#but that's a conversation for another time

[moonlightwritingf1]

Teach Me | LN4

˖𓍢ִ໋🌷͙֒ᡣ𐭩 summary ━━━━━━━ Lando and Y/N have been together for a few months now, but for her, he’s the first in everything. He’s been endlessly patient—always focused on her pleasure, never rushing or expecting anything in return. But now, Y/N wants to make him feel good too.

˖𓍢ִ໋🌷͙֒ᡣ𐭩 pairing ━━━━━━━ Lando Norris x she!reader

˖𓍢ִ໋🌷͙֒ᡣ𐭩 word count ━━━━━━━ 4.7k

˖𓍢ִ໋🌷͙֒ᡣ𐭩 warnings ━━━━━━━ +18, sexual content, oral sex (m receiving), cum swallow, choking on cock

Based on this request.

“You want to… what?” Lando’s voice cracked slightly, his eyes wide as he stared at her. His fingers, which had been lazily tracing circles on her thigh, froze mid-motion.

Y/N hesitated for a fraction of a second, her cheeks burning, but the determination in her eyes didn’t waver. “I want to… you know… make you feel good. Like you’ve done for me.” Her voice was softer now, almost a whisper, but the intensity in her gaze held his.

Lando blinked, his lips parting slightly as if he was trying to process what she’d just said. The room felt suddenly smaller, the air thicker, and the sound of their breathing seemed to echo louder than it should. “You mean… that?” he asked, his voice low and laced with a mix of disbelief and something else—something hotter, darker.

She nodded, her teeth sinking into her lower lip as she tried to suppress the nervous flutter in her chest. “I’ve been thinking about it. A lot. I… I want to. But I’m scared. I don’t know how to… do it. Will you… teach me?”

Lando’s breath hitched, and for a moment, he looked like he’d been struck by lightning. His hand moved from her thigh to her face, his thumb brushing against her cheek in a gesture so tender it made her heart ache. “Fucking hell, Y/N,” he murmured, his voice rough. “You’re going to kill me.”

She laughed nervously, the sound shaky but genuine. “I don’t want to kill you. I just… I want to make you feel good. You’ve been so patient with me, and I…” She trailed off, her fingers fidgeting with the hem of her shirt as she searched for the right words.

Lando leaned in, his forehead resting against hers, his breath warm against her skin. “You don’t have to do anything you’re not ready for, you know that, right?” he said softly, his tone earnest. “I’m not going anywhere. I’ll wait as long as you need.”

“I know,” she whispered, her hands moving to rest on his chest, feeling the steady thud of his heartbeat beneath her palms. “But I want to. I just… need you to guide me.”

Lando let out a low groan, his forehead still pressed against hers. “Christ, you’re going to be the death of me,” he muttered, but there was no mistaking the excitement in his voice. He pulled back slightly, his eyes locking with hers, and she could see the hunger there, the raw desire that he usually kept carefully in check.

“Are you sure?” he asked, his voice thick with restraint.

She nodded again, more confidently this time. “Yes. I’m sure.”

Lando exhaled sharply, his hands moving to frame her face. “Okay,” he said, his voice barely above a whisper. “But we’re going to take it slow. And if you want to stop at any point, you say the word. Deal?”

“Deal,” she breathed, her heart racing as she felt the tension between them shift, becoming something heavier, something more electric.

Without another word, she slid off the couch and knelt on the floor in front of him, her hands trembling slightly as she reached for the waistband of his sweatpants. Lando’s breath caught, his eyes darkening as he watched her, but he didn’t stop her. Instead, he leaned back slightly, giving her space to work.

“Easy,” he murmured, his voice impossibly soft as she tugged his pants down, followed by his boxers. His cock was already semi-hard, the tip flushed and twitching slightly as the cool air hit him. She couldn’t help but stare, her breath catching in her throat at the sight of him. The conversation they’d just had had made him this way, had made him horny, had made him semi-hard. And now, here she was, kneeling in front of him, her heart pounding like a drum in her chest.

