayce’s favorite dishes you make are anything meat based: Bistec encebollado (beef steak with grilled onions), pollo guisado (stewed chicken in red sauce served over white rice), and pernil (slow oven roasted pork with crispy skin)

Would never admit to his mamá that your cooking is better than hers

And his mom absolutely invites you over to cook with her

Saying that she needs to pass on her recipes to her future daughter-in-law

You like spending Christmas at the Talis residence. A big old family gathering with delicious food and music

Ximena was more than pleased knowing that Jayce got himself a Latin girl!

Get ready to pump out some big chunky babies! This man is a Latino at heart and that comes with a few kids running around

The first time you ever visited the Talis home, Ximena took out all of Jayce’s baby pictures

“Awww, look at your tushy! Plump as ever I see.”

Jayce put his head in his hands. Ears red from his naked baby photos that you were so entranced by

“Mamí, please for the love of God put them away!”

Ximena gave her wedding ring to Jayce shortly after you left. The ring was carved and made by Jayce’s late father

“Si te vas a casar con cualquier persona, Jayce, tiene que ser ella.” (If you’re going to marry someone, Jayce, it has to be her.)

You call Jayce cerebrito (little brain) and he loves calling you mi tesoro (my treasure)

Viktor

Viktor knows the struggles of making it in Piltover as an outsider, both being form the Undercity and physically disabled

And making it to the best academy in Piltover while being different was surely a merit on its own

From simple study buddies to lovers. You fell first, but he fell harder

You call him estrellita (little star) because of his many beauty marks

I’ve read that people like to headcanon him as Czech, and I like that…. I like at ALOT

Teaches your words in his language to talk shit behind Jayce’s back. And by shit I mean make fun of his failed prototypes

Viktor straight out asked you to teach him the dirties curse words PR has to offer. And oh boy, do you give him a colorful list—

Cabrón (bastard), puñeta (fuck), hijo de puta (son of a whore), me cago en tu madre (I shit on your mom), mama bicho (cock sucker) , me cago en na’ (I shit on nothing), vete pal carajo (go fuck yourself)—

One time he got pissed at Jayce for not doing an equation right that ended up with the lab half burned to the ground.

You just stood next to Viktor as you watched them bicker at each other like a married couple. Jayce cleaning up the ash of his failed work

“You should have run them by me or Sky first, Jayce! We are partners, not competitors!” Viktor threw his now burned lab coat at him, hitting Jayce in the chest

“Well you shouldn’t have been making improvements to the Hexcore without my knowledge then!” Jayce pointed at Viktor, nailing back the fallen boards with unnecessary force. Wow, grumpy Jayce never got old

“You know what, Jayce—” Viktor looked at you with a evil glint in his eyes. Oh, no… “¡Me cago en tu madre!”

Jayce gasped like an old woman seeing a half naked girl at church. Mama’s boy Talis was going out for blood today

“Don’t talk about my Mamí like that—” he pointed at Viktor, hammer in one hand ready to knock his brains out.

“Come here you fucker!” Jayce launched towards Viktor as he scrambled to the other side of the desk

“Jayce, please don’t strain him too much! I still would like him in one piece!”

You were caught in this mess trying not to laugh as Viktor ran away with a giggle from his soon to be killer

“Take it back or I’m going to take that leg brace I built off with the bone still attached!”

“Never!” Viktor yelled triumphantly

It ended with Jayce and Viktor on their ass thanks to a good back head slap on your part

Guava enthusiasts. You brought mantecaditos (short bread cookies with guava paste on top) one time to the lab and they were gone before Jayce could try them

“Seriously, Viktor you didn’t even save me one—“ Jayce was looking inside the tin box with sad puppy dog eyes. Only finding crumbs at the every bottom

“There weren’t that many in the box anyways, Jayce.” Viktor said hiding the last cookies in his desk drawer. You made over 40 cookies, but he was never going to tell Jayce that

He likes anything vinegar based and soups. Like guineitos en escabeche (boiled green bananas dressed in a vinegar sauce) and sancocho (a hearty stew with a bunch of meat and vegetables like cabbage and yams)

It’s so funny hearing him pronounce the foods he likes! Viktor is really good at rolling his r’s. His accent is just to cute!

“What did you want me to make you Viktor?” You tried to hide your laughter as you looked at a grumpy Viktor

“I told you that I want that dulce de lecussy. The one you made last week with pieces of cheese.” He huffed

“You mean dulce de LECHOSA!” (candied papaya in sweet syrup with firm cheese) You crackled with lungs on fire from laughing so hard

“And what did I say then?!” He sassed at you trying to dim his smile

“That you basically wanted dessert pussy!!”

“I would mind that either, actually.” You gave him a slap on his shoulder. The sheer perversion of this man!

“¡Fo, que puerco eres!” (Ew, you’re such a pig!)

“How dare you call me a pig—” he gasped as you ran away from his wrath

He chased you with his cane and you ran around giggling trying to escape him

Viktor definitely has put in some weight and looks so much healthier

“I’m blaming you for my favorite trousers not fitting anymore.”

Once you showing him how real Puerto Rican girls twerk you created a new type of man. You decided to surprise him with a naked lesson. Rewarding him for the success of the Hextech gates.

“And what exactly do you call this?” Viktor rasped out. One hand firmly placed on your right hip. As the other went white holding the handle off his cane. Voice heavy with the heat of pleasure

“Perreo” you looked back at Viktor, watching him savor the ripples of your skin as you shook your body to the lyrics of Ivy Queen

“Mmm perreo…” he repeated absentmindedly

Pressing the cusp of your cunt on his clothed bulge, ass cheeks consuming and spilling out from his pelvis. Shaking your hips at various speeds and rhythms

Alternating between having your hands on the floor with your legs spread wide, having your knees bent with your fits on them, taking an ass cheek and spreading it so Viktor can see your sloppy pussy

“Eres bella.” (You’re beautiful.) heavy tongued, loving that the phrases you taught him were finally doing their magic

“Take that cock out now, jodio cabrón (fucking bastard).” Fuck did Viktor make you horny

“So vulgar.” He slowly unzipped his pants. Torturing you. He released his beautiful long cock. Dripping lines of precum down his head to his shaft

You moaned at the sight of his dick, ready to be stuffed full. Spreading your pussy lips as an invitation. “Put it in.”

“I didn’t know that just a little dance could make you so aroused. Tell me what other— ohhhh, Janna!” Viktor had the wind knocked out of his lungs. Mouth gapping in pleasure

Sinking down his length shut him up. Pressing your ass until your cunt was consuming Viktor in a tight hold. Pushing him deep into the concrete

You swiftly shaking your ass faster than ever before. Not letting a single inches of that glorious dick escape your needy walls. One hand on the cold lab floor and the other playing with your clit

Viktor was whining, overwhelmed by the heat of your body. Hand letting go of his cane, it hit the ground with a powerful thud. Bracing himself on your hips

“I’m going to c-cum, my love—”

“Hechame esa leche adentro— mmmmmm… ¡Que rico eres, mi blanquito lindo!” (Cum inside me— mmmmmm… You’re delicious, my pretty little white boy!”)

Viktor came with a silente scream coating the inside of your pussy. If it wasn’t for the wall supporting Viktor’s back he would be on the ground by now

“That was incredible.” He stated, eyes wide with wonder and face flushed

He certainly asked for perreo lessons later on

And Viktor surprisingly can shake his hips very well! Which comes in handy for more than just one thing…

When you told her you were Puerto Rican she definitely said: “A mi me gusta la chocha de Puerto Rico.” (I love Puerto Rican pussy.)

You introduced her to reggaeton and now there is no going back, her favorite artist is Daddy Yankee

She likes to dirty dance with you, having your ass pressed against her pelvis. Especially when she has Bacardi in her veins

Vi doesn’t care what you put in her plate as long as it’s fresh and delicious

She enjoyes rice based dishes the most, like arroz con calamares (rice with calamari) and arroz con salchicha (rice with cocktail weenies)

She once downed a full bottle of coquito (coconut eggnog) on her own

Vi’s favorite dessert is arroz con coco (a coconut rice pudding)

She definitely makes fun of you for not being able to say certain words right!

Don’t EVER make a Puerto Rican say “jewelry” or “burglary”. We are allergic to L’s and R’s and it will cause us to go into septic shock!

Likes being called gringa by you. Thinks it’s hot when you say it, especially when she annoys the crap out of you

Her favorite curse word is vete pal’ carajo (go fuck yourself). And when she gets into scuffles or fights she always tosses it around

And she’s like “yeah, my girlfriend taught me that. I’m a bilingual queen as well.” She low key embarrassed the fuck out of you when she says that

“Vi, I really don’t want to do this—” Vi was strapping a pair of boxing gloves to your hands. “What if I get hurt? What if I hurt you?”

“Don’t worry about me, cupcake! I can take a few punches just fine. I’ll go easy on you. And besides—” she slapped the side of your headbrace. “I’ve seen you practice with Powder before. Ehh, it’s kind of pathetic how you throw a fist to be honest.” She gave your nose a peck, turning around and taking her side of the ring

“Hey! I’m a great hit!” You sassed placing your gloved hands on your hips

It was ON. You definitely were out for blood

“Then prove it! The stage is yours!” She ran the little bell that was attached at the wall.

It been less than 6 minutes in and you were already panting

Vi was definitely going light on you. Not even taking the spots you intentionally let open for her. She only dodged your every attempt to get a hit in

Light on her feet as she tripped your leg, causing you to fall on the ropes of the ring.

You wanted to call it, but your pride was too strong. And you equally stupid

“When are you going to hit me for real?! I didn’t think the great Violet was just a pussyfoot!” Vi pushed your buttons the right way. She loved when you got bratty

“You can’t take this heat, cupcake. I’ll knock you out until next Monday and Vander will have my head on a stick if I do.” She was right, but God did you want to wipe that smug look of her face!

“Oh, yes I can!” Your fist had a mind of its own. Angry as she was so cocky

Before you could think you took the open spot on her face. Hitting her square in the jaw, knocking her back on the rubber ropes. Vi was in shock and whiplashed by the quickness of your punch

“¡Ay, puñeta! ¡¿Violet, estás bien?!” (Oh, fuck! Violet, are you okay?!) You desperately took your gloves and stupid helmet off. The Velcro fighting your desperate attempt to pull it off

A drop of blood escaped her lips, Vi’s thumb flicked at the side of her mouth. Eyes on the smear of red, then up to you. Smirking at the damaged you inflicted

Fuck did you just make her 100 times hornier than she already was

“That kind of hurt.” Translation: it hurt like hell!

By the fire in her eyes you knew that you were so screwed. Your belly grew warm, the hole between your legs clenching on nothing

“Vi, I’m s-so sorry! I told that this was a bad—”

In a swift play of time, she pinned you against the ground. Having her left arm around your neck in a headlock, her left hand on your shoulder. As her legs trapped yours under her thighs, having them spread out with your pelvis arching forward. Both of your arms crossed behind your back pinned by the weight of your body

You moaned at the discomfort. Muscles tired by the training, you tried your best to wiggle out. Only for Vi to hold you harder against herself

“What’s wrong, cupcake? Bit off more than you can chew?” You did answer her with words, but with that glint in your eyes that meant (Fuck me, you damned raspberry bitch)

She slithered your baggy pants past your knees. Your pantieless cunt up in the air. Vi loved how you were always easy to access. From fingering you in public to her eating you out in some random alley

“Naughty girl. Who knew decking me in the face could get your pussy so wet.” She dipped a finger in your folds. Scooping the wetness and pulling it out to watch it drip

She gave your cunt a slap and your clit fluttered at the assault. Pulsating for more

“You like that, uhh?”

“Y-yeah—”

Vi gave you a plethora of open palmed hits. Juices streaming down your ass. Yelping as your cunt was being abused. All swollen and red

Vi thrusted her fingers into your opening in a scissoring motion. Her bloody thumb circling your clit

“V-vi— ahhhhaaamm! No puedo ver másss.” (I cant see anymore) Gurgling on the spit of your throat. Ready to pass out any second

Your vision went white by the lack of oxygen and the way Vi’s fingers played with your cunt so deliciously. Hot tears burning your skin from the constant stimulation

You stuck your tongue out, spitting saliva out thanks to the lack of air in your lungs. Face ready to turn blue. But did it make your body feel good…

“Just a little more— alright?”

Vi curled the tips of her fingers on your g spot and digged them in far into your crevice. Shaking her wrist to send vibrations to your whole pussy

You bit her forearm, shocks of pleasure coursing out the inside of your walls. Your teeth broke the skin, tasting the blood of your lover

Squirting the liquid of your orgasm on the ring’s floor. Vi let your body go, your lungs reviving in painful gulps of air

Vi turned you on your side, massaging your ribs and sternum. Licking the spit around your temple. She kissed your lips, careful not to take more oxygen from your body

“Who is going to clean this up?” Voice hoarse. Your mouth tasted coppery

“Lick the floor clean, losers get janitor duty.” She slapped your ass, you groaned at the lack of humanity. Vi got up from the floor and headed to her water bottle. Instead of taking a drink she poured it on her chest and hair. Nipples highlighted through her white sports bra. She pushed her wet hair back arms flexing a she felt your gaze on her

“We don’t got all night, cupcake. Avanza (hurry up).”

What a tease

Caitlyn

This girl has never know flavor until you came around

You were the daughter of one of her mother’s tailors and stylist. Your mom always brought you along to see her clients because she wanted you to take over one day

When you first visited the Kiramman residence you were blown away by the beauty of the estate. Your mom told you that this client would take longer than the others because she ordered a whole custom made ball gown

“I have a daughter, Caitlyn, about your age as well! Maybe you ladies can be friends! God knows my girl needs a gal pal.” She said excitedly as she was getting fitted for her gown.

Mrs. Kiramman gave you the liberty to explore the gardens as your mother worked. And you sat down near the water fountain to have your snack

“Esta gente si que tiene chavos…” (These people sure do have money…)

As you were munching on your sandwiches you saw a head of indigo hair peeking out from the rose bushes. A young girl

“Caitlyn, right? Do you want one?” You ask stretching your arms with your lunch in your hands. She timidly walked towards you

“What are they?” The girl asked as she sat next to you

“Sandwiches de mezcla (spam and velvita sandwiches) and platanutres (thinly fried plantain chips) ! They are really good, I made them fresh this morning.”

Caitlyn looked at them, and gently picked up a sandwich. Slowly taking a bite as she looked at your happy face.

Her eyes sparkling at the soft bread and salty spread

“Mmmm— I’ve never had anything like this before!” She then picked up some plantain chips. Savoring the salty crunch of them.

You quickly become friends. Cait even convinced her mother that she liked wearing fancy clothes just so that she could she you more frequently

Mrs. Kiramman was ecstatic that her little girl was going to wear more dresses than only her school uniform

Cait even goes as far as to ask her mom to invite you to her birthday party. The only close friend she really had was Jayce. And there were only going to be adults from other houses and The Council

You also became friends with Jayce, you both taught Cait how to dance bachata and salsa

“Cait move your hips more! You are stiff as a board, mija (girl)!” You said guiding her feet to the music

“I don’t have hips to shake!” She said as her cheeks flushed

Cait knows only a few Spanish phrases thanks to Jayce. Girl can’t roll her r’s or say her l’s even to save her life

She is a sweets girl! Loves flan de queso (cream cheese flan) and flan de vanilla (vanilla flan)

When she finally confessed her love for you she did it in Spanish. She practiced with Jayce for almost a month to get the emotions right

“Me gustas mucho. Te adoro. ¿Quieres ser mi novia?” (I like you a lot. I adore you. Do you want to be my girlfriend?) She handed you a bouquet of lilacs. You were so excited that you knocked her on her ass! You hit your head on a table and both of you spend your commitment with ice on your limbs

You watched each other grow up, you becoming a seamstress like your mother. And Cait going against all Mrs. Kiramman’s wishes and graduating from the Enforcer Academy

You join Cait in the private shooting classes with Officer Grayson. Both excellent shoots, but you not so much. You’re better in close range with a handgun

She looks so sexy in her enforcer outfit!

Lost your virginities to other other! It was the day of her graduation of the academy. When everyone was clustered in the Kiramman estate celebrating her accomplishment

You sneaked away together to her bedroom. Stealing a tray of hors d’oeuvres and a bottle of wine. Wanting to get away from the elite of Piltover

You were on her bed, stuffing your mouth with cheese and crackers

“You’re going to get crumbs on my sheets.”

