#That man is taking the plot and running >:[

[athenaluthor]

2:05, movie nights.

pairing: bob reynolds x reader

summary: you and bob have weekly movie nights, a weekly chance for you to fall even deeper in love with him.

warnings: newavengers reader, soft bob, slow burn(?), fluff, pining.

i love bob sm pls i can’t even. let me know how yall feel about this.

masterlist.

The occupants of the building had all retired hours ago, even so-called-superheroes were no match for the chilling winter air and annoyingly short hours of daylight. But even then, your standing weekly movie nights with Bob weren’t going anywhere, even when sleep begins to tug on your eyes.

Lights long turned down, The Dead Poets Society quietly plays on the television, accompanied by the occasional crackle from the fireplace. The second movie of the night, chosen by the golden boy himself. Somewhere along when Neil and his friends sneak off to the caves, reading poetry, the boy next to you falls asleep. Side-by-side on the sofa, buried underneath thick blankets, his head now rests on your shoulder. The position feels familiar and comfortable , like the pages of well-loved book, dog eared and creased

You stifle your laugh. The movie had been a favourite of his ever since you first played it, yet he falls asleep each time you rewatch it. Reaching for your phone, you snap a picture of the boy next to you. All peaceful and alarmingly disarming for someone as powerful as him.

Bob seemed to enjoy reading and watching films these days, finding himself in the pieces he watched and read. He often could be found melting himself onto the little armchair by the window overlooking the city, book in hand, enthralled by whatever book he’s landed upon. More recently, you’ve managed to convert him into a cinephile. Letting him explore the waters of movies and shows. Neil seems to be a favourite character of his, despite the character’s devastating ending, Neil’s story seemed to resonate with Bob.

Every few weeks, you offer to take him out into city to his chosen bookstore to get more books. He goes through them incredibly fast these days. You enjoy listening to him, how excited he gets when speaking about the characters or the plot twists he finds fascinating.

Snapping out of your thoughts, you focus on Bob’s warm body next to you. His soft snoring is beginning to reel you into the land of sleep, such a dangerous man he is. The movie’s end credits begin to roll, amazing timing you suppose. Checking the time, the clock on your phone reads 2:05 a.m., far too late in the night to be asleep on the couch.

“Bob.” you softly shake his thigh, trying to rouse him from his slumber. He whines, quietly but you caught it. He adjusts his head, leaning further into you.

“Bob!” you laugh. Eventually, he comes to. His eyes open blearily, laden with sleep as he sits up straight. The warm fireplace casts a glow upon him, his soft eyes and tousled curls all look even more endearing in this light. This feels right, you think. Your eyes drift to his soft lips, resisting the urge to lean in for the kiss you so desperately want. Bob deserves to make the choice himself, he didn’t need anyone doing whatever they wanted on him ever again.

He says your name softly. The letters roll off his tongue in a way that makes your heart beat faster.

“We should head to bed. Sleeping here’s gonna make your neck hurt, you know.” you say to him. Standing up from the couch, you lift up the blankets and toss them aside to deal with in the morning.

He rubs his eyes, running his fingers through the soft curls and pushing them aside. His locks are getting too long for him to handle, maybe you’ll offer to trim them tomorrow morning. Just the ones blocking his sight though, you like the longer curls on him.

He gestures to the cups and bowl of popcorn on the table, while yawning. “I’ll clean this up first. You go and head to bed.” He says in between yawns.

“Let it be,hmm? We’ll clean it in the morning, Bob.”

“No, I uhh, I don’t want to let you do it. You always wake up earlier than I do.” He adorably whines and your heart feels like it skipped a beat.

Wanting to seem nonchalant, you reply somewhat cheekily, “Well then, I promise not to do them even if I wake up early. Now, let’s go to sleep, hmm?”.

Holding out your hand for him, he grabs it without much hesitation and stands up. You make sure to switch off the television before heading upstairs, the sleepy man diligently trailing after you. You reach your door first.

Standing by the door, you want to ask him to come in. Not to do anything in particular, just to have him sleep next to you. “Goodnight, Bob.” you say to him.

“Goodnight.” he wishes you back. He looks like he has something else to say, hesitant on whether to continue or to just go to bed. His baby blue eyes pleadingly looks at you, at this moment he resembles a wet dog very much.

“Bob?” you ask. “Uhh, goodnight. I’ll uhh, I’ll see you at breakfast. With your morning coffee, just uh, just the way you like it. And please, don’t uh, don’t clean up. I’ll do it. ” he awkwardly says, leaving quickly for his room at the end of the hallway before you can respond.

God, he’s so oblivious. You want him so badly. Any longer and you might just pull him in and kiss him, those soft plump lips and beautiful eyes. Maybe you will, who knows? Sentry or Bob, that boy has wormed his way into your heart.

[duskbornraven]

Veteran, Doctor, Wedding Date

Never in my life have I finished a sex scene in writing. This fandom has broken me. There is a second part in the works for the actual wedding, because I am weak willed when it comes to him.

Paring: Jack Abbot x f!Reader

Warnings: mdni, sex with plot, female reader, Oral (m receiving), unprotected sex, creampie, general teasing, implied age gap.

Summary: Weddings take up a lot of time, especially when you're dating the best man.

Word Count: 4k

It had been too many years since Jack had been to a wedding. Let alone asked to be in a wedding party, but when one of your best friends asks you to be his best man you can’t really say no. Even harder when said friend oh so politely reminded him that he could bring his cute new girlfriend. 

So here he was, sitting on the couch waiting for you to get home. The TV was on but he wasn’t really watching it. Anticipation weighed on him. He knew first hand that people got weird about weddings. There was an unspoken weight around them, and he hadn’t asked anyone to be his date to anything in what felt like an eternity. 

He still managed to fall asleep on the couch, and was startled awake when he heard the familiar click of the lock. Snapping his head up to a dimly lit living room, bathed in the flickering light of the TV. Pushing himself more upright, the fog of sleep still fighting to pull him back under. 

With a groan he scrubbed his face, forcing himself to wake up, so you could have this conversation. Watching you kick your shoes off, braced against the door to avoid overbalancing. “Did you make it upstairs at all?” You were still facing away from him but he could hear the smile in your voice. 

“I did, thank you.” His mock indignation getting a laugh from you, making your way over to throw yourself down on the opposite end of the couch, stretching out with a continent sigh. 

“What’s on your mind?” You tapped his leg with a toe, leaning up to get a better look at him. “You’re burning a hole in the wall.” 

“I was asked to be in a wedding later this year.” Jack turned himself on the couch to face you “And, I was wondering if you would be my date.” 

He knew the answer before you even opened your mouth to speak. Your eyes lit up as you pushed yourself the rest of the way into a sitting position. The way you beamed at him, practically glowing in the low light of the room. “Of course I will.” Your excitement was hardly concealed. 

You leaned forward kneeling on the couch, braced on his shoulder, to peck him on the cheek before leaning in for a lingering kiss. His head tilted back slightly to meet your lips. A hand wrapped reassuringly around your arm to keep you balanced, the other coming to rest on your hip. 

You pulled away, looking down into his eyes, unable to keep the smile from your face. Watching his face soften as he took you in again. A grin slowly spreading over his own tired features. Letting you settle back on the couch beside him. An arm draped over the back of the couch, fingertips just brushing against your shoulder. 

“Didn’t really have a plan if you said no. Considering my backup date would have been the groom.” You pushed him away lightly, moving yourself more than him with a scoff. 

“Do you know when it is yet?” You chose to ignore his comment. ‘I’ll make sure to get some time off from work.” 

“Not yet, he’s supposed to be getting a hold of me about that since it’s going to be a scheduling nightmare. I don’t know how they’re going to get by without us for a night.” His hand left the couch to run through his hair absently. 

“Do you maybe want to finish this conversation after you get a nap in old man?” You pressed a kiss to his temple ignoring the look he shot you. 

“You know I do a pretty decent job keeping up with you last time I checked.” It was hard to read his expression in the low lighting but you could catch the way his head tilted almost like a challenge. The faintest hint of a smirk still plastered to his face. 

“You do. But have you considered I’m using you as an excuse to take a nap and get some quiet time with my boyfriend for once?” You challenged him back, trying your best to keep a straight face. 

Wordlessly he hauled himself up. Then turned to offer you a hand, helping you to your feet. Once you were upstairs it didn’t take long for you to drift off, an alarm set for an hour in the future. More importantly, Jack’s arm wrapped securely around you and the steady rise and fall of his chest beneath you. 

Months passed quietly, comfortably between the night he asked you to come with him. He had steadily been pulled more and more into the planning and preparation. Which meant less sleep and less time with you. 

Jack still made the effort, still made sure he caught you to kiss you goodbye and was home to kiss you before work if he had to be out. But between your work schedules and the approaching wedding date you hadn’t had time for much outside a quick kiss here or there. 

And it was starting to get the better of both of you. 

When the time came to actually go get fitted for a suit he found you waiting for him in the bedroom, laying on the bed still only in a stolen shirt that had once been his, watching him emerge from the bathroom. He stalled in the doorway taking you in, laying on your back, your bare legs bent to let your feet plant on the bed. 

 “Don't you tempt me, I can’t be late to this one.” With effort he managed to pull his focus to getting dressed, aware you were watching as he zipped up his jeans. 

“I wasn’t trying to.” But he saw the way your eyes also lingered, dragging themselves over his half naked body. 

“And hypothetically if you were, I’d make it up to you tonight.” He leaned over you pressing a kiss to your lips. Melting into your touch as your hands skated over the planes of his chest before looping around the back of his neck, letting you pull him in closer, his weight pressing you further into the bed. Your hand tangled in his hair as the kiss deepened. Weeks of want and frustration just below the surface as the heat between you. 

Shattered by the ringing of his phone from the bathroom. 

Pulling away his head hit the mattress, breathing heavily against your neck, pressing a trail kisses along your jaw before slowly pushing himself upright. Reluctantly you let him push away from you, almost aching as the warmth of his body left yours. Not missing the way he adjusted the growing bulge in his jeans before hearing his frustrated voice from the other room. “Yeah, be down in a minute.” 

You sat up on the bed watching him as he pulled a shirt over his head, glancing over at you still watching him. “Not trying to be tempting?” 

“Maybe a little.” You didn’t quite meet his eyes. 

“Then I’ll have to see if I can’t return the favor when I get home.” He leaned down again, capturing you in another searing kiss that was unfairly short lived. “I’ll be back as soon as I can.” 

You listened to the front door slam behind him. Still perched on the edge of the bed listening to the sound of wheels on pavement. It had been too long since the pair of you had been home for more than a few minutes, even on his days off it felt like he was helping with something these days. 

Which was fine most of the time, but you missed him, missed finding him asleep on the couch when you got home from work. Or getting to sleep in with him on your days off, the weight of him on top of you. The way you would find yourself casually reaching out to touch him when you spread out on the couch together. 

You forced yourself to get up and move, heading for the shower to at least make an effort to start the day. By the time you had made yourself a meal there was an unopened message from Jack. A mirror photo of him, half changed into formal wear. Pants unzipped and shirt unbuttoned, his face was mostly covered by the phone itself but you could see the hint of a smirk playing across his features. 

You stood there, frozen for what felt like an eternity starting at it. You finally backed out to and were about to type out something when another photo started to load in. Now fully dressed, with his arm around a groomsman, like wasn’t sending you thirst traps from the dressing room. You debated not giving him the satisfaction but you were pretty sure he knew it had worked.

You reacted to the messages and asked how it was going. Saving some of your decency hopefully by not openly showing he had gotten under your skin. It took a few minutes for him to reply. 

Good. Getting dinner and drinks after this but I’ll be home right after. 

You started to type back a reply, scrolling back to the first photo, the too pleased expression on his hardly visible face. The fact that you almost had him before he left replaying in your head. It was hard enough making the time with your schedules and now he was so busy. And this man had the audacity to tease you like that. 

If he wanted to play that game you could play that game. Phone in hand you scrambled back up the steps, an excited fluttering in your gut. There was one thing that would give you the unfair advantage, the shirt you had to stop stealing. After you had moved in you had been granted access to his old shirts. Jack insisted that he didn’t care what you stole, as long as he got it back. 

But he did, he just hadn’t known it. You had dug out one of his old shirts from the army. Had picked it because of its age, it felt like a piece of him when you missed him. That morning you woke up with your alarms as usual, rolling out of bed before the sun. Half awake you had stumbled your way downstairs to make coffee as the front door swung open, the familiar sound of shoes on the hardwood letting you know Jack had made it home. 

A moment later the footsteps stopped, freezing in the doorway to the kitchen behind you. The feeling of being watched buzzed in the back of your head, prompting you to turn. There he had stood, frozen, eyes focused solely on you. Suddenly feeling very naked you had turned to face him. 

You had been late for work that morning, and every other morning you had mistakenly decided to wear that particular shirt to bed. As exhausted as he was when he came home he always seemed to find the energy those mornings. It had become a pattern, so much so that you had given up wearing it, almost forgotten it existed. Until now. 

It took some digging to find. Buried under newer clothes, newer memories but where you had expected to find it. Embarrassingly enough the sight of the shirt alone was enough to make you feel warm. Memories associated with the way the fabric felt bunched in your hands resurfacing. 

You looked around like someone would catch you undressing in your own home before changing into it. Like the man who once wore it it had softened slightly with age, still sturdy but not as stiff as it had once been. It felt like an extension of Jack, a piece of his past made tangible. Maybe that’s why you had always loved it. 

You kicked your shorts off for good measure before positioning yourself in the mirror. The fabric covered just enough to make a point, the tiniest hint of bare skin showing in the reflection. 

Filtering through the photos until you landed on one that was perfect. Mimicking his own smug expression, phone held to the side, making sure to capture your back in the mirror. Completely innocent on a first glance, if anyone other than Jack saw you it would seem like a sweet picture from his girl. 

You hit send and retrieved the shorts, slipping them back on. Your phone dinged twice in short succession before you even had them all the way back on. 

That’s evil. 

I’m coming home. 

You had him, but you knew that before you even sent the picture. The second the idea popped into your head you won this little battle of wills. You wanted him home, but not at the cost of something important. Something he might regret missing. 

Stay, be with your friends. I’ll see you tonight. 

Fine. But you’re not changing. Be home as soon as we’re done. 

Battle won you settled yourself on the couch, determined to distract yourself, to make the time move faster while you waited. 

Say one thing for Jack Abbot, he’s a man of his word. He got dropped off around eight, a few drinks in and had practically pushed his ride into the truck when they got to the parking lot. The flush of liquor warming him in the cool night air as he made his way inside. 

You had been on his mind since he left, the weeks of pent up frustration slowly building to this moment. It took no time to spot you in your usual spot on the couch, half focusing on a movie, half looking at something on your phone. He settled heavily onto his spot on the couch, watching but not watching the TV. Far too aware that you were slowly sliding yourself closer to him.

“How was your night?” You spoke first, glancing up from your phone, finally making contact with his leg at the other end of the couch. 

“Good, I'm ready to have my weekends back.” He glanced over at you, a hand resting on your shin, the pad of his thumb rubbing circles into the exposed skin. 

