#but after that i will go back to what i need to do ...

[reignpage]

Quick! Go Hide

in which you prank the sleeping jjk men by telling them, 'You need to hide; my boyfriend's home!'...saw it on tiktok heh

Satoru croaks, “Oh, shit. He is?” 

Groggily, he clambers out of bed and hides in the bathroom, bare feet padding. In the dark, he waits. Seconds pass and he shows no sign of realising what games you’re playing. When you go to collect him, you find him asleep, standing with his forehead pressed to the cold tile, drooling. 

“Is he gone?” He asks, voice raspy, shaken awake once again. You nod, biting your lip to keep from laughing. “Good ‘cause I’m too tired to fight anyone…I’d win though.” 

Soon after, in bed, he continues sleeping. And it’s only in the morning that you find him grinning and prodding your puffy cheek. “That was really funny, babe. Ten out of ten. No notes.”

Suguru's brows furrow. Without opening his eyes, he mutters, “Nice try.”

“No, really. You gotta go; he’ll kill you.” A curse emerges, large and foreboding, just watching in the corner of the room. Shivers wrack your body. It doesn’t move, doesn’t blink, nor utter a single sound. Still, the message is clear. You roll your eyes and cuddle into your boyfriend’s side. “You’re no fun.”

He tucks you in close. “Try again in the morning, pretty girl. I’m sure I’ll be more fun when I’m not half asleep.”

Choso startles awake, bloodshot eyes widening. “Oh no. What should we do?”

He lets you shove him into the closet, shirtless and hair a mess. There he stands patiently, shuffling on his feet and holding his breath. Then, when a minute passes, he has a moment of realisation. Creaking open, the closet door widens to reveal him – he looks unimpressed…and pouty. 

“I’m your only boyfriend; why do I need to hide?”

You giggle. “Sorry, Cho. It was just a joke.’

“I don’t really see what’s funny,” he grouches as he gets back into bed with you, wrapping his arms tight around your body and tucking his head in the crook of your neck, quickly forgetting your prank once his senses are overwhelmed with you. 

Toji peeks one eye at your faux panicked face. He shoves it away, grumbling under his breath about how much of a brat you are and shifts into a different position; he’s got his back turned to you now. Undeterred, you shake him one more time. “I’m being serious. You gotta hide, Toji.”

“Leave me alone, woman. I don’t wanna deal with your shit right now.”

You drape your entire body over his. His beefy arm comes around to keep you steady, in case you fall off the bed with your clumsy ass. “Okay, but if he beats you up and takes me away, your loss.”

He grunts. “I’d like to see anyone try.”

Then, to keep your mouth from disturbing his sleep any longer, he suffocates your face in between his pecs, a hand on your ass, groping it for compensation.

Kento jolts, hands grabbing you to push your body behind his. He scans the room, then the door, waits for the intruder, ready to defend. Only when he hears your stifled laughter does he truly process what you told him. He sighs, hand rubbing down his face. “Can’t sleep again, darling?”

“No. The baby keeps kicking me.” You smile when his warm palm caresses your stomach. 

Leaving a kiss on your forehead, he mutters, “I’ll give them a stern talking to; no child of mine hurts my wife. Now, would you like a midnight snack or should we stay up and watch the stars again?”

Lifted out of bed, he carries you in his arms, intent on keeping your bare feet from touching the cold floor. Even as sleep still courses through his veins, he’s determined to meet your every need – Kento couldn’t fall asleep again knowing you’re wide awake anyway. 

Sukuna doesn’t awaken. He’s as still as a corpse. You try again. And again. Nothing. When you pout and smack his chest, one of his four arms snatches your waist and slides you onto his huge body. Your ass is being patted, as is your head, and with another arm, he rubs your back. 

Calmly, his chest rumbles with his words. “All your previous partners are dead. No one will disturb us. Sleep.”

“Okay, Kuna…wait…no, they aren’t.”

He doesn’t reply, leaving you to wonder when he had the time to hunt them down one by one when he spends so much time never leaving your side in the first place. No answer comes to mind, not when his body can be so persuasive in pulling you to the land of slumber with him. Though, you are certain he whispers, ‘They will be,’ when he thinks you won’t hear. Try and follow up the next day though and he’ll shrug off your concerns with a, ‘I have no idea what you’re talking about.’

[damselneedssaving]

「 DON'T GET THE DOOR 」

OLDER!CLINGY!DAMIAN WAYNE X F!READER

★ SYNOPSIS: After days of being too busy to be intimate with you, Damian's finally got you propped up on the kitchen island, sweet and like putty in his hands, when a sudden knock sounds at the door... and he absolutely refuses to let you go and answer it.

★ TAGS: damian is 18+, suggestive content, nothing too much—just making out, and a bit more, damian is physically incapable of keeping his hands off you, srsly babe wtf did you do to him, dick and jason cameo at the end

★ A/N: just some dami hating everyone but you action 🤭 enjoy trying to get him off you lmao

line divider by @cafekitsune

Damian's gaze is heavy as it runs all over you, soaking you in with an intensity that makes you squirm on the counter, the marble cool against your bare thighs.

His hands are firm on your waist, sitting there like that's where they're meant to be—like they know no place else—as his chest moves to press up against your own, and his body stands situated right between your thighs, hot and present.

"I've missed you, Habibti," he whispers after a beat of just staring, and it comes out breathless, framed a little by disbelief, like he just can't fathom you're actually there.

You can only squirm in response, eyes ready to move to the side in all their bashful glory—when he ushers them back to him, fingers gentle against your chin.

"I've barely seen you these past few days—and now that I can, you choose to hide from me?"

You blink back at him, eyes wide and head shaking from side-to-side to convey what you can't with words, what you can't under the intensity of his gaze.

He hums, and he's so close now, so within kissing distance, that his breath fans over your face, minty and fresh, begging and pleading.

You don't even realise the way your lids grow heavy until it takes only half the time it usually does to shut them, until you're leaning forward and eager to meet him halfway as it registers to you just how much you've missed his touch.

Damian receives you with open arms, lips pressing against your own as he further pushes himself against you, hands now curling around your waist instead of situated at its sides.

All you can breathe is the scent of nature and cologne, drowning in all that is him until your head grows dizzy and your body begins to shake, until you're suffocating in heat and pounding need.

He kisses you like he's running out of time to, like at any minute, he'll be forced to pull away, hungry and desperate and left with an ache near impossible to fill.

He also kisses you like he has all the time in the world to, like he's taking in a piece of art, studying every inch until he has it etched into his mind forever.

It's too much—it's not enough—and you're left a panting mess when he pulls away, the air hot and heavy and seeping so much steam it practically fogs up your vision.

"Dami..."

He hums, lips now on your neck, having moved there as soon as he pulled away as though incapable of truly ever leaving you.

Your fingers move to card through his hair, and he groans right into your skin, just above a vein, sending a vibration straight through your body.

God, the moment is just so perfect, and you've just been so starved for attention, and everything in the world seems to just be going so right, that it feels wrong, like something will happen to ruin it all.

Something like a knock at your door.

At first, you think you're imagining it, because Damian continues to litter your skin with kisses like nothing's happened, his hands even beginning to roam beneath the hem of your shirt, touch light against your skin.

But then you hear it again, louder this time, and you're sure that it's real.

But Damian acts like it isn't.

His hands continue tracing patterns into your skin, lips painting your neck like it's one of his canvases as he worships you with all the devotion of a man begging for his life.

It's only when a third knock, even harder and louder than the former two, sounds from the door that he shows even a hint of acknowledgement, fingers digging into your sides, but not enough to hurt, your Damian would never hurt you.

"Damian!" a voice calls from the other side of the door, deep and insistent, "I know you're in there! Open up!"

"Would you be quiet?" another hisses right after, "People are looking."

You blink, pulling back a little, only for your boyfriend to chase after you.

Another knock at the door.

Damian growls into your skin just as you call softly, "Dami."

"Ignore those two idiots," he scoffs out with all the vitriol of a man wronged, one starved of something he's needed for far too long. "They'll leave eventually."

You nod, readily and easily because you don't particularly care for answering the door either. Not when he's holding you so sweet, and kissing you so right, and loving you like you're the only thing in his sight.

And you practically are with how he devours you, biting and sucking as he tastes you enough to shoot tingles down your spine and flood your veins with heat.

"Maybe he's not home," one of the two voices says, and you're just lucid enough to recognise it as Jason's.

"Oh he's home alright," the other responds, and you're quick to find that it's Dick.

But then all your lucidity washes out your veins because Damian's fingers start to crawl up your skin, and you're parting your lips to warn him with another call of his name.

"Dami—"

"Shh," he hushes you gently, and you know he doesn't mean it, soft and reverent as his hand reaches up to play with the band of your bra, lifting and snapping it back in place to send a jolt down your spine.

Your eyes dart to his, a heat pooling low in your stomach, and he simply meets your gaze with his own hooded one.

Then he moves to capture your lips again, and you're moaning low against his mouth, lips parting just a brief amount to let him in, when another huge bang slams against your door.

You pull back with a frantic, "Coming!"

Damian is already moving to try and capture your lips again, but you shut him down immediately, hands pressed firmly against his chest.

"Damian."

He growls, cursing beneath his breath in Arabic as he lingers a second longer, fingers curling against your skin. But he does ultimately let go, backing away enough to leave you room to hop off the counter, but not enough so that you can't feel the heat of him against you once you do.

And as you make your way towards the door, Damian follows right after, a shadow to his light, a knight to his princess.

A boyfriend to his girlfriend.

You swing open the door to two figures stood on the other side, both who you suspected them to be, wide-eyed and blinking as though they never thought you'd answer.

"Finally," Dick whines, lips jutted in a pout before they tug back up, flashing you one of his signature charming smiles. "Hey [Name]! Think Jason and I could crash—?"

"No."

A rush of wind flies over your face, the door to your apartment slamming shut before your very eyes to leave you dazed and a tad confused for a second.

Then a pair of arms wrap right around your waist, and that same voice that rejected the two brothers at your door is whispering right against your ear, hot and heavy, "Now... where were we?"

[wileycap]

Selected Correspondence of Fire Lord Zuko

As preserved by the Royal Archives

1.

My good hotman Zuko,

It's Aang! Sokka let me borrow Hawky. Please feed him before sending him back.

I'm writing to ask if it's okay for me to drop by. Except I'll probably be there by the time you get this, because Appa flies faster than Hawky. Still, it's polite to ask!

Write back (or don't.)

Hot regards

Your friend Aang

-

Revered Avatar Aang

Hawky arrived two hours after you left. Never send me "hot regards" again. Like I keep telling you, language has changed in the past 100 years. It doesn't mean what you think. Future historians will think we were having an affair.

It's always okay to drop by. Hawky has been fed.

May your inner fire warm you (write that down somewhere)

Fire Lord Zuko

2.

Hi

need 3 fire benders (zappy) + few construction workers + a lot of copper

Delivr to harbor

sokka

-

Honorable tribesman Sokka of the Southern Water Tribe, son of Chief Hakoda, Hero of the 100 Year War

No.

May your inner fire warm you

Fire Lord Zuko

-

Dear Jerk Lord of the Jerk Nation, Master Jerkbender and All-Around Jerk

quit being stingy and send me what i need. seriously. the fate of your nation is at stake. LOOK:

[drawing of two pickles, a stick figure and waves]

Hot regards

Sokka

-

Sokka

Your drawing makes no sense. I'm writing a law which bans you from owning a messenger hawk.

I found you three volunteer firebenders who can lightningbend. They'll be there in a week with four carts of copper. If you need construction workers, beg Toph, don't bother me.

Feed Hawky better. He's malnourished, he keeps begging me for more food.

And don't do that.

Fire Lord Zuko

3.

Dear Honorless Usurper

My, how the time flies. It seems as if it was only yesterday that I was supposed to be crowned Fire Lord, and here we are, celebrating the first full year of your doomed reign. I salute you.

Know this: you won't know peace for long. I have entered into an alliance with Admiral Noboru. He is a true patriot and has kindly offered me three ships and 2000 men to retake the throne. He has also generously offered to serve as my consort, "despite my mental deficiency."

I am writing as a courtesy, as it is obvious that the throne will soon be mine. I might even let you live.

May Agni's light shine on you*

Azula

Fire Lord-in-exile

[* common benediction for the dead during Fire Lord Zuko's reign]

-

Dear Sister

Thank you for writing. I spoke with Noboru. I told him that I was allowing an Agni Kai and that you were on your way.

Noboru has fled the country. He gifted you his whole estate, see the enclosed list. He said to tell you he's sorry and not to come after him.

Please come visit any time. I hope your healing is going well.

May your inner fire warm you

Your brother Zuko

[enclosed: A list of assets including a home in the 5th Province, a vacation home on Ember Island, 20 acres of farmland, a substantial amount of gold and silver and assorted property]

4.

Zuko

this is the worst copper i've ever seen??? i want a refund. you're the worst copper merchant ever.

sokka

-

Sokka

You didn't even pay for the copper. I'm not giving you a refund. And I'm not a copper merchant. I didn't even buy it, somebody else did. What's wrong with it?

I can send you more if you need?

Fire Lord Zuko

-

Sokka

I sent you two more carts of copper. This is the best copper we have, so if it's not good enough, you can get your own and stop mooching off of me.

Fire Lord Zuko

5.

[on a thin sheet of metal]

Sparky! Earth Rumble 8 is two weeks from now. I'm coming to pick you up in the morning two days before.

Check it out: I can write now. Katara helped me with the characters but I've got it now. Hawky isn't strong enough to carry these, but Katara's dad is letting me borrow Seabreeze.

It's TOPH.

-

Dear Lady Beifong

You can't just come pick me up! I'm the Fire Lord. Two weeks isn't enough time for me to arrange days off.

I'd like to come watch you knock some heads, but I can't. Sorry.

Feed Seabreeze. Seriously. What's wrong with you people? Every bird you send me is starving.

May your inner fire warm you

Fire Lord Zuko

-

[on a thin sheet of metal]

Sparky. Thanks for sending me a sheet of paper but my privy is stocked. I can guess what it says though: "I can't go I'm so busy and I'm too much of a wimp to clear my schedule"

I'm coming to pick you up. Tell your guards they can either get out of my way or get CRUSHED. It's gonna be fun.

It's TOPH.

-

A painting of Fire Lord Zuko, Lady Beifong, Master Katara, Avatar Aang, Suki of Kyoshi Island and Sokka of the Southern Water Tribe. Lady Beifong is sitting on the Fire Lord's shoulders, holding up a decorative belt and smiling widely.

[buckysleftbicep]

exit wounds 𐙚 b.b

pairing: new avenger!bucky barnes x reader

warnings: nsfw, 18+, minors dni, choking, hairpulling, rough sex, degradation, overstimulation, unprotected sex, rough sex, creampie, possessiveness, dom!bucky, angst

summary: after you put yourself in danger once again during a mission, bucky finally snaps.

word count: 3.2k

author's note: hello my loves, i hope you enjoy this fic! also, i am currently looking through all the requests i've received and am excited to say i got started on a few! so please, keep sending them, fresh ideas always helps me write better! love you guys and please stay safe out there!

want him so badly

The storm broke before the mission did.

Rain pelted the shattered rooftops, thunder cracked above as you darted through the ruined alleyways of Bucharest, your pulse hammering in your ears. The objective was simple, get in, extract the intel, get out.

“Left. Take the left,” Bucky’s voice crackled through your comms, taut with command.

“I see the target,” you shot back, breathless. “I’m going in.”

“You go in alone, and I swear to god—”

You cut the line.

Not because you were being reckless. You knew what you were doing. You had spent hours upon hours studying the building’s layout, the guards’ rotations, and the window of opportunity that was already closing.

You didn’t need him barking orders in your ear. And you especially didn’t need your boyfriend second-guessing you when you were this close to securing the objective.

But then, behind you—boots pounded on wet concrete, close, fast, and furious.

“Fuck—(y/n)!”

Too late.

The intel was secured. The flash drive sat warm in the lining of your suit, pressed against your sternum. On paper, the mission was a success.

But the cost?

Three injured agents. A building engulfed in fire. And Bucky’s silence on the jet ride towards the nearest safehouse, the tension was thick enough to choke on. He hadn’t looked at you once.

Not when you handed Val the drive. Not when she nodded coolly and dismissed you without a word of praise. Not when the soft hydraulic hiss of the safehouse doors opened and when the rest of the team shuffled in like ghosts.

Now it was just the two of you. The others had scattered quietly, retreating to their temporary rooms for the night. The rain still dripped from your suit's collar, blood clung dry beneath your fingernails, and the silence between you and Bucky pulsed like a second heartbeat.

You peeled your damp tactical vest from your shoulders and tossed it onto the table. Every breath you took felt too loud in the stillness. Your skin was still buzzed with leftover adrenaline and heat, you didn't know if it was from the mission of the confrontation you knew was about to come.

You heard the final set of footsteps retreat, then the soft click of the outer door.

Still, you didn’t turn around.

“I had it,” you said calmly, your voice flat but controlled. “You didn’t need to come after me.”

He didn’t respond at first.

But you could feel him. The tension radiated off him like heat off an engine block. You didn’t need to look to know his jaw was clenched, his hands curled into fists at his sides. You could already feel his glare burning through your back almost as if it was trying to set you aflame.

You met his eyes—cerulean, but sharper than usual. Tense. Controlled.

“I got the drive, didn’t I?”

“That’s not the fucking point,” he snapped, the steel in his voice sharp now. “Three agents could’ve died (y/n). You could’ve died.”

“I didn’t,” you bit out. “And I wasn’t going to.”

His mouth twisted, his chest heaving once before he spoke again, voice splintering. “You think I give a shit about your stats? Your little field heroics?” His voice cracked then, just slightly.

“You think I want to scrape you off the concrete one day just because you were too stubborn to follow the damn protocol?”

You barked a bitter laugh. "Funny. You’ve been quiet up until now.”

He moved fast.

One moment, he was across the room. The next, he was inches from you, towering, taut with anger, fist clenched so tight you could see the veins straining in his forearm.

“You wanna say that again?” he asked, low and dangerous.

You squared your shoulders, refusing to flinch. “I said—”

“Don’t,” he cut in sharply. “Don’t test me tonight.”

“Why not?” you hissed. “You’ve been dying to explode since we landed Bucky. Go ahead. Yell. Blame me. Do what you always do when you don’t get your damn way—”

He didn’t yell. He didn’t move.

He just looked at you. And somehow, that was worse.

The silence that followed crackled with heat. His jaw tensed, eyes burning into yours like he was holding back with everything he had.

Then, slow and deliberate, he stepped forward, closing the space between you. His body radiated heat, tension rolling off him in waves.

“You think this is about me?” he whispered, dangerously quiet now.

“You think I give a fuck if I look bad in the debrief? I don’t care about orders, (y/n). I care about you. And you made the call without backup, without thinking. Again."

“I knew what I was doing,” you murmured, but it came out thinner now.

“And if you were wrong?” he snapped. His breath hit your cheek—damp, hot, ragged. “If I hadn’t gone in after you?”

You couldn’t answer. Because you didn’t know.

And suddenly the room felt too small. Too close. Your heart pounded against your ribs like it wanted out.

He was so close you could smell the rain still clinging to his skin, see the soaked-through fabric of his black shirt clinging to every line of muscle. His hair was still damp, curling around his jaw as his chest rose and fell with heavy, measured breaths.