Lando’s hand reached out, his fingers brushing against her cheek in a gesture so tender it made her stomach flip. “You’re doing so good, love,” he whispered, his voice thick with desire. “But before we go any further, I need to make sure you know what you’re doing. Can’t have you getting overwhelmed, yeah?”

She nodded, her eyes never leaving his. “Tell me,” she breathed, her voice barely audible. “Tell me what to do.”

Lando’s lips curved into a soft smile, but his eyes were intense, filled with a hunger that made her shiver. “First, you’re going to make me fully hard,” he said, his voice low and steady. “Use your hand. Just… take me in your palm and stroke me. Gently, at first. Like this.” His hand covered hers, guiding her as she wrapped her fingers around him. The warmth of him, the way he felt in her hand, sent a jolt of heat straight to her core.

She swallowed hard, her fingers tightening slightly as she followed his guidance. His cock twitched in her hand, growing harder with every slow stroke. “Fuck,” he hissed, his head falling back against the couch. “That’s it, love. Just like that.”

Lando’s hand moved to her chin, gently tilting her face up to meet his gaze. His eyes were dark, almost predatory, but there was a softness there too, a reassurance that made her pulse quicken. “Spit in your palm,” he instructed, his voice low and steady. “As much as you can.”

Y/N’s breath hitched, but she didn’t hesitate. She pulled her hand away from him, brought it to her mouth, and let her saliva pool in her palm. Her cheeks burned with embarrassment, but the look on Lando’s face—pure, unadulterated desire—made her feel bold. She spat into her hand, the sound loud in the quiet room, and then returned her damp palm to his cock.

The moment her slick hand wrapped around him again, Lando let out a groan that sent shivers down her spine. “Fuck, Y/N,” he muttered, his hips jerking slightly. “That’s it. Now keep stroking me. Just like that.”

She obeyed, her movements slow and deliberate as she used the wetness to glide her hand up and down his length. His cock was getting harder, throbbing in her grasp, and the way he reacted to her touch—the way his breath quickened, the way his fingers dug into the couch—only fueled her confidence.

Y/N could feel the tension building between them, the air thick with unspoken desire. Her hand moved on its own now, her strokes becoming more confident as she watched him react to her touch. His breathing grew heavier, his chest rising and falling rapidly as he fought to keep control.

“You’re a natural,” he groaned, his voice strained.

Lando’s hand gripped the back of the couch, his knuckles whitening as he fought to keep himself steady. His breathing was already ragged, his cock twitching in her palm, but he wasn’t losing control—not yet. He was savoring every second of this, every touch, every hesitant stroke of her hand. His eyes never left her face, watching her with a mix of awe and hunger that made her stomach clench with need.

“You’re doing so well, baby,” he murmured, his voice dripping with praise. “So, so well.”

Y/N’s heart swelled at his words, the encouragement fueling her confidence. But she wasn’t done yet. She wanted to do more—wanted to explore him, to taste him. The thought made her cheeks burn, but the ache between her legs was impossible to ignore. She wanted to make him feel as good as he’d made her feel, wanted to see him completely undone because of her.

“Can I—” she began, her voice trembling slightly. “Can I taste you?”

Lando’s eyes burned with hunger, a low groan escaping his lips before he could stop it. “Fuck, Y/N,” he muttered, his voice strained. 

“You’re going to kill me.” But he didn’t say no. He couldn’t. The idea of her mouth on him, her tongue exploring him, was enough to drive him to the brink of madness.

She didn’t wait for him to say more. Leaning forward, she let her lips brush against the tip of his cock, testing the feel of him against her mouth. He twitched under her touch, a sharp intake of breath hissing through his teeth. She could feel the heat of him, the way his skin was velvety soft but hard underneath, and it made her pulse quicken.

Her tongue dipped out, tentatively flicking against the tip. The taste of him was salty, musky, and it sent a jolt of heat straight to her core. Lando’s reaction was immediate—his hips jerked slightly, and a low, guttural moan spilled from his lips. 

“Fuck, baby,” he groaned, his hand gripping the couch so tightly she thought the fabric might tear. “You’re already driving me insane.”