You hummed in agreement, going back to your phone. Pretending that you weren’t aware of the way his eyes were watching you. Ignoring the slow press of his body against yours until he was pressed into your side one arm pinned beneath his weight. A hand skating over the fabric of the stolen shirt. 

Holding himself over you, meeting you in a slow, desperate kiss. Groaning into your mouth when you pulled him in closer, beer still lingering on his tongue. 

He pulled away to press kisses along your jaw, just catching the whispered “missed you” that escaped you with a heavy sigh. 

He stilled above you for a moment, pausing before he spoke, whispering against your jaw “How much?” 

You squirmed under him watching a hand slowly slide up your leg, brushing at the hem of your shorts. When you didn’t answer right away he spoke again. “Because I know how much I’ve missed you.” The faintest scratch of teeth along the shell of your ear. “Missed this.” 

Heat radiating from your skin against his touch, fingers dipping breath the fabric of your shorts and inching along the soft skin of your thighs. Mouth claiming the sensitive skin just over your pulse. You could feel a twitch of a smile against your neck when a moan escaped your lips. 

His free hand abandoning your thigh to instead slide beneath your shirt, thumb teasing the elastic of your bra, leaning away to watch your expression. To take in the way your breathing caught as his hand pressed into your soft skin, savoring the way you felt against him.

“I’m going to need you to work with me.” And his arm was around your shoulders, pulling you against him, rolling himself under you. With you helping he was able to mostly pull you solidly on top of him, if not a little awkwardly. 

“Better.” He sighed, adjusting himself slightly beneath you. Hands wrapping around you to capture you in another kiss, more desperate than the last. His hand tangling in your hair bucking up against you chasing the fleeting friction against you. 

The groan you got in response to your own desperate grind against him sent a jolt of arousal through your body, adding to the pooling heat between your legs. Your desperate movements doing nothing to relieve the ache, if anything it made your movements more desperate against him. 

Jack clearly felt the same way, hands pushing down your shorts, thumbs hooking deftly in the elastic of your panties, sliding them both down your thighs, supporting you as you kicked them off entirely. Your hands travel down, fumbling with his belt for a second before managing to undo his jeans and helping him tugg them off. 

He didn’t miss the way your eyes lingered on the damp patch of cloth staining his boxers. Watched as his cock twitched under your gaze. Hands pull you forwards again, pressing his clothed erection against your own soaked cunt. Still not enough but his deliberate grind pulled a broken moan from you, head falling forwards into the crook of his neck. Mindlessly chasing the sensation, grinding down against him. 

“Someone’s eager.” His voice thick with need as he bucked against you again. Dragging that fucking shirt over your head, nipping at the exposed skin he could reach. 

It was nowhere near enough, the drag of cloth doing little to ease the ache. Pulling away to be able to practically tear away the last of the fabric separating you. Swallowing thickly at the sight of him, settling back between his thighs. 

Keeping eye contact as you leaned in, licking a hot stripe from base to tip. That earned you an exhale that was dangerously close to a growl. Jack’s eyes didn’t leave yours, pupils totally blown as he watched you take his tip slowly in your mouth. Watched you even as your eyes fluttered shut, slowly inching your way down his length. With all the restraint in the world he kept his hips still when he felt the brush of the back of your throat. 

A hand brushing hair out of your face, settling at the back of your head, letting you feel the faint scrape of nails against your scalp with the swirl of your tongue and you began move, setting a pace just restrained enough to not be a tease, but not nearly enough to get him to break. Swallowing thickly around him, losing yourself in the weight of him, the increasingly desperate noises coming from above you. 

Pulling away enough to meet his eyes “Who’s eager now?” Pressing a kiss to his tip before taking him to the base again. Settling into the same steady rhythm, watching him come undone under you. 

“So fucking pretty. Can’t help it” It came out raw, almost unrecognizable as his voice. Still watching, eyes locked on the way your lips parted around his cock. Watching as you squirmed into the fabric beneath you, trying desperately to find your own relief. 

A tug from the hand still half tangled in your hair got you to pull away with an obscene pop, slightly breathless and lips swollen. Becking you forward again, sliding backwards to sit more upright against the arm of the couch. 

Those familiar hands guided you down, firm hands pressing your hips against him. Not letting you take him yet, a slow teasing thrill running through you again as he dragged between your folds. Letting up to let you set the pace, hips pressed to yours, matching your pace as you finally were able to chase away your own desperate need. 

The frim press of a thumb against your clit made you almost come undone. Hips stuttering against his as preassue built at your core, back arching arching. His other hand skating up your back, skilled hands unclasping your bra in one fluid motion, another piece of clothing discarded somewhere in the dark room. 

It was like you were being consumed by flame, burning hands teasing hardened nippels, rolling them lightly between practiced fingers. Another circling your clit, helping you come undone grinding against his leaking cock. Your breathy moans echoed in desperate shaky breaths beneath you. You were barely holding on, hips jerking erratically against his. 

“Let go.” That was all that it took. His voice was raw and quiet, strained with need. 

The building crescendo of tension snapped, stilling against him,hands braced against his chest as pleasure wracked your body, fluttering against him as you came, his name spilling from your lips like a prayer. Slumping forward, breathing hard. Your breath is almost too warm against the sweat collecting on your bodies. 

Jack kissed you again, slow, tender, letting the tremors run their course against him. Completely still beneath you. Cupping your face and grounding you again as you came down from the high or your orgasam. 

Pulling away, a thin line of saliva still connecting you briefly he adjusted beneath you again. He rolled against you again, a moan falling from your lips. Pushing against his chest you were disappointed to still find the cloth of his shirt, damp with sweat and very much in the way of wandering hands. 

Your hand slid under the hem, sliding it up. Reaching back with the other to stroke him before taking a breath and sinking down onto him. Jack’s head falling back exhaling through his teeth as fluttering walls gripped him, pulling him in. “fuck”

You clenched around him when your hips met. Hangs tightening their grip on your hips grinding into you. Hungry eyes glued to where you met, watching as you started to move, lifting yourself to ride him. 

You knew he wasn’t far from his own release. What little composure he had held onto was already cracking, his hips jerking erratically against yours. Already sensitive and moving at your own reckless pace once you adjusted, nails biting into skin. His thumb returning to circle your already over sensitive clit. Fatigue battling pleasure as heat sparked through you once again.  

A pathetic whine escaped your mouth, bracing against his shoulder, almost frenzied in your movements as pleasure wound tight once more. The room falling silent other than the sound of your labored breathing. Focusing solely on chasing senestion, watching the man beneath you coming undone, jaw clenched and breathing hard as you rode him.

Your second orgasm ripped through you. Your walls spasming around him slumping forwards bonelessly onto his chest. Arms circled you, hips snapping against yours, breathing ragged in your ear. 

A your name tumbling from his lips his hips stuttered against yours, finishing inside you, leaving you feeling impossibly full. You stayed like that for a minute, both breathing heavily. Still riding the high of your climax. 

“Shower?” You offered, pressing a slightly breathless kiss to his forehead. He nodded wordlessly, reaching past you to offer you your discarded clothes and helping you get off him without making a mess of the fabric below you. 

Waking the next morning you felt heavier than you had the past few nights. Blinking slowly you realized that you were pinned, your legs tangled with Jack’s, his arm thrown over your shoulders. The weight of him was almost alien the past week. Extra heat tangled around you along with the sheets. 

Moving slowly you tried to extricate yourself, tossing and tuning would likely wake him and you were awake enough. You managed to free your legs from the sheet and were slowly pulling out from under him when the arm around you flexed, pulling you closer. 

“Stay.” He murmured, arms tightening around you, shifting to press a kiss to your temple. “Just a little longer.” 

You let him pull you into him, the warmth of his chest at your back, the steady pulse of his heart against your skin. The comforting scent of him filling your lungs with each breath. It was hard to resist letting your world become Jack Abbot for just a little longer. 

[willyoubemycherryy]

Counting Licks (Bo Chow x Reader)

Summary: He does bite- never too hard though…

Contains: smut, giving a bitch sum head or sum, minimal plot, no I genuinely mean it, oral (f. receiving), kissing, dirty talk, refers to the 🐱 as ‘her’, he’s feral for the cookie, pussydrunk Bo, biting, petnames, “I ain’t never date no man who ain’t suck me off the bone”, BITINGGGG, public, but u guys are alone, I saw sinners again last night and this is the product so good luck

A/N- if you see a mind running around that looks lost, it’s mine. Leave it be.

+ with @bochowswife and @taylormarieee in mind🥰🎀

*Takes place in the ‘fix it’ universe

.♡

The club had been open for weeks and had been a bigger success than originally planned.

It was kind of an unspoken rule that anyone in attendance didn’t mention the incident from that night, it being “bad mojo” and all that and people were only too happy to put it behind them.

Another thing that happened by the end of the first week was the switch from plantation credits to actual money or change. Quarters, dimes, nickels, were all welcome as long as it could spend. They changed it in a way that business wasn’t affected but worked for the locals. Now, prices were different depending on what they was drinking and that did wonders for money flow. So much in fact, that they needed help managing it all.

That’s where you and Bo come in.

Managing his own store and such, Bo was good with numbers- quick too- a trusted friend of the twins, and he’d been there to help them set up since day 1. So when the twins asked him to do the till counts during near end of the first half of the night, it was an easy yes. Surprisingly enough, Smoke and Stack were on the same page with not minding Bo bringing you into the office with him while he worked; claiming you kept him focused and that was that but….

Bo was supposed to be counting the tills and you were supposed to keep him focused.

“Mmmm, she’s so sweet baby”,

Bo purrs in that heady southern drawl before he laps another firm drag up your slit. “Nice n’ wet f’me..”.

A debauched moan bubbles deep from your chest as Bo slurps your clit into his mouth with a drunken hum. The vibrations make your head spin, lower stomach tensing up as you try to ground yourself before you lose your mind but Bo doesn’t let up- can’t bring himself to. Not when you coat his mouth with your taste looking like the answer to every prayer he’s ever prayed with full lips and wide eyes that constantly looked at him like you didn’t just want him but needed him.

He groans, pulling away with a string of saliva connecting you, smacking his lips hungrily as his hands help themselves to your curves and god- you melt. Much like ice would under the heat of the devil’s tongue only faster this time because pleasure is always better when business is meant to be the goal. Tingling nips to your thighs trail back up slowly to your wetness and you suck in a deep breath through your teeth, heavy arousal licking flames across your skin making you sweat. The music outside was loud enough to drown out your activities which was great because Bo was aiming to suck you off the bone.

Gripping the fat of your hip, he pulls you closer against his open mouth- tongue wet, hot, and insistent as he hungrily licks inside you. The pleasure is crushing and your hands find his hair, petting and messing at it weakly while you gasp and whine in bliss. Bo takes your throbbing bud in his mouth again, lapping stroke after stroke against the underside of your clit before rolling it between his teeth and you jolt as he bites down with just enough pressure for the pain to warm before he soothes it with a heavy lave of his tongue and you cry out so hard it feels like your chest is caving in.

“B-Bo! We-, the t-ti- fuuuck!” You can’t even string a sentence together with the way he’s taking you apart, sucking your clit like a piece of candy before rolling the sensitive swollen nub back between his teeth and you’re shaking. Eyes fluttering back as the most pitiful choked out sobs you’ve ever heard from yourself fall from your lips as you grind up into his handsome face.

It’s as if you’re floating. His hands are so big and rough- strong and everywhere. You might be crying for real now. Bo’s so hard that the blood rush makes his ears ring but he couldn’t be bothered to pay that any mind.

Not when you’re so close.

“Thaaat’s it sweet thing..”

And you’re crying and stuttering in that sweet, pretty, way you did whenever you got real close-your hips bucking up into his greedy maw and he can feel the way your leaking hole twitches under his tongue and he growls. A hand leaves your hips in favor of stuffing three of his fingers knuckle deep inside your spasming cunny as he catches your clit and bites- flattening his tongue to soothe the pain sweetly and he’s so sloppy with it as his fingers lazily stretch you open that you can’t take it anymore. It’s too good- too much.

The slutty arch of your back doesn’t make your orgasm any easier to bear as it tears clean through you, coming so hard you hear sight. Heart beating through your chest as you scream, spraying his thick fingers and sinful mouth with a hot burst of your slick. It gives Bo goosebumps as he moans into your flushed skin, mouth working even harder as he laps up your release. Even sucking you off his fingers before rushedly undoing his pants and jerking his fat throbbing shaft off with that same hand. Burying his head back to finish cleaning you up, the sweet taste and smell is so fucking good- so heady- that he’s coming minutes later into the hand that’s soaked with you, resting his head against your thigh while you catch your breath and wait for your senses to realign so you can convince him to take you home.

Till counting long forgotten.

[cheriladycl01]

Down Under - Daniel Riccardo x Reader SMUT

Plot: Daniel had always dreamed of the day seeing his wife in a pretty wedding dress, but not for the reasons most would think.

Warnings: eating out, oral (fem receiving), 18+ minors dni

Here you were walking down the isle in your large white wedding dress looking down where your husband stood with his best man and fellow groomsmen. He hadn't noticed you yet where he was talking to his best man Lando. Max, one of his groomsmen nudged him, shurgging his head over to you. His eyes met yours just as the music started playing for you to walk down the isle too.

Tears brim his eyes, he'd always seen you as the most beautiful girl in the world, but today you were etheral and he wanted to burn this image of you into his mind and keep it there forever.

You make your way down the isle, holding your dad's arm who also has tears in his eyes. All thats on your face is a huge grin, excited to be Mrs Ricciardo after this. You loved Daniel with all your heart and being able to share a last name with him was special to you.

"You're the only man i trust with her Daniel, i hope you know that. Look after my baby" you father says, before placing a kiss on the side of your head. Daniel smiles at your father a solid not to him.

"Always sir" Daniel says, before glancing over you seeing just how magnetic you looked up close.

You guys shared your vows, you had both done very meaningful vows for your actual wedding that you'd more than likely repreat in 10 years, then 20 and 30. You would save the laughter for at the after party where the maid of honor and best man, and some family members would to also say some words for the pair of you.

"You may now kiss the bride" the officiator says and you shake your head.

"Nope, i may now kiss the groom!" you grin and cup Daniels face pulling him down and in for a kiss. It's lasts for a while until you feel Daniel's grin widen.

"Nope, i'll listen to him" Daniel grins, pulling away and dipping you into the typical bride kiss. Your both giggling against one another as you do, the crowd below cheering and whooping.

"Come with me" he whispers in your ear, gripping your hand.

"Alright folks, if you all head into the barn i'm going to get Mrs Riccardo into something a little more ... breathable and then we'll see you out for the after party!" he grins, before taking your hand and walking you away. Everyone starts to leave while Daniel walks you into the chalet you guys had rented.

Before you know it, the minute you guys get into the home you were hoisted up onto the nearest counter, your large puffy dress bunching up around your hips. Your in fits of giggles as Daniel tries to work out how to step in between your legs but is sort of restricted.