He looked frayed at the edges, barely holding it together, and burning with fury.

“You scared the shit out of me,” he said, voice rough. “You think I care about the mission? You think I care about what Val thinks?”

Your breath hitched.

“I didn’t mean to,” you whispered. “I was just… I needed to prove I could handle it.”

He took another step forward. “To who?”

You blinked.

“To Val? The team?” He shook his head, eyes narrowing. “Or to me?”

You didn’t answer. You didn’t need to. Your silence said enough.

Bucky’s hand came up, not fast, not aggressive, but deliberate. It hovered near your jaw, then gently ghosted along the column of your throat. Two fingers settled over your pulse, barely there. Feeling it. Reading you.

“You think I don’t see you?” he murmured. “Think I don’t know what you’re trying to prove every time you run headfirst into danger like you have nothing to lose?”

“You don’t have to be reckless to be worthy of standing next to me,” he said, and something broke in his voice then. Softer. Almost broken. “You already are.”

Your breath stuttered.

You hadn’t meant to move. You hadn’t even noticed your body leaning forward until your chest brushed his. Until you felt the ragged breath he caught against your cheek, until your eyes met his, and everything stopped.

He looked at you like he was drowning in everything he hadn’t said, rage, fear, hunger, all of it right there in his eyes, barely held back.

His thumb brushed your jaw, tilting your chin up. His touch was light, barely there, but it felt like the only thing tethering you to the ground.

“You keep pushing me,” he said, voice low and quiet, the kind of quiet that carried weight.

His eyes didn’t leave yours. “Always testing. Always toeing the line.”

Your throat tightened as you swallowed, pulse fluttering beneath your skin. A slow ache bloomed between your thighs, the kind that only got worse when you held his gaze.

“And what if I’m doing it on purpose?” you murmured. “What if I want you to snap?”

Something shifted behind his gaze, a flicker of heat barely restrained, and the air between you crackled like a live wire. His jaw flexed, his body unmoving, and then, the corner of his mouth lifted. Slow, measured, anything but kind.

“You really want to see what happens when I do?” he gritted out

“Maybe I like seeing how far I can push you.”

You didn’t get a second to breathe.

His hand clamped around your throat, not hard enough to cut off your air, but firm enough to remind you who was in control as he shoved you backward.

You stumbled, caught off guard, and then—without warning, he turned you. One arm braced across your shoulders, the other sliding between your thighs. You barely had time to gasp before he was behind you, chest flush to your back, hips grinding into your ass.

His body pinned you in place, unforgiving and close, and suddenly there was no space, no air, nothing except the burn of him against you and the way your body reacted, fast, instinctive and shameless.

“You want to push me?” Bucky snarled, the words like gravel dragged through his teeth. “Then take it. Don’t you fucking run from it now.”

Your pulse throbbed wildly beneath his fingers. He felt it—you knew he did—because he smiled against your neck. It wasn’t kind. It was the smile of a man barely containing the storm underneath, teeth bared like a wolf on a leash.

You tried to turn your head, to spit something sharp, something defiant, but his metal hand was there in an instant, pinning your cheek to the wall with a ruthless kind of tenderness. Cold vibranium fingers spread across your jaw, holding you still like he was lining up a shot.

“Don’t move unless I tell you to,” he growled. “You don’t get to talk back. Not after the fucking stunt you pulled.”

Then—he tore your suit open.

The front zipper split with a vicious rip, teeth dragging down your sternum, and then the fabric was shoved roughly off your shoulders. Your bra came into view, your skin prickling in the open air, exposed and vulnerable and throbbing with anticipation.

He didn’t hesitate.

His mouth latched onto the side of your neck, sucking hard enough to bruise, and your body reacted instantly, arching toward him, heat coiling low in your belly, wetness pooling between your thighs before you could even think to stop it.

It was humiliating how fast he had you soaked.

“Fucking wet,” he hissed, voice sharp with satisfaction. His flesh hand slid down the front of your suit. Two fingers pressed through your panties and straight into your slit, finding you hot, drenched and needy. “You’re dripping, sweetheart. All that mouth and you still want me this bad?”

You moaned—shameless, high-pitched and he growled like it offended him.

“Pathetic.”

Your suit hit the ground in a heap, shoved down carelessly around your boots. He didn’t bother to strip you completely, he didn’t need to. He just yanked them down far enough to spread your thighs apart, leaving you open, exposed, and trembling.

Then you heard it—the heavy clink of his belt, the hiss of his zipper. Your body jolted at the sound.

“Look at you,” he muttered, low and mean. “Begging to be fucked like a slut after risking your life like a dumb little brat.” The words hit you hard and god, they made your pussy throb.

You clenched around nothing, slick dripping down your thighs, and the worst part was how much you loved it. How much you needed more, needed him.

Your breath stuttered, your hips tilting back instinctively, shameless in how fast you were unraveling for him. You didn’t care what he called you. As long as he didn’t stop. As long as he fucked you like he meant every filthy word.

He pumped his cock once—twice—right behind you. You could feel it already, flushed and hard and heavy, the tip brushing the curve of your ass as he lined himself up.

“You wanted this,” Bucky rasped, voice dragging low and dark. “You pushed me on purpose. You knew exactly what would happen.”

You whimpered, cheeks burning.

And then he laughed, low and cruel and knowing.

“You like it when I’m like this, don’t you?”

His cock dragged through your folds—slick with your arousal, bumping your clit before dipping lower, teasing your entrance with maddening pressure. You nearly sobbed.

“Y-yes… I like it,” you breathed, eyes fluttering shut as your thighs trembled. “I wanted it. I wanted this. W-wanted you like this.”

He slammed into you.

You cry out, the stretch splitting you wide open in one unrelenting thrust. No warning. No mercy. Your nails scraped against the wall as your body spasmed around him, pussy clenching instinctively around the thick length now buried to the hilt.

“Oh my fucking—”

He slapped a hand over your mouth.

“Be quiet,” he gritted out, breath hot on your ear. “They’ll hear you.”

You moaned into his palm, the sound muffled and desperate, tears stinging at the corners of your eyes as he began to move—long, deep thrusts that rocked your entire body.

Each snap of his hips sent you forward, your chest jolting against the cold wall with every brutal push. Your legs shook beneath you, barely able to hold you up under the weight of him, his rhythm, his heat, the relentless way he claimed every inch of your body.

His cock hit every spot inside you—deep, relentless, perfect in its punishment. Each thrust drove you harder into the wall, your palms flattened against the cold surface, fingers splayed like you were holding on for dear life.

The air was thick with the sound of slick skin and broken moans, the wet slap of him pounding into you again and again until all you could do was whimper, body shaking, needing more.

He was ruthless.

“You feel that?” he grunted, fucking into you harder. “You feel how deep I am? Fuck, princess, your pussy’s squeezing me.”

You nodded, eyes rolling back. Everything was too much. Not enough.

He grabbed your hair and yanked your head back, lips brushing your ear.

“You gonna come already? Just from this? From getting fucked like you’re made for it?”

You tried to speak, tried to form a word, a plea, anything but your mouth refused to work. All that came out was a desperate, broken moan, choked off by the force of him inside you.

Every muscle in your body was strung tight, overwhelmed, aching, begging for release, but all you could do was let the sound of your need echo in the space between you, raw and strung out and wordless.

He let go of your mouth and slapped your ass—hard.

“Say it,” he snarled. “Tell me how badly you want to come.”

“I, god—I need it,” you choked. “Please, need your cock, need you to—”

He pulled out. Completely.

You cry, voice raw with frustration.

Bucky laughed, voice thick with dominance.

“Look at you. Falling apart already. And I haven’t even gotten started.”

Before you could respond, he seized your wrists and twisted them behind your back, pinning them there easily with his hand. The cool press of vibranium against your skin made your breath hitch, your chest rising in shallow gasps.

You barely had time to brace yourself before he drove back into you—harder, deeper, with a force that knocked a strangled sound from your throat and sent sparks ricocheting through your core.

Your body jolted. Your mouth dropped open in a silent cry. His flesh hand wrapped around your waist, fingers finding your clit again—rubbing tight, relentless circles in time with each brutal thrust.

You were unravelling, your legs burned and your body trembled. You were a babbling, incoherent mess as your orgasm built again—rising like a fucking tsunami.

“Don’t you dare come,” he growled. You tried. Fuck, you tried.

But he was everywhere—his cock driving into that sweet spot deep inside you with ruthless precision, his fingers working your clit in tight, relentless circles that had you trembling. His voice, low and filthy, poured into your ear like sin itself, each word pushing you closer to the edge.

“Say it,” he rasped. “Say who owns you.”

You sobbed.

“You do, Bucky! You do—”

“Good fucking girl.”

And then he snapped his hips again, slamming into you so deep you felt it in your throat.

You came with a strangled cry, body seizing as pleasure tore through you like a live wire. Your cunt clenched around him in tight, desperate pulses, milking every inch as wetness spilled down your thighs, slicking his cock and coating both of you in heat and ruin.

You slumped forward, forehead pressed to the wall, barely able to hold yourself upright as your orgasm wracked through you.

But he didn’t stop, he kept going—kept fucking you through it like he was trying to brand you from the inside out.

You sobbed, body trembling uncontrollably.

“That’s it,” he snarled. “Take it. Cry if you want princess, I’m not stopping.”

Your knees gave out, barely holding you upright and then the second wave hit. He slammed into you hard, tearing through your body before you had a chance to catch your breath.

You clenched around him again, tighter this time, a cry ripping from your throat as you came all over his cock. Everything blurred, your vision, your thoughts, until all that was left was the sharp pulse of pleasure and the rough sound of him still moving behind you.

“Gonna fill you up,” he muttered, pounding into you with short, broken thrusts. “Stuff you full, just like you deserve. Let it drip down those pretty thighs. Let everyone see who fucked you like this.”

He groaned—loud, rough—and then shuddered, cock twitching as he spilled inside you. You felt the warmth of it, the pulse of his release, the way his entire body seemed to collapse into yours.

The only sound was your wrecked breathing, the whine of your body, and the soft drip of his cum sliding down your thighs.

You were trembling, undone in every possible way—mind blank, body limp, pleasure still echoing through your nerves. Your knees wouldn’t hold you, but he didn’t let you fall. His arms were around you instantly, strong and steady, pulling you into his chest like he could anchor you there, like he needed to.

His breathing was still ragged, chest rising and falling against your back. His lips pressed to your temple, slow and soft, and you felt the way he lingered, like he was grounding himself, too.

“You okay?” he whispered.

You nodded, barely able to speak. Tears still clung to your lashes, not from pain, not even from the intensity, but from the overwhelming ache in your chest.

He kissed your temple again. Then your jaw. Then the corner of your mouth.

“Don’t ever fucking do that again.” he murmured.

You blinked, surprised by the tremble in his voice. He wasn’t angry. Not now.

“I can’t—” he swallowed, brow pressed to yours. “I know you’re capable, I know you’re smart. But I can’t watch you walk into something like that again.”

Your throat tightened.

“I thought I could handle it,” you whispered.

He shook his head. “No. No more of that. If something happened to you out there—”

He cut himself off. Pulled you closer. One hand cradled the back of your head. The other still wrapped around your waist, like he was afraid you would slip through his fingers.

“You don’t get to scare the shit out of me like that,” he rasped, voice cracking. “I’ve lost so much—and, fuck, I can’t lose you too.”

He looked away, just for a second, like the words hurt to say.

“I wouldn’t survive it.”

You nuzzled into his chest, heart hammering. His scent, his warmth, the rasp of his voice in your ear, it was all too much and not enough.

“I’m sorry,” you said, small and hoarse.

Bucky didn’t say anything right away. He just held you tighter, kissed the top of your head.

“I know”

requests are open!

[mwphisto]

It was an accident, you swear it was just a misclick.

Two texts that came in at the same time, one from your group chat with Tara and Simone, the other from Caleb. What you thought was being sent to your girls got sent to Caleb instead...

"What do you think of this?" A picture of you standing in your full length mirror, your bedroom dimly lit, a scandalous little black nightgown hanging off of your body. You never treated yourself like this, never felt the need to buy such short, silky nightgowns covered in frilly lace and a sleek satin shine. But Tara had convinced you.

Something about having a nice figure, just in case of an emergency, and that you'd look soooo hot in such an item. Hell, she even offered to pay for it, hand picking the little thing herself and well... now you owned it and now your face was red-hot as you stared at yourself.

“Holy shit, Pips.” You glance down at your phone, brows furrowing at the use of that nickname. Why in the world would Tara… oh. Oh no. Your mouth dropped open, realizing your fatal mistake way too late.

“Caleb! Oh my god! I’m so sorry!” Rapid fire, your hands trembling as you sent message after message. “I didn’t mean to send that to you! I was just trying it on, my friends convinced me to buy the damn thing!” You fell onto your bed, staring at your phone in genuine horror. Luckily, it was just Caleb. No one else. But still.

"No need to apologize, Pips." the text bubble popped up again a moment later. "You look gorgeous, good thing you listened to them." Now? Your face was hot for a different reason. "These friends are also girls, right? Don't tell me you're sending this to other men..."

"Of course they're girls! Who do you think I am lol." You swallow, fingers still shaking as you typed another message. "I appreciate the compliments but I really am sorry for the jump scare. Just delete the picture from our chat, forget you ever saw it."

Delete it? Forget? You've lost your mind. Still... "No worries, pips."

Caleb clicks the image again, cheeks flushed and pants uncomfortably tight. It's like he's looking at a real life goddess. He's zooming in shamelessly, committing every dip and curve to his memory. The way the lace hugs your breasts, the thin straps revealing you're not wearing bra at all. The nightgown itself ends just below the apex of your thighs. One little movement and...

"You're going to ruin me, pipsqueak." Caleb's fingers are undoing his zipper, eyes still glued to every pixel that makes up your dips and curves on his phone screen. "I should feel guilty, shouldn't I?" His voice is bouncing back at him, you had disappeared from the chat, likely sending your friends the picture that was intended for them.

He's freeing himself from his briefs, yanking open his bedside drawer to pull out one of the pairs of panties he had snatched from your apartment the last time he visited Linkon.

"Such a pervert, can't help it."

[whatsverstappeningnow]

how f1 drivers react

when they notice you haven't been eating enough (requested)

drivers mentioned: MV33, LN4, OP81, AA23, CS55, CL16, LH44, GR63

-> tw: obviously references to ED behaviours and not eating, reader discretion is advised if this is a trigger for you!

max verstappen

You thought you were being careful. Smiling while he cooked. Saying you were full from lunch and moving the food around your plate just enough to make it seem like you’d eaten more than you had. You knew it was wrong, you should say something, but couldn't find the words.

You thought you were getting away with it.

Then one night, after a particularly long, stressful day, while the two of are getting ready for bed, Max quietly hands you one of his redbull hoodies. It feels like a peace offering. He's silent for a moment, like he too is struggling to the the right words.

“You’ve lost weight.”

You freeze with your arms halfway in the sleeves, eyes wide and aimed at the ground. “What?”

His tone is neutral, forcibly so, but his eyes aren’t. They’re serious. Studying your reaction.

“I can feel it when I hug you,” he says, blunt and truthful. “You’re smaller. You're tired all the time. You barely touched dinner. Not the for the first time, either”

You try to deflect. “I’m fine. It’s just stress...work’s been a lot—”

“I’m not judging,” he interrupts softly, hands on his hips. “But don’t lie to me. Not about this, schatje.”

You stare at the floor, guilt swirling and pooling in your stomach. His hands find your waist, thumbs brushing over your hips as if to emphasize what he already noticed. He leans in just enough that his forehead touches yours, leaning against eachother softly.

“I know you think it’s not a big deal. But it is to me,” he murmurs. “I don’t care if it’s small meals, snacks, whatever... but you need somehting. I need to know you’re okay.”

Then, after a long pause, “Please don’t shut me out. Your hurting the woman I care about, I can't let you do that.”

He doesn’t push after that. Just holds you tighter that night. Makes breakfast the next morning and doesn’t say a word when you take the plate. Just smiles a little when you pick up the fork.

lando norris

You’re lying on your stomach across your bed, scrolling through your phone aimlessly, when Lando flops down beside you with a sigh. You laugh at his sudden, unexpected appearance, but it dies out when he you don't hear him join in.

“I’m gonna say something, and you’re not allowed to get weird about it.”

You glance over, up your phone down, suspicious, but trying to lighten the tone. The sudden seriousness leaves you uncomfortable. "Hm, ominous."

He gives you a look, one that says he's not joking for once.

“You haven’t really eaten today. Or much yesterday. And I don’t think that’s nothing.”

You open your mouth to deflect, but Lando cuts in, gentler now.

“I’m not mad. I just… I want you to know that I notice these things. I don't want you to hide this stuff. I'm a... a bit hurt that you thought you had to.”

"I didn't mean to it's just. It's hard to talk about this stuff," you try to explain.

"I know that. Of course, I know that. But we spend hours talking about how I'm going, where my head is at, and that's not a one way street, love."

He nudges your shoulder lightly when you you can't find the words to say. “Let me take care of you, yeah? We’ll order something...anything you want! You don’t even have to leave the bed.”

And when you nod, he grins and kisses your cheek like it’s no big deal...like loving you includes this, too.

oscar piastri

Oscar notices something's off before you say even say anything.

You're out running errands together and get dizzy out of nowhere in the middle of the store. You hand grips his as you try and blink away the blurry spots. He's quick to put a hand on your back to help you stay up right, and even quicker to ask whats wrong.

You try to brush it off , I probably just need water or something, but he doesn’t buy it. The crease between his eyebrows deepens.

“You’ve been lightheaded more than once this week.”

You blink at him, surprised, heart suddenly beating faster than before. “No, I haven't.”

But he nods like you've said the opposite. Eyes searching yours for... something.

“I’ve also noticed you keep skipping breakfast a lot. And lunch, probably, if I'm not home with you. And you’re ‘just tired’ every night.”

Oscar isn’t dramatic about it. He just says it plainly, as truth, fact. But that just makes it harder to brush off.

“I’m worried,” he admits, voice quieter, hand holding yours tightly. “You don’t have to explain it all right now. But I need to know you’re okay... I need to know if you're not.”

You murmur that you're not sure what's going on, and it's the truth. Oscar doesn’t press.

“Let’s get head home. Have something easy. And if you don’t want to talk, we can just sit.”

"I'm sorry," you whisper to him, unsure of what to say.

"Please don't apologise. I love you. I want you to be well."

carlos sainz

You’re on your apartment balcony together, lounging around after a long morning sleep in. Carlos offers to make you breakfast, but you tell him not to bother. You’re not hungry.

He pauses mid-step, one foot inside, one still on the balcony. Looks at you, slightly offended on your behalf.

“No desayuno? Why not?”

You shrug, trying to keep your tone light. “I don’t know. I just… don’t feel like eating, I guess.”

Carlos doesn’t say anything at first. He just watches you. But the crease between his brows deepens, and then he's moving toward you, slowly, like he’s approaching something fragile. Maybe he is.

“You’ve skipped too many meals this week, mi vida. I’m not blind.”

His voice is quiet but firm, that kind of gentle stubbornness you’ve learned not to argue with. The kind that comes from a place of love, not discipline. You look down, suddenly finding it too hard to look Carlos in the eyes, but he doesn’t let the moment slip by so easily.