Y/N’s heart raced, but she didn’t stop. She wanted more. Her tongue flicked out again, this time more confidently, licking up the length of his cock in a slow, deliberate stroke. She could feel the way he shuddered under her touch, the way his breath hitched when her tongue swirled around the sensitive head. It was intoxicating, the way he reacted to her, the way he was completely at her mercy.

She kissed the tip of his cock next, her lips pressing against him in a soft, lingering kiss. The sound that escaped Lando’s throat was primal, almost feral, and it sent a thrill through her. She kissed the length of him next, her lips trailing down his shaft in a series of tender, exploratory kisses. It was almost reverent, the way she was touching him, exploring him, and it made his chest ache with something he couldn’t quite name.

“You’re so gentle,” he murmured, his voice rough with desire. “It’s driving me absolutely fucking crazy.”

Y/N smiled against his skin, her confidence growing with every touch, every kiss. She was mostly exploring, learning the feel of him, the way he responded to her. But Lando was watching her with intense, unwavering focus, his eyes full of need. And he couldn’t stop the flow of praise that spilled from his lips.

“Just like that, yeah—just like that,” he groaned, his hips bucking slightly as her tongue swirled around him again. “You’re perfect.”

His words sent a rush of warmth through her, and she found herself wanting to please him even more. Her hand still stroked him slowly, her palm slick with his precum and her saliva, while her tongue continued to explore him. She licked up the length of his cock, her tongue flat against his skin, before darting back to focus on the sensitive tip. Every little movement made him twitch, made him groan, and she loved it. She loved the way he was unraveling because of her.

“You’re learning so fast,” he muttered, his voice barely above a whisper. “Feels like a dream, honestly.”

Y/N glanced up at him then, her eyes meeting his, and the intensity of his gaze made her heart skip a beat. His pupils were blown wide, the blue of his irises almost completely swallowed by the black, and the heat in his eyes was undeniable. He looked like he was hanging on by a thread, like he was one touch away from completely losing control.

“Wrap your lips around me,” he instructed gently, his hand moving to the back of her head in a soft, guiding touch. “Just the tip. ‘’

She obeyed, her lips parting as she took the head of his cock into her mouth. 

‘’That’s it… good girl.”

The first taste of him was overwhelming—salty, musky, and so incredibly him. She could feel the way his body tensed, the way his fingers tightened in her hair, and it made her shiver with anticipation. Her cheeks hollowed slightly as she sucked on him tentatively, her tongue pressing against the underside of his shaft.

“Fuck,” Lando choked out, his head tipping back against the couch. “Slow, baby. You don’t have to take it all. Just what feels good to you.”

She nodded slightly, her lips still wrapped tight around him, and she began to move. Slowly, hesitantly, she bobbed her head, taking just a little more of him into her mouth with each pass. The way he filled her mouth, the way his cock throbbed against her tongue, was intoxicating. She could feel the tension in his body, the way he was fighting to keep himself still, and it only made her want to push him further.

Her hand continued to stroke him in tandem with her mouth, her fingers tight around the base of his cock as she worked him. Every now and then, she’d pull back, her tongue swirling around the tip before diving back down. The sounds he was making—low, guttural moans that seemed to come from deep within his chest—were driving her wild. She wanted to hear more, wanted to see just how far she could take him.

“Jesus Christ,” Lando muttered, his hand tightening in her hair. “You’re going to make me fucking come, Y/N.”

The words sent a rush of heat through her, and she pulled back slightly, her lips brushing against the tip of his cock as she looked up at him. Her eyes were wide, her cheeks flushed, and her lips slick with his precum. She looked utterly sinful, and it made Lando’s chest ache with how much he wanted her.

“Keep going,” he whispered, his voice rough with need. “Please, baby. Keep going.”

She didn’t need to be told twice. Her lips wrapped around him again, her tongue swirling around his tip before she took him deeper into her mouth. She could feel the way his body tensed, the way his hips bucked slightly, and she loved it. She loved the way he was completely at her mercy, the way he was unraveling because of her.