“Are you going to give me a ticket for it?” Caitlyn scoffed at you as you tentatively shoved another bite in your mouth

Caitlyn stood in front of the mirror. Fixing her medals and badges that hung on the fabric. You knew her too well, she was picking herself apart. Thinking that she only got in the academy because of her name only

“I think I would get used to calling you “Officer Kiramman” you said crawling to the edge of the bed, bottle of wine in your hand. Lying on your stomach with your palm under your chin. Looking at the pretty lady in blue

You patted the spot next to you, discarding the bottle to the floor. Crossing your legs on the mattress

She walked to the bed and sat next to you, leaving her top hat on her bedroom ottoman

“Caitlyn, you have to believe me when I say that you are so much more than your house” You held her temple in your palm, she held your wrist. Closing her eyes as she savored your compassion

“You are more talented than those silver spooned pricks out there! You may have the same money and influence, but they will never reach the level of talent you have. Because what is all this power for if you don’t have the heart to push change? You care, Cait! And I saw with my own eyes how you make others do as well. Like the time you told your mom to give a raise for her maids and workers! Remember that?”

She giggled, remembering that day she saw your mother counting her last few coins to afford a new pair a shoes for you. Cait yelled at Mrs. Kiramman for hours, until she finally gave into her mistake

Next time she saw you there was a brand new pair of shoes on your feet that had you running up to Cait to tell her all about

And that instance evolved into Cait wanting a better world for you. She wanted to change the concrete you walked on into fields of flowers

“Thank you, I really needed that…”

“It also helps that you have a nice pair of tits.” You joked as you pointed to her Enforcer jacket

“You minx!”

She slapped your shoulder and chuckled as you faked your hiss in pain. Rolling around the bed as you help your poor “broken” arm!

“Ohhh, I’ve been a victim of police brutality!”

“I’ll show you brutality, bebé (babe)!”

She climbed on top of you, tickling your sides

“¡Cait, para que no puedo respirar!” (Cait, stop I can’t breathe!) Cait stopped her attach, watching as your chest rose to catch the missing breaths. Your cheeks rosie in adrenaline

She wanted you there with her always. Your hair on her pillows and the smell of your skin lingering on the buttery covers

“Cait?” You asked as you calmed down. Looking at her in worry

“Fuck it” Cait thought, as her lips captured yours in an estranged kiss.

After years of ghostly touches, of lingering eyes, and Jayce calling your romance worse than nuns in love in a convent. She wanted to go the next level with you

You pulled her in, rolling yourself on top

“Are you sure?” You asked bracing her neck

“It would be my honor to have my first time with you.” And yours as well. You started to take layers of your bodies

You both laughed at your struggle to unclip her blouse. Her fingers guiding yours as she showed you the intricacy of the clasps

“I guess that “enforcement” also extends to your uniform.”

“That’s why I only let you make my garments—” Caitlyn kissed the corner of your eye. “They are much more second party friendly.” You pushed the shirt of her body, surprised at the nakedness of the chest

“No bra?” You cupped her breast, feeling the goose bumps of her skin. Her breath hitched at the coldness of your hands

“I didn’t just expect half ass handshakes and putrid marriage proposals as graduation presents.” Cait took charge, pinning you against the edge of the bed. Crawling downwards to your core

She raised your skirt, white sheer stockings held by a lacy garter around your waist. Her eyes widened at the lack of fabric covering your mound

“You weren’t the only one expecting more than just pat on the shoulder tonight.” You moaned as she spread apart your lips

Cait dove in between your legs. Hands in your hips as she guided her tongue along your folds. Nose resting on the shell of your clit

“I t-think, ahhh, you underestimate yourself too much, Cait.” She focused on your bud, rolling her lips on it. Then sucking ever so lightly to draw whimpers out of your vocal cords

“¡Ya no aguanto más! Yo creo que—” (I can’t bear it anymore! I think that—)

You came with a grunt, arching your back of the matters. Head filling with rushed blood as it hanged free of support from the mattress. As you were lost in your high, Cait placed her cunt on yours and rolled her hips. Feeling her clit make love to yours. Your previous orgasm used at oil to make her slip against your pleasures

“Ready for another round?” She whispered into your raised calf. Teeth ripping the material of your stockings. She will buy you new ones, better ones.

Caitlyn was born into wealth and privilege, but she is the most understanding girl you’ll ever met

When you pointed out the problem, she found a solution even if it meant going against her high society

You opened her eyes to the real world and she is so thankful for that

Mel

You were part of the council serving as an international ambassador like her

When Mel first saw what you brought to the council she wanted only to use you as a pawn

But she fell in love with your want for progress, one that actually breaks cycles and not just one that covers them with empty promises

She saw herself in you, a woman that wanted to break the bounds of her past convictions

Neither of you had houses in Piltover and shared different cultural backgrounds than the others

You secretly make fun of the culture shocks you experienced when first moving to Piltover

Both you and Mel HATE the cold that comes with Piltovan winters

She knew about your country and even speaks fluent Spanish thanks to her mother being a Noxian general.

Mel is a scholar, she read up on everything PR before ever making a move on you

Even if she already read up on everything she asks you questions just to hear you rant about your roots

“Is it true that Puerto Rico has the best coffee? I’ve been planning on investing in some companies, but I’m still on the fence…” Mel said in a quizzical tone. Tapping her pen to her chin

Your eyes sparkled. “We have the BEST coffee! Did you know that we have almost 3,000 coffee farms in all PR?! And we also have started to produce cacao as well. It’s incredible considering—” you ranted out

She zoned out, just appreciating the beauty of which you speak so lovingly about a simple thing as coffee beans

You teach her how to make homemade sofrito (a wet spice blend made with sweet peppers, cilantro, recao, and other herbs)

But your favorite memory is when you made dulce de leche together because Mel wanted to make a tiered cake for Alura’s birthday

“¿Quieres probar un poco?” (Want to try some?) You had already some on your index finger for yourself, but you were dipping the wooden spoon for Mel to taste

“Absolutely.” She took the spoon out of your hand and placed it back in the pot. Mel grabbed your wrist

She brought your finger to her mouth. Feeling the velvety muscle roll on your finger pad. Mel took your digit all the way to the knuckle. Slowly pulling her head back with a moan

“It could use some more vanilla.” Mel said dipping her finger back into the caramel. You were felt stunned, mouth gapping and your temple rose red

“What about the sugar?” You cringed as your voice broke. Screaming mentally about getting a grip. You literally have the prettiest woman in Piltover at your wake, and here you are speaking like a teen hitting puberty!

“Mmm, I can find another way to make it a little sweeter…”

“Strip for me, darling.” You did has she commanded. Shredding off the layers of clothing all to please her

You loved the way she looked at you, eyes of a lioness. They held a power over you, you ate from her hands

She took the pot by the handle and tilted it until syrup flowed out the metal. Pouring lukewarm dulce de leche on your skin. As if she was washing the body of a queen. It slowly dripping down your body. From your nipples to the crescents of your abdomen

Flicking her finger up the cusp of your breast to your nipple. Collecting the sugary treat only for her to give her finger to you. You repeating the same action she did moments before

She stared at the base of your neck, then at your chest. Occasionally, coming back to you and sticking out her tongue so you could eat it out of her mouth. You didn’t know who was sweeter. Mel or the candy you made together

Mel kittened licked your areolas clean, never breaking eye contact with you. As her hot tongue cleaned you off

Mel stripped shortly after. The gold birthmarks of her body reflecting in the light. She takes the spoon an and spreads the dulce de leche on her ass cheeks. Candy flowing down her thighs

“Eat up.”

You sat on the floor staring with the drizzle on her thighs, then raising to the globes of her ass. Licking the syrup of her smooth skin. Nibbling at the small golden freckles that decorated her dark skin

“Is it sweet enough now, darling?”

You ordered a cake from an expensive bakery in Piltover and called it a day. What Alura didn’t know won’t hurt her

She definitely stuffed your pussy with her paint brushes when she is working on a new project

Having your legs spread wide for her as he picks up a brush for your entrance, making sure she thrusts it in and out a few times to get a moan for you

Sucking the juices of the handle then dipping the bristles in red paint

And what about you eating her out in her office when she is working?! The possibilities are endless with Mel

For me she is the type to love anything you make her. There is so much diversity in Puerto Rican cuisine and her just picking one is impossible in her eyes.

But man does she appreciate a fresh mofongo relleno de camarones (smashed fried plantain topped with shrimp in a tomato sauce)

And you also teach her the basics of bomba (a tradicional African dance). Even gifting her a custom made traditional outfit to make your dance rehearsals all the more authentic

Mel takes you on lavish vacations to the island. Staying at the best hotels and you serve as a guide to her. Taking Mel to all your favorite local spots to eat pinchos (meat skewers) and drink Medallas (Puerto Rican beer)

You took her to your favorite archipelagos and little islands surrounding PR. And skinny dipped into the various bioluminescent bays at night. Mel had never had such a good time in her life

“Querida (love), I have a present for you.” Mel entered your shared living space. Medium canvas in hand

“Oh, Mel! You didn’t have to! Is there any special occasion that I forgot about?!” You got up from your stop on the couch, greeting her with a kiss

“No, love. I just wanted to do something special.” She turned the canvas around. You squealed at the art piece. She never disappoints!

“Mel! ¡Qué pintura más espectacular! (What an espectacular painting!) The water and sand look so life like! I can’t wait to hag this up in my office!”

“I painted it after we got back from holiday. It’s that big archipelago you took me at the end of your trip.” She circled your waist for behind, resting her chin on your shoulder

“Yes, Cayo Icacos! Oh my God, it even has the same dock and the coast line!” You said admiring the canvas

“There is also on more thing—” She walked over your wine cabinet, pouring two glasses of wine. “I bought Icacos for us. So we can spend your winter vacations there. Alone. Together.” She kissed your jaw, handing you the glass

“Oh like you rented it out for us?” You took a swig, moaning at the sweet undertones

“No, I got the government to officially sell it to me and put it under our names.” Mel said nonchalantly. You sip out your wine in shock

Yep, you definitely passed out shortly after

Ekko

You were one of the people that lost everything to Silco. Your community was slowly taken by Shimmer and gang wars

Ekko and the Firelights rescued you from Silco’s men. You didn’t want to join his web of crime and they proceeded to burn your shop with you inside

If it wasn’t for them being close by you would have lost more than just a few inches of healthy skin

Ekko teaches you how to fix things, how to clean and go at any loose cables their hover skateboards may have

You also picked up flying those boards pretty quickly, he made sure to make them as user friendly as possible

You were sitting on one of the many branches of the Tree, watching the children play and seeing the progress of the new faces in the mural. Fuck did it hurt seeing those paint brushes touch the trunk of the tree

The branch shook with the addition of a foreign weight

“Lost in thought, chica (girl).” You looked up at Ekko, still wearing his Firelight coat with his white owl mask hanging from his belt

“Tell me what’s your mind.” He sat next to you, bumping your shoulder playfully

“I fell like I’m not doing much— like I’m not doing anything. Like I-I’m a burden to this place.” You sighed, throat tight with anxiety. Eyes burning with hot tears

“And what do you want to do?” Ekko asked, holding your hand that was resting your lap. Shining brown eyes studying your features

God why was he so damn handsome when you are in the middle of a breakdown!

“I just d-don’t want to stand by— and — and watch my people be slaughtered…” You said between jagged lips

Ekko smirked at your answer, slowly pulling away from you and placing a box on your thighs

“What is it?” You wiped your tears away with the back of your hand

“Open.” Ekko leaned back on his palms, trying his best to keep his cool guy act even if he was nervous as hell inside

You opened the box, inside there was a Firelight mask. One shaped like the face of a bird like many others in group

Suddenly you remembered that faint pop of green in the sky from your childhood. Of a little green bird that would eat your grandmas tomatoes from her garden

Your eyes widened. What is this really what you think it is?

“Ekko— is this a cotorra puertorriqueña (PR’s national bird)?” You said in aw, lifting the mask and examining its details. Feeling the emotion Ekko put into carving it

“I’m sorry it took so long, but I wanted to make something that would represent you—” He took a small book from of his coat, falling apart by age. “And I landed on that. I found this book in one of the flee markets I went to.” He flipped the pages, letting you see the images and words on the pages. Everything from fauna to history was written on it

Ekko pointed at an image of the bird. “It just screamed you— beautiful and free. I-I mean also many other things like—”

You cut Ekko of with an embrace, holding the mask to your chest

“No sabes cuán agradecida estoy, Ekko. Gracias, gracias, gracias…” (You don’t know how grateful I am for this, Ekko. Thank you, thank you, thank you…) You sobbed on his shoulder, gripping him tightly as if something was going to take him away from you

“Por nada, chica (you’re welcome, girl).” Ekko whispered, arms circling your back

You cook for the Firelight community and when it’s your turn to serve your food the line triples with people more than other days

Ekko even made space for a little herb garden for you! And you have some plantain trees growing in

He likes helping you cook as well. His favorite thing to do is cut, mash, and fry tostones (plantain fritters)

Wouldn’t it be cool for Ekko to have some Caribbean background?! Like Jamaican, Trinidadian, or even Dominican

I can just see Ekko going ham on a pastelón de carne (a sweet plantain lasagna with ground beef and mozzarella cheese)

You give the kids and the adults Spanish lessons. And private ones to Ekko (wink wink)

I believe that the community has a beautiful shower pace! Filled with plants and vines that filter the water making it crystal clear. It’s almost like a never ending waterfall. And it’s especially breathtaking at night when the moon and fireflies light the place up

It was past midnight, and you just got back from other painstaking parole. Dirt coating your clothing and skin

You head straight to the showers. Discarding your clothes on the bench of the makeshift stall you were in.

The stream was cool to your skin, nursing those fresh bruises on your arms and thighs. Grateful for the fresh washcloths, liquid soap and towels that were replenished after every use

You turned around at the sound of an object falling. Ekko’s pupils wide at the sight of your bare breasts and ass. As his owl mask laid on the floor. Who long was he there looking? Did he like what he was looking at?

“S-shit I’m sorry! I thought that it was empty! I’m just gonna—”

“It’s okay— you can stay if you want, Ekko…” Did one of Silco’s goons hit you to hard on the head? Ekko hesitated at first, but when you gave him a nod

You saw him taking off his clothes. Body littered with old scars. He stepped into your space. Both you and him admiring your bodies, if it wasn’t for the cold water you would be in flames

Trying your best to not look at his cock. You started washing off the white paint, careful of not to get any in his eyes. And he did the same, washing your face and neck. A blush on your cheeks

“I believe that “Boy Savior” is an understatement—” Feeling his toned stomach under the soapy washcloth. “You are more of a man than a lot of people out there.”

“Can I kiss you?” He brushed his thumb along the curves your your lips

“Yes…”

Ekko leaned into your lips. He hungered you for a long time, scared that if he got to close you’ll disappear like all his past loved ones

He touched the purple bruise on your rib as he wanted to pull you in, you gasped in pain breaking the kiss. His touch recoiled, then slowly came back in feather like stokes

“You should have never gotten this hurt!” He was angry at himself, it should have been him getting hurt. Not you, never you!

“I shouldn’t have been so focused on destroying those Shimmer barrels…” He pressed his forehead on yours. Eyes crimson with hurt

“We signed up for this, I did too. And if making the Underground better means a few scrapes and headaches, then I’m more than happy to do so.” Thumb wiping away his stray tears

“What can I do to make this up to you?” He kissed the pulse of your wrist

“If you shut up and make love to me.”

He backed you against the rocky wall, water cascading in between your bodies. You wrapped your legs around his waist. Moans concealed by the rush of the water

Ekko’s hips meet yours as he dropped and lifted your body on his arms. Cock hitting you gummy walls and g-spot

“¡Clávame más fuerte! ¡Quiero que se te rompa el bicho de tan duro que me rócese!” (Fuck me harder! I want you to break your dick with how hard you give it to me!)

Nails scratching his back, adding to the multitude of wounds on his body. You both were going to hurt so bad in the morning

“You drive me crazy, chica (girl)!”

You came in his cock in the final thrust, body pulsating with the warmth of your orgasm and the ice of the water

He pulled out and came on your stomach, kissing your neck hard enough to leave traces of your escaped. Your legs jelly at the knees

You and Ekko spent the last hours of night in the streams. Basking in the freshness of your flesh. Having each other on every wall and surface possible

“You know what I’m feelin’ right now?”

“Like your cock is going to fall off?” You said into his chest as you laid back with him on the wooden bench looking at the moon. Ekko’s chest rumbled in a chuckle

“That, and a hot bowl of asopao de pollo (chiken and rice soup).”