"Daniel what are you doing!" you laugh looking at him.

"Need you so bad, wanna fuck you for the first time as my wife" he grins with that cheeky look in his eyes.

"What?" you burst out laughing.

"Please, need you" he groand trying to bunch up your dress around you.

"We dont have time!" you laugh, holding him at bay by his chest.

"Just, just a quick little taste. I'll be so quick" he says, sliding his hands down before getting on his knees.

"Daniel!" you gasp at the crudeness. But before you know it he's under all layers of your dress, teasing a finger up your thigh touching the garter of your white lingerie. He plays with the fabric before flicking it against your skin making you gasp. You feel his nose, and the bump run up along the silk covering you.

"Danny" you gasp, moving your hips forward and wrapping your legs around him, resting them on his back and shoulders.

He doesn't say a word, not that you'd hear it muffled under the ruffles and multiple layers of your dress, but you feel your panties pulled to the side and his wet tongue tease you.

His nose gives the perfect amount of pressure on your clit a moan coming from you. You would normally have a hand pulling at the curls of the hair, but with no access to it they gripped the edge of the counter.

"Oh fuck, please" you moan feeling the way he's moving against you stimulating every place that possibly needs it. You can feel his nose pressing agaisnt you. Your hips jut against his face and your can finally hear some slurps that he's making as you rock agaisnt his face.

You feel the coil build in your stomach as Daniel's licks are relentless against you.

"Omg please please please" you cry out your knuckles white from the grip on the table. Daniel's finger enters, his tounge moving to play with your clit, gasps coming from you and your head drops back.

He reaches a certain part of your spongey walls that makes your lurch forward grabbing his head through your dress with as gasp as your legs tighten round his head and start to shake.

"Omg" you gasp as he helps you through your orgasm. He ruffles up, finding his way out of the big puffy dress and the sight before you once his head pops up is one you would be happy getting all to familiar with.

He was there, your juices covering his chin and his curls messier, face flushed red from the heat.

"Been waiting to do that for years" he sighs, leaning his head against your thigh.

"Years? You've been dreaming of marrying me for years for the sole purpose of what? Eating me out in my wedding dress?" you laugh out loud looking down at him.

"Right, lets get you out this dress now" he says, avoiding the question while helping you up despite the wobbly legs and heels combo that isnt helping. You couldn't help but giggle as he carries you up the stairs to the master bedroom where your body-con white dress was laid out by your maid of honor.

Daniel helps you take off the dress and just looks at you in your underwear.

"Gods, i cant believe this is what i get to see for the rest of my life" he says, running his hands along your waist. He helps you get into the dress despite his wish to ravish you on the bed behind the pair of you, but knows that people are waiting to celebrate the newly weds.

"Every day" you grin holding the side of his face before he pulls you into a kiss.

"I love you"

"I love you too"

Taglist:

@littlebitchsposts @hockey-racing-fubol @laura-naruto-fan1998 @22yuki @simxican @sinofwriting @lewisroscoelove @cmleitora @daemyratwst @lauralarsen @the-untamed-soul @thewulf @itsjustkhaos @purplephantomwolf @chasing-liberosis @summissss @gulphulp @starfusionsworld @jspitwall @sierruhhhh @georgeparisole @youcannotcancelquidditch @tallbrownhairsarcastic @ourteenagetragedy @peachiicherries @formulas-bitch @cherry-piee @spilled-coffee-cup @mehrmonga @curseofhecate @alliwantisadonut @dark-night-sky-99 @i-wish-this-was-me @tallrock35 @butterfly-lover @barnestatic @landossainz @darleneslane @barcelonaloverf1life @r0nnsblog @ilove-tswizzle @laneyspaulding19 @malynn @landosgirlxoxo @marie0v @yourbane @teamnovalak @nikfigueiredo @fionaschicken @0picels0 @tinydeskwriter @ironmaiden1313 @splaterparty0-0 @formula1mount

[tsunodaradio]

love on track ⛐ 𝐘𝐓𝟐𝟐

you wish, of course, that you could have accounted for yuki tsunoda. (or: 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘴𝘦𝘲𝘶𝘦𝘭 𝘵𝘰 𝘭𝘰𝘷𝘦 𝘢𝘵 𝘧𝘪𝘳𝘴𝘵 𝘧𝘭𝘪𝘨𝘩𝘵.)

ꔮ starring: yuki tsunoda x graduate student!reader. ꔮ word count: 5.4k. ꔮ includes: romance. profanity. reader is studying something statistics-adjacent, a bit of numbers talk, isack is a plot device again, idiots in love. highly recommended that you read love at first flight before this one! ꔮ commentary box: the tsunodaradio yuki transportation verse expands! writing this sequel to my first ever yuki fic as a birthday gift for the man, the myth, the legend 🚆 without further ado.. 𝐦𝐲 𝐦𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭

♫ take a chance with me, niki. oh shit...are we in love?, the valley. ? (who do you think of), any name's okay. me & you, honne & tom misch. maybe?, radi. happy accidents, saint motel.

The statistical probability of running into a stranger twice in your lifetime depends on a range of variables. 

There’s location to consider. Frequency of interaction. Shared activities or interests. The probability may be low, but it is never zero. Even a 1 in 100,000 chance is still a chance. 

So, in some ways, are you really that surprised to find a familiar face on this train? 

It’s your second trip to Japan. The first one had gone by in a blur, and that was why you came back. You hadn’t felt like you were able to sufficiently enjoy yourself and you figured a country as beautiful as this one deserved a little more respect. A longer stay. More touristy commitments. 

The Sunrise Izumo Express gave you that chance. A sleeper train route of 12 hours, boasting Pinterest-worthy views of the country’s mountains and lakes within the range of Tokyo to Izumo. You had timed your vacation specifically around the snowy season. 

Do you wish you could have gotten a private room on the train? Of course. 

Did you cheap out a bit so you could buy more wagyu? Definitely. 

You find yourself on the top berth of a double-deck sleeper. It’s not much. Curtains for privacy, a reading light, an overhead fan. A barely-there wooden separator will keep you from being shoulder-to-shoulder with whoever sits—or lays—next to you. 

As you squeeze yourself into the small space, you try to think of comparably positive experiences. It feels like… summer camp. Sure. That’ll work. 

The train is set to depart at 10 PM on the dot. You glance at your watch. Half past nine, and the space next to yours is still empty. If you’re lucky, it will stay that way. 

Unfortunately, luck has never been as good to you as numbers have. 

At approximately 9:22 PM, the Familiar Stranger climbs on to the berth next to yours. He grunts when his head hits the top of the train. He falls onto the thin mattress with an incoherent cuss. You offer him a rueful smile. 

He grins back.

Then does a double take. 

“Wait,” he says, words garbled with an accent you can’t quite place yet. “I know you.” 

You nearly start sprouting numbers about this being only your second time in Japan, about the low likelihood of you recognizing anyone in this foreign land. You hold back just enough to evenly say, “I don’t think so.” 

“No, no,” the stranger insists. “I know you. I know you from somewhere.” 

The thought is laughable. You’re a tourist, for God’s sake. Nobody—most especially the person you’re supposed to sit-slash-sleep next to for the next 12 hours—should know you. 

Despite your growing irritation, you stand your ground. “I’m sorry,” you say firmly,, “but I think you have the wrong girl.” 

You try to pull the curtain close. The stranger’s hand darts out, stopping you at the very last moment. You’re already contemplating how to flag a conductor down for potential harassment. 

The man opposite you opens his mouth, ready to push, when a voice rings out. “Hadjar? Is something wrong?”

Your head snaps up. 

Again, we go back to the plain and simple fact: 1 in 100,000 is still a chance. Today, that 0.001 percent glares up at you like a neon sign in a dive bar. Bright, oppressive, unavoidable. 

Yuki Tsunoda is standing at the foot of your bunk.

He looks a little different than you remember. To be fair, it’s been over half a year.

Six months ago, on your first flight to Japan—your first flight ever—happenstance had put you in the seat next to Yuki. You chatted. Fell asleep on each other.

Held hands throughout turbulence. 

And, at the end of it all, he had slipped you his number on a scrap of tissue, asking for the statistical probability of a text. 

“You,” Yuki chokes out, eyes widening almost comically. 

He says your name afterwards, and you wince. He doesn’t say it like a curse or an insult. It comes out more like a suspension of disbelief, like he’s just seen someone come back from the dead. At this rate, maybe he has. 

“Airplane crush!” the stranger next to you—Hadjar, right, that’d been his name—announces triumphantly. “You are Yuki’s airplane crush!”

That doesn’t help. At all. 

Yuki shoots Hadjar a withering glare before turning back to look at you. “What are you doing here?” Yuki demands. He’s gripping the edges of the bunk so tightly that his knuckles have gone white. 

“Vacationing,” you say defensively. “What are you doing here?” 

“This is literally my home country!”

“I mean,” you stammer, “this is the cheapest option on this train. Couldn’t you, like, afford a compartment or something?!”

“Yuki insisted on the regular seats,” Hadjar interjects. “He wants me to get the authentic Japan experience.” 

Oddly enough, it’s the way Hadjar says those two words—regular and experience—that finally clues you to his accent. French. Your seatmate is French. 

You have bigger fish to fry, though, because Yuki is still staring at you like he can’t quite believe you’re real. Before you can decide if you should apologize or brush the whole thing off, Hadjar is already making an executive decision that is determinedly bad for everybody’s welfare. 

“Let’s switch, Yuki!” Hadjar says, enthusiastic in the way only a wingman could be. “I will take the bottom bunk!”

No, you mean to say, but you don’t know how you’d manage that without sounding rude. Yuki has a little less tact. He immediately tries to refuse, stuttering words like don’t and Isack and I am going to kill you.

Hadjar only gathers his things and begins to scramble away, completely ignoring Yuki’s protests. Hadjar even throws you a conspiratorial wink over his shoulder, like he’s doing you a favor. Like your heart hasn’t sunk to your ass at the prospect of what the next 12 hours is going to be. 

You hear them bickering below you, just out of sight. Low voices, curt exchanges. A lot of the hissing seems to be coming from Yuki. 

You lay down on your side, facing away from the berth that’s either going to be an overzealous Frenchman or a guy you ghosted after a long-haul flight. You find yourself facing what seems to be an elderly Japanese woman, already setting up her nighttime skincare routine. It’s not the worst of sights. 

The bunk you’re pointedly trying to avoid creaks under the weight of a body. You hold your breath, lying in wait. And then—

“Why didn’t you text me?” 

You have to give it to Yuki. Getting the hard question out of the way, right off the bat, is admirable. 

You keep on holding your breath. Maybe if you don’t move an inch, he’ll leave you alone. Wishful thinking. 

“I know you’re still awake,” Yuki says, tone caught halfway between amusement and exasperation. “The train has just left the station.” 

With a sigh, you turn. Yuki is seated upright, leaning against the window. You hate to admit it, but he’s still as attractive as you remember. The mop of black hair, the faint five o’clock shadow.

In the dimming lights of the train, you zero in on things you hadn’t noticed before. His stack of chrome jewelry, his designer wristwatch, his muscles rippling with every small movement he makes. 

You blink. Woah. Where did that last thought come from? 

Anyway. 

You clear your throat. He speaks up again, his gaze fixed on some nondescript point in the berth across from him. 

“I gave you my number,” he says matter-of-factly. 

You sit up, leaning your own back against the window. This doesn’t feel like a conversation to have while you’re curled up over the mattress, ready for sleep. Now both you and Yuki are glaring into the distance if it’ll mean you don’t have to look at each other. 

“I didn’t think you’d actually be waiting for a text,” you confess as you pick at a loose strand of the train-issued blanket.  

When you found out who Yuki was—really was—it made no sense to act on the number entrusted to you. On the plane, he had just been a nice seatmate who you thought you could spin into a story. A tidbit for future Two Truths and a Lie games. 

But then you landed in Tokyo, and you found out he was a racecar driver, and suddenly reaching out to him was out of the cards. 

“Besides,” you add, aiming for levity, “I’m pretty sure you do that all the time.” 

“Do what?” 

“Give out your number.” 

A beat. One long enough to make you realize your mistake before Yuki points it out himself.

“I don’t,” he says, voice so soft and hurt that you can only pray, with every fibre of your being, that the ground might swallow you whole. 

It doesn’t. You reach for the second best thing. “I’m sorry,” you say sincerely, turning your head so you’re looking straight at Yuki. 

To your surprise, he mimics the move. You’re both looking at each other as the train rumbles out of Tokyo station, starting what will undoubtedly be a long journey.

“Are you sorry for not texting?” Yuki asks, and it strikes you what kind of person he is.

You recognize the lightheartedness in his tone. He’s probably still offended, but he’s trying to tease you right now. Trying to make light of the situation. 

“I’m sorry for assuming you have bitches in every city,” you offer in return. 

Yuki laughs. It’s a bark of a surprise sound, jolted out of him like he hadn’t expected it. But you had. You had wanted to get that exact reaction out of him.

It eases some of the tension in his shoulders, makes him look at you with a little less of the flight instinct. It’s not absolution just yet; you know you’re not out of the dog house. 

But you decide you’ll take it. This small win, this break in the surface pressure. What was the statistical probability of having another 12 hours with Yuki ahead of you? 

The very least you could do was try and make it tolerable. 

You had a plan.

This whole thing about sleeping during the first hour and waking up for the sunrise. You had stayed up during the day for it, eager to make sure you wouldn’t miss anything that would justify the trip or the price tag on it.

But you don’t realize how difficult it is to fall asleep here.

It doesn’t even have anything to do with Yuki. Okay, well, that’s a lie. It’s not entirely about Yuki. He’s part of the reason, though he’s mostly out of your hair as he tries to feign interest in whatever manga he’s reading.

Your shared history—or lack thereof—exists in the negligible space between you. He’s so close that you can hear the music leaking through his AirPods.

You’re intent on falling asleep. On keeping your back turned to Yuki, fixed instead on the snoozing grandma across you.

Someone is snoring like a chainsaw below you. Hadjar, probably.

Yuki steals the thoughts right out of your head. “You’re lucky you’re not next to him,” he says dryly, making you jump a bit. 

You’re still hopeful you’ll fall asleep, so you stay curled up in your bunk as the train hurtles past the sights of Japan. It’s too dark to see anything but shadows of buildings and trees.

“Does he snore like that all the time?” you ask quietly, not wanting to wake up the woman next to you.

“Unfortunately,” Yuki chirps from behind you. “I’m a bit jealous. He’s the type to fall asleep anywhere, at any time.”

“Are you two teammates?”

There’s a moment’s pause. “You know, I thought you would be a little more invested in F1 after getting a driver’s number,” he says, that hint of amusement back in his tone. 

A snort of laughter escapes you. Your F1-obsessed best friend had gone ballistic over the knowledge you sat next to Yuki the entire flight; you withheld the fact his number was now in your phone, knowing full well that it would become a whole thing. 

Maybe you had resisted the urge to Google ‘Yuki Tsunoda’ once or twice. Maybe you were a little more tuned in with your best friend’s ramblings over the championship standings. But it was never enough to truly get you into the sport, to see what all the hype was about.