And she knew, without a doubt, that she was going to make him come.

Y/N’s confidence was growing with every bob of her head, her lips sliding down a little further each time. But then, pushing just a fraction deeper than before, the tip of his cock hit the back of her throat. She gagged, a choked sound escaping her as she instinctively pulled back, her eyes watering as she looked up at him.

“Shit, you okay?” Lando asked, his voice thick with concern as he sat up slightly, his hand hovering near her face. She nodded quickly, wiping her mouth with the back of her hand.

“I’m fine,” she whispered, her voice a little shaky.

“I want to keep trying.” Lando’s chest swelled with pride, his gaze softening as he brushed a strand of hair away from her face. Lando’s hand gently cupped her cheek, his thumb brushing away a stray tear that had escaped her watering eyes. 

“Are you sure?” he asked, his voice low and tender, though it was laced with an unmistakable strain. “We can stop right now if it’s too much. I don’t want to push you, love.”

She looked up at him, her eyes wide but determined, her lips still damp from where they’d been wrapped around him. 

“I’m sure,” she whispered, her voice steady despite the faint tremor in it. “I don’t want to stop. I want to keep going. I want to make you feel good.”

Lando’s breath hitched, his chest swelling with something that felt dangerously close to awe. “Fuck, Y/N,” he muttered, his voice rough with emotion. His fingers traced the curve of her jaw, his touch so soft it made her heart ache. “You’re fucking perfect.”

The way he said it—like she was the most incredible thing he’d ever seen—sent a shiver down her spine. She could see it in his eyes, the way he was completely undone by her, the way he was hanging on every move she made. It was intoxicating, the way she had this power over him, the way he was so utterly hers.

She dove back in, her lips wrapping around him again, determined to push past the discomfort.

She slowed her pace, her lips gliding gently over him, savoring the feel of his cock against her tongue. Her movements were soft, almost teasing, as she focused on the tip, swirling her tongue around the sensitive ridge. Her hand stayed at the base, stroking him in slow, steady motions, her touch light but firm. Lando’s breath hitched, his fingers twitching against the couch as he let out a low, shuddering groan. 

“Fuck, Y/N,” he muttered, his voice rough with need. “You’re so—god—so fucking good at this.” Y/N smiled against him, her confidence growing again.

This time, when she gagged, she didn’t pull back. Her throat clenched around him, her eyes watering, but she didn’t stop. She kept going, her hand stroking him in tandem with her mouth. Lando’s reaction was instant, his hips jerking slightly as a string of curses spilled from his lips. 

“Shit—shit, baby, that was—fuck,” he groaned, his hand twitching where it rested on the couch, fighting the urge to grip her hair. 

“That little gag? And you kept going? Christ, baby,” he muttered, his voice strained. “You’re driving me out of my fucking mind.”

She moaned softly around him, the vibrations sending a jolt of pleasure through his body, as if she was agreeing with his words in the most intimate way possible. The sound was muffled by his cock, but it was enough to make Lando’s breath hitch, his hips jerking slightly as he fought to keep still. 

“That’s it, baby,” he groaned, his voice rough with need, his fingers tangling in her hair as he guided her. “You’re fucking perfect.”

Her lips tightened around him, her tongue swirling around his tip as she took him deeper, her moans growing louder with every bob of her head. The vibrations of her voice against his sensitive skin drove him wild, his cock throbbing in her mouth as precum leaked from the tip. 

The deep, guttural moan that escaped him next made her thighs press together, her core aching with need. It was raw, uncontrollable, and it did something to her that she couldn’t explain. Lando noticed, his lips curling into a smirk even as his breath came in short, uneven gasps.

“You like hearing me fall apart?” he teased, his voice barely above a whisper.

Y/N pulled back with a soft pop, her lips glistening and slightly swollen. She looked up at him, her eyes filled with desire but still holding that hint of shyness that drove him wild. 

“Yes,” she whispered, her voice barely audible but laced with so much intention it sent a shiver down his spine. Her fingers tightened around the base of his cock, her touch firm but still so gentle that it made him ache.