Sevika

Sevika definitely has a thing for Latinas

You moved to Piltover a few years ago and started working at The Last Drop. There was an influx of Spanish speaking people and Vander was desperately looking for a bilingual server

He hired you on the spot not caring how many years of experience you had

She basically became your unofficial body guard. Scaring of creeps that got to friendly while you were working

You taught her how to play dominos and you still ended up losing! You had to make her sorullitos (fired cornmeal sticks) for a month

She helps you give out food to the kids and homeless people around the Undercity. It breaks her heart seeing you cry over the people that suffer thanks to Piltover

After she lost her arm you took care of her. Making her cope with a new life change and the challenges that came with it

And you best believe you chewed her ear off about the whole Vander and Silco situation. Refusing to work for Silco and running your own food business to get by

There aren’t many South East Asians in the Undercity or in Piltover, and you bonded because of the lack of a community.

I think you guys talk a lot about the men in your life, how they treated both of you with violence. How toxic males can be thanks to your cultures never giving them consequences for there actions

Talking about how unworthy Sevika felt for just being born a woman, and a queer woman at that. How she finally broke away from all the stereotypes and became a force to be reckoned with after the death of her father

You heal each others soul wounds by embracing the best of your heritage

She knows all the Indian beauty secrets! She is the one that washes and oils your hair. Saying that “you don’t know how to take care your hair”

“Sevika, I feel like my scalp is about to start bleeding!” You wiggled away as the scalp massager dug into the sensitive parts of your head

“That means it’s working! Stop being a baby.” She poured more warm oil on your head and ignored your whining

She just wants to do something nice for you and loves your reaction as you see how long your hair as gotten since getting together

A lot of the spices that you both use for your cooking it basically nonexistent in the underground

And if they sell them, they go for an arm and a leg (hahaha amputation joke)

So Sevika makes sure that she puts special orders in the smuggling catalog for all the spices, herbs and produce that you both need to make delicious meals

You put her on to tropical fruits. From the massive avocados to the sweet and sour passion fruits

“So when I’m getting a taste of your papaya?” She is a massive flirt.

Sevika’s love language is making you a cup of chai every morning

She is mostly vegetarian, only occasionally eating meat. So her favorite food that you make is also a labor of love

So I just know she loves the pasteles you make. They literally take you a whole day to prepare. From cooking the pork or chicken, toasting the banana leaves on the stove, grading the plantains, making the red oil, and wrapping them up to look like a present

It was the holiday season and you sold almost 30 preorders of your 12 count pasteles. Making big bank, but losing your peace filling all these orders in time for Christmas Eve

She says that she will “help” but she stands leaning on the counter as you fold the banana leaves in place as she munches on plantain chips

Sevika thought you were the sexiest at home in your batas (old lady dresses or muumuus). She could clearly see the outline of your body thanks to the sheer fabric. Especially liking how your nipples got hard in the cold air and the fat mound of your hairy pussy when you didn’t wear panties with the nightgown

With a frustrated look on your face when the leaf doesn’t want to work with you

Cursing under your breath “Hijo de puta— yo te digo…” (“Son of a bitch— I’m telling you…”)

“You look so sexy when you’re frustrated, mamí…” Sevika cradled your hips from behind. Kissing the curve of your nec

“Was helping me all bullshit Sevika?”

“You forget that I only have one arm left?” She said patting her empty shoulder. Smirking at your eye roll

You weren’t amused at all at her joke. “Haha, very funny…”

“But I have other ways to help you at least…” Her hand slowly creeping under your dress strap

“Like what?” You questioned her, eyebrows raised

Sevika was in between your legs as you made the last batch of pasteles for the night

Nightgown discarded on the floor

Sucking on your clit each time you finished folding a pastel. Slowly pulling it away from her mouth and letting it go with a pop. Her two middle fingers thrusting in and out of your entrance

She watched from the kitchen floor as your breasts heaved at every lick of her tongue. Biting your outer lips when you didn’t fold the leaves fast enough

“¡Comeme la tota así mismoooo!” (Eat my pussy just like thatttt!) You made those pasteles as if you were on steroids

Her nose pressed against your mound breathing the smell of your cunt. The smell of a grown woman was intoxicating to her.

Sevika speed up her fingers and tongue, you wanted to come undone. But pushed through the last of them

Your hands braced the counter as your orgasm took over. Raising one of your legs of the ground so Sevika could drink your release fully. She groaned at the taste, vibrations sending heat through your overstimulated body

You sucked a breath, peering down your bottom half. Sevika resting her head on your inner thigh, sucking purple marks on your flesh. Jaw coated in your silk. Grey eyes drinking in your dazed face

“I believe I was more than enough help. Don’t you agree, muñeca (doll)?” She gave you clit a little kiss, pleasure running up your spine

“Eres terrible, ‘Vika—” (you’re terrible, ‘Vika—) you let out breathlessly. Ruining your fingers through her short hair

She took her fingers out of your pussy, and you leaned down to taste yourself on her. Indulging in the salty sweet flavor of your bodies. Lapping her fingers clean and then kissing Sevika. Her lips push against yours

“Mmm my compliments to the chef.” You had more than one good fuck that night on the floor with Sevika

Who knew that pasteles were such an aphrodisiac?

If they ask you why these were so delicious you just smile shyly and say: “I just put a little extra love (orgasm) into them.”

Vander

As a bartender he absolutely was inspired to make a cocktail menu for you. Makes you his official taste tester for any new drink he plans to put in the menu

You owned a small food stand in the Underground ever since he was working in the mines

And it was always packed with people in and out of work

You got together shortly after Vander stopped your shop from getting mugged by some punks

Vander is a coffee lover and always makes it a routine to get up early in the mornings just so that he can have a hot cup of Puerto Rican joe with fresh butter and bread on the side

Thankful that you always feed his kids when he doesn’t have time to cook for them, and free at charge with at that

But he always sneaks more than enough coin into your tip jar when he visits you after a rough day

“Does Vander ever feed you guys at all?” You asked serving another customer

“He does but he burns everything he cooks—” Vi said licking her fingers clean from the delicious poultry you made

“Can I have another piece of chicken, tití (auntie)?” Powder said holding her empty plate at you, big eyes looking at you with love. Mouth covered in red sauce

“Con esos ojitos (with those little eyes) who can say no to you Pow-Pow!”

Yes his kids call you auntie and I’ll take that to the grave!

Whenever you call him “Hound” he blushes! And you make fun of him a lot for it as well. Calling him a dog as you catch him looking at your ass as you bend over to get plates and watching your tits jiggle as you make your fresh pressed juices.

Coquito (coconut eggnog) is his all time favorite drink, second to guarapo (sugar cane juice). And when you gave him a shot to try it solidifies his want to open a bar so he can make delicious drinks like this

When it’s the holidays Vander lets you have parrandas (live Puerto Rican music parade) at the bar. You introduced him to el guiro (a type of musical instrument) and la pandereta (small hand drum). And he plays them really well!

“Maybe those big hands are not just useful for punching things, huh Vander?” You played along side him as you watched the kids for a dance circle. Chuckling at Powder’s lack of feet coordination as she stepped on Mylo’s toes

“I will have to show you sometime. You will certainly be surprised, love.” You blushed, quickly going over the other musicians to sing your part of the chorus. You felt his eyes on you the whole time, loving the attention he gave you

The kids went to sleep as midnight approached. The adults enjoying their late drinking. Vander was leaning against the bar as you danced with Sevika. Watching you teach her the basics of bachata so that she could impress the girl she was pinning for

“You’re not so bad at this, Sevika!” She twirled you around

“Na, I’m better at the cards than all of this.” Sevika said, still looking at your feet as you guided her steps

In the corner of your eye you saw this other girl go up to Vander. You didn’t hear what they were thanks to the loud music. But you saw him shaking his head “no”. The girl turned around annoyed, flicking her wrist at him as dismissing a dog. Wishing her eyes found a brain in the back for her skull as she rolled them. You thought she finally back off. But you were wrong…

She pressed her ass against the front of his pants, shaking her flat flabby ass. Vander choking in his drink in pure shock. Trying to push the girl away

Before Sevika could stop you, you were already across the other side of the bar. Fist clenched, Vander making brief eye contact with you. His eyes widened at your wrath. Uh oh…

“¡Èl dijo que no jodia puta! ¡Te voy a romper la cara!” (He said no you fucking whore! I’m going to break your face in!) Grabbing her hair by the root and dragging her off to the bar floor. Her screaming and sinking her nails on your forearms, drawing blood. You screamed at her attach

You hear people cheer and yell at you to: “teach her to not touch anyone’s man again”.

Throwing your body weight back and making her crash into the round tables. Before the girl could even process the pain you straddled her stomach and punched her face in. The alcohol in your system making you rabid

“Love, that’s enough!” Vander pulled your fingers off the girls body. You were thrashing against his hold. Sevika hoisted the other woman taking her out of the bar.

“Everyone, out!” Vander yelled. You watched bodies move with blurry eyes. You still thirsty for blood.

“¡Déjame! (Let go!) ! Ugh, Vander!” He threw you over his shoulder. You punching his muscular back for him to let you go. He took you into the supply closet behind the bar. Dropping your feet on the floor.

“Let me out Vander! She is not getting off that easy for touch you like that!”

You wobbled like a new born fawn, holding the shelves for support. Vander locked the door and turned on the dim light abode your heads.

“Sit your ass down! I’m not tellin’ you twice…” Vander warned, pointing at the large empty barrel. You stared him down on your tippy toes. Blue eyes piercing yours.

“You really want to go there, sweetheart?” He crossed his arms over his broad chest. Getting close enough to smell the whiskey and smoke on his breath. The smell of your man

You wanted those hands around your throat. You wanted him to fuck the brat out of you. Your fight for dominance was short lived

“Fine.” You caved in and sat down with an annoyed plop. Grumbling at him with your arms crossed

God, did you love the control he had over you. You loved a man that put you in your place, while still being caring and loyal

Vander turned his back to you while looking for the first aid kit. Admiring the thickness of his body. And those pants that made his ass and legs look so delectable

“If I wouldn’t have stopped you, you’ll be heading to Stillwater by the end of the night.” Vander stood in front of you, raising your head to meet his warm gaze

“I’m sorry—” You whispered as your eyes became teary

“Christ, love! You would have killed her!” He lifted your arms to see the damage. Cleaning your wounds with alcohol. You hissed at the burn. Vander slowly wrapping your forearms with white gauze

“I’ve never seen you act like that before—” Breaking the silence. “I didn’t think a lady such as yourself could be so violent, so jealous…”

Vander would never admit that he loved what you did to that girl. How sexy you were while beating the shit out of a stranger just for him. It made him feel loved in a fucked up way

He lifted your bandaged arms to his lips. Breathing the scent of your wounds

“Tell me, love. Are all Puerto Rican women like that?” He asked innocently, looking at your face with curiosity

“I’m not just a jealous woman, Vander… I’m going to tell you a little secret about us puertorriqueñas.” You said stroking his bearded cheek. “We are territorial. And we fight for what is ours, even if it means that I have to fucking sink my teeth into any whore that touches mi hombre (my man)” You said between your gritted teeth, pulling Vander towards you. Tongue sinking into his mouth tasting faint of whiskey

You pulled his belt, harshly tugging it open. Feeling his hard cock through the fabric. God, did you want to get that whore’s smell of him. Replace it with the scent of your cunt

“You are mine, Vander. And I am yours.”

His eyes dialed, pants ever so uncomfortable. Vander launched at you, lifting you by your legs and kissing your lips. Your back gently hitting against the liquor shelves

He quickly discarded your bottoms, you gave his length a few pumps then lined it up against your cunt. You could never get bored of the sight of his cock, or the hot stretch it gave you

“Choke me, Vander!” You yelled, pussy filled with him. His hand was placed in your neck in a moment. Fingers pressing your pulse points.

Vanders thrusting was meet with the sounds of clinking bottle and the rattling of the shelves. He was a beast, slapping your entrance at full force as moans were caught on your airway. Velvety walls sucking him in. Heavy balls knocking against the push of your cheeks.

“I’m gonna cum, lovie—” He let go of the hold on your throat. “Where do you want it?”

“In my mouth!” Vander dismounted you. Cock glossy from the slick of your pussy

You kneeled on the ground, fingers fucking your pussy. Taking that big veiny dick in one go, slurping your combined juices as his tip hit the back of your throat. Vander’s hand resting in your hair. Your other hand massaging his balls

Vander came with a grunt, back of his head hitting the wooden shelves. Gasping in surprise as it coated your mouth. He was going to need ice for that later, you thought, enjoying the creaminess of his cum

Sticking your tongue out to show him his release. Then moaning as you swallowed it

“You dirty girl.” Biting your lip as he cursed at your seduction

“My dirty dog.”

You licked his cock clean. Pulling his foreskin in between your lips. Kissing it all around and making out with his tip slit. You nibbled at his shaft, using a bit of teeth to draw gasps from Vander

You brought your mouth to his pubic bone. Biting his skin, hard enough to leave marks. And leaving hickeys on his stomach

Loving how your food left some extra pounds on him. Making his tummy all the more squishy and soft

“You’re eating me alive, love—” You giggled on his skin, slowly stroking his spent cock. “Mark your territory, mi loba (my she-wolf).”

“Con placer…” (With pleasure…) You gave his cock a final kiss. Long lasting, a little red bruise at the side of his shaft. Moaning at your work, eyes sparkling up at him

Vander helped you off your knees, and leaned you against his chest. You rested there for a while, calming down for your sex crazed high

“Do you want me to make you a passion fruit mock-tail, darlin’?” Vander rasped, hand soothing the pulse of your throat

“Yesss please, and with extra—” Vander shushed you with a kiss

“And with extra ice and pineapple pieces. I know, amor (love), I know.” He pecked your forehead

699 notes · View notes

moonstruckme · 7 months ago

Note

jilly teaming up on reader when she hasn’t slept for a few nights cause she’s studying; so they trick her into doing things to make her sleepy

poly!Jily x fem!reader ♡ 879 words

Your textbook is starting to blur in front of you, but you’re not sure if that’s due to fatigue or the poor lighting. You squint to make out the small font. James is in the habit of turning lights on wherever he goes, and Lily often follows behind him shutting them off. She likely forgot you were still up studying.

You drag yourself out of your chair, going to the switches by the kitchen, but to your surprise the kitchen light is on. Both of your partners are huddled by the stove, speaking to each other in hushed tones. Lily pulls away when she sees you.

“Hi, baby,” she says in a soft voice, hugging you without premise. You’re confused but hardly resistant, melting a little as your arms come around her in response.

You notice for the first time that there’s music playing from James’ cassette player. It’s soft and slow, one of the jazz tracks Lily sometimes likes to listen to while cooking or tidying. You must have been really lost in your reading not to have heard it come on.

Lily’s hand draws up your back, rubbing between your shoulder blades. “Are you ready for bed?” she asks you.

Her voice is so lulling, so tempting, you could almost fall asleep right then and there. But you take in a breath and straighten. You hadn’t realized how much you’d begun to sag against her.

“Can’t.” You give her a fond squeeze before letting go. “I have to study.”

“I’d say you have studied, sweetheart,” James says. He’s looking at you with concern in his brown eyes.

You offer him a rueful smile. “Still some left to go.” You go to the light switches, turning up the ones above and near your table, which were set terribly dim. “You guys go to bed. I’ll be there later, I’m just gonna…” You cover a yawn. “...gonna make myself some tea for now.”

Lily frowns, but James knows better than to argue once you’ve made up your mind. “Alright,” he says, stepping closer and pressing a kiss to the center of your forehead before reaching into the cabinet above you for a mug. “You sit, I’ll make it.”

“Thanks, Jamie.” You smile at him. Take Lily’s hand, kissing her palm. “Thanks.”

You devote yourself back to your textbook. It’s difficult to make the words stick, but you force yourself to concentrate, focusing on each one in turn until it sinks in. Then the next. It’s a long and tiring process, and some of the ideas slip away anyway.

After a while, you’re leaning down with your nose nearly to the book, squinting at the words again, and you realize the lights aren’t bright anymore. They’ve dimmed again. How did…surely if it had happened quickly, you would have noticed?

You have to get up again to turn them back up. You know this, but your body sits heavy in your chair. Exhaustion seeps from your bones into your bloodstream, a slow, steady drudge. You’re well on your way to actually putting your nose to your book and falling asleep on top of it when a mug appears in front of you.

You drag your eyes up to see James, soft and half shadowed in the low light.

“Oh, thanks.” You pick up the mug, your saving grace, and will your hands not to shake.

“No problem, lovie,” says James. His voice sounds quieter than you think you’ve ever heard it.

You’re halfway through a long sip before you realize something is amiss. “Is this milk?”

A pause.

“Is this warm milk?”

James’ hand finds the back of your neck, thumb moving back and forth over your baby hairs tranquilizingly. “Do you feel sleepy?” he asks in that same soft voice.

A chuckle from the kitchen. “Subtle, James,” says Lily, not without affection.

“Oh, come on. Like you were subtle asking her to go to bed.”