Besides— “You told me you were a chauffeur,” you point out, still speaking to the divider. 

“You assumed I was a chauffeur,” he amends. “It was too funny to deny.”

“You could have corrected me.”

He pauses. “I know.”

“Why didn’t you?”

“Would it have changed anything? If I told you I drove cars in circles?”

Well, when he puts it that way. You try to think of what that plane ride would have looked like if you knew from the get-go that he was a racecar driver, that he was revered in a sport you didn’t really understand. You like to think you might’ve just rattled off more car statistics—effectively scaring him off. 

But would it have changed anything, like the way you catalogued his laugh, the way you blushed when he flirted with you, the way you napped in his side like it was somewhere you belong? 

“No,” you say quietly. “Probably not.”

“Exactly.” The way Yuki says the word is loaded with implication. He sounds smug and sad all at once.

You try to unpack it, try to make sense of it the same way that you navigate numbers. But there is no equation to this, no logic. This is emotion, and sentiment, and the held breath of a situation neither of you thought you would be in.

After a beat too long, you hear him ask, voice softer now, “Is that why?”  

“Why—what?”

“Why you didn’t text me.”

He’s asking if it’s because he lied. Because he omitted facts of the story, twisted the narrative like he was hoping to make the medicine go down easier. 

You knew from the get-go that some white lies were being told. That was always the case with strangers, anyway. You could be whoever you wanted to be for a few precious hours, cosplay as an ideal self or somebody even far worse. You figured it was always going to be black and white with chance encounters like the one you shared. 

You weren’t meant to find each other again. Except Yuki had wanted to, maybe, with his stunt of his scribbled-down phone number, and you decide you can at least afford him a little bit of honesty. 

“Kind of,” you breathe. Him lying about being a chauffeur was only partly the reason why you never reached out. 

He picks up on the hesitance almost immediately. “There’s more to it?”

A corner of your lip twitches upwards. Yuki doesn’t see, and so you let the little smile tug. Just for a second. Just enough.

“There’s always more to it,” you say vaguely. 

“Come on, then,” he urges. “We’ve got time.”

You laugh. Soundlessly, because you don’t want to bother any other passengers. Your shoulders shake all the same as you try to dismiss him with a firm, “Good night, Yuki.”

You’re still not looking at Yuki, but you can hear the grin on his face when he says good night back.

You dream of race cars made of sushi, cherry blossoms with numbered petals, and the sound of Yuki’s smile.

When you wake up to the gentle vibrations of your phone alarm, you’re surprised to find Yuki is still seated upright. 

He has his back to the window, his eyes still trained to his phone. It’s attached to a power bank now, and he’s scrolling through what seems to be the same manga he had been reading earlier. You glance at your phone—confirming you had about seven hours of sleep—before properly curling in on yourself to look to Yuki. 

“You didn’t sleep?” you ask, voice raspy with drowsiness. 

He looks up from his phone, offers you a one-shouldered shrug. “Nah,” he says, though he doesn’t really go on to explain why. 

You try to wipe out the bleariness in your eyes. With a yawn and a pathetic excuse for a stretch, you roll over. A pinkish dawn is beginning to creep in outside the train window.

You left no part of your itinerary up to chance, so you’d noted everything from the time of the day’s sunrise to which berths had the best view. 

You wish, of course, that you could have accounted for Yuki Tsunoda. Yuki, who pockets his earbuds and locks his phone. Yuki, who awkwardly maneuvers so that he’s lying down on the bunk next to yours.

Yuki, who just outright copies you. Stomach flat to the thin mattress, gaze fixed on the countryside roaring past. You’re not about to escape him, you realize. Not today.  

“Do you have another race in Japan?” You hear yourself ask. Your voice is still pitched low, not wanting to rouse the other passengers who are all still getting up themselves. “Is that why you’re here?”

“There’s only one Japan race per season,” Yuki answers patiently. “The season just ended.”

“Ah.”

So, that time you’d seen him—that had been his only home race. You don’t know how any of the sport works, and it’s beginning to frustrate you a bit. Was it just a matter of who finished first? Did he have to drive any particular way? Were him and Hadjar in the same car or something? 

All those questions seem inconsequential to the one on the tip of your tongue. You stammer through it, not wanting to ask Did you win as much as, “Did you… do well?”

A flicker of an expression on his face seems to indicate the topic is a touchy one. But your question fully sinks into him, and he does that thing again. The one where he’s not-quite smiling; the corners of his mouth, lifting just so. 

“I drove safe,” he says, and it nearly takes the wind out of you. 

“That’s good,” you manage. 

And, just in case you forgot, he adds, “Because you told me to.”

Your parting words, blurted out in place of goodbye. Yuki, turning in the line of moving people on the plane, with damning hope on his face. When you had called his name, he had probably thought you might say something else. Ask for his number, maybe. 

Instead, you’d just said Drive safe, and now the words haunt you. 

“You’re just saying that,” you groan, burying your face in one hand. You’re trying to hide the way your own expression has betrayed you, the way you’ve cracked a grin. 

Peeking through your fingers, you see the way that Yuki has started to beam. It crinkles the crow’s feet on his face, shows off a gap between his two front teeth. He keeps his eyes on the scenery even as he glows like the day that’s just about to begin. 

“You’re right,” he agrees, words measured and slow. “Guess I just wanted to see you smile.” 

Outside, dawn breaks. You lift your head, your chin over your folded arms, to watch it happen. 

The December snow blankets Japan’s countryside in sheets of white, reflecting the orange and the yellow of the rising sun. It’s a stunning panorama, a postcard for halcyon days. There are hundreds, maybe thousands of words that could probably describe just how breathtaking the view is. 

All that comes out of you is a dazed murmur of “Pretty.” 

In your peripheral vision, you see Yuki stealing a glance at you. You hadn’t grown up on a diet of romantic comedies, hadn’t read fanfiction or watched as much TV as you might have liked. So how could you have known?

How could you have known he would respond, voice barley above a whisper—like he’s saying it to himself—”Yeah. Pretty,” while still looking at you? 

How was your heart supposed to stand a chance?

“Talk numbers with me.” 

You glance up from the Japanese city maps spread open on your lap. Yuki has abandoned his manga-reading and has also abandoned feigning disinterest in you. 

“Numbers?” you repeat dumbly.

“Numbers,” he confirms. 

You’re a little surprised he remembers. In hindsight, he’s remembered everything else; your obsession with statistics was probably much more defining than, say, the last thing you’d said to him.

“What kind of numbers?” you ask. A little defensive, a little suspicious. 

“I don’t know,” he says. “How much of Japan uses trains?” 

“69 million people daily,” you answer instinctively, knee-jerk in your admission. 

“69. Nice.” 

“Seriously?” 

Yuki shrugs, something glinting in his eyes as he continues to sit cross-legged across from you. You try not to mistake the glimmer for affection. “What else?” he prompts. 

You blow a strand of hair out of your face. “I don’t know what you want to hear,” you shoot back, a hint of annoyance finding home in your tone. “The railway system operates around 26,000 trains daily. You have great punctuality rates. Average delay of just 1.6 minutes per train. The model share’s at 72.2 percent, and—why are you laughing?” 

“I’m not laughing,” Yuki says in between laughter. 

You resist the urge to chuck a map at him. You only glare, waiting for him to calm down before you speak. “You asked for the numbers, man,” you grumble. 

Surely you can’t be blamed for sounding a little hurt. You’re not about to get into it with Yuki Tsunoda, of all people, but there’s a lot of history behind the sting. Years of getting made fun of for different interests. Grating laughter, scraped knees, side eyes.

Yuki sobers instantly. “I’m not… not laughing at you,” he offers apologetically, pulling his criss-crossed legs a little tighter around his body. 

The skeptical look on your face urges him to go on. “It makes me happy,” he says, “hearing you talk about numbers.” 

“It’s just me nerding out,” you deadpan. 

“It’s you lighting up,” he interjects. “It’s a good look.” 

“What is this, Yuki?” 

Record scratch. Freeze frame. Yuki stares at you, unblinking, unmoving. You stare back. The train chugs along. Your words hang in delicate balance. You wish, for a moment, that the maps in your hands could guide you through the next four hours, looming over you like a guillotine. 

“What’s what?” he asks. It’s his turn to sound wary, to try and build up walls. 

You chip at them anyway. “What are you doing?” you press.

“I’m talking with you.” 

“You’re flirting with me.” 

“I am,” he agrees without missing a beat. “I thought I’ve made it very clear that I’m interested in you.” 

“Why?” Your fingers are curled around the paper maps; your voice, surprisingly level amid the din of noise in the train car. “Why want someone you barely even know?” 

Yuki opens his mouth. 

“Yukino!”

Hadjar’s head pops up at the foot of the berth. He has a shit-eating grin on his face, which means he’s probably blissfully unaware of what he just interrupted. “I am going to try the noodle vending machine,” the Frenchman announces excitedly. “Coming with?” 

The moment between you and Yuki goes flat like a soda left out for too long. You glance away, angling your face back towards the window. The views are all still stunning, but the pang in your chest makes them feel a little less enjoyable. 

Yuki’s gaze lingers on you. When he finds nothing he can cling to, he gives a jerky nod to Hadjar and reaches for his wallet. 

As he steps down from the top bunk, ready to follow his friend to the mythical vending machine, Yuki calls out a question that jolts you out of your moping. 

“Do you know the statistical probability of love at first sight?” 

You look back at him. There’s no teasing on his face now. There’s nothing there but the serious set of his jaw, the purse of his lips that makes your heart thump, thump, thump beneath your ribs. It’s the kind of look you imagine he would sport before getting behind a wheel. 

“1 in 5 people,” he answers for you. “I looked it up the moment we got off our flight.” 

You’re half expecting Yuki to spend the last couple of hours with Hadjar. Out of sight, out of mind. Running from what was probably a love confession, all things considered. 

To his credit, Yuki doesn’t hide. He comes back an hour later, sure, but he still comes back. Climbs up the berth, settles into the bunk next to yours. 

Suddenly, it all feels so insufficient. The sheer curtain you could pull between you. The sorry excuse for a wooden divider that barely comes up to your knees. The one hour you have left to figure out what to do. 

What you want. 

You’re gnawing your lower lip, pretending to be very interested in the quaint prefectures flying by. Yuki, whether he’s conscious or not, mimics your stance again. 

For a couple of beats, all you two do is stare out the window. Then, simultaneously—

Your voice is remorseful; Yuki’s, contemplative. “I’m sorry.” 

You both start. You both laugh. It’s an awkward sound, but it makes things a little easier. 

“You first,” you say, and Yuki concedes without resistance. 

“I shouldn’t have put you on the spot like that,” he says. “You don’t owe me anything. I—I don’t know much, just that I left that plane really hoping to hear from you.”

There’s a twinge in your chest, put there by the sincerity in Yuki’s words. “I know,” you say, and he shoots you a grin that doesn’t quite reach his eyes. 

“Do you know how bad I was?” 

“How bad?” 

“I spent an entire night looking up academic conferences in Tokyo.” He laughs, self-deprecating but unyielding. It’s just a fact to him, just a story being pressed into your palm. “I tried to find the one you might be at.” 

But it’s not just a fact or a story to you. You try to imagine Yuki, folded over in some Tokyo hotel, scrolling through SNS  page after page of conferences in hopes of finding you. Finding you. “That’s crazy,” you say through the ringing in your ears.  

“Well, I’ve always been a little crazy,” he says casually, as if he hasn’t just tilted your world on its axis. 

The conversation lulls as the train speakers crackle. There’s an announcement, first, in Japanese, then heavily accented English. We will be arriving at Izumo station in thirty minutes. 

A ticking time bomb. Half an hour of honesty.

“Your turn,” Yuki urges gently. Like he, too, might detonate the time bomb by dissecting what’s still unsaid between you two. “What are you sorry for?” 

A lot of things, you think, but you decide on the most glaring one. “That I didn’t text.” 

Yuki doesn’t smile, but it’s a close thing. Something on his face seems to ask, We’re still stuck on that?

You are, very much so. You’ll be stuck on it until it’s out of your system, until Yuki understands.

“Are you about to tell me why you didn’t?” he challenges. 

You hedge him with a taunt. “If you ask nicely.” 

He chuckles. It sounds far too fond to be mistaken for anything outside affection. You’re not expecting him to actually take you up on it; you half-pray he lets it go. Because what business did Yuki Tsunoda have begging you for—

“Please.” 

There’s no shame on his face. Just an earnest sort of thing, a reverence you don’t deserve. It makes you burn from the inside. 

Yuki is asking you. Not commanding, not demanding. Asking, testing, seeing how much you’ll give and how much you’ll hold back.

And maybe you’re tired of holding back.

You take a deep breath. Steel your nerves.

“It’s not because I found out you’re Japan’s golden child,” you mumble. “It’s—it’s the numbers.” 

“The numbers.” You feel the tips of your ears flare at the way Yuki repeats the words. That heady mix of amusement, confusion, disappointment. Here we go again, he’s probably thinking, because he knows you but doesn’t know you.

He knows you enough to recognize that numbers matter to you, but he doesn’t know what numbers you’re talking about just yet. 

So you let him fucking know. 

Inhale. 

“40% of couples in long-distance relationships break up,” you blurt out, ignoring the way his eyes widen imperceptibly. “Usually, they already start seeing cracks four months in—” 

He says your name as a low laugh escapes him. That burns, too. How your name sounds on his lips. How you’ve liked the sound of it since that very first time, months and months ago.

You go on, “—and I looked it up too. Love at first sight has happened to about 60% of people. That may seem like a big number, but the results are inconclusive—”

He says your name again. A little more perplexed, this time.

You ignore him again. Breathless, red-faced, with your heart at your damn feet, you keep going. “—and I don’t know how to do this,” you say, that damn helplessness rearing its head. “Numbers don’t hurt you. People do. I don’t want us to end up as a statistic in some grad student’s study about why Formula One drivers can’t date.” 

Exhale.

He stares at you. You stare at him. Japan flies by; the world spins on. 

The time bomb ticks, ticks, ticks. 

His next words are a statement, not a question. “You didn’t text me.” 

It’s your turn to look at him like he’s beating a dead horse. “We’ve established that,” you say dryly. 

“That means the statistical probability of you texting me was zero,” he says before you’ve even finished your sentence. “Is that right?” 

You wince. There’s a lot of things you could say about hypotheses, about sample sizes, about his gross misuse of the term ‘probability’, but you’ll let him have this. It’s a callback to the scribbled note, the one you answered with your silence. 

“Right,” you respond.

He changes the whole equation with his next question. “How much of you wanted to text me?” he asks, his eyes a little wild, his hands clenched into fists in his lap.

Because this—this is the question that mattered. 

Not why didn’t you text, not what would have happened if I had. He’s asking about the nights you spent staring at the newly saved contact, about the moments you typed out something only to hit backspace. That Google search you made about How to text first. That one evening you got drunk and contemplated outright calling, just to see if he would pick. 

Countless variables. Endless numbers. 

How much of you wanted to text Yuki?