He finally steps right behind you, wrapping his arms around your waist lightly, and resting his chin on your shoulder. His voice is softer now, words whispered right into your ear like a sweet secret for just the two of you.

“I don’t need you to be perfect. I need you to take care of yourself.”

His fingers rub little circles into your sides, grounding and steady.

And before you can come up with a deflection, he’s pulling away just enough to kiss the side of your temple and mutter, “I’ll make something light. You don’t have to finish it. Just try.”

It’s not about food. Not really. It’s about how he wants you well. Wants you cared for. It's about showing you you are loved, and deserve to be taken care of.

alex albon

You're facetiming while he’s away, talking about qualifying, how the pets are doing, your plans for tomorrow, what you did earlier that day, when you offhandedly say, “I had a granola bar today, that counts, right?”

He laughs at first, caught up in your cute rambling. Then stops suddenly, all the humour draining from his face in a milisecond.

“Wait, that was all you had? Actually?”

You realize too late how that sounds. You can't take the words back now, and you can't find it in you to play it off as a complete joke. Part of you wants him to know.

Alex's expression shifts immediately. “Babe… You need to eat. No excuses.”

He leans in closer to the screen, voice suddenly quieter.

“Are you alright? Seriously.”

You start to downplay it, words coming out quickly to cover yourself, you weren't that hungry today, you were busy, you would eat later to make up for it, but he shakes his head gently at each excuse.

“Hey, hey. You don’t need to explain if you’re not ready. I’ve been there, I get it. But I wish you’d told me. I would’ve sent you like… twenty reminders. Or ubereats meals.”

Despite the worry, he smiles at you, soft and sweet, with the kind of look he always has before he leans in to kiss you.

“Okay. We’re ordering food together, right now. Virtual dinner date? I'll get room servivce, order something to the house for you. Yeah?”

You laugh, tear up a little, and agree. He smiles bright at your agreeance, beaming with pride.

charles leclerc

You're halfway through slicing vegetables for dinner when you say it. You'd been tossing up the right words to say all day. Deflecting is an art.

“I’m not really hungry tonight, but you go ahead.”

Charles doesn’t respond right away. Just finishes stirring the pan in front of him, sets the spoon down carefully, and, without another word, switches the stove completely off.

You glance up, confused and stunned. “What are you doing? That's not done yet.”

He simply shrugs. “If you’re not eating, then we’re not cooking.”

There’s no edge in his tone. No accusation. Just quiet finality, as if he had anticipated you not wanting to eat.

You blink, confused. “Charles, that’s ridiculous. You shouldn’t skip dinner just because—”

“Because you are?” he says gently, stepping away from the stove and closer to you. “No, I shouldn’t. But I’m not going to sit here and act like I haven’t noticed what you're doing”

He closes the space between you, wiping his hands on a dish towel before setting it aside.

“I’m not trying to make you feel bad, chéri,” he says quietly, searching your expression for the truth of the situation, but coming up empty. “I just want you to take care of yourself. And if I can help, even just a little, I will. If this is what it takes for you to know it is unhealthy, then I will do it.”

Charles reaches out and pulls you gently into his embrace. One hand on your back, the other smoothing your hair behind your ear. When he speaks again, his voice is soft against your skin. “Even if it’s just toast and juice. Even if it’s small. I’ll eat with you.”

You nod slowly, not because you’re convinced you can finish a whole meal, but because the idea of sitting across from him, even with something simple, suddenly feels like something you can do. Something you want to try. For him.

So he kisses your temple, rubs his hand down your back once again, and then says, “I’ll make tea. You pick the bread. Oui?”

lewis hamilton

You’re pacing around, trying to get stuff done, arms filled with knick-knacks you should have put away ages ago, when Lewis gently intercepts you. Hands on your upper arms, holding you still.

“You’ve been running nonstop all day, love. Did you eat yet?”

You wave him off. “I haven’t had time.”

That makes him stop cold. He exhales, long and hard, then walks over and takes your hands in his.

“That’s not okay.”

You go to respond, but Lewis lifts a hand. Gently, calmly stopping you.

“I’m not upset. But I also… don’t think this is the first time you’ve let yourself forget about food. And it’s scaring me a bit.”

“It’s not like that… I promise,” you reply in a hushed tone.

His thumb traces small circles over your knuckles, constant and soft.

“Ok, and I trust you to know if it was like that you could tell me. But I’ve seen what burnout looks like. What forgetting to take care of yourself does. I won’t stand by and watch it happen to you too. I love you too much to watch you crash and burn.”

"Lewis—"

He takes all the clothes and cups from your arms and places them on the table, leaving your hands empty and your heart beating fast.

He leans in and kisses your forehead, hushing you. “Let’s start small. Something warm. Something easy. Please? Gotta make sure my girl is taken care of.”

He doesn’t ask for more. Just reminds you, with every soft word and touch, that you’re worth taking care of, even on the days when you forget how.

george russell

You're lying in bed together when George brings it up for the first time.

"Love, I need to ask you something, and I need you to be honest with me. Please?"

When you turn to look at him, his face is dead serious, his undereye bags heavy and dark like something’s been worried about something for a while.

"You haven’t been eating enough." He says it quietly, thumb brushing just beneath your cheekbone like he’s afraid he’s already said too much.

"That’s not a question," you reply, a little too fast. A little too defensive.

George doesn’t take the bait. He just watches you for a second, gaze steady but soft. There’s no judgment in it, only worry.

“I know,” he says. “But I’ve been holding it in, waiting for you to come to me, waiting for the right time, and... I guess there isn’t one, is there?”

You sigh, low and long from the weight of everything you've been feeling. He shifts closer, wrapping an arm around your waist.

“I’m not angry. I don't want you to think that. I just...noticed recently. And I didn’t want to corner you, or make you feel.. attacked, but I love you, and I can’t keep pretending I don’t see what’s happening.”

You rest your forehead against his chest, and his hand runs gently up and down your back.

“You don’t have to explain anything right now,” he murmurs. “Just let me help. We can start slow. A good breakfast tomorrow. I’ll make tea. We can talk about it, if you'd like. One thing at a time. Yeah?”

"I'm sorry."

"Hey, none of that. This isn't something you need to apologise for. I got you. We got this."

You nod against him, curling tighter into his soft hold. George presses a soft kiss to the top of your head like a promise. One that says: you’re not doing this alone.

lowkey inspired by both the anon request and the quote "i love you, i want us both to eat well" <3

[uluvjay]

Return of the Mad-M. Verstappen

Max Verstappen x fem! Reader

In which Max allows the anger he’s been burying to come through, or Mad Max makes his return..

Warnings?; degrading, kind of asshole max, hair pulling, unprotected sex (A NO NO), talks of throwing things at people, slight George Russel hate (it’s for the plot sorry), use of the word cunt, sorry for any errors I missed!

You weren’t surprised when the helmet went flying across the garage, you’d seen it coming over the past few races.

The way his fists would clench when he returned from another race where he hadn’t made podium, the way he’d curse to himself in Dutch when the fia gave him a penalty they didn’t give to other drivers doing the same thing.

Yes the few wins he’d secured were nice and you were positive that if it wasn’t for them he would’ve blown up a long time ago.

You owed George Russel a thank you basket for pushing him over the edge, the way they’d raced each other the past few weeks pushing max closer and closer to the edge. And finally after George’s dirty moves in the Spanish Grand Prix the anticipated return of Mad max happened.

You were cautious as you pushed open the drivers room door, nobody had even attempted to even approach Max since he’d entered the garage with his lion printed helmet flying at a wall.

“Go away” he grumbled from the small couch in the room, arms crossed as his foot tapped against the floor.

“It’s just me” you announced shutting the door behind you, making sure to twist the lock.

He picked his head up slightly blue eyes scanning over your body, the helmet he so gracefully chucked at the wall in your hand.

“What are you going to do with that?”

You sighed at his attitude, “nothing, picked it up along my way”

He scoffed, “should’ve chucked it at the fucking stewards with that bullshit penalty.”

You sighed setting the helmet down before moving to sit next to him, “unfortunately that would be assault and that’s not something we want. You’re already a point away from a race ban.”

Blue eyes were quick to snap towards you filled with a dangerous hue that you hadn’t seen for a long time.

“They gave me points on my license? You’re fucking joking right?” He snapped.

“I wish I was, it was unfair but they felt like it was intentional.” You sighed.

He scoffed moving to his feet now pacing the room as he removed his race suit, profanities and complaints spewing out as he changed.

Just as he was sliding on his pants a knock sounded at the door, “Max mate we need you for media”

It was Christian, at least they hadn’t sent the poor Pr girl to get him.

“Fuck Media, they can all fuck off and so can you.” Max spat.

You winced at his words knowing they were mean but this is what happens when you provoke an already irritated Lion.

You stood to your feet unlocking and opening the door just enough so you could see Christian.

“I’ll get him out, just give me a minute and he’ll be down.”

“We need him now Y/n” the Brit sighed.

You rolled your eyes at his impatience, “Yeah well that’s not going to happen, give me five minutes and he’ll be down.”

You don’t allow him a response before shutting the door and turning towards your Dutchman.

“I’m not going down there” he laughed but it was dry, mocking, like he could give two fucks about anyone or anything and what they had to say.

“Max”

“No, you want me to do it so bad then go do it yourself. Tell them I don’t give a fuck and it was that cunts fault.” He shrugged spitefully eyes locked on yours.

You walked to where he was now standing by his massage bed large hands gripping the edges in irritation.

“Look I know you’re mad but please just give them something so we can pack up and go home.” You pleaded looking up at him.

The triple header had been long and grueling and all you wanted was to climb into bed with your boyfriend and cats and sleep the next few days away before he was due at Redbull headquarters.

You weren’t paying attention to his hands until one was tangled in your hair angling your head back, a whimper escaping your mouth at the sensation.

“You don’t tell me what to do, got it? If I wanted your fucking opinion I would’ve asked for it.” He spoke sinisterly, eyes sharp and voice deep.

He was quick when he spun you around your front pressed against the massage bed while he pressed into you from behind.

You couldn’t help the way your thighs rubbed together at the feeling of his hard cock against you, the grip he had on your hair sending shocks down to your wet core.

“Fucking slut, this is turning you on isn’t it?” He scoffed.

You whimpered at his words, it was sick how his degrading words made you feel. The way the slick was spreading on the insides of your thighs you both knew he’d find a pool when he reached his hand between your thighs.

And he did.

Max growled at the feeling when he slipped his beneath your sundress, his thick fingers not wasting any time as they slid your panties to the side.

He was rough but you didn’t mind especially not when he slid his fingers inside you, a moan breaking out before you could stop it.

“So fucking needy.”

“I had a bad race and you think you can tell me what to do? Must’ve forgotten your place. But don’t worry baby I’ll remind you.” He smirked.

It was dark and sinister not a drop of sympathy behind those blue eyes and curled lip and you felt it in the way he ripped his fingers from your cunt.

You whimpered at the loss but it didn’t last long before he was pulling his pants and boxers down in one swift go.

It wasn’t long before your dress was bunched up around your waist, panties pulled down just enough for his cock to reach your cunt.

He doesn’t prep you like he usually would. There’s no need to.

You’re soaked, his cock pushing through your dripping folds with ease. And there’s nothing nice or slow about the way his cock splits you open.

“Shit.” You breathe the burn from the stretch of his thick cock was to good, the pain mixing with the pleasure causing your brain to short circuit.

He gives you a little of his cock before pulling out half way and then slamming back into you, his pace brutal as his hand twists in your hair yanking you flushed against his chest again.

His voice is steady when he speaks again, “Take it like the slut you are, always willing to take my cock huh?”

You nod cluelessly the pleasure blinding as your nails dig into the table in front of you, you’re positive there will be rips in the material by the time he’s done with you but you couldn’t care less right now.

“Yeah I know baby, I know. Anything for me to fuck my girl.” He cooed mockingly, voice mean.

He fucks you so deep. Bottoming out with each thrust.

He’s grunting in your ear, deep and raspy just the way you like. You can hear his low curses in Dutch his breath hot on your neck.

You can feel him against you, all over you. His toned chest pressed against you, every thrust of his hips makes your ass jolt from the roughness and pace of the thrusts.

His cock hits your g-spot effortlessly with each thrust, brutal, sharp, unrelenting as he chases his high.

This isn’t about you, he’ll make you cum but you’ll be paying for it later on the plane wether that be on your knees for as long as he says or letting him fuck you until he says you can cum.

You gasp when his lips meet your ear tongue teasing before he nips at it the pain sends jolts of pleasure through your body.

Max chuckles when your cunt clenches around him, you were his dirty slut and he basked in the fact nobody but him knew that.

You cry out when he tugs on your hair, it’s hard and the pain is sharp but there’s no denying the fact you’re attracted to the pain. Not when a moan follows behind it.

“You’re such a whore, act so fucking sweet and innocent but all you want is to be fucked dumb.” He growls voice hot with pleasure but you can still hear the anger lingering.

His accent is thick, one you swear he’s losing some days but not when he’s like this. When he’s got nothing but sex and pain on his mind. No that’s when the part of him he worked so hard to control comes through.

He’s got himself buried so deep inside of you that you feel everything, every vein and ridge on his bare cock.

You sob out as the feeling in your lower stomach grows stronger by the second, your body is so fucking hot, sweat making stands of hair stick to your forehead.

“M-max. Fuck-I’m so close.” You whine body trembling against him.

He grunts at the sound of your dazed voice, “yeah I can feel it. Go ahead and cum for me like a good little slut.”

And you do.

It hits you hard, your mouth drops open but nothing comes out. Your vision blurs as that band in your lower stomach snaps.

You can hear max moaning from the way you’re clenching him, convulsing around his cock just the way he likes.

He starts fucking you harder, hips snapping into you at an ungodly pace as he chases a high of his own.

And you can feel all of it when he does, his strong arms wrap around you caging you against his body as his thrusts grow wild.

He cums inside of you with a low grunt, curses spilling free as he fucks you through his high, body shaking as he comes down.

You two stay like that for a while, allowing each other to catch your breath. You’re still panting when he pulls away hands holding your waist to steady you on your shaky legs.

You’re not expecting him to spin you around so quick but he doesn’t give you much time to think about it before his lips are on yours.

His grip on your cheeks is strong, nails digging into your flushed cheeks puckering your lips on his own as he takes what he wants.

He kisses you like a starved man, it’s hot and heavy, his tongue devouring yours.

And finally when he pulls back he gives you a once over pulling your panties off completely he shoves them in his pocket.

He doesn’t speak a word as he grabs the blue and orange cap sitting at the edge of the massage bed sliding it on his damn head.

“I’ll be back in twenty minutes, be packed and ready because we’re leaving.” He states clear as day, not allowing you any room for discussion.

And right before he opens the door he turns back to you, “And don’t put anymore panties on, you won’t need them for the plane ride home.”

-

[rafeslvbug]

paediatrician!rafe finding out singlemom!reader has no support…

“alright then, i’ve given her her medication, we’ll wait a couple minutes and she should be good to go,” rafe murmurs, settling aurora into your arms again, watching with a smile as she sleepily looks up up at you, gummy grin and chubby fingers stretching out to you.

you let her close her fingers around your pinkie, her body still small as she’s only three weeks old prematurely, still not reaching how big she would have been at full term.

“thank you,” you tell him, voice a bit hoarse from having lost it to the past few nights of trying to shush her, and handling phone calls from the temporary hotel manager taking over from you, unsure on what to do and bothering you even more. tiredness had caught up to you, washing over you with each appointment and hour that passed.

concerned, his brows furrow at the sound of your voice, asking, “lost your voice?”. he takes a seat opposite you, resisting the urge to stretch a hand out, fingers tapping against his knee.

you nod, stroking back aurora’s hair and repositioning her head while you lightly laugh, “yeah, i’ve had to yell over her wails and try to get through to this temporary hire who’s taking over my job. they keep calling me thinking i’m just on sick leave or something.”

you hoped he would laugh. you hoped it would ease the pinch in his brows but it only deepened it. “you could get your husband to do it- or sorry- aurora’s father?” he corrects himself, not wanting to make an assumption.

lips pursed, you shake your head. “no husband. dad’s not in the picture, didn’t want a kid i’m sure,” you mutter bitterly.

“oh..that’s shitty, he’s an asshole..” realisation dawns on him, how you were alone during labour, alone when he came to see you the first time, alone when you came in crying about aurora’s restlessness. you’ve always been alone. “parents?” he asks, praying that you had that at least, but he felt the answer you were about to give gnawing at his chest.

offering him a soft smile, you shake your head, “no..they uhm, they really liked my ex. thought i should have got an abortion but i wanted kids so..is that selfish?” you don’t notice how his eyes darken, focusing on the guilty look that flashes across your face.

“no.” he grits out, shaking his head firmly. “don’t think for a second that you’re selfish, you’re not, and they’re all jerks for leavin’ you,” he continues, running his hand over his face.

letting out an appreciative hum, you keep on admiring aurora, noting every little feature and how special she is.

“see? how could that be selfish?” he murmurs, causing you to snap your head up with a confused look, letting out a little “huh”.

“you’re only thinkin’ about her, you care about her. that’s not selfish, you’re riskin’ a lot just to have this girl in your life,” he walks over, slowly taking her from your arms to check how her medicine is working.

he glances down at you, glittering blue eyes and a shared soft smile, before handing her back to you. “all good,” he mutters, before moving to his computer.

“just out of curiosity,” he calls out before you leave through the door. “what’s his name? your ex?” he raises his eyebrows, looking up from his computer.

you cock your head, stepping closer to him, “why?”

he grins and shakes his head, typing something down, “no reason.”

wary, and beginning to let a fatigued giggle escape your lips as you walk a bit closer, setting aurora’s carrier down with her in it and trying to get a glimpse of what’s he’s feverishly typing. “rafe what are you typing?”

“nothing! you can’t look at the doctor’s computer,” he laughs, hiding his screen as his hands come to your shoulders, softly spinning you around and handing aurora to you.

“rafe..” you warn over your shoulder and he only shrugs coyly, opening the door for you and giving you a little wave as you leave. not before calling after to you, “hey! remember though, you have me to help, if you need it.” you smile, mouthing another “thank you” to him before you’re leaving through the double doors, out the hospital.

when he returns to his computer he opens up the watch file he was creating, for a certain baby daddy who left his beautiful girlfriend and cute daughter - a man about to be banned from the premises.

taglist: @starkeyjoseph @rafesbabygirlx @slut-4-rafey @lanaslushworld @littlelamy @rain-likes-purple @sunny1616

[zenithsturniolo]

⇢ 𝐄𝐀𝐓 𝐇𝐄𝐑 𝐓𝐈𝐋 𝐒𝐇𝐄 𝐂𝐑𝐘, 𝐂𝐀𝐋𝐋 𝐓𝐇𝐀𝐓 𝐖𝐇𝐈𝐍𝐄 𝐍 𝐃𝐈𝐍𝐄

⚸ audio dacryphilia, pussy slapping, praise, oral (f!receiving), multiple orgasms

you’re half on his lap, half draped sideways across the couch, legs tangled up with his, one of his hands resting on your bare thigh. it’s late. the tv’s on but you’re not watching. you’re distracted by chris. he’s got that look again.

his fingers trail higher, slow. knuckles brushing under your shorts, just barely. not doing anything yet, just there, making you squirm, like he’s daring you to call him out.