“Sweetheart.” Lily comes over to wrap her arms around you from behind your chair, warm cheek pressed to yours. “It’s late. Aren’t you tired?”

“I’m…” Another yawn comes to answer for you. “Yes, but…but that’s by design, isn’t it?” You think of the dimmed lights, the milk, the jazz music. “I’m only tired because you’ve made me.”

“No, you’re tired because you need to sleep.” Her hand rubs at your clavicle, a slow back and forth. “We’re only trying to help it along.”

“I…” You yawn again, a long one. Your eyes water.

“You’re adorable.” James kisses the side of your head, lingering so you’re smushed between him and Lily. There are worse places to be, you suppose. “Come on. It’ll all be there in the morning.”

“But I’m—”

“You’re knackered, is what you are.” James’ tone is teasing bent under the weight of fondness. He draws you out of your chair with an arm under your shoulders, and you let him. His words muffle into the top of your head. “Not to mention stubborn. I dread the day you and Lils gang up on me instead. The thought genuinely scares me.”

“We don’t need to,” Lily tells him, sweetly matter-of-fact. “You’re too amenable.”

“I have my rebellions.”

She pats him on the shoulder as you cross the threshold to the bedroom. “Sure, love.”

911 notes · View notes

unstable-samurai · 9 months ago

Text

Passenger

Nana x Male Reader

word count: 7.8k

A/n: special smut to celebrate Nana's birthday 🥳

You're sitting at the counter, glass half-empty. The bar lights are dim, casting a warm amber hue that makes the place seem imperfect, but in a comforting way. Most nights, someone else serves you, someone who never asks your name, and you never feel the need to say it.

But tonight, that person isn’t here. Instead, there’s Nana.

You’ve noticed Nana before. How could you not? She stands out like a wildfire in the middle of a forest. She has that kind of beauty that’s almost aggressive, as if every detail was designed to challenge the idea that perfect people don’t exist. Her hair is long, black like the night outside, and her body... Her body is like a work of art, covered in tattoos you try not to stare at for too long, but they demand attention. Her curves, her intense eyes. She moves like she doesn't care about the world, but you notice her every move, and although you haven't realized it yet, she also notices you.

Tonight, she's the one who walks up to you. When she stops in front of you, you can’t hide your surprise.

"Another one?" she asks. Her voice is slightly deep, velvety.

You nod, trying not to seem nervous, but you know you are failing.

"You come here every night," she says as she fills your glass. "But I never serve you."

"Yeah. It’s always that bearded guy," you reply, forcing a smile. Your voice feels smaller than it should.

"What brings you here every day?"

"I like the atmosphere."

"It’s not the best place to be every night, you know."

You let out a sigh.

"Still, you work here every night."

She raises an eyebrow.

"And that’s exactly why I know it’s not a good place for you. By the way, my name is Nana."

You grip your glass tightly, as if it’s the only anchor keeping you there. You do the formalities, say it's a pleasure to meet her and also give her your name, then continue: "Well, I’m new in town," you end up saying, not sure why you’re opening up to her. "I don’t know many people yet."

She pauses for a second, as if studying you. Something in her eyes changes. She doesn’t say anything, but the way her lips curve suggests she’s interested.

"New in town... and you’ve already chosen this hole of a bar to spend your time?" she teases, with a half-smile.

You laugh, a short, nervous laugh. "It’s what’s available."

She leans in a bit, resting on the counter. "And what are you looking for here? Besides cheap beer?"

You think about the answer. You don’t have one. Or maybe you do. Or maybe you really don’t.

"I don’t know," you reply.

She smiles. A smile that says she understands what you’re going through.

—

The bar is almost empty now, just you, Nana, and a few lost souls at distant tables. The conversation flows easily, slipping through words like the drink she keeps serving you. You feel a lightness in your shoulders that wasn’t there when you walked in, as if the weight of the day had melted away, dripping to the floor along with the drops of beer.

"I get off at midnight," she says, casually, as she dries a glass with a cloth. "What do you think about going for a drive with me?"

You almost choke. "Are you serious?"

She looks over the rim of the glass, one eyebrow raised, a small smile on her lips. "Of course I am. Why wouldn’t I be?"

You glance around, as if expecting someone to wake you from a prank. "I thought... I don’t know, it was just bar talk."

"Bar talk is usually full of crap, I know," she says, pushing the glass aside. "But I’m not the type to say things just to say them. When I need to clear my head, I go for a drive."

Now you’re more intrigued. "A drive?"

She leans on the counter, as if this were the most natural thing in the world. As if there were nothing strange about a bartender inviting a guy she barely knows to go out at night. "I have a hobby," she says, without rush. "I like to restore old cars."

"Old cars?" That catches you off guard. You didn’t expect that. Of all the things she could have said, that was the last.

She points her thumb outside, toward the street. "The Impala out there. It’s mine."

Your eyes follow her finger, and you see the car parked outside. A black Impala, classic, gleaming under the faint streetlights. You’ve seen it plenty of times, but you never imagined it was hers.

"You’re kidding," you say, with a half-smile. "I see it there all the time, but I didn’t know it was yours. It’s beautiful."

She smiles, a smile that feels more personal now, as if you’ve hit something you didn’t know you were aiming for. "I restored it myself," she says, with contained pride. "Took a few good years, but there it is, ready to take me wherever I want."

You can’t hide your admiration. She’s different. Very different. The kind of person who seems to have lived a hundred lives while you’re still trying to figure out your first. And she seems to enjoy keeping you off balance.

"You... seem like a one-of-a-kind girl," you blurt out, without much thought, and realize how foolish it sounds once it’s said aloud.

"I could say the same about you," she replies, with a wink.

You feel a little out of place now. She has this confidence, this raw energy that you’ve never had. And you, the opposite of everything Nana seems to represent, never imagined attracting someone like her. But, for some reason, here she is, inviting you out, asking you to get into her car, to see her world.

"So," she says, suddenly serious. "Are you coming or not?"

Your mind is still processing everything, but before you can overthink it, you respond. "I’m in."

"Then you’ll be my passenger for the night," she says, grabbing her car keys from her pocket and twirling them on her finger. She leans closer, the distance between you shrinking until you can smell her. "I’m gonna take you to places you’ve never been before," she murmurs, and the way she says it makes it feel like those places aren’t just physical.

—

You’re standing outside, arms crossed against the chill of the night that seems to grow colder by the hour. The bar has finally closed, and now you can hear the muffled voices inside, the last of the staff finishing up. The black Impala is parked in front of you, gleaming under the streetlight. You wait, anxious, unsure of what to expect.

The door to the bar opens, and she appears. Nana. This time, without the counter between you. You notice now, in a much more intense way, how her body fills the space. She’s all soft lines and yet strong, tattoos tracing her arms that you imagine extend to places you haven’t seen yet.

She pauses for a second, noticing your gaze, and smiles with a bit of amusement. "Like my tank top?" she asks casually, turning slightly as if wanting you to get a better look. "I think it fits just right, don’t you?"

You swallow hard, and suddenly, your words seem to have evaporated. "Yeah... it looks great on you."

She lets out a low laugh, tilting her head as she slips on her leather jacket. "You’re not very good at hiding things, are you?"

Before you can respond, she opens the car door and motions for you to get in. You walk to the other side, feeling the ground unsteady beneath your feet. When you settle into the passenger seat, the smell of the leather upholstery mixes with her perfume, something intoxicating.

She starts the car, the engine purring low, deep, like a beast waking up. Nana leans slightly toward you, offering a cigarette. "Want one?"

You hesitate for a second, but... why not? "Sure."

She lights your cigarette first, then hers. The car still parked, both of you smoking in silence. You cough twice before getting the hang of it. The smoke mingles with the cold air seeping through the slightly cracked window. She seems content with the moment, like the entire scene is unfolding exactly as she had planned.

"Where are we going?" you ask.

She takes a long drag from the cigarette before answering, blowing the smoke out the side of her mouth. "I was thinking we could head to the coast. There’s a cliff along the road where you can see the sea, the bridge, and the lighthouse... it’s beautiful at night." Before you can respond, she continues, turning her face toward you with that mischievous smile that seems to be her signature. "But honestly? The destination doesn’t matter much. What matters is the ride." She looks at you for a second longer. "The company."

The way she says that — the way her eyes linger on yours — makes you feel like, yes, you will understand.

“I’m in your hands,” you say.

—

The Impala rumbles softly as she finally parks on the shoulder near the cliff. The road seems deserted now, wrapped in darkness, except for the thin line of streetlights stretching ahead. You step out of the car, the night air cooler here, damper, with the salty scent of the sea rising up to meet you. Nana gets out on her side, slamming the car door and pulling the zipper of her leather jacket up to her chin. She glances at you for a moment, her eyes gleaming, as if analyzing your reaction.

“This way,” she says, her phone's flashlight on, pointing to a trail that winds down a small hill, overgrown with weeds. “Watch your step here. It gets slippery.”

You descend slowly, each step sinking slightly into the loose soil. The wind is stronger here, whipping through the leaves and Nana’s hair, which she pushes back carelessly. You follow close behind, focusing on each movement, trying to appear confident but feeling the vulnerability of walking along a dark trail leading to a cliff.

Finally, you reach the cliff’s edge. The view is breathtaking—the suspension bridge stretching across the gap, the sea below churning under the distant light of a lighthouse. Lights flicker in the distance, and for a moment, it feels like the whole world is just this scene, this moment.

“Wow,” you murmur, taking it all in. “I’ve never seen the bridge from this angle... but I’ve seen pictures of people here.”

“Some braver tourists come here,” she says. “I think it makes them feel alive.”

She turns to you, a mischievous smile on her lips. “Want to take a picture too? To mark the moment.”

You laugh nervously but agree. “Sure… why not?”

Nana raises her phone, positioning you against the dramatic backdrop. “Stand there, try to look... introspective.”

You awkwardly pose, crossing your arms and gazing at the horizon. She snaps the picture and looks at the result, chuckling softly. “Came out great. I’ll send it to you later.”

She shows you the picture, and yeah, it really is great.

She leans against a rock, lighting a cigarette and offering you one. You take it, inhale slowly, the bitter taste blending with the night. Silence hangs for a while, until she breaks the tension with a question.

“So… how’s life treating you?” Her voice is soft, but there’s something more behind it, a genuine curiosity, like she really wants to understand.

You hesitate, thinking about how to answer. “I’m not sure if I’m doing it right, to be honest.”

She laughs quietly, but not mockingly. It’s more a sound of recognition, like she’s heard that many times before.

“Knew you’d say something like that,” she replies, blowing smoke to the side. “Most people aren’t sure. Everyone pretends they know what they’re doing, but really, we’re all just fumbling in the dark.”

You look at her, waiting for more. She seems to be building up to something bigger.

“See… the problem is, we’ve been taught to measure happiness the wrong way,” she says, her tone turning more serious now. “They made us believe that happiness is about having things. Buying a new car, getting a promotion, finding the perfect partner. And all that’s just temporary bullshit. When you get it, it’s great. It lasts for a while. And then?”

She pauses, as if giving you time to process. “Then you need something else. Another goal, another prize. Happiness has become this trophy we’re always chasing. But no one tells you the race never ends. It’s like working on a treadmill.”

“You think we shouldn’t chase those things?” you ask, trying to grasp where she’s headed.

She looks at you with an intensity that catches you off guard. “It’s not that we shouldn’t chase them. It’s that we should stop measuring our lives by them. What really matters is right now. We spend so much time trying to build a perfect future that we forget the present.”

She exhales slowly, as if each word comes from some deep, lived truth. “What happens when you reach all those goals and still feel empty? Modern culture, capitalism, they sell you this idea that you’re incomplete until you have everything. But no one tells you that ‘everything’ doesn’t exist.”

You stay silent for a moment, considering. It feels like she’s saying something that’s been lurking in the back of your mind, unspoken.

“So, what should we do? Just give up on all that?”

Nana gives a sly smile, like she’s been expecting the question. “It’s not about giving up. It’s about redefining what ‘everything’ means. For me, it’s this. The journey. The company. Not the destination. What you do now, in the moment, with the people you’re with... that’s what matters. Happiness is in what you do along the way, not what you achieve at the end.”

She flicks the cigarette to the ground, crushing the tip under her boot. “Once you start living in the present, you stop worrying so much about achieving the future. Because, one way or another, the future comes. And most people don’t even know what to do with it when it arrives.”

You stand there, staring out at the horizon, feeling the weight of her words. It’s a philosophy that challenges everything you’ve been trying to do since moving to this new city, trying to fit in, trying to find your path.

“So, what now?” you ask, more to yourself than to her.

She smiles, looking at you in a way that makes the air around you feel heavier. “Now? Now you finish that cigarette, enjoy the view, and stop worrying so much about what comes next.”

—

On the way back to the car, Nana stops suddenly, spinning on her heels with a provocative gleam in her eyes. “Get in the backseat,” she says, her voice soft but with an authority that leaves no room for questioning.

“Why?” you ask, unsure of her intent.

She smirks. “Just do what I’m asking.”

You hesitate for a second, but curiosity—and something else—wins out. You open the back door and slide onto the seat. You barely have time to adjust before Nana climbs in after you, straddling your lap without hesitation. The warmth of her body against yours is immediate, electric.

“You’ve been waiting for this all night, haven’t you?” Her question comes as a whisper in your ear, her lips barely brushing against the skin of your neck.

Before you can respond, she kisses you, and everything becomes a blur of lips and skin, your heart pounding in your chest. Her hands move down your body while yours trace the curves of hers, feeling every inch.

“You’re so hot,” you blurt out, unable to hold back.

She laughs, a low, confident sound. “I know,” she replies, her lips barely leaving yours.

Her movements grow bolder, her body pressing into yours, her hips grinding provocatively against you, making you even harder beneath her. She notices. “I drive you crazy, don’t I?”

All you can do is nod.

“I’m going to take the lead tonight,” she says, sliding down without breaking eye contact.

“Lead on,” you answer, giving in completely.

She kneels in the cramped space of the backseat, shrugs off her jacket for more comfort, and tosses it to the front seat. Then, with swift efficiency, Nana unbuttons your pants, pulling them down along with your boxers in one fluid motion. Your hard cock is now exposed, throbbing under the dim light of the car.

She wraps a hand around it, pausing for a moment as if admiring her work. “Mmm, big and thick,” she comments like she’s appreciating a piece of art. She leans down, placing a soft kiss on the tip, running her tongue slowly along it, teasing. “Relax,” she whispers, her eyes never leaving yours, “because now, I’m taking you to the edge.”

She starts slowly, teasing. The tip of her tongue circles the head as if testing your limits. “Did you expect to get a blowjob tonight?” She smiles but doesn’t wait for an answer. “I’ll show you what it’s really like.”

Her tongue trails from the base of your cock, moving upwards agonizingly slowly, every movement deliberate. One hand grips you at the perfect spot, squeezing just enough to make you pulse, while the other fondles your balls, alternating between pleasure and pain in a rhythm that makes your mind spin.

You groan, the sounds escaping uncontrollably. “Fuck, Nana…” is all you can manage.

She pauses for a second, holding your cock against her face, rubbing it against her cheek. “This is what you’ve wanted from the start, isn’t it?” Her tone is a mix of teasing and command. “Seeing me down here, driving you crazy.”

Before you can answer, she takes you fully into her mouth, without warning, without preparation. Her hot mouth envelops every inch, the pressure perfect. She goes deep, as far as she can, not giving you a chance to breathe. You try to say something, but the sensation is too much.

She begins to move, her lips sliding up and down, with force and precision. “I want you to look at me,” she says, pulling you out of her mouth for a moment, her eyes locked on yours. “Watch what I’m doing.”

You obey, breathless, heart pounding in your chest.

She returns, this time more intense, sucking hard, obscene sounds filling the confined space of the car. Saliva drips down your cock, her hands working in sync, squeezing the base, each movement pulling you closer to the edge. She changes the pace again, speeding up, then slowing down, torturing you, keeping you on the brink of orgasm but not letting you go.

“You’ll only cum when I say so,” she declares, her mouth still around you, the words muffled but the command clear. “Understood?”

You can only nod, completely at her mercy. Every movement feels designed to extract the maximum amount of pleasure. Her hand is now firm on your balls, squeezing with precise control, while the other continues to guide the rhythm at the base of your cock. She speeds up again, sucking with a fervor that makes your vision blur.

“Fuck, Nana, I... I can’t anymore,” you moan, your whole body burning, muscles tense, pressure building.

“Not yet! Only when I allow it.”

Nana grips you harder now, almost brutally, her eyes locked on yours as she intensifies every movement. Her rhythm is relentless, no pauses, no mercy. Her hand squeezes the base of your cock as if she wants to wring every drop of pleasure from you. She knows what she’s doing, pushing you to the limit, not letting you breathe, not allowing you any control over what’s happening.