“Then keep going,” Lando said, his voice low and commanding, though there was a softness in it that was meant just for her. His thumb brushed her cheek, a silent affirmation. 

“I’m yours.” Her breath hitched at his words, and for a moment, she just stared at him, her heart racing at the weight of what he’d just said. “I’m yours.” It wasn’t just permission—it was a surrender.

She obeyed without hesitation, her lips and tongue working him with a renewed sense of purpose. The way he was reacting—the way he was completely at her mercy—was intoxicating. Her movements were slow but deliberate, her tongue swirling around the sensitive tip of his cock before taking him deeper, her cheeks hollowing as she sucked. She could feel the tension building in him, the way his body tensed with every stroke, every flick of her tongue. His breathing was ragged, his hips jerking slightly as he fought to keep still.

Lando’s moans were growing louder, more desperate, and Y/N could feel it—the tension in his body, the way his thighs trembled, the way his hand tightened in her hair. It was as if he was hanging on by a thread, and she was the one unraveling him, inch by inch. Her confidence had skyrocketed, her movements growing faster, sloppier, her lips and tongue working him with a hunger she didn’t realize she had. She wanted to push him to the edge, wanted to see him completely undone because of her.

“Y/N—baby—” he gasped, his voice trembling with need. “Slow down. I’m gonna… fuck, I’m gonna come.” But she didn’t stop. If anything, she pressed on, her lips tightening around him, her tongue swirling around the sensitive tip of his cock in a way that made his hips jerk uncontrollably. “Fuck,” he groaned, his hand gripping the couch cushion so hard that the fabric creaked under his fingers. “You’re going to kill me.”

His warning only fueled her determination. She looked up at him, her lips still wrapped around him, her eyes locking with his. Her gaze was intense, filled with a mix of innocence and boldness that made his chest ache. She pulled back just enough to speak, her voice soft but laced with determination. “I want to try swallowing,” she whispered, her words sending a jolt of heat straight to his core.

Lando’s jaw dropped, his breath catching in his throat as he stared at her, utterly stunned. “Jesus Christ,” he muttered, the words barely audible. His hand tightened in her hair, his fingers trembling slightly as he fought to keep himself steady. He was so close—so fucking close—and the way she was looking at him, the way she was so eager to please him, was enough to send him over the edge.

She didn’t wait for him to respond. Her lips wrapped around him again, her tongue flicking against the sensitive underside of his cock as she took him deeper. The way she was working him—the way she was so determined to make him come—was driving him out of his mind. His hips jerked again, his thighs trembling as he fought to keep still. “Y/N,” he groaned, her name spilling from his lips like a prayer. “Fuck, baby, I’m—I’m gonna—”

He didn’t finish the sentence. His climax hit him like a tidal wave, his entire body shaking as he came, his hand gripping the back of her head as he spilled into her mouth. Y/N’s eyes widened slightly at the sudden rush of warmth, but she didn’t pull back. She stayed there, her lips still wrapped around him, her tongue working to swallow every drop. The taste was salty and it sent a jolt of heat straight to her core. She could feel the way he was trembling, the way his breath came in short, uneven gasps, and it made her heart race.

Lando’s hand fell from her hair, his fingers twitching slightly as he tried to catch his breath. His head was tipped back against the couch, his chest rising and falling rapidly as he fought to come down from the high she’d just given him. “Fuck,” he muttered, his voice hoarse and rough. “Y/N… baby… that was—” He didn’t finish the sentence, his words trailing off as he let out a shaky breath.

She pulled back slowly, her lips still glistening as she looked up at him. Her cheeks were flushed, her eyes wide and filled with a mix of innocence and something else—something that made his chest ache. She hesitated for a moment, her gaze flicking down to the tip of his cock, where a single drop of cum still lingered. She leaned forward, her tongue darting out to lick it off, her lips closing around the tip in a soft, lingering kiss. Lando’s entire body stiffened, his breath catching in his throat as he watched her. “You didn’t have to—fuck, that was the hottest thing I’ve ever seen,” he muttered, his voice rough with disbelief. He stared down at her, his chest rising and falling rapidly as he tried to process what she’d just done. “I didn’t even think you’d… Jesus, you’re full of surprises.”