“you’re quiet,” chris murmurs, barely glancing at you. “that little attitude finally wear off?”

you roll your eyes, shifting your leg, trying to ignore the way your whole body reacts to the way he touches you without really touching you. “you’re annoying.”

he grins, not even pretending to be offended. “and you’re soaked.”

you blink. “i’m not.”

he just turns his head, meets your eyes like he knows something you don’t. “bet if i slid my fingers in right now, they’d go in easy.”

your breath stutters. yeah. okay.

you shoot him a glare, weak and shaky. he just raises his eyebrows, leans in close enough that his mouth brushes the shell of your ear.

“you want me to prove it?”

you don’t answer, but your legs shift open a little on their own.

he chuckles under his breath, hand slipping higher. “yeah. that’s what i thought.”

next thing you know, he’s pulling your shorts down with one hand, not breaking eye contact. your panties go with them, and the second you’re exposed, he hums low like he expected this.

“fuckin’ knew it,” he says, thumb dragging along your inner thigh. “you’re dripping. from what, just me talkin’ to you?”

you cover your face with your hands. “shut up.”

he grabs your wrists, gently pulls your hands away. “nah. you wanna act like that, you gotta watch what i do to you.”

then he’s moving, sinking to his knees on the floor in front of you, nudging your legs up over his shoulders, mouth already brushing between your thighs like it’s instinct.

he doesn’t start soft. chris licks you like he’s been thinking about it all day— long, wet strokes of his tongue, no teasing. moaning against your soaking pussy like he can’t help it. one hand pressing your hips down, the other sliding between your legs like he already knows where you need it.

“so fucking warm,” he mutters, licking messily at your clit. “so wet for me already. you get like this every time i talk shit?”

you try to answer, but he slips two fingers inside you and your mind goes blank. your back arches, a whimper slipping out. his mouth never stops, tongue flicking fast, lips sucking, eyes flicking up every few seconds to watch you fall apart.

“that’s it,” he breathes. “good girl. let me see it.”

you can feel how wet you are—hear it, every time his fingers fuck into you, your body sucking him in so easily. he starts curling them, brushing that spot that makes your thighs shake, and you choke on a moan.

“oh my god— chris—”

he grins, messy and smug. “there she is.”

he slaps your pussy, quick and sharp, and you gasp, hips jerking.

“too much?”

you shake your head so fast it’s barely coherent.

“didn’t think so.”

he does it again— slap, then soothe, tongue flicking soft right after like a reward. your legs are already starting to shake and he’s not even close to done.

“you close?” he asks, licking you slow now, dragging his tongue flat across your clit. “yeah, you are. feel it.”

you nod, breathless. too gone to form words. you feel the heat building in your gut, that ache, that pressure.

he groans, eyes locked on your face. “then look at me when you cum. c’mon. look at me.”

you do, barely. and then you’re unraveling. your body jerks, thighs shaking, moans breaking and raw as you come on his tongue. and he just moans with you, doesn’t stop, keeps his fingers moving inside you while he licks you through it.

but it’s too much. you flinch, trying to close your legs, and he grabs your hips, pulls you back down.

“nah, baby. keep those pretty legs open.”

“chris—” your voice cracks.

“shhh. i got you. you can give me another. be good for me, yeah?”

you nod through the tears already stinging your eyes, chest heaving.

and he fucking smiles.

he slides his fingers out, just to slap your pussy again, wet and loud, and your whole body jolts.

“fuck, look at you,” he whispers, voice ragged now. “shaking already. crying, baby? you crying for me?”

you try to cover your face again but he grabs your hands and pins them to your stomach, his mouth back on your clit, tongue soft and slow now, cruel.

“don’t hide. i wanna see.”

he eats you out like he means it, like he’s addicted to the way you taste, the way you squirm, the way you sob for him. your thighs tremble, breath hitching, tears slipping down your cheeks now as he pushes you higher and higher all over again.

and when you come the second time, loud, messy, and too damn much, he laughs into your cunt like he’s proud.

“atta girl,” he groans. “fuckin’ wrecked and still so goddamn pretty.”

you’re twitching, legs kicking, trying to pull away now. and he finally, finally gives you a break, dragging his mouth off you with a loud, obscene kiss, face shiny, lips swollen.

he wipes his mouth with the back of his hand, grinning. “you good?”

you blink up at him, dazed, eyes glassy. he chuckles, crawls back up onto the couch and pulls you into his lap like nothing happened, arms wrapping around your body as your breathing slows.

“you’re so fuckin’ cute when you cry,” he whispers, kissing your temple. “next time i’ll make you cum three times.”

a/n:

find my masterlist here

🏷: @thicknick19 @sturnslutz @viviansturns @cayleeuhithinknott @briizysturn @devotedlyteenagemusic @drewswife @sturnsblogs @auttysturnz @mattspillowprincess @adoremattsturns @dolliraez @sturniolo1trips @sturns-mermaid @sophsturns @444sturns @adorechris @rriverscuomo @megameatymatt @izzylovesmatt @y2kstarr @owensbabygirl @courta13 @ribbonlovergirl @passionfruitchris @sophand4n4 @slvtf0rchr1s @matts-wife @slutformatt17 @mattsplaything @slut4chrisloads @ariheartsmatt @surprisecurlyfriess @bernardsbendystraws @lezleeferguson-120 @iconiccolo @chrismoans

© zenithsturniolo

[em1i2a3]

If you take requests or suggestions, i believe that you would execute a bob reynolds fic with this plot ✨perfectly✨

I literally LOVE all of your bob fics. They’re my comfort reads before i go to bed at night!

Body Paint

Pairing: Bob.Robert Reynolds/The Sentry/The Void x Thunderbolts!Fem!Reader!

Summary: You are trying to find the best smudge proof lipstick for the upcoming gala that the team needs to attend tomorrow, and you have found the perfect test subject for the swatches.

Warnings: Pure and utter fluff, and there’s quite a bit of sexual tension. The reader and Bob both have feelings for each other and they’re both well aware of the mutual interest (secretly of course), she takes this as an opportunity to tease.

Author’s Note: I loved this request so much and I immediately started writing it because I was so excited to give it a go! So So Fun! Thank you for the submission! :) (also credit to the artist who made the drawing too because it’s fantastic)

Word Count: 3,362

You gave every drug store lipstick display a run for its money with the collection you had laid out across the bathroom sink. An entire rainbow of tubes was scattered in a controlled type of chaos–organized first by shade, then grouped meticulously by brand. Reds on the left, mauves and berries in the middle, and neutrals off to the right like a little modest army. You had even gone so far as to lay a folded white towel beneath the lineup like a staging mat, saving yourself from scrubbing stains off the marble countertop. The air smelled faintly of your makeup remover wipes–sweet and sterile–and your forearm was streaked with half-dried swatches, but it just wasn’t good enough.

This was all in the name of finding the lipstick. The one that not only matched the dress you were wearing to the PR gala tomorrow, but one that was also smudge-proof. You didn’t want feathering, or fading, and you certainly didn’t want it transferring onto napkins, glasses or people.

You wanted security.

You knew you should’ve started this task earlier in the week, but between back-to-back recon debriefs, endless intel meetings, and mediating three separate team arguments that nearly ended in Walker and Yelena actually strangling each other, the lipstick trials had fallen to the bottom of your to-do list.

Now there was less than twenty-four hours to go, and you were elbows-deep in swatches and stress.

You capped one more tube with a dissatisfied sigh and reached for the next–

Only to pause at the sound of a soft knock on the bathroom door.

“Y-Y/N?” Came Bob’s voice–muffled, hesitant and laced with that familiar nervous warmth. “I-I need to come in and get my brush. I forgot it after my s-shower…” You froze, mid-reach, one hand hovering over a berry toned satin finish tube. Your lips curled into a slow smile.

Perfect timing. For you, anyway. For Bob? That remained to be seen. You crossed the small tiled room in a few barefoot steps and swung the door open with a grin.

“Excellent! You’re just who I need.” Bob blinked at you like a deer caught in LED headlights. His shirt–black, baggy, and soft–was damp around the collar, clinging to his skin and chest in a way that made it impossible not to look. His light brown hair curled at in little waves at the ends, still damp from his shower that was still kissing the walls, and the navy sweatpants sitting low on his hips were hugging him far too well for a man who clearly didn’t see himself in the way you were seeing him in.

”…Wh-What?” He asked, brows furrowed, gaze daring from your eyes to the mess of tubes on the counter.

“Come in,” You said smoothly, reaching out and tugging him gently by the wrist, guiding him over the threshold with ease, “Sit on the toilet lid, and hurry up with the hair brushing…I need a test subject.” He obeyed-but only in the way someone might follow a siren calling them to certain doom. He moved like he wasn’t sure if he’d stepped into a trap or a daydream.

”L-Last time I heard the words ‘test s-subject’ I ended up getting injected with a sun god…” He mumbled, grabbing the brush from the hanging organizer on the shower door. You laughed, warm and low at the comment.

“Relax. I’m not injecting you with anything. You’re perfectly safe with me.” Bob sat down slowly, brush limp in his hand as his gaze swept across the counter again, scanning over the contents that you had lined up with such care.

”S-So what is all of t-this?” You turned slightly towards him, unscrewing a velvet-matte red as you spoke.

“I’m trying to find the perfect lipstick for the gala tomorrow,” You said matter-of-factly, swiping the colour gently across your bottom lip, “It has to match my dress and it has to be smudge-proof.”

Bob tilted his head, watching your quick movements intently, “Smudge-proof?”

“Yes. I don’t want to be constantly running to the bathroom to check for fading or fix transfer stains. I want to actually enjoy the night. Have a drink. Maybe dance. You know…Breathe.” He gave a thoughtful little nod, bringing the brush through his damp hair.

”D-Didn’t really think about that, a-actually…” You turned away from your reflection to look at him, a coy smile peeling onto your lips.

“Most guys don’t.” But Bob wasn’t most guys of course, and as expected, a beat later he added to the conversation again…

”…W-Wait…Why does it have to be completely smudge-proof though? I mean if you’re just–“ You shrugged, letting your gaze flick toward the mirror, while your lips pressed together, transferring the color over to the bare one above.

”You never know,” You said casually, “I might be planning on kissing someone.” Bob froze like someone had yanked all the oxygen out of the room. His cheeks–already pink from the post-shower warmth–turned a deeper, rosier red in seconds. It bloomed across his cheekbones, dusting the tips of his ears, and spread like a sunburn. His mouth opened slightly like he meant to say something, but all he managed to get out was:

”O-Oh…” He choked, swallowing the lump of nerves in his throat. The brush in his hand was still mid-motion through his damp locks, but it had stopped moving entirely. You smiled at him.

”Alright,” You started, twisting the lipstick down and putting the cap back on with a soft click, “First one. You ready?” He nodded slowly, like he couldn’t trust his voice. His eyes tracked you as you stepped forward–deliberate and unhurried–until you were standing directly between his legs.

His brush lowered slightly, and then the wave of your scent hit his nose.

Your perfume was warm, and sweet, with a hint of plum riding off of the tail end of each inhale he took. Beneath the main notes there was something tropical–maybe coconut from your makeup remover, or the vanilla-tinged balms you always wore when your lips were bare.

But now your lips weren’t bare at all. They were red, and bold, and smooth, just like fresh velvet. He looked up slowly, through his lashes, and found you were already staring down at him. You tilted your head, smiling, the curve of your mouth smug in a way that made something tighten in his chest.

You didn’t say anything as you reached forward–fingers brushing gently along the side of his jaw, your thumb just beneath the hinge of it. He let you tilt his head more toward you like he was made of clay and you were the ceramicist.

He dropped the brush into his lap, forgetting about it completely.

Your face hovered near his and he could feel his breath hitch audibly. You leaned in slow enough that he swore he could hear his own heartbeat ringing through the room.

Then your lips pressed to his cheek.

Warm, firm and lingering. It wasn’t a quick peck either. Not an innocent brush. It was a kiss.

You lingered just long enough for him to feel the curve of your mouth, and the faint stick of product with the pressure of intention behind it. He could smell the stain now–berries and heat, sharp pigment and your sweet breath that had a faint scent of strawberries from the gum you chewed on. If he was a sailor and you were the siren…He would be dead at sea.

When you pulled away, he swore the room was spinning a little. You cocked your head to the side and looked at the mark you had left just above the apple of his cheek. A bright, undeniable red, plastered on his pale tone.

“Hmm,” You said thoughtfully, “Definitely transferred.” Bob sat in stunned silence, skin still tingling from where your mouth had been–he didn’t know whether it was because he was allergic to the ingredients or because it was just him buzzing from all the adrenaline, though he would find out in due time. You dabbed at your own lips with a tissue saturated in make-up remover, wiping the colour clean.

“Not a keeper,” You mumbled, “It’s a shame–it was a really good match.” He didn’t say anything. He couldn’t find words, nor could he find a way to breathe. He didn’t even know how he was still alive at this point, all he knew was he saw you reach out again.

You selected the next shade carefully.

A sultry plum–deep, and elegant, with just enough bite to stand out. You rolled the colour across your lips in smooth, practiced strokes, then blotted once on a folded tissue before turning back to him.

Bob still hadn’t moved an inch. He was still sitting frozen on the seat, brush limp in his lap, his shimmering blue eyes flickering between your mouth and the floor. The cheek you had kissed was flushed a bit deeper now.

“Test two,” You announced gently, stepping into his space again, until the hem of your t-shirt brushed against his thigh and he had nowhere left to look that wouldn’t betray him in some way. Your hand came up to his jaw again–just two fingers this time, soft and easy, tilting his face the opposite way.

His lashes fluttered under the feeling of your breath brushing over them as you kissed him again. This time it was just below his temple, closer to the hinge of his jaw–closer to where his pulse was throbbing faintly beneath his skin. You pressed a little firmer this time, letting your breath fan against his ear.

Bob inhaled a quiet breath through his nose, attempting to keep himself calm, but in reality he was gripping the fabric of his sweatpants between his fingers like it was the only thing holding him back from collapsing. When you pulled away, you didn’t look at him, you just kept your focus on the mark.

”…Transferred,” You murmured, brushing your thumb lightly over the stain–making sure it was more of a caress than a swipe. You didn’t move back this time, you just grabbed another makeup wipe and removed the color before reaching for another.

It was a dusty rose this time, it was softer, and much more muted than any of the other colors he had seen you in.

Once you had applied it, you leaned in–closer now–and kissed the slope of his cheekbone, just beneath the curve of his eye. Your lips barely grazed the skin there–it was as if you did it to see if he would flinch or move.

Bob’s jaw tensed under your touch, and you were hyper aware of his breath hitting your skin in short, warm bursts, his chest lifting against you. He hadn’t said a word–but his hands had now left his lap and were gripping the edge of the counter, white-knuckled in anticipation.

You reached for the next tube–something far more delicate than the dusty rose before it. A pink so faint it was almost nothing at all. A whisper of colour. You applied it, blotted it, then turned again. Bob had somehow managed to get a handle on his breathing in the moments you were applying the next colour, but it was too controlled. You could practically feel the storm building beneath his skin, golden and humming, and desperate to stay still.

Your thighs brushed the inside of his knees as you tilted his head up to yours again, looking at the way his skin was flushed and warm, beneath the shades of pinks and reds…A gradient of restraint. You leaned in, and this time your kiss landed just beside the corner of his mouth, not touching it, but close enough to tease.

Bob made a sound. It was barely audible. A sof, helpless little nnnnh in the back of his throat–like a gasp that had gotten stuck on the way out. You didn’t say anything. You only bit back a knowing smile, and pretended not to hear it. You just wiped your lips again and moved on to the next shade–a creamy nude gloss, with just a hint of peach.

You came back in and kissed beneath his jaw, where the stubble was soft and patchy and tender. The spot made him twitch, his throat working under the weight of the kiss, like he was trying to swallow air.

His breathing changed then and became heavier and shallower.

And when you came close to him again, in a different shade–this time pressing your lips right onto his Adam’s apple–Bob’s head tipped back instinctively.

Like he was offering himself up to you–surrendering himself completely.

You continued to kiss him, moving progressively lower, marking him up with various shades. Then suddenly you found yourself at the hollow of his throat, just between the lines of his collarbones. His chest was rising faster now, with flush traveling beneath his shirt, like it was echoing the trail your mouth had carved against his skin.

You pulled back slowly, lips hovering about the damp collar of his shirt, bringing your hand up to brush over the fabric.

”Oops…” You murmured softly, putting on a teasing tone beneath your words, “I think I’m running out of room.” Bob looked down at you with eyes that were no longer blue. You hadn’t even noticed he had his eyes closed tightly for the majority of this until now.

There was gold flickering at the edges. Sentry was just barely cresting the surface–quiet, curious, and turned-on by the proximity. He was enamoured by what was happening, and Bob was allowing him to watch through his eyes because he was too focused on trying to keep himself together. The air around Bob was shimmering faintly, vibrating with tension like he was lighting up the room.

The sensation of your lips had done this…You had done this, and you were proud of it.

Your nails dragged gently down the front of his shirt, tracing a circle around the fabric.

”I think you may need to take this off…To give me more space of course.” You whispered, watching as his brain seemed to short-circuit. His eyes were still half-lidded, heavy with heat and something distant and flickering gold. But when they opened fully they met yours with the softest, most terrified kind of care, glancing down at your mouth just as your bottom lip slipped between your teeth…And that’s what did it for him. That was the punch of encouragement to the gut.

He gave you a small nod, then reached for the hem of his shirt. His hands trembled slightly from the kind of overstimulated shyness that lived just under the surface of his flesh, in the space between ‘I want this’ and ‘I don’t know what to do with all of it.’ He peeled the black shirt up slowly, exposing inch after inch of pale skin, dusted with freckles and pure heat. There were a few scars here and there. A mole right near the dip of his sternum. A faint sheen of sweat that bloomed across his chest and shoulders from the heat in the room–or from the heat of your lips…Possibly both.

The fabric came over his head, messing up his semi-brushed hair in the process, and he folded it carefully in his lap like he was going to get up to put it on display or something. You let yourself stare.

At the freckles on his collarbones, the ones on his biceps. The soft stretch marks that feathered under his arms and the little curve of his ribs as they flared gently with each nervous breath he took. You wanted to map everything with your mouth.

So you did.

You leaned in again, with a fresh colour on your lips–deep pink this time, and kissed just beneath his collarbone, then a little to the right, then down the slope of his chest–right over where his heart was pulsating beneath its shield of flesh.

Bob made a quiet sound, something soft and strangled that never made it fully out of his throat. His hands were still in his lap, his thumbs gripping the hem of the shirt like it was the only thing keeping him from grabbing yours. Every part of him was vibrating–his jaw clenched, chest rising, shoulders tense–and still he let you do it, staying perfectly still.

You changed shades, kissing higher, then lower.

A sheer gloss that glimmered under the light as you kissed just below the curve of his pec. A matte brick red as you moved toward the center of his chest. Then you put on something soft again, something nude and barely there, as you pressed your hands against his thighs for a bit of leverage while your lips found the inside slope of his ribcage. You could’ve sworn you felt his knees buckle under your hands.

By the time you reached the underside of his pectoral muscle, you heard the faintest breath catch in his lungs, like he couldn’t even take full breaths anymore. And then you kissed just above it.

One final, perfect kiss.