“A hundred percent,” you answer, and he melts. 

Not in an obvious way. His shoulders slouch forward; his hands stop fidgeting. He takes in a shaky breath, the sound of it rattling in his chest, and then he stares straight at you like it’s the last time he’s going to get to do it. 

“I really want to kiss you right now,” he confesses. Your heart damn near stops in your chest.

“What’s stopping you?” 

If it’s a matter of distance, you’ll close it. You’ll climb into his bunk and kiss him senseless if you have to. You mean to say all that, except Yuki’s laughing, his head thrown back and his brow scrunched, and you don’t want to miss a moment of that joy. 

You watch. You wait. You crack a grin when he manages, voice tinged with frustration, “Fucking Isack had me trying all these crazy ramen flavors. I think you deserve more than a garlic-flavored kiss.” 

And now you’re giggling, too, because Hadjar had tried to set you up but was also ultimately the one blocking your paths. You and Yuki probably look insane—weathering this laughing fit as the overhead speaker announces you’ll be at the end station shortly. 

You have an itinerary. Plans. Bookings. You’re not about to rearrange that for Yuki, just as much as you don’t want him to ditch his friend for your sake. You give the boy the next best thing. 

“Okay,” you say. “Next time, then.” 

Yuki chokes on air mid-laugh. “Next time?” he repeats, and, oh. 

The hope in his tone is enough to make you think garlic-flavored first kiss be damned. You’ll do it. You just want to see if his smile tastes as good as it looks, as good as it sounds.

You hold yourself back. Barely. 

You’ll take your chances instead. Any chance you have with Yuki—no matter how small it may be—you’ll take it. 

You fish out your phone from your pocket. Yuki watches, bewildered, until you show him your screen. A text, sent mere seconds ago, starting a conversation thread with a contact named Yuki 🐮✈️🚗—

next time. ⛐

[r0-boat]

Beleth Breeding Drabble

Reader has a vag

Cw: porn without plot, Breeding, cuckingish,

"like what you see doll?" Beleth purred. His big calloused hand what with lube and precum as he slowly stroked his big cock teeth sinking into his bottom lip his eyes gazing directly at you as a sense on the bed Belphegor sleeping soundly in the next room. "But Belphegor He's asleep."

Beleth shrugged. He got up and started walking toward you like a beast on the prowl for fresh meat. "Please, sugar, the Maj can sleep through an entire angel onslaught on the castle. So we're safe. You can scream as loud as you need to, sugar! "

You felt heat rush your cheeks as Beleth grabbed your wrist and pulled you closer until you stumbled onto his lap. Running his hands all over you, caring little about the clothes that covered you that his hand slipped under.

His hard cock pressing against your ass has he grinded himself against you his pre-cum staining your butt.

"So wet sweetheart~.Ya sure you don't want me fucking this tight cunt? I think she wants me." He purrs slipping in two fingers.

"Ya like that? Ma big man fingers inside you?"

"Squirming and mewing like a cat in heat How am I not supposed to bend ya over and put a litter of m'own in ya!"

He snarls, slipping his finger out of you. He grabs you, throwing you onto the floor and manhandling you on your hands and knees until his body is pressing against you. Beleth bites into the back collar of your shirt while his hands rip off your bottoms along with your underwear. Those sweet whimpers appear once more as you back your ass against his palm as two fingers stretch you open once more.

"begging fo' me, I hear ya girl... I hear ya sugar, wanna be filled, wanna take cock till ya bursting!"

Pumping his fingers faster and faster His other hand tweaking and pinching your nipples. Beleth fucking his hips and grinding against that ass of yours. You could feel his thick cock running in between your cheeks, hot thick, and veiny.

His fingers only rip away when you feel yourself getting close. His heavy breath against your ear as two hands slap on either side of your hips as he maneuvers his cock inside you.

"miss this cunt, if you were mine I'd never let ya leave my bed. Cunt full and heavily loved. Bites and kisses on every inch of your body. Proof that ya mine. "

Giving his cock a few strokes before sliding the tip against your folds. Claws dig into the meat of your ass as he pulls you in his cock, stretching you open. He leans forward, his chest against your back, his rough tongue licking at your neck.

"Arch your back for me; press those hips against me." He grunts as he finally begins to move his hips. His balls are thick and heavy, making their presence known with every buck of his hips.

It didn't take long till he was slamming and grinding His hips against yours spearing you open nice and deep with each wild thrust bearing his face into your neck His teeth itching to bite.

"I wonder if you feel nice and good. If you take, you'll let me have a taste of your sweet milk."

Just thinking about it He suckles onto the spot on your neck His breathy groans and whimpers His eyebrows arch as he grinds and pounds deeper and deeper.

"Take ma fucking cum! Wanna give you my litter... Wanna fill you with kits!"

"f-fuck! Fuck this pussy every single day! Make sure she's nice and full!"

Beleth drunkenly rambles his hands slipping in between your legs to press and flick at your clit.

Your contentious squeezes and spasms around him Beleth bites into your shoulder, silencing his snarls, His claws digging into the soft meat of your ass cheeks, fretting you open for his pistoning cock to reach deep as he can before stilling His hips. You felt every pump and squirt of his cum as you're coming cunt milks and squeezes him.

His hand removes from between your legs to wrap around you, giving you support for your shaky legs. His rough tongue runs over the bite mark, soothing it. You hear a faint rumble coming from him as he picks you up and hoists you over his shoulder before taking you to his bed. As soon as you're back hitting the mattress, he's immediately on top of you, nuzzling his head into your chest. That subtle rumbling is louder as you run your hands into his hair. He leans his head into your palm. "That's nice... Stay like this. I want to cuddle with you." He murmurs before the two of you drift to sleep.

[blackbat05]

Great Saviour

Bob Reynolds x Librarian! Reader

Plot: It’s been a busy day at the office and just when you thought you’re about to make it through, Mother Nature decides to strike. Luckily, you seem to have someone looking out for you.

Genre: PG-13, Fluff

A/N: New character alert! Watched Thunderbolts* and I am so endeared by both Bob and Lewis Pullman! It’s been a while since I wrote a completely new character. I seem to also have been on a certain Library! Reader trope, fulfilling my fantasies. But also thanks to many of you who have been supporting my works and special shoutout to @randomnessfangirl for encouraging me to write more of these☺️

Today was a hectic day. On a scale of 1-10, you were probably operating on a “I won’t stop moving until the day is actually over”.

Not only did you have two reading sessions with the little ones, you had to conduct a session about AI and ethical use to the older kids (seriously, what were kids using in their classrooms these days?).

Then, when you thought you could have your lunch, your colleague begged if you could help with the library decorations because the actual person who was supposed to do it was nowhere to be found and the task had now fallen onto her. How could you say no?

The task was followed by shelving of the recently returned books and checking on that request for more money to get that new range of children’s encyclopedia (only to be disappointed again). You could only take a breather when you finally returned to your desk. That’s when your stomach started to feel funny.

It’s probably nothing.

Then, you see him. A man with brunette curls, dressed in a loose navy blue sweater and brown pants. He clutches a book with a striking cover and bold red words as the title. As you meet his eyes, you can’t help but to notice how they sparkle under the dim lights. Yet, there was something a little sorrowful about his gaze. The man is obviously embarrassed and he attempts to turn away to not much success.

Maybe it was the fact that you caught him in a children’s library? Apart from parents with young ones, many appeared to stay away from books that they deemed to be too childish or simple.

You put on your professionalism as a librarian, and walk out of from the comfort of your desk to assist him.

“Hello! Can I help you?”

The man is startled like a deer caught in headlights. He realizes that you’re addressing him and starts to form a response, though he struggles.

“Um…”

“Are you lost? I understand the library can be very confusing for first timers. Our library is very big and people always wander into the brightest section.”

“I- uh… there’s something on your skirt.”

You frown slightly before looking at where he was pointing only to be shocked at the bright red stain on your precious cream colored tiered skirt.

“Oh no…” You groaned. You shouldn’t have ignored how tired you were when you woke up for work this morning. How you had to dig deep to conduct those three sessions almost back-to-back. That feeling in your stomach! Ugh!

The man stands awkwardly beside you before removing his sweater and handing it to you. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to. I wasn’t following you. Well, I was but only because I saw that. I mean- now you think I’m weird.” He runs his fingers through his hair in exasperation, making his curls even messier.

If you weren’t in this situation right now, you would have hoped to prolong this conversation to other topics. You have seen him a couple of times in the library, always occupied with interesting picks.

That was all, you only wanted an intellectual conversation.

“I couldn’t.” You protest but the man gently puts his sweater in your hands.

“Please, I insist. Besides, it was getting warm.” He hesitates for a moment before seeking permission to tie his sweater around your waist. The close proximity making your knees falter. Satisfied with his handiwork, he turns to leave.

“Wait! How can I return this to you?”

***

After rolling around in your bed for almost the entire Saturday, fighting off nature’s worst gift, you’re out in the streets of New York, heading to a clear destination in mind.

You found out that his name’s Bob. He would come to the library every afternoon at exactly 3pm and leave before 7pm to head back to what was the New Avengers headquarters.

This piece of information made you very nervous as you entered the building to give your name…

***

“Hey Buck, come take a look at this.” John beckons Bucky over at the screen to find you nervously waiting at the lift lobby.

“Walker I hope you didn’t do anything stupid to scare her.”

John looks offended. “I didn’t do anything! She’s looking for Bob!”

“Bob?”

At his name, Bob pops out from his reading nook. “Someone’s looking for me?”

“Yeah, she says she has your sweater? What’s that all about huh?” John teases.

“So that’s why you didn’t have your sweater!” Yelena walks into the kitchen. “We were coming back from grocery shopping. I had to make a detour to get something and Bob waited for me at the library.” She explains to the rest.

With this newfound information, the rest of the Avengers swoop in on Bob, demanding to know more about his encounter with you.

“Alright, that’s enough.” Bucky admonishes. “He just helped someone in need. You did right?”

Bob shifts uneasily in his seat. “Um… well… I’ve actually been to the library before and I’ve seen her a few times…” He trails off, leaving the rest to fill the gaps by themselves. Yelena is the first to break into a smile.

“You like her.”

Bob nods meekly, picking at the scab behind his hand. He can’t put a finger to the feeling whenever he sees you at your element whenever he visits the library. He can’t forget how kind you were to that little girl who was waiting for the latest installment of her favorite book one time. Oh, and another time you were helping a little boy with his writing homework. Oh! And-

“Alright we get it already!” John groans much to Bob’s embarrassment at rattling away about you.

“I think it’s cute.” Ava says.

The light on the elevator blinks, signaling your arrival, leaving the team scrambling to act normal when you enter the premise awestruck at the sheer scale of the building. Bob has to remind himself to take a few deep breaths and not freak you out like he did at the library.

“Y/N!” He lifts a hand awkwardly, putting it down almost immediately.

“Bob!” You did a little wave yourself. “This place is amazing! So are your teammates of course.” You greeted everyone who gave you their little nods and hellos of acknowledgement. “Oh! This is your sweater before I forget. You really saved me that day.”

Bob tries to ignore Yelena’s raised eyebrows and John’s snickers.

“Nah, I didn’t do much.”

“Nonsense! Also,” You rummaged the contents inside the paper bag. “I figured you might have been looking for this series.”

Bob stares in awe at the battered copies of The Chronicles of Narnia, while you looked on beaming, unaware of the effect you had on him and how much it meant to him that you had went out of the way to get books that he deemed that he had longed outgrown.

“Thank you. This is great.” He grips the books tightly like a lifeline, anchoring himself to prepare for what he really wants to tell you.

“You’re great.”

If you were alarmed at his emotional reaction to receiving a simple gift of thanks, you didn’t show it. On the contrary, you were emotional yourself seeing the man’s great reverence to the books and his appreciation for your actions.

A strange fluttery feeling settles in your stomach, making you light headed at the man’s earnest declaration towards you.

“I have more of where those books came from.” You continued, feeling a little nervous yourself as to what you were about to suggest. “In fact, a new set of books are probably coming in tomorrow. Would you like to come to the library to take a look? I could save you the first copies.”

“Really?”

“Really.” You affirm. “We could swing by a Fish and Chips place for dinner? If you’re free?”

Before Bob utters a word, Yelena is by his side. “He would love too, he has nothing on for the entire evening tomorrow.”

“Yeah! I would love too!” Bob finally manages to find his voice.

“Cool! I’ll see you then. Have a great evening.” You bid Bob and the rest of the team goodbye.

As soon as the lift closes, the team scrambles towards Bob, with impish grins on their faces.

“So! We need a game plan people.”

“John stop being an ass!”

“Hey I’m just trying to help the man get some game!”

“He has more game than you!”

This was going to be a long evening. Bob sighs to himself.

Still, he couldn’t wait to see you tomorrow.

[n3ptoonz]

'Political Animals'

Pairing: Congressman!Bucky/F!Reader

Fandom: Marvel Cinematic Universe

Warnings/tags: Smut, Explicit; pre-Thunderbolts, ADULTERY! (reader has a wack husband), COCKY BUCKY COCKY BUCKY, PLOT HEAVY, dirty talk, desk sex, reader is the secretary of state, cunnilingus, fingering, refers to your vag in third person (i can't stop doing this), squirting, f!multiple orgasms, cum as lube, exhibitionism if you squint, use of "baby" and "sweetheart", use of titles, breeding kink if you squint, inspired by the show he was in called political animals :3c, half proofread

Word count: 3.1k

The Congressman has known you for a while now. Even before he stepped into the political realm, he knew who you were and actually looked forward to crossing paths whenever possible. He'd be lying to himself if he said he didn't have a crush on you. He was a sucker for people who fought tooth and nail for what was right.

However, it was just a little under a year until your term was over, and there were lingering rumors about you running for president against the very man you work for. It was bold, but that's what drives this nation, no? Everything was on hush-hush, especially because you know your husband--if you could really call him that--would throw a fit if he merely heard about it.

Politics was your life. You lived and breathed diplomacy. You were practically nothing if you weren't leaping at the opportunity to help those in need by any means necessary.

Two soft knocks came to your office door before your assistant poked his head in.

"Madam Secretary," he prompted with a small smile. "You have a visitor. He says it wasn't an appointment but he wanted to speak with you."

Your head tilted as you tried to think of who'd show up to the White House unannounced like that. "Did he give you a name?"

"Congressman Barnes." he answered. "The one with the metal-"

"I know who he is," you said with a growing smile, secretly glad you weren't busy this time around. "Send him in."

You've interacted with him a handful of times when you went down to the Capitol. Not only for trying to get a bill passed/when handling foreign affairs, but sometimes you went down there when you were invited to events. Usually by the Congressman. He was always an interesting man to you, given his past and how he ended up here with buttoned up assholes. However, he warmed up to you almost instantly.

"Madam Secretary." he said, his voice practically bounced off the walls over that door shut, snapping you out of it as you stood to shake his hand.

"Congressman. What brings you by?" you asked him and gestured for him to take a seat in front of your desk. "I didn't peg you as the kind of guy who shows up unannounced."