She smiled shyly, her cheeks burning as she glanced up at him. “I just… wanted to,” she whispered, her voice barely audible.

Lando’s heart swelled at her words, his chest aching with something he couldn’t quite name. He leaned forward, his hand moving to cup her cheek, his thumb brushing against her jaw in a gesture so tender it made her stomach flip. “Come here,” he murmured, his voice soft but laced with need. “I need to kiss you. Right now.”

She didn’t hesitate. She leaned in, her lips meeting his in a slow, lingering kiss that made her heart race. It was soft, almost reverent, but there was a hunger there that made her chest ache. His hand moved to the back of her neck, his fingers tangling in her hair as he deepened the kiss, his tongue brushing against hers in a way that sent shivers down her spine.

When he finally pulled back, his forehead resting against hers, his breath warm against her skin, he let out a shaky laugh. “I’ll never forget this,” he whispered, his voice rough with emotion. “Ever. You’ve ruined every other memory I have.”

She laughed softly, her hand moving to rest on his chest, feeling the steady thud of his heartbeat beneath her palm. “You’re not so bad yourself,” she teased, her voice laced with a playfulness that made him smile.

Lando groaned, his hand moving to the back of his neck as he let out a shaky breath. “You’re going to be the death of me, Y/N,” he muttered, but there was no mistaking the affection in his voice.

Lando didn’t waste a second. As soon as she leaned back, he pulled her up and into his lap, his arms wrapping around her like she was the most precious thing in the world. His hands were gentle but firm, cradling her against him as he pressed a soft kiss to her forehead. “That was… holy shit,” he breathed, his voice a mix of awe and disbelief. He shook his head slightly, his hand smoothing over her back in slow, comforting circles. “You didn’t just make me feel good, love. You made me feel worshipped.”

Y/N’s cheeks flushed at his words, her heart swelling with a warmth she couldn’t quite describe. She hesitated for a moment, her fingers nervously playing with the fabric of his shirt. “Did I… did I do okay?” she whispered, her voice tentative, almost shy.

Lando’s eyes widened, and he let out a soft, incredulous laugh. “Okay?” he repeated, his voice laced with disbelief. He took her hand and placed it firmly over his chest, letting her feel the rapid, unsteady beat of his heart. “You destroyed me,” he murmured, his voice rough with emotion. “Feel that? That’s what you do to me. Every single time.”

Her breath hitched at his words, her fingers curling slightly against his chest. She could feel the way his heart raced beneath her palm, the way his body still trembled from the intensity of what had just happened. It was a feeling she’d never experienced before—this power, this connection. And it was because of him, because of the way he looked at her, the way he held her, the way he made her feel like she was everything.

Lando’s hand moved to her chin, gently tilting her face up to meet his gaze. His eyes were soft, filled with so much tenderness it made her chest ache. “You’re incredible,” he whispered, his voice barely audible. “You know that, right? You’re fucking incredible.”

Y/N’s eyes filled with tears, but she blinked them away quickly, a small smile tugging at her lips. “I’m just… trying to keep up with you,” she said softly, her voice trembling slightly.

Lando shook his head, his thumb brushing against her cheek in a gesture so tender it made her heart ache. “You’re not just keeping up, Y/N,” he murmured. “You’re leading. And I’m fucking obsessed with it.” He leaned in then, his lips brushing against hers in a kiss that was so soft, so gentle, it made her chest swell with something she couldn’t quite name.

When he pulled back, he rested his forehead against hers, his breath warm against her skin. “You’re it for me,” he whispered, his voice thick with emotion. “You know that, right?”

Y/N’s breath hitched, her heart racing at his words. She nodded slightly, her hand still resting on his chest, feeling the steady thud of his heartbeat beneath her palm. “I do,” she whispered, her voice barely audible. “And you’re it for me too.”