“Go on, I want to feel you lose control,” she whispers, her voice muffled as your cock slides deep into her mouth. The wet, filthy sound of each suck echoes through the car, mingling with your moans, now hoarser, more desperate. Her hand on your balls squeezes perfectly, making your vision darken at the edges.

She speeds up, her hot mouth sucking harder, her tongue swirling around the tip, teasing and pressing in all the right ways. Her other hand keeps your cock steady, controlling every inch that enters and leaves her mouth. You try to hold on, but she’s in command and won’t stop until she breaks you.

“You’re going to cum for me, aren’t you?” she says, her mouth still wrapped around you, each word making your cock throb more, pushing you closer to the edge. “I want you to cum now. In my mouth. I want to taste it.”

Your legs tremble, your whole body tense. The heat inside you grows, the pressure building until it feels impossible to hold on for another second. The control you tried to maintain disintegrates when Nana increases the intensity again, sucking with a force that makes you let out a deep moan.

“Nana, I’m going to...,” you can barely form the words, your entire body ready to explode.

“That’s right. Now you can,” she murmurs. Nana takes you all the way in, her throat tightening around your cock, and that sends you straight over the edge. Her hand grips your base firmly as she keeps sucking, drawing out every second of your orgasm. You have no choice anymore, your body gives in, and you feel the first wave of pleasure rip through you, your cock throbbing violently in her mouth.

You cum hard, your body shaking with intensity, muscles clenched as your cum explodes into her mouth. She doesn’t pull back, doesn’t hesitate. She keeps you deep, her mouth sealed, sucking every last drop, feeling every pulse. You feel the warmth of your own cum fill her mouth, and she doesn’t stop, still sucking, wanting more from you. She makes sure you give it all, every drop.

“That’s it... good boy,” she whispers between licks, her voice warm and husky, as the last spurt escapes, your body still trembling, exhausted.

She slowly pulls your cock out of her mouth, her lips sliding along the length in the process. Her eyes never leave you, dominant, satisfied.

“I told you I’d take you to the edge,” she says teasingly, wiping her mouth with the back of her hand, your taste still on her lips.

You’re buttoning up your pants, trying to process what just happened. Your mind is a whirlwind—everything feels surreal, like you’re watching from the outside. Nana is there, still with that lazy smile on her lips, as if she’d just done something casual, something she does with anyone. But you know that’s not true, she saw something in you. Though you’re not sure what.

“How do you feel?” Her question pulls you back to the car, to the moment.

You chuckle softly, a little incredulous. “Good... Too good, actually,” you answer, letting out a breath in a sigh that tries to release the tension.

“Great,” she says, reaching over the driver's seat to grab her jacket back. “That was the plan. And we’re just getting started.”

You look at her, confused. “Wait, there’s more?”

She laughs, tossing her hair back before sliding into the driver's seat. “Of course there’s more. I haven’t even had my turn yet.” She turns the key in the ignition, and the Impala roars to life like a beast awakening.

You join her in the front seat, grabbing another cigarette from the pack on the dashboard without thinking too much. The silence between you is comfortable now, almost conspiratorial. Nana glances at you from the corner of her eye, approving. “Light one for me too,” she says.

You obey, lighting both cigarettes and handing one to her. The smell of tobacco fills the car as the Impala rolls down the streets of the sleeping city. The engine hums, blending with the sound of tires on asphalt, a buzz that cradles the adrenaline.

Nana takes a long drag and exhales the smoke slowly, her eyes fixed on the road. “Ever gotten a blowjob in a car before?” The question comes casually.

“No,” you admit.

She smirks. “And how did it feel?”

You think for a second, the words swirling in your mind, trying to find something that captures what just happened. “Indescribable... Especially coming from someone as gorgeous as you.”

She laughs, a low laugh, like she expected that kind of compliment. “Thanks,” she says, with a hint of sarcasm. She shifts gears and speeds up a little more.

“Where are we going now?” you ask, trying to understand what else she has planned for the night.

Nana shrugs. “I don’t know. But there’s a gun in the glovebox, we could go out and rob some places... like Bonnie and Clyde.”

“Too bad I’m a pacifist,” you joke, playing along.

She pouts mockingly, as if disappointed. “Of course you are... The best guys always are pacifists.” She winks, taking another drag before leaning in closer, the smoke mingling in the air between you. “But maybe we’ll find another way to have fun, huh?”

—

The Impala roars down the empty road, slicing through the quiet of the early morning like a blade. The city lights flicker in and out of view, passing as yellow and red blurs, while Nana drives with one hand on the wheel and the other holding her cigarette. Each time she inhales, the glowing tip briefly lights up her face, showing the smile that never leaves her lips.

She’s been talking for minutes, maybe hours—you’ve lost track of time. Her words are like smoke, wrapping around you in a philosophical fog that seems endless. “Freedom,” she says, taking a deep drag and letting the smoke out slowly, “isn’t what everyone thinks. It’s not doing what you want, when you want. No. It’s knowing that you’re nothing, nobody gives you a purpose. You’re free to create your own.”

You watch the streets go by, the low buildings and traffic lights blinking green. “Sartre,” she continues, never taking her eyes off the road, “he had this view... that we’re all condemned to be free. Like, the freedom to have to make choices, to live with those choices. There’s no ‘fate,’ just the shit you choose to do.”

You nod, not saying much, but taking in every word.

“Real freedom is knowing that all of this,” she gestures widely with her hand, indicating the city around you, “is meaningless. You, me, everyone. And still choosing what to do with it.”

The Impala turns onto a larger avenue now, lit by an endless string of streetlights. “We live in this invisible cage, you know? Jobs, money, house, car. But none of it matters, because in the end... nothing matters.” She smiles sideways, as if she’s just told the most tragic and funniest joke in the world.

You stay silent, processing. You’re not sure if you agree, but something about the way she speaks, the intensity with which she lives, makes sense. It’s like she’s living everything with such urgency that you have no choice but to keep up with her pace. It’s terrifying and addictive at the same time.

Another turn and you pull into an alley, where a neon LED sign marks a convenience store. Nana slows down and parks the car. “Second-to-last stop,” she says, turning off the engine and turning to you. “Convenience store. Let’s buy something to celebrate this condemned freedom.”

You step out of the car with her, the cool night air hitting your skin. She pulls the zipper of her jacket up again. “Tell me something,” she says as you walk toward the store entrance, “if you could do anything right now, with no consequences… what would you do?”

The question lingers, heavy, as she opens the store door. You don’t know how to respond, but the truth is, ever since you got into that car, it feels like you’ve been living exactly that: a night without consequences, a blur of unexpected freedom.

She grabs a soda from the fridge and tosses it to you. “Cheap philosophy, right? I promise I’ll stop here. Wait for me outside. Don't worry, I'll pay for your soda and buy some things and be right back.”

—

You’re leaning against the car’s hood, soda can in hand, but not really drinking. Suddenly, the convenience store door opens, and there’s Nana, but now she's holding something. It’s not what you expected—no bottles of beer or another round of cigarettes. She’s carrying a cake. Nothing fancy, just a white cake with frosting. And as she approaches, you can read what’s written, a bit crooked, in pink and blue icing: “Happy Birthday.”

You’re confused. “Happy birthday to me,” she says with a smile that tries to be casual, but you can see a hint of something deeper there.

“Wait, is it your birthday?” The question escapes before you can process it.

Nana lets out a short, humorless laugh, as if amused by your surprise. “Yeah, it’s today.” She waves the cake in front of you, almost like presenting proof. “Surprise, I guess.”

You straighten up, the soda can dangling loosely from your fingers. “Damn, happy birthday!” You hug her, awkward but sincere. The cake almost squashes between you, but she laughs again, this time genuinely. When she pulls away, you're full of questions. “But why… why are you spending your birthday with a stranger instead of, I don’t know, your friends, family?”

She shrugs, her eyes drifting for a second before returning to yours. “I don’t think anyone’s awake now to celebrate with me. I’ve got the whole day ahead for that. Right now, it’s just… my time. I was going to do this alone, you know? But then, I saw you alone at the bar and thought… maybe it would be nice. Maybe we could keep each other company.” She makes it sound simple, and maybe it is.

You watch as she places the cake on the hood of the car, like it’s the most natural setting for a celebration. She opens the packaging of a plastic knife—the flimsy kind that could snap at any moment trying to cut through tougher frosting—and starts slicing the cake right there, no ceremony, no ritual. Just a girl and a cake in a convenience store parking lot.

“I’ve only known you for a few hours, but this is so… you,” you comment.

“Good. You can lose everything, except your essence.”

As you take your first bite, the sweetness fills your mouth, but it’s the bitterness of the early morning that still lingers in the air. You’re eating cake in the middle of a parking lot, yet somehow, it’s the most meaningful cake you’ve ever had. She’s eating too, her eyes fixed on the horizon where the city lights blend into the dark sky.

“Everything I’ve said tonight,” she begins softly, “was more about me than you. I’m getting older, and these dates always make me think… reflect on everything. The choices. What could’ve been different, what still can be. I guess I was just trying to reaffirm something to myself.”

You look at her, chewing slowly. There’s something vulnerable in that moment, something you hadn’t seen in her until now. “Nana, you’re doing great,” you say, your words feeling a bit silly, but somehow, they make sense. “Look at you—you’re killing it.”

She smiles, but there’s a melancholy curve to her lips. “Yeah, maybe. Who knows.” She sighs, not out of exhaustion—more like someone shedding a weight they've carried for too long. “I always get reflective on my birthday. Maybe I just need to stop overthinking.”

You smile back, and something inside you, a light sense of urgency, makes you promise, “I’ll get you a present later.”

“You’re already my present,” she says, and then, with a quick move, she swipes some frosting and gently spreads it over your lips.

Before you can react, she kisses you. It’s sweet and warm, the taste of frosting mixing with the heat of her lips. And for a moment, you think of nothing—not the cake, not the parking lot, not the wild world. Just her.

She pulls you a little closer, and for a second, you get lost in the rhythm of her breathing, in the way her chest rises and falls, pressed against you. Nana’s hair falls over her face, and you feel its softness brushing against your skin.

When she finally pulls away, just enough to look into your eyes, your lips are still wet from the kiss. She quickly licks her own, as if savoring the moment. “This night…” she begins, her voice low, almost a whisper. “It’s been really great.”

You try to say something, but your mind is still spinning from the kiss, so you just manage to say, “Thanks… for pulling me out of my comfort zone.”

“The night’s not over yet, we still have so much to explore, so much to feel. And if you think that was stepping out of your comfort zone… just wait.” She pauses, her eyes drifting to your lips before locking onto yours again. “There’s more where that came from.”

You chuckle, not because it’s funny, but because it’s all you can do. The weight of her words feels lighter now, the tension between you both like an electric current that keeps flowing, even when you’re not touching. Her taste still lingers on your lips.

“You have no idea how much I needed this,” you say, finally taking in a full breath, as if you’ve been holding it since the night began. “I didn’t know it, but… I needed it.”

She gives a small nod, as if she knew that all along. “I can feel the energy of the people around me. And when I saw you at that bar… you looked like you needed a different kind of night. Something… off the script. And now here we are.”

“Yeah… here we are.”

“But seriously,” she continues, her voice lower, almost confiding. “I wanted tonight to be good. And I’m glad you’re here with me. Truly.”

You run a hand through her hair, just a light touch, but it says everything. “I’m glad you chose me for this.”

“You were the best choice of the night. And now…” She glances around, as if looking for something, anything to pull you both back into the moment. “Let’s finish this cake before it melts on the hood.”

She scrapes a bit more frosting with her finger and brings it to her mouth, but before tasting it, she smears another dollop on your lips again, with a mischievous smile. “This time, I want you to kiss me.”

—

Nana drives in silence, the car gliding along the nearly empty road. The city lights fade behind you, and the cool night air begins to seep in through the slightly open window. You feel the freshness, the smell of asphalt and dew-covered grass. She doesn’t say much, just smiles occasionally, as if she knows exactly what's coming and wants to savor your curiosity. And you, lost in your own thoughts, can only wonder where she's taking you now.

"It's a place where we can really relax," she says, breaking the silence. "You'll see. I promise."

Minutes later, you pull up in front of a motel. It's not one of those seedy places you see in mafia movies, but it's no five-star hotel either. The neon lights blink in soft tones, and the sign above the entrance looks a bit old, but well-maintained. You recognize the place by sight, but you never imagined you'd find yourself here. Nana pulls the handbrake in a swift, almost automatic motion and looks at you.

"Shall we?" She doesn’t wait for an answer. She steps out of the car, and you follow.

Inside, the lobby is small and discreet. A receptionist behind the counter doesn’t even look up from the book she's reading while Nana handles everything. In minutes, you’re climbing the stairs, walking through narrow hallways with striped wallpaper. There's a strange calm in the air.

When you both enter the room, it’s... normal. No surprises, just a wide double bed covered with white sheets and a brown bedspread. A lamp in the corner casts a soft light, and the curtains are thick enough to keep the outside world at bay. In the background, a TV is mounted on the wall, a small fridge nearby, and the inevitable mirror above the headboard—a cliché the motel couldn’t resist.

Nana kicks off her shoes and jacket in seconds, almost like she's at home. She walks over to the bed and, without hesitation, jumps onto it, sinking into the sheets.

"Good," she says, looking at you lazily, "I hope you know how to make the birthday girl happy. You know what I mean, right?"

You give a half-smile, a bit awkward, and walk to the bed, sitting on the edge. The feel of the soft mattress under you eases some of the tension in your body. She reaches out and touches your arm.

"Relax," she whispers. "No need to rush."

She gets up and goes to the small light control on the wall. With a click, a soft neon glow, in shades of pink and purple, fills the room, replacing the lamp’s light. Now, the room has a warm, intimate, almost dreamlike atmosphere.

She returns to the bed, this time with two small bottles of tequila she found in the mini-fridge. She hands one to you, opening hers with a pop.

"Shall we toast?" She raises her bottle in the air. "To unexpected nights... and the best company."

You raise yours too. "To the most interesting birthday girl I've ever met."

You drink, and the alcohol burns its familiar path down your throat, spreading warmth through your body. She lets out a soft laugh, that laugh you know so well, and moves closer. The closeness between you grows, not just physically, but in a way you can’t quite explain. As if, with every sip, every exchanged glance, something deeper is being built.

"I like this," she says, her voice soft, almost melancholic. "Being here, now. With you. It feels like... like I've finally stopped running for a second, you know? Like life pressed pause so I could breathe."

You feel the warmth of her hand on yours and gently squeeze it. "And I like that you pulled me out of my own head for a night."

She smiles, her eyes glowing under the neon light.

The tension between you grows, but it’s not rushed. It’s slow, almost like a rhythm you’ve created together. She leans in and kisses you, this time with a softness that suggests it's not just desire—it’s connection.

She pulls back, looking into your eyes, as if she’s studying every part of you. "From now on, the birthday girl is all yours."

Then she sighs, looking at you with those eyes that, until now, always seemed in control. But now, for the first time, they seem to be surrendering to you.

She gently takes the tequila bottle from your hand and places it on the bedside table along with hers. Standing, Nana’s hands move to the hem of her tank top, and in a slow, almost ritualistic gesture, she lifts it over her head. The fabric slides down her skin like it's nothing, and suddenly, she’s exposed. Her slender body, the tattoos, her small, almost non-existent breasts, raw beauty without pretense. She sits at the edge of the bed, vulnerable for the first time.

"Do you like what you see?" she asks as she lies down on the bed. She’s not in control now.

For now.

You don’t answer. Instead, you stand up, just to be able to look down at her, feeling the power of the situation shift. She stays there, lying down, waiting, in a long, tension-filled pause. You want her even more because of it.

Nana looks at you, biting her lower lip, impatient but silent. And then, with a brief smile, you lean over her. Your hands go straight to her neck, firm but not aggressive. Just enough for her to feel that you're in charge. She closes her eyes, her breath quickening as you lower your head and begin kissing her skin—first her neck, then her shoulders. Your touch is slow, every movement deliberate, and she melts bit by bit. She moans as your lips trail down to her breasts. You open your mouth, teasing her skin with your tongue, tracing the outline of her small, dark areolas. Nana sighs, eyes closed, wordless now. She’s passive, completely surrendered, her moans soft and ragged.

"Keep going..." she murmurs, barely audible.

You obey, but at your own pace. You take one of her breasts in your hand, gently squeezing while sucking on the other, your tongue playing with her nipple. Nana arches her back, trying to move against you, but your hands on her hips keep her in place. She struggles, impatient, but you don’t let her. "Slow down, Nana," you whisper, your voice controlled, almost cold. "The night is ours."