"Force of habit." he shrugged and tried to put humor to how it was true, he was used to just rolling up on people without saying anything. "Old habits die hard."

"Right," you sat back down and leaned forward on your elbows while watching his eyes. You didn't miss the way his eyes darted back up from your covered chest to your face. "That still doesn't answer my question."

What was in the air today, nobody knows, but Bucky was feeling it. He hadn't openly flirted with someone since Sarah, and that might've just been out of spite to Sam for fun. But you were real deal. He had to tread lightly but make it known he wasn't a punk.

"Maybe I just wanted to visit. I was in the neighborhood and thought 'Why not stop by the White House?'"

"Barnes." you half-warned. You hated the cat and mouse game, you didn't have time for all that. He said your surname, married surname and caught the subtle cringe in your face when he said it.

Noted.

"Well, I just wanted to know...is it true?"

You gave him a puzzled look as if you didn't already know what he was talking about. "I don't follow."

He narrowed his eyes at you and rested his chin on his fist. You're lying to him. Did you not trust him with such sensitive information? Was it not official yet? Were you having second thoughts?

"Madam President." he dared with a slow blink at you. A warmth crept up your neck as those words fell from his lips. It was your first time hearing it be said aloud other than you or your supportive assistant entertaining the idea.

You chuckled lightly and shrugged. "I don't know where you heard that. Perhaps journalist gossip isn't a reliable source, Barnes."

"Bucky." he stated.

You blinked a few times. "I'm sorry?"

"Just 'Bucky' is fine when we're alone." he insisted. This was a dangerous game he was playing and yet he didn't feel an ounce of shame or fear. Your brows furrowed at his tone and leaned back into your chair.

"I'm married."

"Happily?" he asked in a softer tone. And there it was, that timeless charm and wit that never left. The same charm that had the ladies swooning and fanning themselves in the 40s. He still got it.

Bold. Real bold, Buck.

You huffed an incredulous laugh through your nose and sighed. He's got you there, you had to admit. But you won't do that out loud. That was highly unprofessional. Even if you had thought about it at least once...tw...enty times...

You'd be lying if you said you didn't develop a little something for the man. He brought a fresh vibe to the political scene. A former deadly assassin joins congress and obviously doesn't know what the hell he's doing. It was... honestly kinda cute. And you'd be remiss if you didn't take note on how handsome he is. That slick back will do it every time.

"You're bold," you said looking him up and down. "Bucky." saying his nickname subconsciously felt like you stepped into a room you didn't know you had access to. Like the door was open the entire time. It was like a silent acceptance of some sort, but you didn't know of what.

The side of his mouth quirked upwards in satisfaction. He's got you.

"I mean, I'm just letting you know you'd have my vote." he said as he stood up and pretended to smooth out his blazer. "If the rumors are true, of course."

You stood up with him but neither of you moved. The tension in the room was suddenly palpable.

"And if they aren't?" you said. Not to burst his bubble, but you can never be too sure about someone using your title to get ahead.

"Then that'd be a damn shame. Who's to say you wouldn't have a leg up when trying to get a bill passed?"

You let out a genuine laugh. Not at him, but you really weren't expecting him to say that. So confidently too.

"I'm sorry, I didn't mean to laugh. It's just, I mean your heart's in the right place but that's not how it works."

Bucky didn't take any offense to it at all. He was aware he was just firing off whatever he could to get a reaction out of you. That and he was still fresh in that chair, so it was fair that you knew way more than him.

"Yeah?" he said, his voice somehow getting lower and smoother with one word uttered. "Mind showing me how it works?"

Never in his time has he ever used his charm, let alone openly flirted with a married woman who was clearly not happy in her marriage. He took a shot in the dark with a faint light at the end of the tunnel.

The ball was in your court. Though this wasn't that hard of a decision considering the fact that you've been cheated on before and had to suck it up for appearances. You slowly rounded your desk, dragging your finger along the edge and letting your clacking heels fill the deafening silence in the room.

"Well," you began as your eyes glided up his chest, and you were just now noticing his muscles straining against the thin fabric of his dress shirt. You stood in front of him and lightly tugged his tie towards you. A hint of a smirk on his lips as he let it happen.

"First, a bill is introduced and assigned to a committee for review," you said while undoing the tie and tossing it onto your desk. Then you went to undo the buttons while keeping your eyes on him. "If approved by the committee, it's voted on by the House. If passed, it moves to the Senate."

Bucky shrugged off his blazer along with his shirt and took a step forward so your butt hit the front of the desk, leaving him in a white tank top. He leaned forward with his hands on either side of you, effectively trapping you there as you sat on the edge with him between your legs.

"What happens if it's not passed by the House?" he asked as he took your hand and slowly kissed your palm a couple of times.

"Then you're shit out of luck." you caressed his cheekbone as you replied. "But the Senate can then consider, amend, and vote on the bill. If the House and Senate pass identical versions of the bill, it's sent to the President for approval."

"And that's where you come in." he murmured. He was so close you could feel his breath on your lips. "The gracious and headstrong Madam President of our nation, passing laws for the greater good."

"You make it sound so easy."

"It's fuckin' sexy is what it is," he whispered before capturing your lips. Your soft laugh turned soft moan when his cold metal hand met the hot skin of your thigh under your skirt. The hand that rested on his cheek snaked around to the nape of neck to pull him closer, if possible.

He pulled away and licked his lips, looking drunk on just kissing you. His left hand pushed your skirt up further while his right spread your thighs. His eyes never left yours as two fingers glided over your slit through your panties. You inhaled sharply as your thighs naturally spread more in response to his touch.

It was clear to the both of you that it had been such a long time since you've been touched like this. With an already high demanding job and a shitty husband, you were stuck with occasionally sitting at a certain angle in your chair after hours.

"Oh, poor thing," he muttered and kept rubbing, silently daring you to look away. "Too many nights of being left to your own devices, hm? Look at how she weeps to be taken care of properly." he whispered, earning a soft whine from you, given that you were wetter than you thought. A simple rub up against you like this made the pit of your stomach tight.

Bucky hooked his fingers around the band and pulled them down with ease before sinking to his knees. He kissed up your legs and removed your heels. The only thing on his mind was if he was going to successfully get you to cheat, forget about your shit husband even for a little while, he was going to make it worth your time. Make it so if you ever decided to fuck your man again, it'd be spoiled by the fact that it wasn't him. Should you ever cuddle up with him again, you'd wish it was Bucky.

Once his mouth was attached to you, you rolled your hips and shuddered. The soft prickling of his beard between your thighs was something you didn't know you craved until now. He groaned in satisfaction, both hands gripping your thighs and hooking them over his shoulders.

He was genuinely getting off to the taste of you. The subtle twang of today's efforts dripping off you. The contracting of your folds against his tongue was signaling that you were close already and he had just got started.

"All this? For me?" he said as he licked up more slick. "Baby, you shouldn't have." he continued and added a finger to get you there faster.

You gasped and laid back onto your desk, exhaling shakily. The balls on this man to call a married woman any kind of pet name was beyond you, but that was thrill. And you loved it.

"My apologies," he leaned upwards for a second to see you clutching your torso as a means to focus. "Madam Secretary. I'd never take that away from you." he added, along with another finger at a steady rhythm.

You moaned out your own name, a choked gasp following after. He smiled and dove back in between your legs, licking and sucking to see what it's like when you come undone.

With your own hand over your mouth, you moaned loudly under your palm as you came. You were a tad embarrassed that you were squirting all over his face, but he just wouldn't stop and let you ride this out.

When your body finally calmed and became less tense, he backed away and pulled his fingers out slowly. He stood up and wiped his face while his other hand quickly undid his belt and pulled his pants/boxers down just enough so that his dick sprung free. He nodded, impressed with how much you came and that he was able to do such a thing. He lifted your left leg from your knee and used your own cum as lube.

Your name rolled off his lips so naturally as he made sure all of your essence covered the shaft, but he was done playing games. Bucky took the liberty of wrapping that leg around his waist and used the leverage to push himself inside you, bottoming out so you could adjust. The man was girthy and long. It felt he was splitting you open, leaving the perfect mix of pleasure and pain.

You couldn't remember the last time you had sex with your husband, but it definitely was nothing like this. And Bucky was definitely way bigger than he ever was.

"You okay?" he asked softly and soothed you by rubbing circles on your thigh. He hovered over with a look of concern and wasn't going to do anything else unless there was a verbal confirmation.

You nodded, "Yeah," you said and reached up to pull him towards you by the shoulders. His arms were on both sides of your head as he watched you grab the tie you tossed earlier to wrap it around the back of his neck. He smiled softly at you before he moved his hips, liking the way you think.

Bucky leaned down and left kisses along your jaw and neck, relishing in your hushed noises of pleasure so that nobody could hear outside. Thanks to your assistant, he doesn't interrupt if you're speaking with someone and warns others not to.

"Mm...that son of a bitch is lucky I didn't meet you first," he whispered and nipped at your earlobe. "He doesn't deserve you," he added with your name at the end. One of your hands came up to lightly tug on his hair. He chuckled in response.

"Too soon?" he asked, half-serious.

He was about to say something else when your phone rang. Your cellphone. You both lifted your heads and looked over by the computer, but he grabbed it quicker than you could. Your eyes widened in horror when he answered it.

It was your husband.

He leaned up and said his name aloud so you were fully aware this was really happening. The truth is, he knew everything about him. He knows about his cheating scandals and all. So, when he saw the name, he just couldn't help himself.

Old habits die hard.

"Yes, hello. The Madam Secretary is not available at the moment as she is currently busy with a meeting right now." he said, putting your phone between his ear and his shoulder. He quickly covered your mouth with his metal hand and started thrusting into you again. There was a tsunami wave worth of emotions running through you right now, but it was all being overridden by the angle he was hitting and the sudden quickened pace. He spoke on the phone like it was nothing, smiling down at your face contorted with pleasure and your eyes rolling back. Your muffled moans gave him goosebumps.

"Uh, I could try to get her on the line if you'd like," he said as he looked down again, trying not to chuckle at you snapping back to reality. "No? Ah, ok. I'll let her know you'll be here in thirty minutes. She should be finished in...one second, please," he muted the microphone and uncovered your mouth for a brief moment to kiss you, taking in your frustrations and embarrassment at the muted cellphone being right next to your head.

You could just cry. The wave of guilt only made you want to unmute and let him listen in on what he couldn't do.

"Time's ticking, sweetheart," he muttered against your lips. "Cum with me. Come on. Don't wanna leave him hanging, right?"

Your mouths moved in sync and your tongues danced to a dangerous tune. Bucky fucked you like his life depended on it.

That tight feeling inside you both snapped at the same time. Bucky pulled out in time, letting his cum hit the tiling so it didn't get in the carpet. You trembled beneath him, pouring everything you had into this kiss that kept the entire office from rushing in here.

After a few seconds you tried to make yourself calm down, pushing Bucky off you and quickly sitting up on the edge of your desk as you grabbed your phone. He playfully scoffed and snatched your phone from you. But before he unmuted, he leaned in close to your ear and said,

"Should've given you my babies." seeing your genuine look of shock.

He unmuted cleared his throat as he stuffed himself back into his pants. "Hello? Yes, she's finished now. I've delivered your message to her and she can speak now. Alright. No problem, sir."

Bucky handed the phone back to you with a wink before grabbing his clothes and putting it back together. Once he got his shirt and blazer on, he went to grab his tie that was still in your clutches. He couldn't fight the urge to plant a soft kiss to your temple while you were on the phone before he put it back on. He also cleaned up the mess he made with a tissue from the box on your desk, tossing it in the nearby trash can. When he took the entire box and handed it to you, he snickered when you snatched it from him to clean yourself up, effectively shooing him away while trying to hide a smile.

The Congressman put his hands up in defense before giving you a small salute, leaving you alone. Once the call ended and you got yourself situated, you put your heels back on and quickly walked over back to him, giving him a tender kiss and fixing his hair.

"Now go. I have an election to think about."

[richarlotte]

something on your mind?

I read a post by @sloppy-sybarite not long ago about the plot, and I have to agree: the process should be about figuring out how to get to where you want to be and how to stay there instead of focusing on things that won’t matter much in the long run. If you’re plotting on a specific man or a certain lifestyle, you can’t just have the look; you have to have more than that going on for yourself, and you have to be willing to do things you wouldn’t normally do and take risks.

Too many people get sucked into the aesthetics of things and worry about how they look when in all reality, that should be the least interesting part about you. While there are some women who coast through life by meeting and associating themselves with people more interesting than they are, it’s much harder for black women to do that. You have to be your own person, and you have to hold it down for yourself when things start to seem unfamiliar or too hard to navigate.

[lilacxquartz]

THE LIFE YOU LIVED

kenjaku x future vessel f!reader

plot: being the daughter of an important public figure, you were already used to unwanted attention. however, nothing could have prepared you for this — cw: mentions of implied domestic violence

summary: the longer he put it off, the more that kept going wrong with you. as a result, a different approach was necessary — a/n: might edit this chapter later for formatting, i wrote it out purely on my phone because i don’t have access to my laptop rn.

part 4 of 7 • previous chapter • next chapter • chapter directory • masterlist • on ao3

Chapter 4. Collateral

Having been left speechless and all alone on the pavement, Kenjaku watched as the taxi rolled away with you in tow. There was something about this mission that he had assigned himself that felt more than just being an opening to you—especially since he was beginning to enjoy these interactions—as heated as they were.

(All it meant was that you weren’t boring.)

It wasn’t as though it was often that someone piqued his interest, either, but if it did happen, then more often than not… it was almost always a potential vessel.

How unfortunate.

It was a little unfair how that worked out because that meant that this was going to hurt you both. Not just for you for when the time finally arrived, but for him when it was going to take over. A deep sigh escaped from his lips as he considered the thought, already feeling a bitter taste beginning to form in his mouth.

But then, another thought crossed his mind, not that it was anything good. To a degree, he felt entitled to you in one way or another. He already pitched a stake on your body as his host, which meant that by default, he disliked the prospect of your future husband imposing his claim upon you as pure collateral. This meant that in addition to that, he didn’t like your family either, because of what they were pushing you into. However, perhaps his presence was causing an even further strain, simply just by potentially rounding you up with an unknown man.

Kenjaku sighed as he began to walk back.

Truth be told, he was technically willing to go quite far if it was for an interesting person. Sorcerer or not be damned.

Especially one that he didn’t mind keeping alive in the long run, either.

It made him wonder about one thing in particular…

…Just how far was he willing to go for you?

Kenjaku had been roaming the streets deep in thought for a while beyond that point. His mind kept rounding back to the potential chemistry that you had both displayed for one another, not liking at all that there was a very clear spark in the air. Being around you felt right when it was to poke fun at you as you bit back. On occasion, between the eras, he didn’t quite mind indulging in something lighthearted like that.

And speaking from experience; he had seldom stepped away—if at all—from a potential host body, therefore, this was a strange situation for him to even consider. There was something about you that made him want to spare you, but purely as an investment. Just to see what sort of chaos you’d cause, given that it was clear that you didn’t want to be involved in the mess you were tangled up in. The part where you seemed to be willing to indulge in bringing your own family empire down, too, would be a curious sight to behold.