[sinner-as-saint]

your guiding hand, your final decider

Bucky Barnes x Reader 

Summary: Bucky thought that no longer having to work under Val meant that he could avoid these pretentious parties. But no. Now that the New Avengers were the talk of the town, he was even more obliged to attend them – the entire team did. And the parties were always held at the tower itself so Bucky couldn’t even get out of there. But something had made these parties a lot more tolerable lately – someone rather, someone who had caught Bucky’s eye and now he couldn’t look away. You. And you were everything Bucky shouldn’t want. Well-known socialite, way too young for him, but something about the way you kept glancing at him with that look in your eyes… Bucky knew he was in so much trouble. 

Themes: age gap (reader is in her mid twenties), smut, explicit language, soft dom!bucky

Bucky cursed mentally as he reached for another champagne flute. 

Fuck this shit. He couldn’t even get drunk. 

Bucky leaned against a decorative column in the shadowy corner of the room, people watching as always. He could see John working his charm on a group of people who refused to get away from him. He spotted Alexei forcing people to listen to his business and marketing ideas. He could see Yelena glaring at everyone, drinking as much as he was. He saw Ava and Bob trying to sneak out for the third time tonight. He met Ava’s eyes and shook his head gently. He could almost hear her sigh as she grabbed Bob and walked back into the party. 

It was yet another fancy, pretentious mess – the party. Unnecessary people walking around, making unnecessary conversations, with unnecessary smiles on their faces. Every now and then Bucky would meet one of his teammates' eyes – especially the girls and they would share a miserable look before going back to drinking champagne or hiding from people. 

At least the food was good. 

Bucky thought he was in for another boring couple of hours, but then he saw a flash of red in a sea of black tuxedos. He stood up straight immediately, still hiding in his shadowy corner. He got a better look and found a slight smirk forming on his face as he saw you. Blood red dress, diamonds all over you, and a soft smile on your face as people naturally gravitated and came up to talk to you. 

There you are. He’d been waiting for you, although he wouldn’t admit it. But lately, you were the only thing that made these parties tolerable. And the entire team teased him about it. Bucky hadn’t even spoken to you, ever. You always seemed so… out of reach. And you were so young, compared to his century old self. Besides, why would you ever give him even a slice of your time? 

But then, a while ago, it seemed he caught your eye too. Because he’d noticed you would look up every now and then and meet his eyes. And you’d give him a faint little smile. Then over time you got bolder it seemed. Because not only would you smile at him, but you’d give him those eyes. Beckoning him, luring him like a siren. But he never went up to you. No matter how many times he found you alone at the bar, or how many times he felt that pull that he had to fight to resist.

But there would be no resistance tonight it looked like. Because you were walking right towards him. Bucky froze. You’d found him even though he was hiding in a corner, and you were marching over to him with that confident stride that made him weak. Bucky tightened his grip around the now empty champagne flute and worried that he might break it so he quickly set it down right before you came to a stop right in front of him. 

Shit. You were even more beautiful up close. What the hell is he supposed to do? Say? Do with his hands? Should he shake yours? He looked around quickly, as if looking for backup, and all he found was John giving him a thumbs up. 

He could already hear John’s voice in his head saying Come on man, you got this. Just don’t frown or glare. 

“Sergeant Barnes,” You said, holding your hand out for him to shake. You introduced yourself then said, “I don’t think we’ve properly met.” 

Bucky took your hand gently, and gave it a firm squeeze before letting go. “Yeah, I… you’re always busy socialising so…” He trailed off, shrugging. Running his fingers through his silky soft hair out of habit. 

Not good with small talk, then. You noted. So you smiled and quickly said, “I’m gonna go get a drink, come with me.” 

Bucky followed, walking just a step behind you. He caught a whiff of your scent as you walked and some kind of hungry animal woke up inside him. Meanwhile you kept talking to him, apologising for how you didn’t come to greet him earlier. You asked him about work just as you both reached the bar. 

“It must be quite something knowing you’re one of the strongest people on this planet.” You said, after you ordered drinks for both of you. Bucky just gave you a faint smile, running his fingers through his hair again. Gods, you thought, he’s beautiful. The kind of gorgeous where you could tell he didn’t even realise it. And it had taken you quite some months to have the courage to walk up to him and say hi. 