She laughs, a short, shaky laugh. "You bastard..." she says, but there’s amusement in her voice, an acceptance of the role she’s now playing. "Are you going to make me beg?"

"Only if you want to," you reply, your lips returning to her breasts, alternating between them now, nibbling harder, your tongue circling the areolas. She moans louder, finally surrendering completely to the situation.

Nana lets out a long sigh, her fingers twisting into the sheets as you move over her with more intensity, and her breathing becomes erratic. "Damn, this... this is..." She can barely form a sentence. "This feels so fucking good..."

She tries to squirm, seeking more contact, but you hold her down again, keeping her in place. And for the first time, she doesn’t fight back. She accepts it, and that’s exactly what you wanted.

Then comes the moment. "Now I need you to eat me out," she says. And of course, you oblige. Her pants slide down her legs, and when you see it, there’s that wet spot on her white panties. You hold back the anticipation for a moment as you undress, there’s no rush, and that teases Nana in a fun way. Now free of any fabric, you trace your fingers over her panties, feeling the warmth, the moisture, while your lips travel down her thighs, following a path that leads you closer to what you really want.

She moans softly, but just enough to let you know you’re doing it right. Every second of anticipation is killing her, and she likes it. Until it becomes unbearable, and she squeezes her thighs around your head, whispering, "Lick me already. Come on, I’m about to explode."

When you pull off her panties, it’s like peeling away the last layer of something much deeper. The air in the room feels heavier, and her scent fills the space like a wild, addictive perfume. You kneel between her legs, the warm skin of her inner thighs pressing lightly on either side of you. Every breath she takes, every swallowed moan, brings you closer, deeper. Your tongue moves slowly, first lightly, as if testing, tasting the contours. The wet heat pulsing inside her precedes something big, something that’s going to break when you finally open the floodgates.

"Don’t stop..." she whispers, surrendered. "More... deeper."

You comply. Your tongue works as if following a rhythm only the two of you know. Its tip finds that exact spot, and Nana arches, her hips trembling, as if every muscle in her body is short-circuiting, rebelling. She moans louder now, unashamed, uncontrolled.

"Like that... don’t stop, fuck, keep going..." Her voice blends with her breathing, her moans becoming more spaced, almost suffocated.

You feel her taste growing stronger, the moisture increasing in your mouth, on your lips, and then, without warning, Nana’s entire body contracts. Her muscles tighten, her legs squeeze your head hard, and she cums, a muffled scream escaping her throat. Her body trembles, her hips spasming involuntarily, and you keep going, knowing it’s not over. Not for her.

"Fuck... this... my god..." She moans through gritted teeth, eyes squeezed shut, her whole body vibrating as if she’s in another dimension. And you continue, your tongue sliding faster, deeper, until she lets out a final moan, long, drawn-out, as if exorcizing everything inside her.

When you come back up, her taste is still fresh in your mouth. You kiss her, her tongue meeting yours, and she tastes herself on your lips.

"You... fuck... you drove me crazy," she says, her voice weak but still full of intent. She looks at you, her eyes bright, satisfied, then she smiles. "Now... fuck me. Fuck me like it’s the last thing you’re going to do today."

She turns over on all fours, her knees sinking into the mattress with that natural movement, without hesitation. The invitation doesn’t need words; it’s all in the gesture, in the way her hips raise, her spine arched just enough to drive you completely insane. The tattoos scattered across her slim body come alive under the soft room light, every line of the design blending with the shadows, while her desire escapes in small sighs.

You grab her hips, your fingers digging into the soft flesh as if trying to anchor her to the moment. The first thrust is slow, almost a test, and Nana lets out a low moan, something between pleasure and provocation. She loves feeling the tension building in you and pushes back, forcing you to go deeper.

"That’s it..." she murmurs through gritted teeth, "harder."

You obey. The sound of skin against skin fills the room, mixing with her moans, growing louder each time. The pace quickens, you pull her closer, burying yourself deeper, while Nana moves against you, her hips meeting yours with perfect precision at each thrust. The sheets bunch up beneath her, and her moans turn into something almost animalistic, a rough sound that makes her body tremble.

"Fuck..." she moans, her head dropping forward, hair falling into her face. "Fuck me faster."

You grip her hips harder, her body responding to yours with absolute submission. Every movement is an exchange—a silent request, an inevitable response. Her moans become more erratic, the bed creaking with the frantic rhythm you both reach. Her whole body tense, the muscles in her back and thighs contracted, almost falling apart under your hands.

Suddenly, she stops, breaking the rhythm, and turns around. Her gaze is wild, a mix of excitement and challenge. "Now let me do it my way."

She climbs on top of you, her knees sinking into the mattress next to your hips, and the sight is mesmerizing. Nana looks down at you, her eyes half-closed, lips parted, as she slowly lowers herself, feeling every inch of you filling her again. She lets out a heavy sigh and starts moving, first slow, controlled, her hips rising and falling with calculated precision, almost cruel.

"You like watching me like this?" she asks, her voice raspy, full of satisfaction.

All you can do is nod. And she smiles, that smile that says she knows exactly what she’s doing to you. Nana picks up the pace, her hips slamming against yours with force, riding you without a shred of inhibition. Her hands find your chest, nails lightly scratching your skin, her face twisted in pure pleasure. She leans forward, her small breasts pressed against you, her mouth close to your ear as she whispers, her voice broken by moans.

"You... are... perfect."

Nana's hands grip your shoulders, her hips riding your cock with the precision of someone who knows their body well. But it won’t last like this. Not for long. You need to take control. "My turn," you whisper against her ear. She lets out a low moan, a half-smile, like she was waiting for it.

She climbs off of you. You both adjust, lying on your sides, legs intertwined, and you pull her closer, your mouth on her neck, tasting her sweaty skin, the scent of desire mixing with the heat of the room. "Closer," you say, as your hands travel down her tattooed hips, pulling her into you. Nana doesn’t hesitate, grinding her hips, sinking deeper into you, her eyes half-closed, mouth open, moaning.

"You like it like this, don’t you?" you ask, one hand sliding to her neck. She turns her head to look over her shoulder, that same half-cynical, half-hungry smile.

"I love it," she murmurs, and then your fingers lightly tighten around her throat. Nothing violent, just enough for her to feel the pressure. It makes her moan even louder, her body reacting, giving in to the control you’ve taken. "Harder," she asks, eyes shutting like she's lost in her own satisfaction.

You squeeze a little more, controlling the intensity with the same precision you control the thrusts. Each time you bury yourself inside her, she grips the sheets, her whole body tense with pleasure. The heat of her skin, the way she moves against you, the sound of her moans muffled by your hand... all of it makes you lose track of anything else.

"You’re so fucking hot," you say, your entire body focused on how she’s giving herself to you. She moans in response, but her words are getting more fragmented, harder to get out. You release her neck for a second, just to let her breathe better. She swallows hard and lets out a short laugh, almost in disbelief.

"Fuck, you’re gonna make me come again," she confesses, and you realize you’re almost there too. You pull out of her, sitting on the edge of the bed, pulling Nana into your lap, and she climbs back on top of you. The heat of her skin against yours is instant, and you feel her entire body mold to yours like a second skin. Your feet are planted firmly on the floor, ready for the intensity of Nana’s hips. Her hands grip your shoulders, and her pussy sinks down slowly on your cock with a precision that’s pure wickedness.

The room is a mess of discarded clothes, crumpled sheets, and the scent of sex hanging in the air.

She settles in, adjusts, and then starts riding, slow at first, almost like she’s teasing, savoring the moment.

"Mmm, I knew you’d like it when I ride you… Mmm, yeah, I bet it has become your favorite position…" she murmurs, her voice low, while her nails lightly scratch your shoulders, her ass moving with pinpoint accuracy on your cock. The sensation is overwhelming, the tight, wet grip as if she was made for this.

You hold onto her hips tightly, fingers sinking into her skin, pulling her closer, deeper. "Fuck, Nana… You’re so good," you blurt out, not even realizing the words slipped out.

She lets out a little laugh, muffled by the sound of bodies colliding. "I know," she replies, and you can feel her ego swelling alongside the pleasure she’s giving you. She picks up the pace, and now there’s nothing gentle about it. No. Now it’s skin on skin, the sound of flesh against flesh, and her ass moving fast, faster, her moans coming in waves, louder and louder.

You feel everything. Her weight in your lap, her hips rising and falling in a rhythm only she controls. The way she moans when you pull her even closer, when you force the thrusts to go deeper. The sensation is brutal. You can barely think, barely speak, all you can do is moan along with her, your bodies drenched in sweat and pleasure.

"You like it when I do this, don’t you?" she gasps, her hair falling messily across her face as she rides you like she’s competing with her own pleasure. "You love it when I sit on your cock, right?"

You can only nod. Any attempt to speak would be a pathetic moan at this point.

She leans forward, her lips at your ear, her breath hot and ragged. "I’m gonna come like this… right in your lap," she whispers, like it’s a dirty secret. "And you’re gonna come with me. Together."

And there’s no escaping it. She’s pulling you along, dragging you down with her, every movement sinking you both deeper into this shared haze of raw pleasure.

Nana speeds up, riding with an almost desperate urgency now, her moans turning into muffled screams, her nails clawing at your back, leaving marks. With each thrust, you feel like you’re about to lose your mind, like the pleasure is tearing you apart from the inside.

Nana leans forward, her hair falling loose across her face, her hands braced on your shoulders as she picks up speed, and it’s like the world is melting around you. Each time she comes down on your cock, the sound of flesh slapping together is almost deafening. Her ass slides so perfectly in your lap it feels like you were made for this.

"Fuck, Nana…," you let out, almost without control, gripping her hips, pulling her even deeper, feeling your cock completely swallowed up. "I’m gonna come..."

She smirks, a wicked, crooked grin, as she keeps riding you with an almost violent intensity. "Come inside me."

Your hands slide down her sweaty back, fingers digging into her flesh, and you can only nod, speechless, your breathing ragged, your body already trembling, about to collapse. She leans in, her words a whisper against your ear: "Come with me… I want your hot cum in my tight little pussy."

And then it happens. Her body shakes, and yours follows, and everything implodes. You feel the spasm that grips her, her pussy tightening around you in a way that knocks the breath out of you, and that’s it. There’s no turning back. You come with a force that feels like it’s ripping your soul out of your body, filling her up, each thrust spilling more. Nana screams your name, or at least something that sounds like it, and she sinks down one last time, slowly, sitting fully on your cock, feeling every drop of your cum inside her.

"Fuck, Nana…" is all you can manage as the world comes back into focus, your body exhausted but still buzzing with the intensity of it all.

You stay like that, quiet, your bodies still pressed together, breathing heavy, trying to find a normal rhythm again. The room is drowned in silence, the kind of silence that only exists when the noise was so loud before it feels almost unreal now. You’re still inside her. You can feel the soft, steady heat of Nana’s body around your cock, a warmth that pulses slowly, matching the rapid beat of your heart. She doesn’t move, just stays there, relaxed against your body.

"It feels so good having you inside me like this," she says, almost like letting go of a secret, her voice low, muffled, without her usual brazen confidence. You smile, still catching your breath, and you feel a trickle of your hot cum running down your cock. "It’s your birthday, but I’m the one who got the gift," you reply. "Thank you. For this amazing night. For the conversation. For the sex. For getting to know you, Nana."

She stays quiet for a second, and you feel her body tense a little against yours. Like she’s embarrassed. Nana? Embarrassed? It’s almost funny. You can hardly believe it, but there it is, the slight blush on her cheeks, the way she looks off to the side. And before you can say more, she kisses you. A quick kiss, but full of urgency. Like she wants to stop whatever words you were about to spill.

"Shut up, idiot," she mutters against your lips, a little laugh escaping her.

You pull her a little closer, savoring the last remnants of the moment, not wanting to break whatever it is you’ve just created together. She sighs, relaxing even more, as if she’s finally let her body collapse after holding it all together for so long.

"This was a gift for me too," she finally says, letting out the laugh she’d been holding back. "And what a gift, huh? I didn’t think it’d be so... memorable." The word comes out with her typical sarcasm, but there’s a layer of real gratitude hidden beneath that tough exterior.

"I’d say the same," you reply, your voice a little lighter, your body finally slowing down, though still electrified by the feeling of being inside her.

Then, suddenly, she lets out a quiet, mischievous giggle. "Can you feel it?" she asks. "Can you feel how full of cum I am?"

She slowly climbs off your lap, placing one foot on the bed, her eyes locked on you as she spreads her legs. "Look at this," she murmurs, using two fingers to part her pussy lips, letting the cum start to drip out. "Wow, you really filled me up." The liquid drips down her fingers as she teases, "What’s better than a creampie for a birthday?”

—

You wake up to the soft light filtering through the motel curtains, making everything seem a little more golden, like the place was painted by an artist obsessed with warm tones. Your body feels heavy, but relaxed, your mind floating between dream and reality, the memory of last night still buzzing in your muscles, your skin, in the scent of Nana that seems to have fused with the air.

You barely move, and you can already feel it. She’s there. Pressed up against you. Skin on skin. Your naked bodies intertwined in a way that makes it seem like you’ve always known how to fit together, like you’re not strangers, like this isn’t the first time. And then, without warning, you feel her lips. First, a soft kiss on your chest, like she’s exploring the territory again, testing the waters. Then, the kiss travels up to your neck, and suddenly, her lips are on yours, warm and hungry. She doesn’t need to say anything. The way she kisses you says it all.

You finally open your eyes, your body starting to wake up, though you’re already fully awake where it matters. “Nana, you need to stop,” you joke, your voice raspy, trying to sound more relaxed than you really are. “You’re going to get me obsessed with you. And later, I’ll remember this and want more.”

She laughs, her lips still on yours, a quiet giggle that you feel vibrate against your mouth. “Who said we’re done here?” she whispers, gently tugging on your bottom lip with her teeth before letting it go. “Maybe I’m just getting started.”

“So, you want to see me again?” you ask, half-joking, half-serious, testing the waters.

She raises an eyebrow, like the question is ridiculous. “After a night like that? Of course I want to see you again. Many times, actually.” She bites her lip, her gaze a little challenging, like she’s already planning something, and you know she is. She always is.

Without warning, Nana reaches for her phone on the bedside table. She unlocks it and smiles, a mischievous smile. She opens the camera and points it at you both. “Let’s capture this moment.”

You frown, still half-asleep, half-disbelieving. “Are you serious?”

“Of course I am.” She says it like it’s the most obvious thing in the world. “A night like this deserves a keepsake, don’t you think?” She doesn’t wait for your answer. Her finger is already on the button, ready to take the picture.

The idea feels strange, but you go with it. You snuggle up to her, both of you smiling for the camera, like it’s something you do all the time. She snaps the photo, the two of you grinning, with no pretense. Just warm skin, relaxed bodies. Then, she takes another. This time, you tilt your head and kiss Nana, the sensation more vivid, with a clarity that comes with daylight, when everything feels more real, less driven by the adrenaline of the moment.

When the camera’s click finally falls silent, she tosses the phone aside and leans back against you, eyes closed, body relaxed. “This is going to be a good memory,” she murmurs, and there’s something in her voice that makes you believe her.

She shifts, the sheet slipping slightly, and you feel the warmth of her skin against yours. Nana settles more into you, a slow, almost deliberate movement. She lets out a quiet laugh, more breath than sound, and you feel her smile against your neck.

“I can feel it,” she says, her voice warmer now, closer to a whisper. “You’re already hard for me.” And then, as if to prove her point, she adjusts her body again, rubbing against you like she’s discovered a new toy and can’t resist.

You sigh, half pleasure, half yearning. “Yeah, I’m horny,” you admit, no beating around the bush. There’s something about the way she’s pressed against you, the smell of her hair mingling with the room’s air, that erases any notion of self-control.

“Good,” she says, as if that’s exactly what she was waiting for. “How about a nice blowjob to start the day?”

You already know the answer, but you stay silent for a second, your mind processing the almost ridiculous simplicity of the proposal, the casual way she talks about it, like she’s asking what you want for breakfast. It’s something you love about this now not-so-strange girl. So finally, you open your mouth. “Yes, please.”

She giggles, the kind of giggle that’s full of mischief, of pure fun. She leans over you, her hand trailing down your stomach to your cock, her fingers cool against your warm skin. “I knew you’d say that,” she murmurs, almost to herself, as she starts to move slowly down your body, like she’s studying your every reaction.

Nana crawls down to your hips, her movements slow, lazy, like she has all the time in the world, and then lowers her head. Her lips touch the tip of your cock first, a kiss almost chaste, before she opens her mouth and takes you in.

—

The sun is already up, it's around nine in the morning. You're in the car next to Nana after a night that felt like it came straight out of a dirty and perfect dream. The motel is left behind like a distant memory, a blur of neon and crumpled sheets. Now, you're parked in front of your house, and reality is there, knocking at the door.