You pressed your lips down and held them there–longer, slower, firmer–fighting back the urge to mark the skin with something that wasn’t lipstick. You felt the flutter of his pulse beneath it. And when you finally pulled away, you let your lips ghost against him, your eyes trailing down to where you had kissed.

“Ooooh. This one’s good…I think we found it. No transfer!” You announced, looking up at Bob, seeing the ruined look plastered on his face.

His eyes were heavy, shot through with blue and gold. His mouth parted. His skin was flushed a deep red and marked in soft lip stains, all across his chest, neck, jaw, and face. The air shimmered around him like static clinging to the atmosphere, and he was breathless. He let out a sigh.

”P-Perfect,” He whimpered, so dazed his words barely had shape to them. His body shifted, like he was meaning to stand–maybe to retreat, maybe to run cold water over his steaming body, maybe just to breathe–

But you didn’t let him.

Before he could even try to get up, you surged forward and kissed him on the lips. Hungry, wet, and deep. You kissed him like it was the conclusion to a story you had been telling in colour across his skin. Bob let out a muffled, desperate little moan into your mouth, as his hands found your waist, then your back, then your hips–grabbing, pulling, and holding. He crushed you to him, allowing all his restraint to unravel all at once, letting what little control he had slip through his fingers.

You kissed him like you had wanted to from the very start. Like all the kisses around his whole body led to this one final one–this overwhelming, messy, and utterly perfect one.

He kissed you back with awe. With the kind of pressure that said ‘thank you, please don’t stop, I’ve been waiting.’

You pulled back just enough to breathe–barely. Your foreheads bumped, and the air between you was heat, electricity, and trembling silence.

Bob’s lips were swollen now. Kiss-bitten, and wet. But when you looked…

The colour on your lips hadn’t transferred onto his. You smirked, and reached up, gently swiping the faintest trail of spit off his swollen bottom lip with your thumb, tilting your head to the side.

”Fantastic,” You whispered, leaning forward just a bit, “It’s definitely kiss-proof.”

[glassbxttless]

No One’s Ever?

eddie munson x fem!reader

word count: 2.0k+

summary: Eddie’s 26, he’s had girlfriends before, he’s hung out at parties you threw with your college friends, and yet he’s holding back a secret that makes him feel like he’s missing out. You don’t mind fixing that little problem right up for him.

warnings: 18+ MINORS DNI, oral sex (m receiving), A new budding relationship, Eddie’s first blow job, a pinch of jealousy

notes: Eddie, my baby 🥹😭🫶🏻 This started off as a CC Fest fic, and it quickly evolved into something else lmao. So I hope yall enjoy it! Big thanks to @iitsmandii and @keeryhours for reading this over and @peachyproserpina for editing!

After ten years of friendship, you’d lost track of how many movie nights had ended like this— curled up with Eddie on his couch, both of you pretending you weren’t gradually orbiting closer to each other. Like two dumb magnets circling the inevitable— you’d had the conversation last week, decided you’d give it a go, the whole dating thing. The trailer was cluttered, guitar picks scattered on the side table, an ashtray on the counter that really needed to be emptied, a laundry basket of Eddie’s clothes that had clearly needed a wash.

You were sitting sideways on the couch, your legs stretched across his lap. That old blanket you’d gifted him back before graduation draped over both of your laps. It shows just how hard it’s been loved over the last six years, it’s threadbare, carries holes around the edges that Eddie has asked you to sew and then never brings it ‘round, the edges are fraying and yet, it’s still his favorite blanket. Simply because you had given it to him and now as it’s slung across both of you, your foot sticks out from under it. He picks at a loose string on your sock while the movie, Arachnaphobia, flickers in the background, droning on and on completely ignored.

Your eyes drift over your best friend’s— no, your boyfriend’s— face. His eyes focused down on what his hands are doing. He pulls the string loose and tears it from the fabric, leaning forward to toss it onto the coffee table before settling back in against the cushions. You watch as lean muscle moves under the faded Iron Maiden t-shirt that was definitely not his. You knew Eddie’s wardrobe and you knew he had never worn this one before. You figure it was Gareth’s by the way it rode up a bit in the back when he had leaned up. You smile, watching as he shakes his curls out just slightly, sighing.

“I’ve been thinking about something,” he says quietly— chewing the inside of his cheek raw— but his voice comes off casual. 

You finally meet his eyes, your eyebrows lifting in curiousity. “Yeah?”

He hesitates for a moment. It’s not dramatic, nor performative. It’s just long enough to let you feel the nerves bubbling up to the surface of his chest. He drags his hand upwards, his fingers pausing at your ankle. And then he runs his fingers up and down, rubbing gently at your skin. His fingertips are calloused and rough, but his palms warm, strong even. Your mind immediately drifting back to the way they had cupped your face the night he had told you he loved you at the feel of them. How he was so worried he’d ruined the friendship you had built up— he’d done it once before back in school, fucked up with a friend because his heart had gotten too involved. But you didn’t care, you just leaned into him, kissed him back, and—

“I’ve never had a blowjob,” he finally sighs, his eyes darting away from yours as his shoulders deflate. He leans back into the cushions, his index finger tapping against your ankle.

You blink, surprised. “Really?”

“Yeah, really.” He lets out a self-conscious laugh, afraid you were just teasing him for half of a second. His mouth quirks up in an embarrassed smile as his cheeks start to pinken. “Kind of pathetic for a guy my age, right?”

You shake your head, sitting up just a little as one of your hands slides around his shoulders. “No… It’s just a bit unexpected... You’ve always talked like you were a walking sex manual.”

He huffs out another laugh and shakes his head. “Yeah, well... High school was all fumbles and dry-humping, and college…” He waves a hand vaguely in the air. Eddie didn’t go to college, his memories were just visits that consisted of him and Gareth trying to bang your roommates and nothing more than that. “I got good at some stuff. Fingering. Going down on girls. I’m not a total idiot. But somehow, no one’s ever offered to, y’know…”

You give him a look, a mix of confusion and pity. You rub his back gently, his shoulders, the back of his neck. Anywhere you can reach to make him just feel. “No one’s ever gone down on you, baby?”

“Not once.” He laughs again, but it was a little tighter, like he had just revealed his darkest secret. He fidgets a bit, shifts his hips under you. His hand tightening around your ankle for just a moment as he spreads his thighs just a little to get comfortable. But if you two were gonna try this dating thing, you might as well know. “I had one girl say she’d do it later.” You watch as he pulls at another loose string of your sock, biting his lip, nerves apparent with the way his brows are knotted down, before he speaks again, “Later never came. A few others just weren’t into it, I guess. I never wanted to be that guy who begged for it.”

You shift just a bit closer, your fingers brushing his wrist that had settled across your legs. “That really sucks, Eds.”

He shrugs, trying to play it off, but his pink cheeks are a dead giveaway. “It’s not like I’m really losing sleep over it, just… sometimes I think about it. Wonder if I’m missing out on something good, y’know?”

You pause, letting the silence stretch thin between you. Then you leaned in close to him again, your voice a whisper. “You are.”

He looks at you, his eyes sharpening just a little at the taunt. “Yeah? Am I?”

You nod at him, biting the inside of your cheek before you let out a breath. “And I’d like to fix that… If you want me to, that is.”

There’s a moment where you swear the only thing you can hear is Eddie’s heartbeat— just one moment— but then he exhales and smiles, a real big one this time. Crooked and soft and fucking stunned.

“You’re being serious, babe?”

“I am,” you say softly and nod, the blanket falling to the floor as you shift to straddle his lap. You run your fingers through his hair, catching on knots that you work out carefully. “Dead serious. Wanna let me blow your mind?”

Eddie lets out a laugh, not being able to believe what was unfolding in front of him. “God, I must’ve saved a fucking kitten from a burning building in a past life or something for this to be happening.”

“This is just what girlfriends do, Eds. Calm down.” You roll your eyes and kiss him— slow, steady, your hand twisting slightly at a bit of his hair— and he melts like warm wax right into you. His arms slide around your waist, his breath catching in his throat when you rock against him just once. By the time you pull away, his mouth is hanging slack and his pupils are blown wide. “Take your pants off,” you giggle softly. “Now.”

He obeys like he’d been waiting for you to give that order his entire life. He fumbles with the button on his jeans as you slide off his lap, sinking to your knees on the floor in front of him. His cock was already hard and strained against the black fabric of his boxers. He hisses when you pull the waistband back, revealing his cock, flushed and heavy, the tip fucking glistening.

You look up at him from between his thighs and see something you hadn’t really expected to see, you never had before, not like this— he was flushed up to his ears, his breathing shallow. He was fucking nervous as hell.

“You okay?” you ask softly, your hand rubbing along his thigh gently.

He nods, swallowing hard. “Just… fuck. Yeah, I’m fine… this just feels really real now. Like we’re dating dating.”

You smile at him, rolling your eyes a bit. “That’s because it is real, Eddie.”

You lean in and press your lips to the crease of his inner thigh first, kissing gently as your eyes flick up to watch his breath hitch. Then you move, pressing a kiss just above the base of him, then lower, dragging your mouth along his length without taking him in.

His hands clench at his thighs, trying to find a place to rest them. “You’re really gonna take your time with this, huh?”

You hum softly against the underside of his cock, moving back to nudging your nose against the base of him. “Damn right I am.” When you finally move up and wrap your lips around the head, his breath leaves his chest in one shocked, broken exhale.

“Holy shit,” he groans softly, his hips twitching up as he squirms under your touch. “That— fuck— your mouth is so warm, Jesus Christ—”

You suck gently, letting your tongue swirl around his heavy length, then you ease down slowly, taking him into your mouth inch by inch. By the time your nose presses into that thatch of brown curls at the base, his thighs are trembling. His hands hover over your head uselessly, trying to decide whether to hold your hair or cling to the couch cushions beneath him.

You glance up at him through your lashes, to be met with the sight of him looking down at you like you were some divine cosmic event— his eyes wide, lips parted as a soft breath escapes them, his chest heaving. “This is the hottest thing that’s ever happened to me,” he mutters softly. “And I once had sex in the back of a hearse, so that’s saying something— fuck, do that again.”

You bob your head just a bit more. A little faster this time, stroking what you couldn’t take in your mouth with your hand. He groans so loud at the feeling— tossing his head back against the cushions— you were sure his next door neighbor heard.

“Shit— fuck, baby, that’s— goddamn, I’m not gonna be able to look at you again after this without getting hard.”

You moan around him at the compliment, hollowing your cheeks, and he actually gasps, closing his eyes.

“Oh fuck, okay, okay— if you keep doing that I’m gonna— shit— fuck, I’m cumming—”

You don’t stop, your mouth working him through it. His hips shallowly thrusting up into you with each little grunt from the back of his throat. You swallow everything as you pull away, then give one last gentle kiss to his twitching tip as he slumps against the back of the couch. 

You climb back up beside him, wiping your mouth with the back of your hand. You settle yourself back into your earlier seat, toss your legs back over his lap, and drape the blanket over both of you again.

He stares at the ceiling for a moment, completely still. His chest rising and falling slowly, but his mind racing. He’s never gotten a blow job before that, but you sure as hell have given one. It pangs deep in his heart. Some guy from your college got your mouth before he did? If he thinks too hard about it, his chest may combust. So he shakes it off, and then he laughs, “I am literally never going to shut up about this.”

You laughed. “I’d be disappointed if you did.”

He turns his head back to look at you, bright red cheeks adorning his face, still catching his breath. “You just gave me the best orgasm of my entire fucking life, and now I have to figure out how to go on living with that.”

You smirk, moving closer to him settling in against his chest. He throws his arm around your shoulders, rubbing your lower back as you whisper, “You’ll manage.”

There’s a long pause between the both of you before he chuckles, “…You’re gonna let me return the favor, right?”

You raised an eyebrow. “Eventually.”

He grins. “Cool. Cool cool cool. Just making sure. Because I’ve got a lot of fucking pent-up blowjob karma to balance out.”

tags ;; @vinecstasy @emxxblog @samslvrgirl @robinbuckleywife @hazydespair @joelmeller @djomorelikedelulu @dancininseptember @peachyproserpina @missjadesfics @iheartgrayson @meetmeatyourworst @punkrockmlchael @prettycalla @getaapologist

[anonymityisfunwriter]

Never Been Kissed

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Reader Summary: You've never been one to kiss and tell.

A.N. - This one is for all my The Prophecy Girlies... also known as the most self indulgent thing I've ever written.

AnonymityIsFun Masterlist | Bucky Barnes Masterlist

"Come on," Sam coaxes. "Tell us or take a drink."

You swipe up the shot set before you, downing it without so much as a wince. You cross your arms, keeping your chin defiantly raised as you settle further into the couch, "I'm not telling you anything."

“Boo,” Sam playfully heckles, his drink sloshing in his hand. “Come on, it’s not that big a deal. Just tell us.”

“Absolutely not, I already took the damn drink.”

Sam quirks an eyebrow, refusing to back down, “Unless it was someone here?”

“Oh my God.” You pinch the bridge of your nose. “Sam, I did not hook up with anyone in this room.”

“Yes!” Sam teases. “That explains everything! That’s why you drank!”

“Or maybe I just don’t kiss and tell.”

“You’ve been drinking all night. And there’s only one reason you won’t tell us anything - because it’s someone in this very room!”

“Settle down, Sherlock,” Bucky cajoles.

You swipe the glass from Sam's loose grip, “You’re drunk, Sam.”

Sam boops your nose, swiping the glass back, “I’m not the one that’s been drinking for every question.”

“And yet, I'm still not nearly as drunk as you are," you shoot back, setting your drink on the table. You pat Bucky's shoulder, standing up from the couch, "And now, I’m going to bed. Goodnight, children.”

“Come on,” Sam drunkenly whines. “Don’t be a sore loser!”

“I have a debrief first thing, and I’m the only one of you assholes that won’t need to be carried to my room.”

Sam shouts after you, “Boo!”

Not a moment later, you feel a warm hand tap your shoulder, “Hey, wait up! I’ll walk you up.”

“Oh, sure.”

As you walk together, Bucky leans in conspiratorially, “So… now that it’s just us… Who was it?”

You groan, “Not you too.”

“Come on! It’s me! You can tell me!” Bucky cajoles.

“It’s none of your business.”

"I’m not asking for details. I just wanna know."

"You’re pushy when you’ve been drinking that Asgardian stuff, you know that?"

"Come on. It really can't be that bad. I probably don't even know the guy... unless I do?"

You hold his gaze for a moment, silently pleading with him to just drop it, "Bucky... enough."

"Was it Sam? Steve? Come on, I won't judge you if it was."

"Bucky, stop."

"Come on, just tell me!"

"No! Now drop it!" you snap.

Bucky freezes, his eyes widening, "I'm - I'm sorry, I didn't think it was that big of a deal."

You start to storm off, tossing a sharp retort over your shoulder, "Maybe not to you."

"Hey, hey, I'm sorry." He jogs after you, resting his warm, gentle hand on your forearm to stop you, "Really. You don't have to tell me. I was just being a dick. You’re right, it’s none of my business."

You squeeze your eyes shut, feeling the guilt pooling in the pit of your stomach for yelling at Bucky. "I can't tell you."

His brows furrow, "What?"

This was it. This was when everyone found out your deep, dark, embarrassing secret. You take another deep breath, bracing yourself for Bucky’s laughter and ridicule, "I can't tell you... because it hasn't happened yet."

His worry and confusion only compounds. His neck cranes slightly, almost like he believes his super solider hearing failing him is more plausible than your complete and total inexperience, "What?"

You take another massive breath, your cheeks heating, "I've never - it never happened for me."

“Huh?”

“Please don’t make me say it again.”

"Wait, wait, but earlier - earlier Natasha asked you about your first time. You said - you said it happened later than people might think."

You couldn’t believe he really wasn’t getting it. It was something you had come to accept about yourself. There was just something fundamentally wrong with you. Something not quite right. Something unloveable - at least in the romantic sense.

Shame heats your face, and you have to clench your fists in some hopeless attempt to keep it together in front of Bucky.

You try to shrug as casually as you can, "It's not technically a lie. Most people don't think someone can make it this long without your first kiss happening."

“Wait, wait.” If he was struggling to understand before, this may have just broken him. “You haven’t had your first kiss?”

You swallow the knot in your throat, hoping the word doesn’t sound as strangled as it feels, “No.”

Your shoulders sharply rise with a forced intake of breath as you wait for it. You wait for the litany of platitudes. The halfhearted consolations and excuses.

While you’d never told anyone about this missed rite of passage, you had mistakenly confided in a select few. You never said too much. Never said that you hadn’t ever been kissed. You usually offered something offhanded about not really dating much.

They didn’t need to know just how deep your inexperience ran. It didn’t matter anyway. The response was always the same. Some surface level words of comfort or dismissal.

You could practically hear the words falling from Bucky’s lips.

'It'll happen when you least expect it.'

'You just have to stop looking.'

'Put yourself out there.'

'You should lower your standards.'

'You're not missing out on much.'

The words you know all too well never come.

He chews on his bottom lip, his own mental turmoil as clear as day on his face. He didn’t know what to say and that was clear. He opens his mouth and your brace yourself for impact.

“I’m sorry. I didn’t know.”

You freeze, a little shocked by his response. “Don’t be.”

“No, no, I was being a dick and pushing you to talk about something you’re not comfortable with. I should understand that better than anyone else here.”

“I just - I don’t really tell people. It’s embarrassing.”

“Embarrassing?”

“Yeah, Bucky,” you scoff, a little too defensive. “It’s a little embarrassing. I’m a grown ass woman that’s never been kissed. I’m a grown woman that no one’s ever show the least bit of interest in.”

His hands stop mid air, “I’m sorry, what?”

“What?”

He quirks an incredulous brow, “No one’s shown interest?”

“No…”

His entire head twists with disbelief, “No one? Really?”

“I’ve never even been asked on a date before,” you confess.

“What?”

“Will you quit saying that?”

“Sorry, sorry! It’s just a little hard to believe.”

You can't help but roll your eyes, “Why is that hard to believe?”

“Because it’s you! Look at you! Someone must’ve shown interest at some point.”

You try to shrug it off again, desperately hoping that Bucky doesn’t see how much this actually does hurt, “No. It���s always just been me.”

“Not even like a schoolyard crush or something?”

“Well, I had crushes, sure. That doesn’t mean that anyone had them on me.” Bucky’s face remains frozen in that confused, disbelieving grimace for a beat too long after you’ve finished speaking that you feel desperate to paper over the emotional cracks. It’s fine. That’s what you’ve told yourself your entire life, and that’s exactly what you’ll tell him, “Listen, I’m fine with it now. I’ve come to terms with it. I’m content. Maybe romance just isn’t in-“

“Can I kiss you?”

Now, it was your turn to look confused and taken aback, “What?”

“Can I?” he offers again, his eyes flicker to your lips so quickly you can’t be sure you didn’t just imagine it. “Kiss you?”

You immediately begin to backtrack, taking a half step back to put some distance between the two that seems to shrink with every passing moment, “Bucky, you really don’t have to do that.”

“What if I want to?”

Your eyebrows pull together in disbelief. “Do you?”

“Yes.” His answer is so immediate and reflexive it’s hard not to believe him. “I want to. Please.”

His whispered ‘please’ is your undoing. You nod ever so slightly, your voice nothing but a choked whisper, “I won’t be good at it.”