Even if it resulted in you being dead by thirty, then that was at least your own mistake to behold, not his to cause.

Kenjaku found himself coming to a stop just short of a corner near an alleyway. His eyes narrowed as they tried to focus down the darkness that lurked beyond, taking a step inside upon determining that it was clear. The soft hum of traffic and the buzz of the city seemed to fall silent, giving him a moment alone with his thoughts as he processed the whole matter. Maybe it didn’t have to be as complicated as he was making it to be.

Getting indirect access to the Gojo clan didn’t necessarily mean you were the only available option to exhaust.

~~~

At that, he took a couple of days off, isolating himself away from his assistant who was left alone to deal with the aftermath of his own doings. He turned them away for the time being, claiming to be rethinking his strategy. Although, as he did—every single time without fail—it would always return to you being the most convenient option.

It was as if you had the perfect design to be collateral.

How… frustrating.

If you were like the rest of the many bodies he had taken over throughout time, then it would have all been according to plan by now. Resistance was the only thing stalling him and it didn’t feel correct to take you over currently, not when it felt as if it was finally getting entertaining.

Kenjaku found himself sighing, observing you from however great of a distance he could get away with. He gathered whatever information he could manage, trying to form a plan with the finite sources he could scour that didn’t involve you, but then again, it all seemed inevitable the same. Just like the thought he had before, you were this unavoidable key that could fit perfectly into every potential locked door.

His hand flew to his forehead, a light smack breaking through the strained silence.

Ridiculous was what this was.

Pure and simple.

It was necessarily guilt that he felt, either. All of the countless research conducted over the years, the many people that he had to throw under for his own personal gain—the lives alone that were led to ruin—not once was remorse ever felt during such a time. Therefore, this was a different feeling. It was closer to disappointment if anything. Loneliness wasn’t an issue for had been married to his work since long ago, so perhaps it was just that.

Bitterness.

Bitterness towards an untapped potential.

Towards the entertainment that could have come from it.

It ate away at him all the same, whatever it was.

~~~

Months would then pass you both by as he genuinely tried to recalculate the direction of his advances. Right at this minute, he had two options.

There was one other potential subject who could serve as an adequate future vessel. A cursed spirit manipulation user. However, from his findings alone, he was still young. It was risky when taking over a host like that before the cursed technique had a chance to be practiced and honed. Perhaps for that potential curse user, his assistant could push him into one of the jujutsu schools. Those places were either fifty-fifty when handling untapped potential and something told him that if provoked enough, then such a potential host was in his future cards regardless. Sometimes the pieces on the board had predetermined moves, so all he had to do was wait for the right time.

This meant that he had to therefore wait.

And that you were the other option.

(Because frustratingly, it always led back to you.)

His fingers clawed through his pockets, eventually pinching out a crumpled card from the depths that held onto your contact information. He neatly ironed out the piece of paper and stared at it for a long, quiet minute.

It could… probably be fine.

It didn’t hurt to have potential so closely available, so easily accessible, and maybe as he waited around, a better one could come along he could abandon the initial idea altogether.

Kenjaku sighed as he brought up your number in his cellphone, holding the device close to his ear. He wasn’t expecting a friendly let alone an anticipated response back from you, and at best, this whole check-up was purely just that alone. A polite the surface drop-in—an update—a means of seeing how it was all coming along in a way that not even his assistant could provide answers for.

(Being a mole in your life wouldn’t be the worst direction to take, especially with the potential closeness to the clan it brought him to.)

“Hello?” a meek voice finally broke through on the other line.

Kenjaku paused for a moment. It was definitely your voice that answered, but there was less bite, especially towards an unknown private number. He blinked before composing himself once more, though he was unable to shake off that there was something different about you that didn’t sit quite right.

He replied of course as normally as he could, his voice taking on a familiar note, “Hey, it’s me… the weird not serial killer from the rooftop if you remember,” he opened with, hoping to break through the charged atmosphere that cracked through the call.

It wasn’t tension this time, however, it was something else entirely.

Your voice from the get-go was noticeably tired as if the energy had been torn from you. From what he could gather, he was the only one within the immediate vicinity who possessed such an invasive technique, so there were no sorcerers who could have approached you with a similar intention. No. That also was too paranoid of a thought to have. Why did he think that as an immediate point? It would be unrealistic—too silly and unlikely.

A pause filled the air for a good five seconds before you responded. “Ah… it has been a while, but I remember you,” you finally said, your voice considerably weaker than before.

Something definitely did happen.

Kenjaku’s brows twitched with frustration. His irrational accusation aside, this was more likely the work of your immediate circle than it could ever be likely the work of sorcerers. After all, your own father pressured you into an arranged marriage with someone who wasn’t right for you to secure a deal of some sort, so that alone could sap you of your once crackling spark. But no. There was something else to this whole situation. He could feel it deep in his bones and his hunches were often correct, whether he wanted them to be or not.

He could breach the subject with false care to get to the bottom of it.

That could work.

Taking on a deceptively kind tone, he pushed in a little. “Something happen?”

A weary sigh echoed through the line but then you cleared your throat. As you gathered your bearings, he quickly assigned himself to the role of a curious acquaintance with potentially bad intentions but… with basic human care applied. Though, as he too, steeled himself for whatever was to come, his mind flashed with all sorts of memories. He thought back to the hospital reports and all of those scribbled-out observations. In a logical sense, if something did happen as a result of potential domestic violence, then utilising you as a vessel could serve as a problem due to his preference for able-bodied hosts.

If that was the case, though, then he would have to find a way to break you away from such a repetition though. In the future, his goals depended on you keeping him at a safe, observational distance away from the Gojo clan, after all.

To keep that up, he needed to ensure that your body was in a state where he could drop off the radar in retreat if need be.

“It’s nothing,” you finally said, your voice taking on a curt tone, holding onto the bite it once had, “it was an accident at best. I’m fine. Really.”

“Was it your fiancé? Your family?” Kenjaku let slip before he could stop himself. The way that the line fell silent again, however, told him all that he needed to know.

That was the problem with hunches. Once he had an inkling of anything at all; be it doubt, suspicion, accusation—whatever the case—it wasn’t just something he could easily drop. Above all, the itch to fulfill the curiosity would only grow and grow.

Indeed, the spark once again fizzled away. Just as quickly as it was ignited, it faded within an instant. Within mere seconds, you took on the voice of someone perfectly subdued, as much as you tried to resist it. “There was an accident,” you revealed at last, “I said something I shouldn’t have… and provoked a reaction resulting in a fall.”

A fall? Was that what you were calling it? And how? Was it down the stairs? The way you were being so vague left his mind racing with all sorts of potential outcomes.

“So now I’m stuck in a wheelchair for a while,” you then admitted, “nothing permanent but I broke my leg, twisted my other ankle and hurt my back.”

Kenjaku paused again, unable to offer an immediate response. The line fell silent as a result.

So… he couldn’t utilise your form for a while. A broken leg couldn’t do anything and an injured back could indeed tamper with your ability to walk, resulting in the need for a wheelchair. What a frustrating situation. Maybe he could have benefited from immediately slipping in through the cracks regardless of any hang-ups to at least prevent your fiancé’s (or father’s?) damage to your being because clearly, the two were potentially volatile enough to plummet his entire plan into the ground.

Kenjaku’s mind scrambled for a moment, genuinely short-circuiting, but then… another idea crept into mind as a result. Something that meant he could be close to you without having to be you while you recovered, granting him access to your body as a potential host in the future, should it be applicable.

Right before he committed to it, however, your voice cut through again. “I know that you’re probably calling about the offer you made before, but… I don’t know anymore, everything’s been so difficult, I just want to take a step back from everything and—“

Your words fell short, but he got it. Life could be messy, but it wasn’t the end of it all. This whole situation could still yet be salvaged. If it couldn’t be you during this time, then it could potentially be your fiancé instead.

Taking over a body and living in it didn’t always mean that the people around him would accept his presence, though. Sometimes, although it was surely rare enough, someone could sense that something was amiss. He did suppose that puppetting bodies did come with some uncanny valley to a degree since it meant having to play the convincing role of a person whose life was never his.

A darker thought then crept into his mind.

You were already apprehensive about whoever it was. His money was on the fiancé, personally. Even if it wasn’t, the guy seemed to be on good terms with your father, so any acting out on your part could potentially result in a repeat all the same. He could keep you tamed and in line, moulding you to his wants and breaking you down to serve his will.

Or, he supposed, he could ensure that this also didn’t happen again, so that your spark could return and cause chaos to ensue again. How oppressive, after all, was the silence of those who didn’t appreciate it. The two in your immediate circle dampened your existence, putting a lid on your full potential all because of prospective greed.

As you spoke, he danced around the words that you gave him, humming and nodding along to whatever you said. He wasn’t exactly sure what you were talking about right at this minute—due to being lost in such deep thought, but he could alter his tone whenever yours fell or improved.

Though, just as he was about to drop the conversation, you put an end to it first.

“Shit,” you hissed through the line, “I’ve got to go, sorry.”

The line clicked and he fell back onto his chair, blowing hot air out of his cheeks as he resigned to a heavy sigh. Kenjaku blinked at the ceiling, unsure of what this strange feeling was that seemed to anchor away at him. Before, he could easily cast it away as either possession or entitlement or disappointment, but all that he could feel right at this moment was a deeply unsettling resentment. It wasn’t jealousy, oh no, no, but after having made claims on your existence to benefit his goals, led him to feel that any damage upon you was an insult.

Indeed, perhaps that direction was therefore inevitable given the current course. If the company you kept was potentially dangerous, then he could infiltrate it, keep you safe away from any further trouble and then take you over when the time crept along.

After all, you were his collateral, too.

this has been part 5 of lilac’s yandere jjk nightmares

[falling-star-cygnus]

omg well if you are taking prompts im obsessed with the idea of a post-finale fic of them being cute and dating at the ballet national (i think that’s what is called???) idk the image of the other dancers/Genevieve/other characters etc witnessing them is so endearing to me

oh beautiful timing, i was actually plotting an idea for something like this!!! but it was missing a detail... -> now, with this added prompt.. muehehe

also, i love tropes like this: where everyone finds out and are just like- in shock

SUMMARY:  Gabin is not a freely loving person- he doesn't know how to be. He is brash and he is self-centered and cocky, and above all else he is proud. So when he loves something, truly, it is done with just as much intensity. How lucky is he, then, to find someone who loves him back just as fiercely?

ao3 fic: here please leave a comment or reblog if you enjoyed!!!

+=+=+

"Do you think we would work long distance?"

It's barely a mumble, muffled against Gabin's chest in the sleepy hour. The dancer keeps running his fingers through the short strands of hair, with his other hand behind his head.

"mm..? Why are you asking?" this comes out sleepy too, because it is late and he is comfortable cuddled with his lover on his bed.

"I have to go back to New York at some point," Tobias quietly points out, and now he's picking at the seam of Gabin's sleep shirt.

He's nervous. Worried.

The dancer takes a deep breath, just to feel the way the man using him as a pillow moves up, and slides his hand down to the back of his lover's neck.

It's tense there, the muscle, and resistant to the way Gabin tries to thumb it loose again. Hm.

"Do you want us to work long distance, Tobias?"

Because he has to know, he has to know if chasing for so long was worth it- if he was worth it in turn to the choreographer.

Please say yes, he thinks, please let me stay.

"Of course I do."

Gabin releases the air in his chest, and sinks under the weight on it.

"Then we will." he'll make sure of it.

"But what if we don't?"

"Tobias," the dancer has never heard his lover take this tone before, not one so- so.. small. He doesn't like it.

And it's not an easy thing, coaxing his lover to look at him, but this is clearly a converation they need to have face to face. So, Gabin takes his hand from behind his head, and he takes the one on tense muscle, and he places them both on his lover's waist.

Tobias moves as the dancer guides him, until he's left sitting up on Gabin's stomach.

The dancer slides his hands down to his lover's knees, snugly pressed to either side of his ribs, and then back up to his sides to thumb hopefully comforting circles, "Talk to me, Top G- Tobias."

Nicknames didn't feel right at the moment.

Not with the way his choreographer's hands shake atop Gabin's chest. Not with the way he's curling into himself.

"Where is the coming from, hm?" the dancer asks again, trying to catch his eye.

"Nothing, nowhere, I'm fine," and that is so unbelievably untrue that it's almost laughable, "We're fine."

That is more true. But-

"Well how do I know that? Here we are lying in bed-"

"Gabin-"

"Cuddling before sleep, being cute-"

"Gabin-"

"And then my partner asks me out of the blue-"

"What does that saying even mean-?"

"-if we would work long distance."

"We could go back to cuddling-"

"Tobias," Gabin can't help but laugh, worried as he is, as he jostles his lover forward to press a kiss to his forehead, "Would you just-"

"My ex and I were long distance," he blurts out, in a rush of words, "At least I thought we were? But apparently hadn't talked in a year, and he got engaged. We're invited to that wedding, by the way, I didn't know how to tell you."

He blinks. Opens his mouth-

"I broke up with him, officially, a few days before the show.."

He closes his mouth.

That is... a lot. Okay. Out of everything Tobias could've said, everything the dancer could've predicted, that.. that was not high on the list. None of that was.

Wow.

Anger sparks hot in his chest. Sharp and familiar like a knife digging into the soft bone of his sternum and carving it clean open.

"Your ex got engaged while he was still dating you?" Who does that?

Assholes, assholes who don't deserve brilliant choreographers.

"Well, he thought-"

"Ah- ah- ah, I do not care what he thought," Gabin huffs, furious on his lover's behalf, "You were together, yes?"

"...yes." Tobias nods once, his brow furrowing.

"And he not only dated- but got engaged to another man?"

With his head hung towards his chest, like he's finally hearing it, he answers, "...yeah. But-"

"Your ex is an asshole."

Gentling his words, or himself, has never been one of Gabin's specialties. Everything he did, everything he loved, had always been with his full heart- regardless if it smothered everything else.

Ballet, dance, boxing. The stage.

Anger, in the same vein it seems, came just as easily. Hatred. But Gabin was already well aware of that.

How could someone who had Tobias, just- just-

The weight on his stomach shifts forward the smallest bit. And it seems appreciation is something Gabin can feel just as deeply as anything else.

It's a wonder he found someone like this man, who takes everything Gabin can give him and only adds to it. A beautiful wonder.

Tobias sits back up, leaving only the warmth of his lips lingering on the dancer's cheek and nearly unbearable adoration swelling in his chest.

"In Kevin's defense, we hadn't talked in a year. He thought we had broken up." his lover says, like it'd sway him in any way.

"Bullshit," Gabin scoffs, "So you did not reach out. Did he?"

And Kevin was a stupid name. For the record.

"..No."

"Then he is an asshole, who cheated on you. And we would absolutely work long distance- your phone would be going off constantly."

The anxious edges surrounding Tobias soften slightly, and melt completely as Gabin slides his hand up to the back of his neck again and brushes his thumb over the dip of his jaw.