Breakfast helped you get your energy back. You had to insist on paying. It was the least you could do. Nana didn’t want to accept it, but at some point, she got tired of arguing. Though, you know she doesn't really care about that kind of thing. She doesn’t seem like someone who worries about small formalities. But for you, paying for breakfast was your way of thanking her for more than just the night. It was for a temporary collapse of everything you knew.

She leans against the steering wheel, her slender fingers drumming on it. "We’ll talk on Insta, I’ll send you the photos there too," she says, her eyes fixed on the road ahead.

You smile, still a bit dazed, your muscles tired from all the pleasure and exhaustion. "That’d be great." You smile, not sure what to say in these final minutes. "I really enjoyed meeting you, Nana. I mean that."

She turns to you. “I liked meeting you too, you’re a nice guy.”

The words come out with the casualness of someone who's been through this before, but with a sincerity that makes you believe that, even if it’s fleeting, it was special in some way.

You watch her, her profile illuminated by the morning light, and realize how something so simple, a chance encounter, can turn your day, your week, maybe even your life, upside down if you let it.

"Happy birthday again," you say, your hand already on the door handle.

"Thanks," she replies. “I hope the rest of my day is as interesting as it’s been so far.”

You laugh, unsure if she's being serious or joking. But then, just before getting out of the car, something pulls you back, a final question you have to ask. "But... what now, Nana? What do we do?"

She looks at you with that smile, the one you’ve already learned to associate with the unpredictable. "Now?" She pauses, starting the car, her eyes focused on the road. "Now, we just jump to the next night and see what we find."

Of course. You knew she’d say something like that. You nod, a smile forming on your face, because there’s nothing more to say. You step out of the car, feeling different somehow, even though everything around you looks exactly the same as before.

Nana waves slightly, and you stand there, watching the car disappear around the corner, knowing that last night was just one among many that could happen.

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cavegirlpoems · 11 months ago

Note

So many TTRPG people, like yourself, seem to exist in a world where players don't actually enjoy the campaigns they're in, and don't actually like playing with the people they play with, and your whole approach to game mechanics seems like it's about trying to bribe these people to continue playing at a given table.

i have no idea where you get this idea from, I play a bunch of different games - including freeform text rp, fest larps, parlour larps, regular tabletop campaigns, longform play-by-post games and narrative wargames - and I have a lot of fun doing it. I wouldn't be a game designer if I didn't actually enjoy games. The thing is, if you study game design and ttrpg theory seriously, you think about the intent behind design decisions. Game design doesn't just happen by accident, the designer put a given rule in for a reason. So, you ask yourself why the designer made the game the way it did, and what they were trying to achieve.

A significant tool for game design is considering the feedback the game provides; what behaviours that ruleset rewards and what it discourages. (You can apply this analysis to other games, too, like video games). When I'm talking about a bribe, it's in that context; how does the game reward you for doing things, and what things does it reward. (For example, 'scrabble' rewards you for playing words with weird letters in them by making those letters worth more points.)

The thing is, ultimately, every game relies on a simple proposition; that if you volunterily use its rules, you will have fun. You don't need to follow the rules, and you can have fun without them, but the idea is that using the rules will let you have more fun, or a different type of fun, than if you didn't. (For example, throwing a ball around is a bit fun, but if everybody agrees to follow the rules of basketball, you get a different experience that a lot of people prefer). So, the only bribe you're making on the interpersonal, out-out-of-game level (unless something weird is going on) is "if we play this game it will be fun". When I talk about bribes and incentives, it's *inside* the game, after we've all agreed to the game's proposition of "if you use the rules, you will have fun".

Now, what counts as an incentive varies by game. Some, like Warhammer 40k, are challenge-based, and have ways to keep score of success and victory; here, things that signify overcoming the challenge are your incentives; how you get a high score, how you win, etc. Others, like most ttrpgs, are creative-based. What constitutes an incentive within the game's structure is less precisely defined. By and large, though, these incentives tend to be things like increased agency within the game fiction, space for creative expression, and experiencing and learning about more of the game fiction. (In this structure, 'being more mechanically powerful' can be thought of as a way of granting a player more agency, because their actions are more likely to succeed and result in the outcomes that they want. If the mechanical growth is lateral as well as vertical, then how to get more powerful is - itself - a venue for creative expression in what to prioritise, which is also a reward).

In the same way that you have the adage that 'restrictions breed creativity', the same goes for Fun. Limiting your scope from anything-goes freeform by voluntarily agreeing to use a set of game rules can produce similar results. Voluntarily limiting your agency in the fiction according to a set of game rules produces a friction that players of roleplaying games find enjoyable to push against. In this context, a reward structure within a game serves the useful purpose of signposting which direction you should push to get the fun kind of friction. A game which limits your options, and then gives you more options when you engage with certain behaviours, is telling you that those are the intended behaviours. Likewise, a game that limits your options even further when you do something is encouraging you not to do that. This is because game designs are not neutral and universal, they exist to create specific experiences. A game that rewards you by giving you more space for creative expression when you get in a fight - and gives you less space for creative expression when you avoid violence - is one that wants you to engage in violence, because it's designed to be a game where you have fun by fighting. This isn't bribing the players to sit down at the table and play the game; that has already happened outside the context of the game. They have already agreed to the game's offer of 'if you use these rules, you will have fun'. Rather, this bribing is within the game-space, the games mechanics encouraging the players to engage with it as intended, in the way that will be most fun. IE: these incentive structures are a tool the game uses to achieve the promise it makes; they guide the players towards the fun that they volunteered to have. Hope that makes sense. * * * Now, your initial ask is a weird take that's entirely unrelated to anything I've posted, and - particularly from an anon account- oddly antagonistic. I don't know if you're genuinely confused about game design, or arguing in bad faith. Either way, this probably doesn't merit the small essay I've produced, but have one anyway, it's always fun to clarify my ideas in written form.

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solar-wing · 1 year ago

Text

⚣ Protective Lover 🥰

⚣✋🏻 A/N → Another idea partly inspired off one of my previous Jason posts. Dude is the definition of scary dog privilege. "and my man, thank you to my man." WARNINGS: Jealous/Possessive Behavior. Minor Swearing and Threats of Violence. Cute Fluff.

⚣✋🏻 Summary → It's no secret: Jason is a jealous and possessive boyfriend. But, many don't think about the benefit that comes along with that. He's hella protective. Sometimes it's overbearing, other times, it's very helpful.

⚣✋🏻 Words → 1.4k

REBLOGS and replies are greatly appreciated, please! 💛

⚣ ENJOY 🥰

At some point, Y/N had gotten used to it. Was it annoying? Yes. Did it feel overbearing at times? Countless. Did he secretly love it and felt the world’s most (concerning) validation from it? Absolutely.

But, when looking at the situation and its circumstances as a whole, it made sense.

When he and Jason first started dating, there was definitely a vibe of him being a gruff but soft teddy bear who was clingy and needy for love and attention when with his chosen lover. But, when around literally anyone else who was not said lover or other people were in the same room as his chosen mate, he’d turn into the world’s scariest guard dog.

It was the general rule of Scary Boyfriend Privilege. Only the designated boyfriend could see their boyfriend’s soft and needy side. Anyone outside that got the ‘murderous if you get too close’ grizzly bear side.

Extremely hot and sexy, but it could be a bit (a lot) much at times.

Y/N tried to get Jason to calm down, always showing that he could take care of himself and there was no reason for him to worry. But, living in a city like Gotham and given the vigilante’s past (hence the aforementioned situation and circumstances), there really was no calming him down.

But let’s look on the bright side here. With said privilege and the kind of boyfriend Jason was, Y/N never felt more safe and secure in his life. It was like walking around a video game world with the most overpowered gear on. He was basically untouchable.

Examples? Why, of course!

When it came to school, Y/N always preferred studying and doing his homework with Jason since he would help him stay focused and assist him with subjects that he struggled with.

Y/N was not the first but certainly the loudest to say that Jason did not get enough credit for how smart he was. Yeah, he typically lived by street smarts, but he was big on book smarts as well. He just had to learn how to communicate the information in ways where it wasn’t confusing for both him and his boyfriend.

Plus, in dating Y/N, he learned the art and benefits of positive reinforcement which anyone could probably imagine taking a magnifying glass to their relationship, it was something the Y/N had to use a lot for Jason. Now, the vigilante was doing the same for his boyfriend by giving him little rewards for finishing his work and getting good grades like take-out dates, letting him play in his hair, and more often than not, a good dic-

PAUSE

Oh for fucks sake, are we doing this again? Why does it have to be PG-13? Well, no one said– Ugh…Fine.

A good fitness workout that involved lots of cardio, sweating, and soreness, but the good kind.

Happy?

But, the week of midterms turned out to be an equally busy week for Jason as well. He was knee-deep in a big crime plot and was getting closer and closer to solving the case. Y/N understood and didn’t want to get in the way of his boyfriend's duties. It still sucked though because it meant he wouldn’t be able to study in his apartment as he’d find way too many ways to get distracted. So, he had no choice but to study on campus, and figured what better place than the library?

Turns out there could have been better places.

Y/N was sitting at a large table by himself with various books in front of him along with his tablet and laptop reviewing his notes for a huge test he had the next morning. He wasn’t the only one who had the idea of going to the library to study as it was packed full of students trying to do last-minute cramming and studying.

Jason, as usual, called him to make sure he was okay and that he had gotten to the library safely even though Y/N was well aware his boyfriend had many different ways of tracking him and making sure he was where he was supposed to be. At first, he found it creepy, but when he got to know Jason’s family, he understood.

When Jason didn’t hang up the phone long after Y/N had already sat down and began reviewing, he decided he wasn’t going to hang up either, feeling more relaxed and calm while hearing his boyfriend’s voice and breathing through his earphones.

Now and then, Jason would call his name and check to make sure he was focusing and not slacking off or scrolling on social media and Y/N would turn and scold him for trying to check him when he should have been focused on fighting criminals.

“That’s the thing, babe. I can focus on more than two tasks at the same time. You, on the other hand, still can’t manage to focus on one task for more than 10 minutes without getting distracted by something else like your favorite song and flooding our apartment.”

“I told you to let the bathtub thing go!” Y/N whispered loudly into his earbud mic with a goofy smile on his face still.

“I will never let the bathtub thing go.”

They continued their playful back and forth while Y/N continued studying until he was interrupted by another student, a guy from one of his history classes. This guy was more or less a bit annoying and creepy and had been bothering Y/N for a while with his persistent quest to ask him out.

No matter how many times he rejected him, the guy always tried again and again. He never got forceful, or at least he never had the chance since Y/N always made sure there were people around or that he got to an area where other people were nearby just in case he tried something.

He wasn’t judging him, but he took Jason’s words and lessons very seriously when it came to his safety. He’d seen enough of his boyfriend’s cases where people didn’t take the necessary steps to keep themselves protected and safe because they didn’t imagine it would ‘go that far.’

The creep only left him alone when he saw Jason was with him. Truthfully, many people tended to steer clear of Y/N and his massively scary boyfriend whenever he was with them on campus besides his friends. They were even put off by Jason at times whenever they hung out with their friend cause they’d catch him at times giving them weird looks and glares if they touched or just got too close to his boyfriend for his liking.

Plus, after the one incident of the guy who tried to pick a fight with Y/N and pushed him, thus having to deal with Jason in the aftermath, everyone learned it was just better to steer clear.

So, when Jason wasn’t anywhere in sight, Y/N’s creepy stalker saw it as a perfect moment for him to try and make a move on his classmate, not expecting the very person he was hoping to avoid being on the phone the entire time.

It wasn’t until he saw Y/N unplug his earphones and hand him his phone that he realized he was indeed on a call, and after receiving possibly the most violently worded threat he had ever heard he decided there were plenty of other fish in the sea.

He handed the phone over to its owner before scurrying off like a scared mouse, Y/N watching with a confused but also amused and relieved look.

“Hi baby,” Jason immediately responded to Y/N’s ‘hello’ in his little delightful and excited tone whenever he heard his boyfriend’s voice.

“Jason, what did you say to him?” Y/N immediately asked.

“Hey! It’s babe, baby, sexy, honey, or Jay at the slightest to you, mister. Only my family calls me that.”

“Jason…”

“Babeee, stop it! I don’t consent to this treatment. No means no!” Jason protested in a whiny voice.

“You’re such a baby,” Y/N chuckled.

“Only for you, hot stuff. But we’ll be having a long talk when I get home about you not telling me about creepy guys bothering you.”

“How did you know?”

“Babe, you know who you’re dating, right? There never will be something that bothers you that I won’t know about. I’m always gonna protect you, even if it annoys the hell out of you.”

Y/N couldn’t stop the big smile spreading across his face at his boyfriend’s words, knowing he meant every single one. Jason would always be his protective lover.

☀️ | Jason Todd/Red Hood | ☀️

☀️ | Masterlists | ☀️

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h0neylevi · 2 months ago

Text

Chapter Three

After a major shift, your life has become a series of monotonous routines. Eat, sleep, go to work, repeat. But when you find a man bleeding on the subway with no idea how he got there, things become anything but ordinary.

General content warnings: isekai/parallel universe, modern AU, mentions of blood and canon-typical violence, some light angst, eventual smut.

word count: 4.3k

You spend most of the next morning catching up on chores.

It’s a little different with Levi around, but his presence isn’t disruptive.

Mostly, he’s quiet. When you load the dishwasher or swap clothes from the washer into the dryer, he tends to observe from afar. It’s a bit like how Luna watches you from her designated lounging spot in the sun. Passive, but curious. A little too proud to voice any interest but watching nonetheless.

Sometimes he stares for too long, and you humor his unspoken curiosity by explaining what you’re doing or how something works. He always listens. You can tell behind that bored expression that he’s an attentive listener, particularly when you show him the kettle.

You learn rather quickly (and unnervingly) how often he likes to drink tea.

“This is just a quicker way to heat water,” you tell him as you carry the device to the sink. “All you have to do is set it back on its base and turn it on.”

You supplement your words with the coinciding actions. A light on the handle glows a bright blue when you press the switch down, indicating power, and Levi studies it.

“Once the water reaches a boil, it will shut off on its own,” you continue. “So there’s no serious risk of you doing it wrong and setting anything on fire.”

Levi’s eyes skip between you and the kettle with rapt attention. A small blue ceramic mug waits on the counter near his elbow, along with the box of tea that you’d purchased for him the day before.

With nothing else to do while you both wait, you busy yourself by wiping down the kitchen countertops. You can feel Levi’s watchful eyes on you, which feels a bit odd, but he just crosses his arms, unmoving from his position leaned against the opposite counter. You get halfway through before he speaks up.

“You’re doing it wrong.”

You pause and look over your shoulder. “How the hell am I doing it wrong?”

With a stern frown, Levi marches over and pulls the damp wipe out of your hand. He doesn’t say anything, but you can tell that he’s taking the task seriously by the look of concentration on his face as he begins to go back over the counters in tight, circular movements.

Slowly, he goes over the entire kitchen and the residual liquid that’s left over dries and disappears, leaving it just as spotless as it was before.

You look over the counters, then back to Levi.

“Did your journey to the future also give you some sort of vision that allows you to see stuff I can’t?” you ask in a flat tone. “Because that looks exactly the same.”

Levi rolls his eyes before abandoning the wipe on the counter and returning to his original spot. ”You’re the one who decided we needed to clean this morning.”

“I needed to clean,” you quickly correct, pointing to your chest. “I didn’t ask you to help.”

“Learn to do it right and I won’t have to.”

You resist the urge to reply and choose instead to sit in a chair at the small dining table, surveying the kitchen for any unfinished work. Thankfully though, most everything has already been done.

The satisfaction of completed chores tempers your ire a little and you glance at your phone. In large boldface type, the time takes up most of the top half of your screen, and underneath it sits a text message notification from Allie. You must not have heard it go off earlier.

[Allie]: Hey! I’m doing the final count for seats next weekend. You’re coming right?

Oh, shit. Allie’s engagement party. With everything going on the last few days, you’d forgotten it was coming up.

A renewed feeling of dread curls up in your stomach at the idea, followed immediately by guilt. You should be happy for her—and you are—but this party has felt like a dark cloud hanging over your head ever since she first told you about it.

Realistically, there’s no way out of attending. As a bridesmaid, you’re more or less required to show up. The only problem is so are the groomsmen.

You sigh to yourself and chew thoughtfully at your lower lip, trying to come up with a decent response. If you were being honest, you’d tell her that you’d rather streak naked down main street during rush hour traffic, but you get the sense that she already knows by the second message that quickly appears on your screen.

[Allie]: I’m having the seats assigned, so don’t worry about it.