“I don’t believe that.” At this point, he’s staring at your lips more than anything else. His flesh hand raises to your cheek, softly cupping it. “Just relax.”

Your breathing comes faster as his breath dances across your cheeks, “Bucky…”

“I want you to remember this.” You’re not sure he meant to say that out loud, but the words sent a pleasantly unfamiliar shudder down your spine.

And without another word, his lips gently brush yours. For a long moment, you just stand there, not moving an inch. Until your hand moves of its own accord to rest on his chest. It slowly trails up his shoulder and down to the nape of his neck. Your mouth hesitantly moves against his, slowly becoming more relaxed with each little breathy sound he pulls from you.

It feels like forever and a split second all at once. Especially when he slowly drags his lips away from yours. As he pulls away, he licks his lips like he’s savoring the taste of you while it still lingers on his lips.

He rest his head against yours for a long moment. His lips are puffy and glistening under the low light of the Compound hallway, “There. Now, you’ve been kissed.”

AnonymityIsFun MasterlistBucky Barnes Masterlist

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[mwphisto]

Sylus is a gentleman.

So calm and composed, oozing confidence and power. He’s never glanced twice at anybody, nobody has ever caught his attention. Just you. Only you.

You feel honored, he’s a gorgeous and dangerous man after all. To be the object of all his affections? It’s perfect. So perfect you nearly feel unworthy of it. Sylus, however, assures you and reassures you that you very much are.

He prioritizes you, puts all of your needs before his. He’s always checking on you, asking for your consent, asking for it again just to be sure, and then maybe one more time to be safe. He treats you like the finest jewel, the most precious sculpture, something he needs to protect.

So, yes, Sylus is a gentleman. Even in bed.

“Good girl, taking all of it in one go.”

You’re clawing at his biceps, jaw slack as your body writhes underneath him. You’re utterly breathless, trying desperately to adjust to him plunging inside in one go.

“You begged me to do this, kitten. Don’t back out now.” But he’s flushed and panting, as if he can’t reel himself in either. Utterly overwhelmed by the feeling of you. Honestly, he’s lucky he didn’t blow his load in that one movement.

“Just wanna be… close to you.” Your legs are locking around his waist, thighs cushioning his hips as you tug him impossibly closer. Sylus can’t form a coherent thought, never mind a remotely human noise. The sound that does rumble from his throat is nearly animalistic.

“You’re trying to kill me, kitten.” His words are accentuated with the throb of his cock, suctioned between your gummy walls. “You’re trying to kill me too, we’re even.” The nails that had been scraping his biceps now found their way to his shoulders, raking across the tense muscles in a soothing motion.

At least he assumes it’s meant to be soothing, he’s trembling instead. “Just…” his head falls into the crook of your neck, breathing in your sweat and musk. “…following my kitten’s orders. What man would I be if I didn’t?”

[pitlanepeach]

The Long Way Home I Chapter Seven

Oscar Piastri x Harper Grace (OFC)

Summary — When Harper, a kind girl with a guarded heart, meets rising karting star Oscar Piastri at their English boarding school, sparks fly.

It only takes one silly moment of teenaged love for their lives to change forever.

Warnings — Teenage love, growing up together, falling in love, teen pregnancy, no explicit scenes when the characters are underaged (obviously??), strong language, manipulative parents, past death of a parent, dyscalculia, hardly any angst, slice-of-life basically!

Notes — Surprise update! Yes, it's 1am and this is the longest chapter so far. Shhh. I'm craving porridge (is it the boarding school nostalgia? Probably)!

Wattpad Link | Series Masterlist

They lay side by side in Oscar's narrow bed, Harper curled into his chest like she was trying to disappear into him. The radiator in the corner clicked every few minutes, rattling weakly like it was barely holding the heat hostage.

Sam was snoring softly in the other bed, back turned, face half-buried in his pillow. He hadn't asked many questions when Harper had climbed through the window earlier in her socks and school jumper. Just lifted his head, blinked once, and mumbled, "She staying?"

Oscar had nodded. Sam had grunted and rolled over.

Now, in the dark, the room felt small. Still. Safe, in that oddly teenage, temporary way — like nothing outside of it could reach them for a little while.

Harper's breath warmed the space between them. She shifted, tugging the scratchy blanket higher over her shoulders.

"I think I'm going to start showing soon," she whispered, voice barely there.

Oscar didn't say anything right away. His hand rested against the small of her back, thumb moving slow, calming circles just under the hem of her sweatshirt. He could feel the warmth of her skin and the tension still coiled beneath it.

"Maybe," he said eventually. "Dunno. Maybe not for a few more weeks."

"I'll need a new uniform skirt soon. Mine's tight."

"Headmaster said you could wear leggings if you wanted."

"I know." She exhaled sharply. "But I like wearing a skirt. And leggings'll just make people stare more than they already do."

Oscar winced slightly. "Yeah. Didn't take long for everyone to find out, did it?"

No. No, it hadn't.

It was late January now. They'd known about the baby for just over three weeks — and the school had known for at least two. She wasn't even sure how. Maybe someone overheard a call. Maybe someone read her expression too closely one morning in chapel. Or maybe it had just been Sam.

"Pretty sure it was your roommate," she murmured. "Can't keep a secret to save his life."

Oscar snorted under his breath. "Yeah. I love him, but he's hopeless."

She hummed. "I hate being stared at."

Oscar glanced down. Her voice had gone quiet again.

"I always hated it," she said. "Even before all this. The way people would look at me like I was some painting they want to own. It happened a lot when I was little. With my dad."

Oscar leaned in and kissed her forehead, slow and soft. "Then they don't get to look at you anymore," he said. "Just me."

She raised an eyebrow. "Possessive."

"Protective," he corrected, then blushed awkwardly.

That made her smile. She buried her face against his chest again.

Outside, snow tapped gently at the dorm window. The radiator clicked again.

After a long moment, she whispered, "I'm so relieved, you know. That you were okay with me... wanting to go through with this." Her voice wobbled. "I know it's mad. I know we're fifteen, and scared and it's going to make everything ten times harder than normal. But I think—" Her throat caught. "I think I already love it. The baby."

Oscar didn't move. For a second, she worried maybe he'd frozen. Maybe he'd changed his mind.

Then he nodded. Just once.

"Okay," he said.

She blinked up at him, eyes glossy. "Okay?"

"We'll make it work," he said. "Whatever you want, Harp. That's what we do. Already told you that, didn't I?"

She wiped her cheek with her sleeve, her breathing hitching. "You did."

For a while, they were quiet. Just the soft rise and fall of two bodies pressed together, trying to be brave.

Then, like a pebble dropped into still water, she asked, "What was it like? Growing up?"

Oscar looked at her. "Me?"

"No," she said, deadpan. "The other guy in this bed."

He laughed. "Alright. Cheeky." Then he shrugged. "I dunno. Normal? Mum made me packed lunches. Dad travelled a lot for work. I've had a hardcore obsession with cars since I was about two."

Harper smiled. "That's endearing."

"You?"

She made a soft, ambiguous noise in the back of her throat.

"Different," she said eventually. "My childhood didn't look like the ones on TV. There wasn't the little house on the end of the street with the dad in the driveway and the golden retriever named Biscuit. My dad... he was who he was. And my mum—her parents were rich, but Dad was something else."

"What was his title again?" Oscar asked gently.

"Officially? Duke of Northamptonshire."

Oscar hummed. "Like... an actual duke?"

"Mm-hmm." She didn't sound smug about it. She sounded tired. "Land, estates, racehorses. It was old money. Generational. My mum always wanted the fashion thing to stand on its own. But she married into the aristocracy and she'll never let anyone forget it."

Oscar was quiet for a moment. Then he asked, "What was he like? Your dad?"

She went still. Not tense. Just... still.

"He was kind," she said softly. "That's the word that sticks. Kind, and a bit soft around the edges. He never seemed like the aristocrat they wrote about in Tatler. He used to sing really badly when he made breakfast. Always wore old jumpers that smelled like stale coffee and barn hay. He taught me how to play chess. Bought me this ridiculous rocking horse when I was six because one of my friends had one in her nursery and I liked it."

Oscar didn't speak. Just kept tracing soft lines against her back.

"I don't think he really fit in with all of it," she said after a moment. "With the world he came from. He was born into it, but he didn't play the part very well. He cared more about people than image, and she my mum... She loved him, but she hated that: Said he was wasting his pedigree. Whatever that means."

"What happened?" Oscar asked. "I mean... after the crash. To you two. You and your mum."

Harper swallowed. "We inherited it all from him. The land and the estates and the horses. But it just... didn't feel right anymore. Maybe it never did. But my mum was in so much pain after losing him — I think I reminded her too much of him, you know? I was his kid in all the ways that mattered — and that didn't fit the mould she wanted for me."

Oscar was quiet for a long time.

Finally, he said, "I think he'd be proud of you. For standing up for yourself."

Harper blinked hard. "Yeah?"

"Yeah. He sounds like someone who would appreciate that."

She let out a shaky breath and tucked her face against his collarbone.

The radiator clicked again.

They didn't say much after that.

—

The common room had that early-evening stink to it — heat trapped under polyester, Lynx Africa, and the vague aftersmell of instant noodles someone had overcooked in the microwave.

Harper sat curled up in the corner armchair, legs tucked under her. Oscar was on the floor beside her, stretched out, one knee bouncing, thumb skimming idly along the edge of her sock. She was pretending to revise for maths. Mostly just staring at the page, eyes glazed. Sam lay on the rug like a chalk outline, feet shoved under the coffee table. Alfie and Matt were slouched on the opposite sofa, playing some game on Matt's phone with the sound off. Jane was painting her nails with Tippex and a biro.

It was quiet in the way that only a room full of teenagers rooms could be — full of shifting bodies and chewing and low muttering and the occasional sigh, like the air itself was tired.

Across the room, near the vending machines, three Year Thirteen girls were clustered in a semicircle of swishy ponytails, fake eyelashes, and aggressively rolled-up skirts. They had that perpetual stink of Clinique Happy and entitlement.

"Bet she thinks she's some sort of martyr or summat," one of them said, too loud to be an accident. "Proper bitch, if you ask me."

"It was bound to happen, wasn't it? The Aussie's here for what, five minutes? And she's got her claws in him. Investment, innit."

One of them made a clucking noise. "Mad, really. Her mum's some fashion type but she still dresses like she shops in M&S. Thinks she's posh just 'cos of her dad's name; but he's just dust in a crypt somewhere."

"Fancy name, fancy voice, still just a fucking slag."

Oscar stilled like someone had pulled the handbrake on him mid-thought. Sam sat up with the kind of speed he usually reserved for food or FIFA.

Jane didn't even look away from her nails. "Fuck off."

The girls blinked.

"What?"

"You heard me," Jane said, standing now, holding the little brush like a weapon. "Shut the fuck up. And fuck off."

One of them gave a mocking little laugh. "Bit aggressive, aren't you?"

"Yeah, well," Jane said sweetly, "maybe if you weren't so fucking clapped, you'd be capable of getting laid. Then you wouldn't be so obsessed with the people who are."

Sam hauled himself to his feet and pointed a Dorito at them like it was a wand. "Cunts."

"Sam," Matt muttered, horrified.

"I said what I said," Sam declared, unfazed. "Cunts. Both of 'em."

Alfie barely looked up. "Don't stir it, mate. Let 'em chat shit. You know what they're like. They're just fucking jealous."

Oscar rose to his feet slowly. His face was blank, eyes fixed on the girls — no shouting, no swearing, but there was steel in his silence.

The ringleader rolled her eyes. "Didn't mean anything by it."

"Sure," Jane said, arms folded. "You just woke up and decided to be a bunch of silly cunts. Congrats."

The girls left in a huff of swished ponytails, gum-snapping, and muttered slurs.

Silence settled over the room again, heavy and a little awkward.

Sam flopped back down onto the rug like nothing had happened. "Well that was fun. Anyone wanna order a pizza to the gates?"

Harper hadn't said a word the whole time.

Oscar looked up at her. "You alright?"

She nodded, but it was the kind of nod that looked more like bracing herself than answering a question. "Girls being girls. Was bound to happen."

Jane plonked back onto the armrest beside her and sighed. "I'm gonna put Nair in their shampoo. Watch me."

Harper snorted.

"I don't need you guys to fight my battles for me," she said after a beat, voice low but steady.

"Nah," said Alfie, not looking up. "We know. But you're our mate, yeah? And mates have each other's backs."

Harper blinked. She hadn't expected that from Alfie. He looked mildly horrified that he'd said something sincere, and immediately buried himself back in the game on Matt's phone.

Oscar leaned into her leg again, grounding her.

"Are they like that a lot?" He asked.

Harper gave a tired little shrug. "Some of them. It's just—That's how it is, Osc. Rich girls aren't taught how to make friends. We're taught to win rooms. Be the most valued person in it. At whatever cost."

Oscar frowned, then rested his chin against her knee. "You're the most valued person in this room."

"Only 'cause Jane hasn't finished her nails yet."

"Whatever you say, Lady Harper." He teased, lightly.

Harper huffed and let her eyes fall closed for a second. The warmth of him against her leg. Jane's foot gently nudging hers. Sam's fake-sleep breathing. The way Alfie kept pretending not to look up, like he'd jump in again if needed.

It didn't make everything okay.

But it made right now a little easier to bear.

—

The radiators were rattling again. They did that now — made a sort of mechanical clunk every ten minutes, like they were choking on their own ancient pipes. Sam had taken to kicking it every time it made a noise. So far, that hadn't fixed it. But it seemed to make him feel better.

Harper sat cross-legged at the foot of Oscar's bed, a Biology workbook open across her lap, biro tucked behind one ear, hair tied up with the bobble she'd stolen from Jane last week. Her blazer was somewhere on the floor in a heap, beside a half-eaten KitKat, an empty Ribena carton, and a pair of socks that definitely didn't belong to her.

Oscar was leaning against the wall, legs stretched out, a notebook in his lap. He was chewing the end of his pen like it had personally wronged him. His hair was a disaster — slightly flattened on one side, sticking up on the other. He hadn't shaved in three days and still couldn't grow a real moustache.

Sam was draped across his own bed, limbs splayed like he'd been dropped from a great height, chemistry flashcards held above his head like he was trying to burn the knowledge into his retinas.

"Is it February?" Sam asked suddenly.

Oscar blinked. "Yeah. It's the sixth."

"Oh. Happy February."

Harper let out a tired breath of a laugh. "Valentine's Day soon. You got a crush on anyone, Sammy?"

"Nah," he muttered. "Fuck love."

"Romantic," she said, eyebrows raised.

Oscar snorted. "That's our Sam."

"Better than what I said last year," Sam mumbled. "Told Miss Patel I hoped she got some on Valentine's and nearly got kicked out of school."

Harper snorted. "Jesus."

Oscar chuckled. "Still remember the look on her face."

"Yeah, well. You try doing triple science with raging hormones and Miss Patel reading Of Mice and Men in that voice."

"She's literally almost fifty."

"Doesn't matter," Sam muttered. "Voice like silk. Made me believe in the American Dream."

Harper groaned and flopped backwards. "I hate this room."

"You're in here more than your own."

"No I'm not." She argued.

Sam pointed a crisp at her. "You've basically moved in."

"I have not."

"You have a toothbrush in our bathroom."

Harper looked mildly indignant. "So? Doesn't mean I live here."

"You've got socks in Oscar's drawer."

"I have socks in lots of places."

Oscar smirked, eyes still on his notebook. "Do you?"

"Shut up."

Harper shifted slightly, wincing as she adjusted the waistband of her skirt. It was new — a size bigger than her old one, but it didn't feel like it. Everything felt tighter lately. Her jumper was clinging weirdly at the chest too. She tugged it forward and stared down at the buttons on her shirt.

"My boobs are massive," she muttered.

Oscar looked up. Then down. Then immediately went bright red. "No comment."

"Pervert."

"I didn't say anything!"

"You didn't have to." She narrowed her eyes at him.

Sam made a strangled noise. "Please. I'm trying to focus. I cannot be thinking about Harper's tits right now."

"Fuck you!" Harper shrieked. She grabbed one of Oscar's pillows and hurled it across the room. It hit Sam square in the face.

"Assault!" he yelped, throwing his arms up dramatically. "I've been attacked in my own home."

Oscar snorted, folding his notes shut. "You're lucky that's all she threw."

"You're both annoying," Harper muttered, trying not to smile.

Sam peeked at her from behind the pillow. "You alright though? You've been making that... face."

"What face?"

"The 'everything hurts and I hate everyone' face."

Harper made a face. "That's just my face."

Oscar glanced over at her, more seriously now. "Anything feel off?"

She shook her head. "No. I'm just... heavy. Tired. I don't know. Apparently the baby's the size of a raspberry this week."

Sam perked up. "You're growing fruit in there?"

"Metaphorical, you idiot."

Oscar leaned over and brushed a bit of lint off her shoulder. "You want to lie down?"

"I'm alright." She smiled, faintly. "I like sitting and pretending to revise with you two."

"Oi," Sam said, wounded. "I'm absorbing this information with sheer force of will."

"You're absorbing crisps. That's it."

Oscar gave a low laugh, then glanced at Harper. "Remember, my mum's coming this weekend."

Harper looked up. "Right. Yeah. I know."

She went still for a second — just a flicker, like something locking up behind her eyes — then flipped a page in her workbook, trying to look casual about it. But her voice had gone a little too careful.

Oscar noticed. Of course he did.

"She really wants to meet you," he said, softer now. "She's been asking since... well, since last September when we started going out. I know you've spoken to her on FaceTime but it's not, like, the same, is it."

Harper gave a small, lopsided smile. "She's not fuming, then?"

"What?" He looked genuinely confused.

"Osc." She sighed. Gave him a look. "About the baby. About the fact that I might be ruining your life?"

Oscar dropped his pen and sat up straighter, frowning. "Harps. You're not ruining anything."

Sam chimed in from his bed. "Nicole's literally a saint. She's lovely."

"She's not mad." Oscar said quietly. Leaned in and touched Harper's lips with his thumb, like he was trying to physically wipe the frown off of her face. "She was... shocked, at first. But she's doing better with it now. She's been knitting."

Harper blinked. "She knits?"

"Badly."

"I'm scared," Harper admitted, very quietly. "Like... really scared. What if she hates me?"

Oscar leaned forward, nudging her foot with his. "She won't. I promise. My mum's not like that. She already calls you 'little love' in texts."

Harper let out a shaky laugh. "Does she?"

"Yeah. Wants to take you out for tea. Thinks you need feeding up."

"I agree," Sam muttered. "She's had half a KitKat and one of my crisps."

"I'm nervous," Harper said, then glanced at Oscar. "Not about her being mean. Just... I want her to like me. She's your mum."

Oscar smiled gently. "She will."

"I'm not used to nice mums." She whispered.

He leaned in. Kissed her softly. "I'm sorry."

Sam gagged. "Can you two fucking stop? I'm trying to eat."

—

The gravel drive outside the school crunched under the tyres of a silver Volvo as it rolled to a stop near the visitor bays.

Oscar spotted it first from the common room window. "She's here."

Harper immediately stood up, then sat back down. "Okay. I feel sick."

Sam didn't look up from his flashcards. "Don't puke on her. First impressions and all that."

Oscar gave her hand a squeeze. "She's excited. Honestly, she keeps texting me pictures of tiny socks."