Softness suits him, the dancer thinks.

"It would?"

Gabin is helpless to the besotted smile that he knows curls over his face- helpless to the love he feels for this man.

"It would," he says, reeling his lover in close enough that their noses start to slot together, "You would be sick of me."

"Mm.."

And the sound conveys everything Tobias himself cannot- skeptical and low in his throat and full of love.

Impossible, it says.

Gabin loves him. So much that it hurts, so much that he needs to-

"Kevin is a boring name, by the way."

"Is it?" it's Tobias that bumps their foreheads together.

So much that he needs to...

"Mhm, you shouldn't say it anymore."

He needs to-

"That's fine." his lover says, sighing from somewhere deep in his chest, "I prefer yours anyway."

Gabin kisses him with a breathless laugh between their lips. He loves this man, loves the way his weight feels over him, loves even more how it feels to flip them around and press the choreographer into the mattress.

Loves how he's allowed to. And how his skin tastes. And the softness of his hair between his fingers.

Tobias' hands smooth firmly up Gabin's back, all the way up to his shoulders to pull him closer. To connect their lips again and again.

Kevin's name isn't mentioned anymore that night.

But Gabin's?

Well...

That's mentioned plenty.

+=+=+

"Tobias, what is that? On your neck?"

Geneviève's voice breaks into his thoughts- confusingly abrupt and agitating as it shatters his concentration. Goddamnit.. he had just gotten a new idea for a piece..

"It looks like a bruise?" the director's assistent muses to her, R- R something. Raph? Whatever. Who knows.

Wait, bruise?

"What?" Tobias turns towards them, his hand inching up towards his neck.

"Ah, he speaks!"

...he really did not like this guy.. why couldn't Geneviève walk around with Lucien attached to her hip? Lucien was cool. Interesting.

Very under appreciated though. And loud.

They thought the same way, on some scale. And he was a much better conversation partner. For- you know- speaking mostly french.

Anyway-

Tobias feels around his neck, presses his fingers to the tender skin that should be covered by the soft collar of- wait.

Okay he's wearing his own jacket.

Only- no, no he's not, because the only black jacket he owns is a sort of faded out jean one with studs on the colllar that he always wears over long sleeves and this one is a cozy sort of cotton that feels nice against his arms.

Soft.

And warm, like his bed was last night. Like his chest when Gabin said they’d make this thing between them work, even if they did it kicking and screaming.

Like his face, when his fingers find the still there indent of teeth just to the side of the nape of his neck.

“I got bit by a dog.”

And that dog would be sleeping on the couch the next time he came over. Every work night for the forseeable future.

Geneviève blinks at him, with that weird little head lurch she does when she thinks she's heard something wrong, "I'm- sorry, a dog? Bit... your neck?"

What was her obsession with his neck all of a sudden?

But also this was not a conversation he wanted to have with his... well, she wasn't his boss. Jack was his boss. Surrogate boss..? Stand-in?

Whatever-

"Why are you in my rehearsal room?"

He hadn't done anything, he thinks. Now that he's familiar with the dancers, he doesn't have to call everybody in all at the same time. So it can't be that.

Either way, the french director drops the subject. At least for now. Judging by the look Raph-something and her share, though, it would be probably brought up later.

Probably in their office or wherever.

That thought settles somewhere uncomfortable in him, a dull spike atop his stomach pushing into his diaphragm.

"One of the speakers blew out- in here," Geneviève explains, finally, and- what?

What.

"It'll be fixed by tomorrow, at the absolute latest, so there's no need to worry about it disrupting rehearsals."

Except-

Dancers start filtering into the room, and apparently Geneviève [plus her assistant, good riddance] takes that as her cue to start leaving instead of explaining any further. What happened to the speaker?

What was he supposed to do? Have them dance in silence?

Cancel rehearsal?

Tobias goes to follow her, because how is he supposed to operate in these conditions[?] but Gabin walks in right as Geneviève gets to leave.

And then it all goes to shit.

"Ah- bonjour, chien." she says, slowly and purposefully dictated- like her words were meant purely for the one American in the room with his very limited understanding of french.

Good morning, dog.

Dog. Chien.

"I got bit by a dog." "Bonjour, chien."

Oh.. okay.

So this is what hell felt like.

The dancer tells her good morning in turn, in that ridiculously endearing high voice- the one he only uses when he's confused about something.

"...why did Geneviève just call me a dog?"

He can't do this.

Tobias puts his headphones on and powerwalks out the still swinging doors.

+=+=+

"Is he... is he coming back?" one of the dancers asks, a girl with a constant smile- the one Tobias first let stay.

He's not jealous. Shush.

"...no," Gabin says to her.

And he follows his lover into Paris.

[cheesybadgers]

Now I'm finally back home after being away all weekend, some thoughts on 8x17....firstly, I will say, this felt SO much more like an old school 9-1-1 episode and that's precisely what has been missing for a while now. There were a lot of positives about the episode, not least of all Eddie actually got to be the main focus of a storyline again, hallelujah ❤️

I will get to the Buddie of it all shortly, but re: Eddie's storyline, whilst obviously there were some improvements compared to the last few episodes, and the flashback was welcomed (whether it was always intended to be included, or whether it was added in last minute as a response to the backlash about the severe lack of Eddie for several episodes, who knows? But at least it was there), I'm still having difficulty getting my head around why they're making the whole 'Is he returning to LA or taking the job in El Paso?' dilemma into such a big plot point. Like the whole "Ooh was it a Freudian slip that you said LA was your home rather than El Paso?"...well no, because LA being his home was never in doubt in the first place 😭 He never had some great burning desire to leave LA for El Paso. It was a last resort to mend the rift with his son, who was the one who chose to move there to stay with his grandparents because of the whole Kim situation. Chris went so Eddie followed out of desperation to maintain a relationship with his child; he didn't go because he actively wanted to leave the 118 and start a new life in Texas ("I don't like this any more than you do"). The fact Eddie successfully arranged a last minute trip for Chris (and Pepa) to cheer Buck up, and that their interactions once they were all together were all entirely positive, can only lead us to assume the rift has definitely been mended now, plus it was explicitly shown in El Paso Chris wasn't having a great time with his grandparents anyway and had already moved back in with Eddie. So what are we even doing here? Put that damn fixer-up house back on the market lol.

As I said somewhere above, I get this could all be part of Eddie still denying himself joy and not facing up to his (extremely non-straight) feelings for his best friend, because moving back to LA with Chris/re-joining the 118/finally getting his mouth on Buck are the things he wants, but it's been dragged out so long now, and the original reason for Chris wanting to move to El Paso in the first place has been completely dropped from the storyline, that all narrative coherence and character motivations have been lost in the mix. Yet they're still running with the notion that Eddie is torn between LA and El Paso when that was never the root of the original conflict between Eddie and Chris in the first place. Their conflict has been resolved (even if it was off screen for the most part), so there's literally no other plot reason for them to remain in El Paso at this point. Even if this was supposed to be about Eddie still denying himself joy, that was addressed effectively in Confessions...then the whole storyline was just parked and the season went off on different tangents.

Now, in fairness, 8x17 went some way to pick that thread back up again, and I am expecting more to be resolved in the season finale with Eddie and Chris deciding to move back to LA and Eddie re-joining the 118 (this is why I think it has to be either Hen or Chim for Captain so Eddie can take one of their places with maybe Ravi in Eddie's old spot)...and hopefully, there will finally be some solid movement on the Buddie of it all in light of the emergency at the end of 8x17. But it's all been so convoluted and so much has happened off screen, that there's only going to be so much they can do in the final episode.

Now, to the Buddie of it all...oh man, their argument was definitely the highlight of the episode for me, along with the reunion of the Buckley Diaz family ❤️ I liked the way it all tied together with the rest of the episode (getting stuck in bad habits and learning to break the cycle/embracing change even if it's painful and scary/Eddie not 'drinking the water' this time by coming back and facing the music with Buck rather than running away/the importance of found family) and was more character-focused than yet another big disaster.

Their fight was so raw and oozing with tension and an excellent portrayal of two people grappling with the messy, ugliness of grief (and not gonna lie, the cinematography and direction was very queer indie film, which is so unlike 9-1-1 but I approve). Of course they took it out on each other, because that's what you do with the people closest to you (I actually liked that Eddie pointed out Buck wasn't the only one to lose Bobby, because my fear was the writers were going to frame Eddie as coming back to LA to support Buck and not honour how important Bobby was to Eddie as well). Neither was the wronged party or the villain (don't even get me started on the disingenuous hysteria over the finger-pointing in certain parts of the fandom...I'm not entertaining it tbh), they just didn't know how to communicate their feelings properly, especially in light of the fact the boundaries of their relationship are so blurred and undefined. They can't ask for the level of support from each other that they want/need because the nature of their relationship is still the elephant in the room.

Which is why I think the elephant has to finally be addressed in some capacity in 8x18, particularly in light of the big emergency. Not to mention the sudden influx of Ryan/Oliver interviews that appear to be happening over the next week or so, which of course, could mean nothing...

Depending on how it plays out with Eddie snapping back into firefighter mode to help in the aftermath (and possibly save Buck), I may be able to appreciate Eddie's absence from the two-parter more than I did before (although I still wouldn't like the execution of it). Because he's already carrying enough guilt from not being there to save Bobby - and going back further than that, his team in the army - he wouldn't be able to stand by from the sidelines and let that happen again, especially if Buck was the one in danger. So, if that's the thing that spurs him into action, and ultimately triggers a Buddie feelings realisation/declaration, at least that writing choice will have served a major purpose, even if it wasn't much fun to watch play out week by week.

And this is all without addressing the possibility Bobby isn't even actually dead, but I've rambled enough about that theory already 😂

This is obviously not meant with any disrespect to Ravi, but Eddie - an actual army veteran - going against direct orders from a US army Colonel to save his team, given a lot of his PTSD stems from not being able to save his team in Afghanistan, would have absolutely SLAPPED.

[moeblob]

So does he, Gallagher.

[girderednerve]

i forgot how intense the s2 finale is—i remembered miranda, i remembered flint sitting there silent on trial, i remembered vane signalling the guns—but the cuts between flint opening fire on charlestown & silver's leg coming off, each of them forced by his own choices into grim legend. yay 💖

[skunts-own-truth]

What would I like to see? I’d like to see my man, my good time boy, Graham “the Reflection Crack’d” McNiell be able to write anything, and I mean ANYTHING that comes to mind. Let it flow, Graham, let it all spill out across the pages and bring us where we need to go, is what I say.

Long ago, my wife and I made a joke that Chris Wraight, one of the best, wrote all of his Black Library novels filled to the brim with romance and hard porn but it would always be edited out before publication. Seriously, the man’s choice of words can be blisteringly erotic during any scene. It’s incredible. He could be writing about Leman Russ running down a hallway and you’re just like 👀 “he gonna fuck that ship? What’s up?” Or, that one time he had an Interrogator of the Inquisition feed a grape to one of her house serfs all kinky-like. Wonderful stuff. Give him the floor. Let him work.

ADB is fine. I’d be a little miffed if he got to do it and no one else touched the concept of Warhammer Romance; because he is a bit of a one trick pony, and I can already imagine exactly what it’d look like from him… but at least you know the prose would be pretty solid. I’d read it, but gosh I’d feel cheated.

Honestly, I’d say it would be fantastic to get some new blood. As much as I love McNeill and Wraight, and the others, let’s get some ROMANCE novel writers in here. Give me some dime-store harlequin romance writers, what are writing books about dreamy cowboys taking the hand of a lonely middle aged real estate agent, and give them 40K. Let’s see what they do. Let’s see what they get up to with the setting. Can’t tell you if it’d be good, but I’d sure as shoot read it.

That, and some of it has got to be gross. Get some horror writers in there. Make some books in the Romance line fantastic romances… but this is Warhammer, we gotta get gross sometimes. If we ain’t writing books about two characters falling in love, plunged into a nightmare where their emotions are Warp blasted and fueled to torture them and have them bubble together in hellish body-horror kinda situations, then brother, what are we doin’ with this? Give me two Chaos Space Marines that have become obsessed with each other become entangled by the spinal cord and slowly become something like a fucked up two headed Hellbrute, or something. You can do a lot with Chaos. Love and lust are powerful emotions that all flavors of Chaos could easily manipulate into working their way, and I waaanna see it!

I’d also like Guy Haley to continue his Warhammer Crime series, he was sorta leaning towards a romance plot between a hive city cop and a mechanicus investigator, and it was pretty damn fun! I wanted to see where it would go, so I do hope they let him get another book out. Warhammer Crime and Warhammer Horror both had a touch more spice to them than the average 40k books, so I’m sad to see they haven’t really put out another book in those lines in a while. I ate them uuuup.

Whatever they give us, if we ever get Warhammer Romance, woo boy am I gonna be reading it. No doubt about that.

Been digging into Battletech fiction, and while I have read many tie-in novels in my teenage years, the Black Library and reading the entire damn Horus Heresy to the end has absolutely skewed the level of quality I expect from a book about funny plastic fellas on a table… the writing in the Battletech books I’ve read ain’t as good, sure, but you know where Battletech has absolutely just defeated 40k and the Black Library to me? It’s their willingness to make THIS:

I have been making jokes for years about BL making a Warhammer Romance line of steamy kissy books, but look what we have here! A tabletop war game with a romance book, featuring some shirtless hunk right on the cover. Now that’s grace! That is poise!

Until the Black Library catches up to this, my friends, Battletech is just winning.

[1doesnotsimplyhavejust1fandam]

Not to be delusional on main but I’m so confused about the birthmark aspect of the mom thinking Cameron was actually her baby Micah. Like. We saw the heart birthmark on Cameron, undeniably. And the mother had a whole story to tell about how she’d kiss the birthmark every night on her baby, so hello? Are we just ignoring that? I didn’t even care about the subplot much, but in terms of Bobby still being alive, it was crazy. Because the birthmark was forgotten the instant Athena told the mother she had a DNA test done. If it was just a reason for the mother to not seem like she was completely delusional, there were other ways. Ways that don’t involve a very visible birthmark on the kid (just like the very visible birthmark on the surrogate kid of the captain who is supposedly dead, and that many fans take the time to include in their art or their writing, and that is devastatingly apparent in his every scene). It could’ve been Cameron smiling exactly how the mom remembered Micah’s smile. It could’ve been a giggle that sounded like the baby laugh that Micah had (even a birthday video montage with a baby video laugh might’ve worked!!!). If it HAD to be a birthmark, it could’ve been the mother spotting what looked like a birthmark, but wasn’t always visible, and it was just a spill from the catering food (that the mom literally helped with for the party!!!) or a spot of dirt!!! Athena is in the midst of grieving her HUSBAND, any number of ways to fool her and us into believing Micah was alive could’ve been effective. They had the excuse that she wasn’t ready to mourn yet, and wasn’t thinking clearly ready-made! A heart birthmark was insane to SHOW, and then immediately forget about. Are we supposed to assume that Micah didn’t have a birthmark at all? Or that his birthmark was similar but not the same? Not even climbing the walls about this (anymore) just mad as hell because what?????