You huff another sigh and drop your phone back down onto the table.

“Something wrong?”

You nearly jump at the sound of Levi’s voice, forgetting for a moment that he was there. When you look up, he’s seated across from you with a now-steaming cup of tea held precariously by the rim.

You stare at him for a moment, unsure if the uneasiness you feel now is from the text or the way he’s holding his cup, and shake your head. “I’m fine.”

God, what are you even going to wear to this thing? You don’t have a single article of clothing that even feels remotely suitable for an engagement party. What do people even wear to those kinds of events? Something reasonably formal, you’d assume. So, a dress. When’s the last time you even wore a dress?

Unfazed by your silent dilemma, Levi lifts his mug to his lips. To your horror, he does so exactly as you expect him to: with the rim of the cup carefully secured by the tips of his fingers, ignoring the handle.

It’s so.. natural, the way that he does it. Just like the way he cleaned your countertop and carefully folds his blanket every morning to remove any creases…

“Are you hungry?” you ask suddenly, your pitch a little high as you try to force several trains of thought away at once. “It’s a little late for breakfast, but I could make us something.”

Levi meets your gaze with a dubious lift of his brows. “If your cooking is anything like your cleaning, I’m not sure I want to.”

You stare at him for a moment, beginning to wonder if he’s always so crabby in the mornings, when you notice the smallest hint of something much lighter in his expression.

For some reason, you feel the urge to smile. “Oh, you’re joking,” you realize. “Didn’t think you had that in you.” You get to your feet. “I’ll make eggs. How do you want yours?”

He turns his gaze towards the window when he says, “I don’t care.”

With free reign over the food, you get to work. It’s quiet, but not uncomfortable. You’re used to the silence and Levi seems comfortable with it. You keep expecting him to eventually wander into the living room when it becomes obvious you’re preoccupied, but he doesn’t. He just sips his tea and occasionally looks out of the window.

He must not mind your company then either, if he’s willing to share the space.

Pretty soon, the smell of cooked onions and toasted bread fills your apartment. The sound of the sizzling pan entices Luna from her hiding place, and you spend a few minutes filling her food bowl before dividing out two plates of food with fluffy scrambled eggs, toast, and some sliced fruit.

You carry them over, placing one in front of Levi before sitting down.

“We should go out today,” you tell him.

Levi looks up. “And do what?”

You glance out of the window. Outside, the sun has reached its peak, bathing the city in a golden glow. With all of your errands done, you can spend the rest of your days off doing whatever you’d like. But you have some more practical ideas for today at least.

“We could get you some clothes,” you suggest, turning to look him over. He’s dressed today in the white button down and trousers you found him in. While they’re freshly laundered, there are still signs of wear. Frayed edges around the cuffs and a small split in the shoulder seam.

Plus, if anything is going to trigger any lost memories he might have, it would be interacting with the outside world.

He must think you have a good point, because he doesn’t immediately respond with something sarcastic.

Instead, he gives you a flat look and says, “I don’t have any money.”

You nod. “I know.”

“So, no.”

You frown. “Oh, come on. You can’t just wear the same outfit every day.”

The frown on his face that appeared the moment you suggested it doesn’t budge, but a thoughtful little crease forms between his brows that wasn’t there before. You have a point and he knows it.

“I’m not suggesting an entire wardrobe. Just a few things,” you say, using his uncertainty to your advantage. When he doesn’t respond, you add, “I said I’d help you.”

He pokes a bit passively at his food with a fork. “I’m sure you have better things to do.”

You don’t actually. Not that he needs to know how clear your schedule is outside of work. But even if you did have a thriving social life, you can still recognize that he’s clearly in an unfamiliar situation. Time travel or not, it would be beneficial to him to have your help.

You take a deep breath. “Let's say hypothetically that you did travel through time,” you tell him, pausing to take a bite of a strawberry. “Do you really want to try to figure out how the world works now on your own?”

After a moment of deliberation, he shrugs. “I’m sure I could figure it out.”

You frown. Clearly this wasn’t going to be so easy. What happened to ‘there are worse things in the world’?

“If you don’t want my help, just say so,” you say.

“I just don’t understand what you stand to gain from it,” he counters.

Ah. There it is: distrust has reared its ugly head once more.

Your shoulders drop as you stab into your eggs next. “The honor of experiencing your sparkling personality, clearly,” you grumble.

Levi raises his brows. “Oh, you’re being funny now?”

“There’s no reason I can’t be both altruistic and funny.”

“Don’t forget annoying.”

“It’s better than being Mr-Mysterious-Cool-Guy who doesn’t trust anyone.”

“Fine.” He scowls and you blink, surprised by how quickly he changed his mind. Like it pains him, he clarifies quickly, “But just a few things.”

***

Once you’ve both finished your food, you head out together.

Predictably, the main retail street is packed with people—businessmen in expensive suits, tourists walking with their phones out, locals with their heads down to keep from looking like easy targets for street hustlers.

You lead the way through the crowds until you make it to the stretch of clothing stores that line both sides of the street. Large signs illuminate the facades of buildings; advertisements flash and shift along their quick electronic script.

Levi takes it all in slowly.

You think you’re getting better at decoding his microexpressions. The subtle downward turn of his lips and his widened eyes look a bit like wonder.

A cheerful young woman greets you as you walk inside one of the more reasonably priced shops. She waves from her spot where she seems to be folding and arranging sweaters on a small display table, and you veer left around her toward the men’s section.

It strikes you that you’ve never really shopped for another person before, and you slow your pace.

“Well.” You stretch out your arms as if to gesture to the racks and shelves of clothing before you. “I guess just look around and see what you like.”

It certainly doesn’t look as if Levi is keen on the idea. His mouth forms a thin line as he scans over the displays.

With his arms crossed, he steps toward the aisles. You let him go and look around the brightly lit showroom. It’s been almost a year since you’ve done any sort of shopping for yourself. All of the advertisements along the walls are gearing up for the fast approaching fall season, displaying smiling men and women in warm shades of orange and red.

You glance at Levi again. He’s sorting through a stack of shirts nearby with halfhearted interest, but at least he’s trying. In one hand, he holds a thick green sweater made of cable knit cotton. In the other, a cream-colored turtleneck.

“Those are nice,” you comment, joining him at the display table. You reach to test the quality of the fabric between your fingers and another thought occurs to you. “Hey, you’ll probably need to buy a coat too. It’ll be getting pretty cold soon.”

Levi grimaces. “I’ll be fine.” He moves to another rack and you follow.

A few minutes pass while he skims through a few different types of shirts. You stay quiet in an attempt to allow him to concentrate, but you also get the sense that maybe he thinks you’re being overbearing. A feeling that is all but confirmed when he speaks again.

“Do you have anything you need to buy?” he asks suddenly.

You shrug, then remember Allie’s text. “Actually, yeah.”

“Good,” he murmurs. “You should go look then.”

“Trying to get rid of me?”

“Yes.” He hisses, not leaving any room to misinterpret him. “I can choose my own clothes. Go.”

You leave him with a quick reminder to find you when he’s done and head to the opposite side of the store.

The dress section isn’t as amply stocked as it might be in the summer or spring, but there are still a few options available that you find while skimming through the racks: a long, ankle-length periwinkle dress embellished with floral print and a dainty lace collar, a shorter green a-line dress with drapey, off-shoulder sleeves, and a baby pink dress with a quaint little bow on the front.

You take a look around for a mirror once you’ve gathered them all in your arms. This would be easier if you had a friend here with you to get an opinion. Are any of these even appropriate for an engagement party? Is ankle-length too conservative? Off-shoulder too casual?

The green dress is the softest material—something you could see yourself feeling comfortable in during a long dinner event—and it’s also a nice, calf skimming mid-length that doesn’t feel too casual.

You glance towards the men’s section, but quickly give up on the idea of asking for Levi’s opinion. He’d probably just say the first thing that gets you to leave him alone the fastest.

You wish you knew how to get him to trust you a bit more. For a moment this morning, it seemed like he was actually letting his guard down a little, but he’s right back to acting as if you’re an inconvenience.

With a heavy sigh, you drape the green dress over your arm and shove the other two dresses back onto the rack. It would have to do.

By some miracle, you manage to convince Levi to leave with three shirts, two pairs of trousers, and a decent coat.

It isn’t that expensive, but Levi still follows you back out onto the street with a mumbled promise to pay you back. Knowing that he doesn’t have the means to uphold that promise, you simply nod and lead the way back to the metro.

And maybe it’s your overzealous drive to be helpful or perhaps some subconscious desire to get on Levi’s good side, but when you see him looking around at the city again, you get an idea.

“Do you want to go up?”

He looks over at you, still walking. “Up where?”

“To the top of one of those.” You point to the nearest building, its highest level disappearing into the clouds. “There’s an observation tower in one of the tallest buildings in the city. Bit of a tourist trap, but it has a really nice view of everything and it’s not far from here.”

Levi’s eyes widen just a fraction and he looks back up. “You can go up there?”

“Yeah.” Taking the initiative, you start leading the way with purpose. “It’s just two stops away. Let’s go.”

It takes less than fifteen minutes to get on the metro and walk to the observation tower.

Levi follows beside you closely, silent but watchful as you lead the way to the desk to pay for tickets. As you’re led to the elevator with a group, he reads each placard on the wall dictating the history of the building and its construction.

“It says the view is over 400 meters above street level,” Levi comments as everyone climbs into the elevator. It’s a tight fit with everyone, and you do your best to not encroach on Levi’s personal space much.

“Mhm,” you confirm, tensing a little as the elevator rumbles to life. The uncomfortable swoop of your stomach makes you take a slow exhale before continuing. “It’s one of the tallest buildings in the country.”

A mother standing in front of you readjusts her child’s stroller, forcing you to take a step into Levi’s personal space. Others chat excitedly amongst themselves and you try to keep yourself evenly balanced as the elevator continues to sway.

You quickly glance at the display in the corner, watching the number tick up as the elevator continues to climb. Ten, twelve… Only a hundred more to go.

“Are you okay?”

You turn to see Levi watching you closely, that thoughtful curiosity now turned onto you.

You nod, but he’s not buying it. “You look a little sick.”

You feel a little sick. Every subtle jolt of the elevator sends your stomach into a somersault, and it doesn’t help that everyone is crammed so close together. You’re sure you could count each of Levi’s eyelashes if you really wanted.

You look away, back to the digital display at the front. “I’m just… not fond of heights.”

“Then why did you suggest we go up over 400 meters?”

You shrug a little weakly. “You looked really curious about the buildings. I thought you might like it.”

Levi sighs, but he doesn’t argue further. The most you get is a mild look of annoyance and a firm hand on your back when you manage to step on his shoe as the woman in front of you moves again.

It’s a little better when you finally get to the top floor. The elevator empties and you exit slowly, letting the large families with children rush ahead.

“You do that a lot, don’t you?” Levi says, frowning before clarifying. “Put others before yourself.”

You’re not sure if he’s referring to the crowd of people or the idea of coming up here despite your fear of heights, but maybe that’s his point.

“It’s fine,” you wave him off. “I’ve been up here a few times before. I’ll just sit down away from the windows anyway. You can go ahead if you want.”

Despite your encouragement, he keeps pace with you down the short corridor until the area opens out into full floor-to-ceiling windows. Below, the city sprawls and spreads out, stretching to each end of the horizon as far as the eye can see.

Once it comes into full view, Levi slows until he’s stopped in the middle of the room. The expressions on his face are unmistakable this time: Surprise. Shock. Awe.

Less surprised, you walk on wobbly legs to an unoccupied bench and take a seat. Small children do a little to block the view, pressing their tiny hands to the glass and standing on their tiptoes as if that will give them a better look below.

Eventually, Levi joins them at the windows. You watch him, avoiding looking directly at the windows. It’s cute, you briefly think, how in some ways his amazement mirrors theirs. His eyes, normally a stormy and skeptical grey, are now full of curiosity. They linger over several familiar landmarks: Freedom Park in the heart of the city, the curve of the river as it disappears over the horizon towards the sea, the jagged silhouette of the distant skyline.

It’s exactly the reaction you were hoping for.

You sit and wait as Levi takes his time looking at the view. His surprise turns contemplative before gradually smoothing out into something more neutral again. When he turns and makes his way back to where you’re sitting, he stops to look at one of the large information bulletins on your right.

“There are more buildings like this one?” he asks softly.

You hum at his question, then turn to see the map he’s looking at. At various points across the country, there are buildings marked with their locations and heights. “Oh, yeah. I’m sure there are.” You study it for a moment and point between two points. “We’re here, and that one is in another city.” Then to another. “This one is in another country. It’s even taller.”

His brows furrow at the new information. “And it’s not… dangerous?”

You think for a moment, wondering where his thought process is going. “Well, no. Not really. Structurally, they’re pretty safe. It’s not like it’ll collapse on its own, and they’re designed with the weather in mind.”

Before either of you are able to speak again, your phone goes off in your hand with another bright chime.

When you bring it to eye level, you see that it’s Allie again. You had forgotten to reply earlier.

[Allie]: Let me know when you can!

“What is that thing anyway?”

You look up. “This?” you ask, twirling the device in your palm. “Uh, it’s a phone.” When that explanation doesn’t seem to work, you add, “You can use it to talk to people. Either by calling them or sending them messages.”

“Is that why it’s been making so much noise?” Levi asks. “You’re talking to someone?”

You nod. “My friend, Allie.”

He turns back to the map for a moment. “People usually look happy when talking to a friend.”

You have to stop yourself from cringing. Had you really been that obvious?

“I am,” you sigh. Thinking about it makes you anxiously twist your finger around the handle of your shopping bag. “There’s just this party she wants me to go to, and I’m not really looking forward to it.”

“So, don’t go.” He says it like it’s the easiest thing in the world. And maybe it would be to him.

“I don’t really have a choice,” you explain. “It’s an engagement party.”

“Why don’t you want to go?” he questions.

You pause for a moment. “My ex is one of the groomsmen.”

Realization settles into his expression. “So, he’ll be there,” he supplies for you.

You nod.

There’s a beat of silence, and Levi turns once more to the map.

“Haven’t moved on?”

Your eyes go wide. “No, no! I have, it’s just…” God, how do you explain it without sounding pathetic? You take a breath and try again. “I don’t want to look like a complete loser. After he broke up with me, he got this huge promotion and he has this new girlfriend and they travel all the time. We just never did stuff like that together.” You chuckle, the sound a bit bitter before continuing, “And here I am, still working long hours at the hospital and bringing homeless men back to my apartment.”

Levi watches you as he listens, but his expression remains entirely unreadable.

You sigh again and look away. “Sorry. I know you don’t really care.”

“I never said I didn’t care,” he’s surprisingly quick to say.

“Yeah, but what’s a stupid engagement party to a thousand year old time traveler?” you chuckle, trying to shift the mood to something a bit more lighthearted. “You don’t need my sob story.”

“You’re making an awful lot of assumptions.”

You give him a playful grin. “So, you’re not a thousand year old time traveler?”

That seems to break the tension a bit at least. Levi rolls his eyes and takes a seat next to you. For a long moment, it’s quiet save for the excited screeching of children.

“Have you ever heard of Paradis?” Levi suddenly asks. “Or a place called Marley?”

Just that question alone is enough to send your stomach flipping again. The worst part is how genuine he sounds when he says it.

Actually, no. The real worst part is how you think you’re starting to believe he really could be Levi Ackerman. Maybe. Just a little.

You try to keep your voice casual when you look over at him. “Is that where you’re from?”

He nods. “I think you do know,” he says before you have a chance to really answer. “Because that’s the only way you would have known I’m a Scout.”

You blink. “What are you talking about?”

“The night you brought me back to your place,” he reminds you. “You recognized my uniform. And ever since I got here, you’ve looked at me like you already know who I am.”

Damn. He’s more observant than you’ve given him credit for. It’d almost be impressive if he wasn’t glaring at you with such a guarded look on his face. But you suppose that might explain why he’s been so irritable.

It’s so frighteningly familiar. So very… Levi of him.

But how are you going to look him in the eye and explain that the person he was dressed as is fictional? You get the sense that he’ll probably just think you’re crazy, and he wouldn’t be unreasonable to think so. It’s part of why you haven’t brought it up yet, but another part of you is worried how he’ll react. You think you’ve been around him enough by now to assume he won’t be angry, but this is a highly unusual situation.

Only one way to find out, you guess.

You sigh, resigning yourself to whatever happens next. “I think it’s better if I just show you.”

He stares at you for a moment, and something like vindication lightly softens the look on his face. He gestures with a sharp glance towards the exit. “Then lead the way.”

#levi ackerman x reader #levi x reader #levi ackerman x fem!reader #levi ackerman #levi ackerman x you #levi x fem!reader #levi ackerman fanfiction

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