"I don't know how to talk to mums," Harper muttered. "Mine doesn't count for obvious reasons."

"You've FaceTimed with her."

"FaceTime is different. That's like... TV. This is real life. What if she doesn't like me in real life?"

Oscar stood and tugged gently at her sleeve. "Come on. You'll be fine. She's got biscuits."

"...what kind?"

"Don't know. Probably the ones she always buys that no one actually likes but we all pretend we do because they're posh."

Harper followed him out across the courtyard, heart rattling inside her chest like a loose marble. It was cold — the kind of sharp, bright February cold that made your breath cloud up instantly. Her school coat was unzipped and flapping around her knees. She hadn't even checked her hair. Christ.

Nicole stepped out of the car wearing a giant woollen scarf and sunglasses too big for her face, carrying a tote bag that looked like it had seen every grocery store in Hertfordshire. She was taller than Harper expected — tall in that mum way, where it was all good posture and sensible boots. Her hair was curly and dyed dark at the roots with stubborn greys she hadn't bothered to cover. And she had the exact same laugh as Oscar, Harper realised — loud and too delighted.

"There's my boy," Nicole said, pulling Oscar into a proper, swaying hug that lifted him slightly off the ground. "God, look at your hair. Have you been brushing it with a fork?"

Oscar muffled something into her shoulder, cheeks pink. "Mum."

"And you must be Harper."

Harper froze for a split second — then managed a small smile. "Hi."

Nicole took one look at her and pulled her straight into a hug.

Warm. Solid. Smelling of fabric softener and mint gum.

It knocked the air right out of her.

"I feel like I already know you," Nicole said when she pulled back. "You're even prettier in person. Not that you aren't gorgeous on FaceTime. But I always think those calls make everyone look like they've been filmed on a potato."

Harper blinked. "Oh. Um. Thanks?"

"I brought biscuits," Nicole added, digging around in her tote. "And a scarf. You don't own a decent one, apparently."

She held it out — it was knitted. Badly. Yellow and lumpy and soft.

Harper stared at it. Then at her. "You made this?"

"Well, I had help. There's a very patient woman on YouTube called Marion who saved my life." She grinned. "Go on, take it. It's hideous but it'll keep you warm."

Harper took the scarf. Her fingers tingled. It was the first homemade thing anyone had ever given her.

"Thanks," she said, voice barely above a whisper.

Nicole just smiled and tucked a stray curl behind Harper's ear like it was the most natural thing in the world. "You doing alright, love?"

Harper nodded. She wasn't, really. Not completely. But for the first time in weeks, the knot in her chest eased just slightly.

Oscar slipped his hand into hers. "Told you," he murmured.

And Harper — still clutching the scarf, still blinking like she wasn't sure what just happened — smiled. "Yeah," she whispered back. "You did."

—

The library windows were sweating — misted over from the inside, the radiator below doing its very best to boil Harper's ankles.

She sat cross-legged on the floor between the Philosophy and Biology sections, highlighters scattered across her lap, a mechanical pencil in her hair like a knitting needle. Her bump — barely visible unless you were looking for it — had finally made zipping up her skirt an Olympic event. She'd given up and worn leggings today, after Oscar talked her out of rage-quitting school entirely at 8:07 that morning.

Oscar was lying beside her, flipping through flashcards with the glazed look of someone being slowly crushed by the weight of the AQA specification.

"So," he said, tapping one against her knee. "Harper Whiatt. Mother of child. Knows what meiosis is. Who knew?"

"Shut up."

"Proud of you."

"You're not even revising that subject."

"Still proud."

She rolled her eyes. "You're annoying."

"Admit it," he said, leaning his head against her shoulder. "You'd miss me if I died in the corridor during your chemistry mock."

She snorted. "Only because you're the one who carries all my pens."

A few steps away, Sam sat at a table doing absolutely no work whatsoever. He had one wired earbud in, a can of Monster open, and a singular page of notes he'd spent forty-five minutes underlining in different colours.

"Oi," he said suddenly. "Osc. Your mum messaged me on Facebook earlier."

Harper looked up. "She what?"

"She sent me a meme of a baby wearing sunglasses and a fake moustache. Told me to show you. Said you'd been ignoring her messages again."

Oscar groaned. "She's unbelievable."

Harper glanced at him. "You're ignoring her messages?" She asked.

"Only the annoying ones." He winced.

There was a pause. It started to rain outside.

Harper let out a breath and pressed a hand lightly to her belly, almost without thinking.

Oscar watched her.

"You okay?" He asked softly.

She nodded. "Just... feel a bit sick. And I'm thinking."

"About?"

"Mock exams. Labour. Stretch marks. My mum. My future. What I want to do with my life."

He reached over and squeezed her knee. "I'll fail chemistry with you, if it helps."

She smiled faintly. "That's nice of you."

"It is," he said. "We'll be dumb together."

Sam looked up from his Monster. "Can't wait for the baby shower. Gonna bring a banner that says 'Congratulations on your accidental offspring.'"

"I'm not having a baby shower," Harper muttered, cheeks pink.

Sam grinned. "Tell Jane that."

Oscar groaned. "God, don't let Jane plan any kind of party. Please. Not after the last time."

Somewhere behind them, Miss Patel coughed loudly and glared.

They lowered their voices after that.

Sort of.

—

The waiting room smelled like antiseptic and lemon floor cleaner. The chairs were plastic and uncomfortable. The kind of place where the ceiling tiles always looked slightly damp and the magazines were six months out of date.

Harper sat with her coat bunched up around her, school uniform replaced by a pair of leggings and one of Oscar's hoodies. Her hands were clasped tight in her lap. She hadn't spoken much in the car.

Oscar sat next to her, elbows on his knees, trainers scuffed from too many track walks. He kept glancing at the wall-mounted TV, where an animated diagram of a growing foetus looped every five minutes.

Chris was across from them, flicking through the appointment letter on his phone again, as if it might change.

"You alright?" Oscar asked, his voice quiet.

Harper nodded without looking at him. "Yeah."

"You don't have to be brave."

"I know." She paused. "I'm scared."

He leaned over, shoulder bumping hers. "Me too."

The door opened. A midwife popped her head around. "Harper Whiatt?"

Harper stood, legs stiff. Oscar got up with her.

The midwife smiled warmly. "You can both come in. You're her... partner?"

Oscar flushed. "Um. Yeah."

Chris made a small movement to stand but Harper looked back. "Can you wait here?"

He hesitated, then nodded. "Course, kid. Whatever you prefer."

Inside, the room was small but warm. The ultrasound machine beeped quietly. A little cot of sterile supplies sat in the corner. It was more clinical than cosy.

"Alright, pop yourself up there," she said gently, gesturing to the bed.

Harper lay back, pulling her top up and the waistband of her leggings down just enough to expose her bump. She could feel Oscar's eyes on her — not gawking, just wide. Soft.

"This'll be a little cold," she warned, squeezing the gel onto Harper's belly.

Harper flinched. "Yup. Still gross."

The midwife smiled. "Won't last long. Let's see if this little one's cooperating today..."

She moved the probe over Harper's stomach, eyes fixed on the monitor. For a moment there was just static and shadows, and then — there it was. The unmistakable curve of a head. A little nose. Limbs.

Harper blinked.

Oscar made a sound like he'd just been punched in the chest. "Holy shit."

"Language," the midwife said mildly.

"Sorry. Just—" He reached for Harper's hand, gripped it. "That's... that's an actual baby."

She nodded slowly, her throat tight. "It is."

"Everything's measuring just right," the midwife said. "Spine's looking good. Heartbeat's strong. Want to hear it?"

Harper nodded.

The sound filled the room like drums underwater — a galloping, fast rhythm that didn't feel real.

Oscar was squeezing her hand hard.

She turned her head slightly to look at him. He looked stunned. Teary. And smiling.

The midwife chuckled. "That's the usual reaction."

They finished the scan. She wiped off the gel. Harper sat up, dazed. The midwife printed a few black-and-white images and handed them over.

"Here's your baby," she said softly. "You're around 18 weeks and five days, give or take. You'll be starting to feel more movement soon; those flutters you're feeling? That's your baby."

Harper stared at the picture. The tiny hand. The shape of a face that she somehow already recognised.

"Do you want to know the sex?" The midwife asked. "I can tell you now."

They glanced at each other. Harper opened her mouth, then closed it.

"Not yet," she said finally. "I don't want it to be... no. Just — not yet."

The midwife nodded, as if she understood exactly what she meant. "Alright. We'll leave it a surprise then."

When they left the room, Oscar still had the photo clutched between his fingers like it might disappear if he let go.

Chris stood. "How'd it go?"

Harper handed him one of the pictures.

His expression softened in a way she wasn't used to seeing. "Wow," he said quietly. "That's a baby."

She smiled faintly. "It is."

Chris handed the photo back and opened the car door for her. For once, she didn't protest.

Oscar waited until they were pulling out of the hospital car park to whisper, "I can't believe it, Harp." He said, his finger touching the baby's head on the photo. "I can't — It's so real."

"Yeah." She whispered. She pressed close to him and stared at the picture too.

—

The karting circuit smelled like oil, petrol and old toast — someone had clearly burned something in the staff kitchenette again. Engines buzzed constantly in the background, a low, waspish hum that made Harper's teeth itch.

She was sat on a plastic folding chair just behind the pit barrier, wrapped in hoodie and the scarf Nicole had made for her. Her coat was slung over the back of the chair, long forgotten. It had been cold when they'd arrived, but the sun was out now — faint, watery, but warm enough that she'd started to regret the extra layers.

Oscar had been out on track for nearly an hour. Mark stood nearby with a stopwatch, watching his lines, only occasionally muttering into the walkie-talkie clipped to his jacket.

It was oddly peaceful, in a sensory-overload sort of way. The scent, the noise, the blur of Oscar's kart skimming the corners — all of it had become familiar, almost comforting. Harper liked watching him like this. He looked free out there. Focused.

She shifted slightly in her seat, one hand dropping to rest on the small swell of her stomach. She wasn't huge yet — barely showing in a coat, but it was obvious now in anything fitted. She'd ordered a new school skirt again.

She yawned, stretching a little, fingers absently rubbing across her bump.

And then — something.

Not gas. Not indigestion. Not a cramp.

Something fluttered, just under her palm. Light and strange and soft — like a goldfish brushing against her from the inside. She froze.

There it was again. A nudge, low and quick. Almost like... a hello.

Her breath caught. She stared down at her belly.

Oscar zipped past again — then pulled into the pit lane, helmet tucked under one arm, flushed from the cold and the speed. He'd spotted her smile before he even reached her.

"What?" He asked, dropping down in front of her, a little breathless. "What's that face?"

She blinked at him. Then her hand moved instinctively back to her stomach.

"I think..." she said, eyes wide, voice soft with disbelief, "I think it just moved."

Oscar's eyebrows shot up. "What, really?"

She nodded. "Yeah. Like... it was tiny. Like someone flicked me from the inside. It was weird."

His grin was immediate and ridiculous. "That's so cool."

Harper laughed, still a bit stunned. "It's a bit freaky, actually."

"Freaky in a good way?"

"I dunno. I'll tell you when it does it again."

He reached up, gently pressing his hand beside hers. "That's insane," he whispered, like the baby might hear him.

Harper leaned forward. "It feels like there's an alien inside me, Osc."

He snickered. "Alien invasion?"

"Yeah." She giggled. It was ridiculous, but it was true.

Nearby, Mark pretended not to be eavesdropping. But Harper saw the way he smiled slightly to himself before turning back to his stopwatch.

NEXT CHAPTER

[grotesquevi]

ㅤㅤ ㅤㅤ I WANNA BE THE TATTOO INK THAT SWIMS ㅤㅤ ㅤㅤ ㅤㅤ ㅤㅤ ㅤㅤ ㅤㅤ DOWN THROUGH THE NEEDLE IN YOUR SKIN.

cw  # 18+ mdni, public sex, use of strap-on (it’s refered as cock/dick too) strap sucking, use of pet names.

side note  # if you recognize this, might be because this is a request from my previous blog vicorices (terminated blog 2025-2025 r.i.p) this is my new account. i'm trying to get all my writing back up slowly and with my whole heart. check out my arcane directory to see the process of re-uploading fics.

to be fair, sevika did want to marry, the thing was organizing a wedding.

you've been running non-stop the last months so she gets you're burnt out. your fianceé can be many things, but her patience it's a golden treat even when she don't have time to properly fuck you lately, she knows you'll be back to your own self after the celebration, and sevika’s not afraid of having to put up with your grumpy side any time of the day.

she can handle you, simple as a summer day with the air conditioner turned on. what she cannot handle instead, was that backstabbing shit you were pulling on her after being so well behaved, playing the part of an understanding wife until one of your friends give her the first photo and she has to look at it twice to be sure she's looking at it right, cause there's no way you're standing in a tiny polaroid picture wearing a purple set of underwear, comfortably laying around in bed — a bed you share with her every night.

it sends her into a spiral. the music is loud in a room full of celebrating guests and still, her mouth is suddenly dry and she feels like it has been a fucking year now without having sex, so dramatic as she's searching for you even when you're already looking at her, raising your champagne glass in a silent toast with a playful smirk.

and she thinks you'll have the decency to be kind to her after all, but your friends kept the photos coming, and each one seemed to be more obscene than the last one as she looked at them a couple of times afraid someone else could see it before tucking it away in the safety of her suit. at first a casual set of purple lingerie that scaled insanely quick to a very close frontal shot of your full lips slightly parted, and sevika can recognize your hands squeezing your tits together for the picture, you fucking tease — the third picture steals the air from her lungs at the sight of you already on your knees, looking up to the camera with nothing on top.

did your friends see them too? do they know how low they are helping you play? you're making her put up a show ‘cause you're laughing at her face, her erratic movements, how she forgot to keep on talking to the guests, show some manners from a zaunite already in the council, but shit she's so weak. you've deprived her for what? a month or two? can you really expect her to behave and not to act up stupid? you're wearing this beautiful white gown and sevika cannot help but wonder, truly wonder, by the look in your face, what are you wearing down all that expensive fabric.

low.

you're looking at her while you talk to your close ones and sevika fights the need to drag you away from everyone as the photos kept appearing randomly, hitting her in the worst moments, cause she thinks she got it figured it out, that she finally collected herself as the minutes pass until another friend appears with a sinful picture and she thinks to herself, she's going to have a word or two with you about that teasing game she didn't agree to be a part on.

how can she be mad at you anyway? when you're so good at taking those photos for her? when you look so beautiful making your underwear to the side to have a look of your soaked pussy you so eagerly show to the camera lens? you're biting down your lip cause you really are enjoying it, showing that nasty side you cannot hide and she just loves to have every single time.

her devotion to you knows no barrier at that point, cause people are laughing loudly, singing and dancing under the changing lights and the bands playing in the background, yet sevika's blatantly stealing you from the rest and there's no point in saying no when she's pulling you to the tiny photobooth you thought it'd be cute to take up pictures for the guests and have a little token of your union to your wife to take home, closing down the red curtain to corner you against the camera wall.

"did you like the photos?" you have the audacity to ask with a smile on your lips — "it's a reward for being so good to me all this time."

"is this your idea of reward, doll?" sevika cannot hide the smirk on her face, not when she’s actually enjoying all the talking for once. "haunt me the whole night until i can finally get you alone?"

"it's fun" you try to defend yourself, but you already lost the whole case as her big hands fall against your figure, tracing your sides as she mocks your words: you have different views of fun clearly. "i was going to make it up to you later, vika. the two of us."

"make up to me you say," she chuckles, almost not believing you "well take care of me now then. i deserve it."

she does it really, so you let her push you around, use force to pin you down against the wall as she takes what she's been anxiously craving, cursing against the complex fabric of your wedding dress until she's able to grip it in one hand, noticing the same purple set she saw before in the pictures.

"fucking slut doin' this on purpose" sevika shakes her head in disbelief as she takes a look of your body in the colorful lingerie "and you were going to be cruel and make me fucking wait to have you? on our own wedding day?"

"vika-"

“you took the photos, fuckin´ deal with it.”

“what if someone comes in?”

“i’ll tell them to fuck off,” she promises quickly like she thought about it all already “it’s our day, our wedding.”

there’s something about the way she’s saying it that makes you oblivious to the rest, makes your head spin cause you forgot about your worrying, the guests, the cake and everything in between. so you're not aware of when you pushed the red button on the screen of the photobooth, nor when it activates it's original purpose when sevika's fully into making out with you, capturing the sight of your figures blending together in the same picture — by the second shot you can notice the smirk on her brown lips and in the third, it's not really visible as she seems to be too close to the camera lens, making the image blurry as she attacks on your neck.

maybe it's the thrill of being discovered, the fact sevika can feel the flash of the photos being taken, but she wishes to be patient again — have it in at least a couple of hours on her actual wedding night for a chance, privately, but the strap she choose willingly to wear in a way of fully teasing you, was now pushing against your leg and you have to stop for a second with your brows furrowed.

"is that-" sevika's nodding and you want to say something, but you find amusing to know your wife is wearing a strap-on to your wedding celebration, one you surely have seen already.

"make up to me," she repeats once again, serious this time "for being cruel. after that you can explain me how you took those pictures."

no one interrupts anyway. the music's too loud, the sweat in the air is too strong and guests already drank a lot so no one gives a shit when you're getting on your knees, when sevika's toying with your hair as you're the one to unbuckle the belt from her pants, the one who kisses the happy trail of her lower belly without protesting, noticing the blue silicone as her pant pools in her ankles and your wife cannot seem to care about anything but the sight of you on your knees.

"get it wet" sevika's less gentle now as she's pointing to her fake cock, licking her lips like she can taste yours in them before adding: "so i can fuck you good, okay?"

to be fair — it's just an excuse, cause she knows you're dripping in your pretty purple panties, that the dildo would split you open yes, stretch you out even without making much effort, but she just wants to see how you do it, how you become a drooling mess, salivating all over the floor, getting your dress wet totally unaware of everything else.

and hell she wishes she could feel it all, cause you look so pretty with your mouth full it's insane, pushing against the rubber to take it in your throat further until you make yourself gag, and your wife takes care of you, so she's pulling away but in all honestly the sight of you debauched already only spurs her on 'cause the amount of saliva coating your lips connecting you to her dick makes her insane, cleaning the corners of your mouth with her thumb.

"easy there, get used to it and take it slow," her voice is rough as she helps you put your hair up in a ponytail vika holds in her mechanic fingers, watching your polished moves as you get to work again, relaxing until the tip of your nose is touching her skin, and your eyes are watering but she can feel your breathing on her, the friction between her legs every time you move to take her deeper, the fabric of the harness consistently rubbing between her legs — "there you go bunny. s'good taking it all, go on keep sucking and don't get distracted."

you want to do good, desperate to please her over and over again, you can take it. that's what she says as her hips involuntarily thrust against your mouth, and it's so slippery the rubber cock slides inside your bucal cavity and she's roughly hitting on the back of your throat until there's this sound you make involuntarily each time the strap invades your mouth and makes you choke, leaving you a mess as you're drooling all over your tits.

her flesh hand does a good job on making you move, fingers tightening in your hair as she sets an steady pace against your mouth, swollen lips that close around the shaft as she pushes it deeper, cleaning up your tears cause she don't want your make up to be ruined, all pretty trying hard for her.

she's going to cum like this, inevitable. you're looking up to her with your big eyes, a damn smirk cause even when you're struggling you're having so much fun you cannot help it, and once again she's needy for more than what she'd like to admit.

the movement of her hips rubs her right in the spot when sevika's already so sensitive soaking her inner thighs, forcing her cock in your mouth — it's so good, you're so damn good.

so she cums around nothing, your sloppy movements as you suck on her strap, that zoned out look you have that only makes her moan hastily, leaning against the photobooth to press that fucking button again that's been randomly taking pictures now capturing the features of your wife as you now disappear from the frame, the pleasure on sevika's face she's unaware before pulling you upwards again, making you stand as she parts your legs with her knee forcing you to turn around to have a good view of your ass.

"my good little cocksleeve, always ready to be stuffed," she praises, leaving wet kisses on the expanse of your shoulders, going down your spine as she don't bother to take your panties off, no, she wants to fully fuck you in them "spread yourself open, help me sink in you."

your hands come up to grip on your asscheeks, pulling them aside to help your wife reach deeper, use you better by all means. the tip of the cold silicone wet with your own saliva kisses your entrance, and you melt away when sevika's finally fucking you until the base of her cock disappears inside your warm cunt, holding you still even in a secluded space.

she's shoving her fingers in your mouth, making you suck on her digits with a hungry look: lame, she's gonna cum again and she's acting up so fucking lame.

"fucking take it," the damn camera flashes again and sevika has lost count of how many pictures are waiting outside the booth of you two, but she's too busy to say something when she's sinking inside your drenched pussy, pulling on your hair as she grips on the curve of your hip, making you move with her as she begins to get rougher, each time more demanding, deeper — "that's it. make space for me, it's not that hard, isn't it?"

she's on a sinking ship either way: slow is now overrated and she would rather dive in headfirst to openly drown in you.

was that so bad? i mean, you're married to her now.

[solrburst]

shut me up — joel miller x reader

summary: When Joel keeps insisting you should be with someone your age, you decide to teach him a lesson.

warnings: smut (+18), jealous!jackson!joel, but reader knows how to handle him, lots of dirty talk, age gap, a little bratty behavior, soft aftercare, wall sex, orgasm denial/overstimulation, crying (from pleasure), handjob, light degradation (?), making love but it’s filthy

author’s note: i saw this post and i had to do something so tysm @eightestmonth

word count: 3,3k

You weren’t trying to start a fire. Not exactly.

But Joel had been fanning the damn flames for weeks — every time he pulled away after a kiss that went too deep, every time he muttered “you should be with someone your age” like it was a prayer he hoped you’d believe.

You were tired of it. Tired of the way he touched you like you were breakable. Like he was temporary.

So when the community center filled up with music and laughter, when Jackson’s monthly party kicked off and the moon rose high and easy in the sky — you decided to let loose. Just a little.

You wore something nice. Not revealing, not scandalous. But enough to make Joel’s eyes linger when you walked into the room. Enough to make him tense when you drifted toward the small crowd of guys your age huddled by the drinks table, half-laughing, half-staring.

You weren’t doing anything wrong. Just talking. Smiling. Maybe laughing a little too sweetly when one of them said something stupid.

Joel was across the room, leaning against the far wall, arms crossed over his chest. Watching.

You didn’t need to hear the conversation to know what was going through his head. You saw it in the tight clench of his jaw. The flicker in his eyes. The way his beer stayed untouched in his hand.

He’d said it again just last night — that you deserved “something simple.” Something easy. A boy who hadn’t buried his hands in blood. Someone who didn’t wake up gasping.

Well.

If he wanted to push you away so badly, maybe he needed a reminder of just how badly he wanted to keep you.

You threw a glance over your shoulder. Met his gaze. Held it.

Then you smiled — slow, deliberate — and turned back to the boy in front of you just as your fingers brushed his arm in passing.

And Joel moved.

You didn’t see him cross the room.

One second you were mid-laugh, fingertips still lingering on someone else’s arm — and the next, a familiar hand curled gently but firmly around your waist.

“Evenin’,” Joel said, voice low, steady, and cool as winter steel. He nodded to the group around you, though his eyes never left yours. “Didn’t mean to interrupt.”

The guys murmured some awkward greetings, backing off like dogs that smelled a bigger wolf. One by one they drifted away, leaving just you and Joel in the warm glow of the lanterns strung across the community hall.

He didn’t say a word at first.

Just took you directly to his place. Of course, you didn’t say anything too. Let him have his moment, right?

But when Joel stops, looking at you like he’s waiting for an apologize or something like that, you smile.

You turned to him slowly, arms crossed. “Something you need, Miller?”

He raised a brow. His hand still rested at your lower back. “Just wonderin’ if you were enjoyin’ yourself.”

You cocked your head, sweet and innocent. “I was. Really nice guys, actually. Young. Smiled a lot.”

His jaw ticked. Just once. “That right?”

“Mmhmm.” You leaned in, eyes locked on his. “No one telling me I should be with someone else.”

Joel’s hand dropped. He took a step back. “I ain’t tellin’ you that ‘cause I don’t want you, baby.”

Baby. You love when he calls you that.

You took a step toward him.

“And yet you keep acting like you don’t,” you whispered.

Joel’s jaw worked, hands flexing at his sides like he was fighting every instinct that told him to grab you and take.

Joel didn’t say a word. Just stared at you — eyes full of heat, of guilt, of longing. His silence said more than any protest ever could.

And you smiled. Slow. Wicked.

You stepped into his space, your chest nearly brushing his. “Tell me to walk away. Right now.”

Instead of that, he moved.

Joel surged forward and kissed you like it was the only way he could stay standing — like your mouth was the answer to every question he'd tried to ignore. His hands gripped your hips tight, pulling you into him, and you could feel the tension in his body — all that self-control finally snapping.

He growled low into the kiss, the sound vibrating against your lips. “You don’t listen worth a damn, do you?”

You smiled, breathless. “Not when you say things you don’t mean.”

His mouth crashed into yours again — harder, rougher this time. Teeth. Tongue. His hands moved lower, grabbing your ass with both palms and grinding your hips against the thick, undeniable press of his cock.

“Fuck,” he breathed, dragging his lips down your throat. “You wear that little dress, flirt with boys who couldn’t make you come if their fuckin’ lives depended on it…”

You let out a breathless laugh — low and dangerous — as your fingers threaded into his hair and tugged.

“Someone sounds jealous,” you murmured, tilting your head back as he bit down just above your collarbone. “Don’t worry, Joel. None of them were offering anything you haven’t been too chicken-shit to give me.”

That made him freeze for half a second — just long enough for you to smile, all teeth and taunt.

And then he snapped.

His grip on your ass tightened, lifting you suddenly. Your legs wrapped around his waist on instinct as he slammed you back against the nearest wall, knocking the breath out of you.

“Oh, baby,” he growled, voice pure grit, “you just made the biggest fuckin’ mistake of your life.”

“Why?” you gasped, grinning even as your thighs trembled around his hips. “You gonna finally do something about it?”

Joel kissed you again — if you could even call it that. It was filthy, open-mouthed and brutal, his tongue claiming your mouth like he wanted to brand it. One hand shoved up your dress, pushing the fabric to your waist. The other yanked your panties to the side with a strength that made you gasp.

“You wanted me jealous?” he snarled against your lips, cock grinding into your soaked slit. “You wanted to rile me up like this?”

“You’re the one who keeps acting like I’m too young to take it,” you shot back, breath hitching as the head of his cock slipped just barely inside.

He stilled. His voice dropped to a threat.

“You don’t get to tease me and act like you know what the fuck you’re in for.”

You leaned in, lips brushing his. “Try me.”

And then he slammed into you.

You choked on a moan, nails digging into his shoulders as he buried himself to the hilt in one deep, brutal stroke.

“Oh my God—”

“That’s right,” he hissed, hips snapping into you again, relentless. “Say my fuckin’ name.”

“Joel,” you moaned, voice shaking as your back slammed into the wall with every thrust. “Fuck—Joel. You feel so fucking good—so deep—I can feel you in my stomach.”

He growled, head dipping to bite at your neck, sucking hard enough to leave proof.

And you loved it.

You wrapped your arms tighter around his shoulders, lips brushing his ear, voice a throaty purr.

“You like it when I squeeze you like that?” you gasped. “You feel how my pussy’s choking your cock? Like it knowsyou’re mine?”

Joel let out a guttural sound — almost a warning — and slammed into you harder.

“Jesus Christ,” he muttered. “That mouth’s gonna be the end of me.”

“Mmm,” you smirked, kissing along his jaw, still panting. “You think I flirted with them for fun? No, baby. I was thinking about how I’d come home and let you fuck me so hard I forget every single one of their names.”

His pace stuttered for just a second.

“You gonna let me?” you whispered, licking the shell of his ear. “Let me crawl into bed after this with your cum leaking down my thighs, still aching for another round?”

Joel growled again — feral, desperate — and shifted his hold, pulling you away from the wall without slipping out. He carried you toward the bed, cock still buried in your slick heat.

“You keep talkin’ like that,” he panted, “and I’m not stoppin’ ‘til you can’t fuckin’ walk.”

You grinned, eyes wild, lips kiss-bruised.

Joel dropped you on the bed like he owned it — like he owned you — and didn’t hesitate. He hooked one strong arm under your knee, shoved your leg up over his shoulder, and slammed back inside you with a force that made the bedframe rattle.

“Fuck!” you cried, arching off the mattress.

“No more talkin’,” he growled, pinning your hips down with his free hand. “You had your fun runnin’ that mouth. Now you’re gonna listen.”

He fucked you hard, unrelenting, the angle so deep you could feel every ridge, every vein, dragging inside you with devastating precision. Your moans turned high and frantic, but Joel didn’t slow down.

“You think this pussy belongs to you?” he hissed through clenched teeth. “Nah, baby. This pussy’s mine.”

He thrust harder, making the headboard slam against the wall with every snap of his hips.

“You wanna tease me?” Another brutal thrust. “Flirt with boys who couldn’t handle you?” He leaned in, face inches from yours, sweat dripping onto your skin. “Now you’re gonna learn.”

You were gasping, barely coherent now, and he loved it — loved seeing you unravel under him, helpless under the weight of his body and the force of his cock slamming into your soaked heat.

He grabbed your wrists and pinned them above your head, leaning in so close his chest pressed into yours.

“You’re gonna come when I say,” he growled. “Not before. You hear me?”

You nodded frantically, moaning, but he wasn’t satisfied.

“Say it,” he barked.

“Y-yes, Joel,” you gasped. “I’ll wait — I’ll do whatever you say, just—fuck, please.”

His grin was all teeth, all wolf.

“That’s more like it.”

He pounded into you relentlessly, dragging you right to the edge over and over again. Every time your moans pitched higher, every time your thighs trembled, he’d pull back, keep you dangling — until your whole body was shaking.

“Beg,” he said.

“Joel—please, let me come, I need it—I need you, fuck—”

He leaned in, kissed you hard, then finally gave you what you were begging for — his thrusts brutal, perfect, his fingers finding your clit and rubbing rough, fast circles until your back arched off the bed with a scream.

You shattered under him, legs trembling, nails clawing at the sheets. Your pussy clenched around him so tight it made him curse against your mouth.

But Joel didn’t stop.

He didn’t even slow down.

“Uh-uh,” he growled, still grinding into you, his fingers never leaving your clit. “Thought you were gonna forget their names, baby. That was just round one.”

“Joel—” you gasped, squirming beneath him, your voice breaking on a moan. “Too much—fuck—it’s too—”

He grabbed your jaw, made you look at him.

“No it ain’t,” he rasped. “This body’s mine. I’ll fuck you through every scream.”

You tried to turn your head, overwhelmed, overstimulated — but he wouldn’t let you. His hips kept driving into you, deep and fast, and his thumb circled your clit with just enough pressure to make your thighs quake.

“Look at you,” he breathed. “Takin’ it so good. So fuckin’ perfect wrapped around me.”

Tears welled in your eyes — not from pain, not even from control. Just from the sheer intensity of it. From how much you wanted this, how much you needed to be ruined by him, for him.

And he saw it.

Saw your lashes fluttering, cheeks flushed, lips parted in wrecked moans as the first tear slipped down your cheek.

“Yeah,” he whispered, slowing just a little — but not pulling out. “That’s what I wanted. Cry for me, baby.”

You whimpered, tears spilling freely now as your second orgasm crashed into you like a wave, harder than the first, stealing the air from your lungs.

“Fuck—Joel—I can’t—”

“Yes, you can,” he snapped, burying himself to the hilt and holding there, cock twitching inside your tight, spasming cunt. “You’re cryin’ so pretty, baby. And I ain’t done.”

His hand stroked your hair now — gentler, grounding — but his hips were still rolling slow and deep, dragging every last ripple of your orgasm out of you until your whole body trembled.

Your voice was wrecked, raw. “I want—fuck—want more…”

Joel’s eyes were wild, locked on yours, a mix of pride and possession and dark hunger.

“Yeah?” he rasped. “Then give me one more. Let me watch those eyes flood while you come all over my cock again.”

You barely had time to catch your breath. Your thighs were still trembling, slick and soaked, tears shining in your lashes. And Joel looked down at you like he was starving.

He slipped out of you with a groan, your pussy fluttering around nothing, leaking and pulsing and needing. You whined — high, weak — but he was already dragging you down the bed by your hips, spreading your legs wide, his hands rough and sure.

“Shh,” he said, his voice low, dark, too calm. “I’m not done with you yet.”

You blinked at him, dazed, completely pliant. “Joel, I— I can’t—”

“Yes, you can,” he murmured, dipping between your legs. “Gonna make you come on my tongue this time. You got one more in you, baby. I know you do.”

You gasped as his mouth found you — hot, wet, unrelenting. He licked into you like he owned every part of you, groaning as he tasted the mess he'd made, as if he needed to have it on his tongue, in his throat, claiming you from the inside out.

“Fuck,” you whimpered, hips twitching. “Joel—oh fuck—”

He moaned into your cunt, the sound deep and filthy, like your taste was the only thing keeping him alive. His arms wrapped under your thighs, keeping you wide open, locked in place. And when his tongue flattened over your clit, slow at first, then fast — perfect — your back arched, a sob ripping from your throat.

“You’re already close,” he growled between strokes, voice muffled against your slick. “That little pussy’s fuckin’ beggin’to come for me.”

You nodded wildly, hands in his hair now, tugging, anchoring yourself to anything solid as your body bucked beneath him.

“Say it,” he growled. “Tell me this mouth’s better than any of those boys could ever fuckin’ dream of.”

“Yours,” you cried. “Only you—Joel, I swear—no one’s ever—fuck, please let me come—”

He sucked your clit hard, tongue flicking with purpose, and that was it.

You shattered.

Your whole body tensed, then shook — thighs clamping around his head as you came with a scream, tears slipping free from the sheer force of it. Your hands flew to your face, overwhelmed, sobbing his name like a prayer.

Joel groaned into you, didn’t stop licking, didn’t stop drinking you in until you were shaking, twitching, too sensitive to take another second.

He finally pulled back, jaw slick, eyes wild. He kissed the inside of your thigh, then your hip, then your stomach as he crawled back up your body, covering you with his weight.

You were breathless, wrecked, glowing.

He hovered above you, still hard, cock slick with your arousal and need. His breath was ragged, brow furrowed like he was barely holding on.

“You want more?” he whispered, dragging the tip of his cock along your overstimulated folds, just to watch you twitch. “Want me to fill you up again?”

You shook your head, breathless, your voice just a whisper. “No. Wanna see you. Want you to come for me now.”

Joel’s eyes darkened at that — heat flaring low in his gut.

“Yeah?” he rasped.

You nodded, slipping your hand between your bodies, wrapping your fingers around his thick length. He let out a broken groan, hips bucking into your palm.

“Lie back,” you murmured. “Let me watch you fall apart.”

And he did.

Joel leaned back onto his elbows, then let himself fall to the mattress, legs spread, chest heaving, cock flushed and heavy in your hand.

You straddled his thighs, bent over him, and stroked him slow — tight, slick, steady — while your mouth dropped hot, open kisses along his chest, his stomach, right down to the trail of hair that led to where he pulsed in your grip.

“Look at you,” you whispered. “So fucking pretty like this.”

Joel growled — low and wrecked — one hand fisting in the sheets as you pumped him harder, your lips brushing the base of his cock, tongue teasing just enough to make his thighs tense.

“Fuck—baby—I’m gonna—”

“Yeah?” you breathed, dragging your tongue up the length of him. “Then come for me, Joel. Want you to make a fuckin’ mess.”

He let out a broken cry, hips jerking, and then he came — hard — thick ropes of release striping his stomach, chest, your knuckles. You didn’t stop until he was twitching, groaning, his body slack and spent beneath you.

You kissed your way up his chest, licking a drop from his collarbone, and smiled down at him.

“Messy enough for you?” you teased.

Joel caught your face in his hand and kissed you deep — slow this time. Heavy with want, with gratitude, with everything he’d been too scared to give before tonight.

“More than enough,” he rasped. “But you ain’t seen nothin’ yet.”

Joel was still catching his breath when your head dropped against his chest, your lips brushing the sheen of sweat that clung to his skin. His arm came around you instinctively, pulling you into his side, holding you like something precious — like something he’d almost lost.

You felt his hand slide into your hair, gentle now, stroking slowly as your breathing evened out.

For a long moment, neither of you said anything. The only sounds were your hearts slowing down, the faint creak of the bed under your tangled limbs, and the rustle of the sheets as Joel shifted to kiss your forehead.

“You okay?” he asked softly, voice hoarse and quiet.

You nodded, lips curving into a lazy, blissed-out smile. “More than okay.”

He chuckled under his breath, the sound warm, vibrating through his chest. “Didn’t mean to go that hard,” he murmured, brushing his fingers down your back. “You just— Christ, you get me so worked up.”

You tilted your head, looked up at him through tired eyes. “I like when you go a little feral.”

He gave you a look — fond, amused, still a little dazed — and leaned in to kiss you. This time it was soft, lips barely brushing yours, just enough to say I’m here, I’ve got you, I’m not letting go.

“Still think I should be with someone my age?” you whispered, teasing, your voice soft against his mouth.

Joel sighed, hand sliding down to cradle your thigh as he tucked it over his own. “You shut me up pretty damn good, baby.”

You giggled, nestling closer, and he tucked your head under his chin. His other hand found yours between your bodies, fingers lacing together like they’d done it a thousand times before.

“I’m sorry,” he added, quieter now. “For pushin’ you away. For sayin’ that shit. Truth is—I’m scared. You’re… you’re everything. And I don’t wanna fuck it up.”

Your chest ached — not from the sex, but from the way he meant every word.

“You’re not fucking anything up,” you whispered, pressing a kiss to his collarbone. “You’re it for me, Joel. Every version of you.”

He squeezed your hand, kissed the top of your head again, and exhaled like a man finally letting himself breathe.

“Then let me take care of you,” he murmured. “In every way.”

And he did.

He cleaned you up carefully, murmuring sweet, sleepy things as he wiped between your thighs, kissing your knees and cheeks and hands. He pulled you under the blankets, wrapped around you like a second skin, and didn’t let go even when sleep pulled you both under.

The boys at the party? Forgotten.

The insecurity? Fading.

What stayed was Joel’s arm around your waist, his breath in your hair, and the quiet, steady promise of this is real. This is yours.