But you had your eye on him since day one. And judging by his demeanor, you knew he liked you too. 

“It’s… you know? Work.” Bucky answered, bringing his whiskey glass up to his lips. He took a sip, then said, “It’s all I know. I never quite got the chance to be anything other than a soldier. It’s what I’m good at.” 

“And you’re very good at your job, it’s all everyone talks about.” You said, and watched him struggle with taking the compliment. You added, “Thank you for keeping our city safe, Sergeant Barnes.” 

There. There was that look in your eyes again. That soft, sultry yet gentle look. 

“Call me Bucky.” 

Fuck. Had his voice gotten lower? Deeper? You wished you had a handheld fan because you were sure the temperature just rose. And him standing there all tall, muscular, and handsome didn’t help at all. 

“Bucky.” You repeated. “You want to step out and get some air for a while?” 

“Sure.” 

— 

He led the way and soon you were both out on the large open terrace which overlooked the twinkling city. The night was dark, the city was alive. The wind was slightly cold, but it was perfect. 

“You must come here all the time,” You said, admiring the view. “I would if I lived here. The view is to die for.” 

You turned to look at Bucky and he was already staring at you, leaning down with his elbows resting on the metal railing. You took a moment and admired the man standing next to you. Metal hand. Beautiful face. Pretty eyes. Strong body. The wind moved his hair around, highlighting the softness of it. And you wanted nothing more than to just run your fingers through that hair… maybe even tug on it– 

“It’s… I don’t know.” He did that shrug you found adorable. “You kinda get used to it. Especially if you work in the exact same building where you live. I barely even come out here. I just park the jet and go to my floor.” He explained and chuckled. 

You gave him a smile and said, “Park the jet.” You repeated his words. “You say that so casually, it’s like you’re from another world.” 

Bucky chuckled. Then said, “I could say the same thing about you.” A pause. Then, “We have nothing in common, and yet, here we are.” He sighed, still looking at you with those gorgeous eyes. 

“Here we are.” You repeated, not breaking eye contact. 

Bucky stared back, then a few seconds later he blinked a couple of times and looked away, muttering, “You should stop that.” He said it in a playful tone, but it piqued your interest. 

“Stop what?” You turned to face him fully this time. 

“Stop giving me that look.” 

“What look?” 

Bucky chuckled and stood up straight. “Alright.” He stared into your eyes and said firmly but gently, “I know what you’re doing, doll. Stop it. You’re too young, okay? I’m too old for you.” 

You stopped pretending you didn’t know what he was talking about. You stepped closer and reached for his bow tie, mindlessly fixing it as you said, “I’m old enough. Besides,” You whispered, your fingers leaving his bow tie to gently trail down his chest, touching his soft white shirt, “I like an older man.” 

Bucky was so still. Frozen, as if unbothered by your actions. Then with a deep voice he warned, “Careful, princess.” 

You looked up into his icy blue eyes and said, “I’m done being careful. I’ve wanted you since the day we first saw each other. But you’ve been forcing us to play this game of hide and seek. I’m done waiting, Bucky. I want you.” You leaned in and brushed the tip of your nose along his neck, breathing in his scent shamelessly. 

Bucky let you have your fun for a moment or two, then he gently grabbed you by the chin, pulled your face away from his neck so he could look at you and said, “Shouldn’t you go find someone your age if you wanna have reckless fun, huh?” 

You pouted. “Oh come on, Bucky.” You whined. 

Bucky chuckled mercilessly at your whining. “Those puppy dog eyes aren’t gonna work. And don’t pout.” 

You groaned, pressing into him. Your chest firmly against his. Your hands still on his chest. Bucky didn’t move. He didn’t push you away. He was enjoying this little game a little too much. 

“But these boys my age,” You sighed dramatically, “They’re horrible. They play too much, they’re so unserious. They don’t even know how to treat girls right.” You leaned in again, whispering into his ear, “They’re so stupid, they can’t even fuck right.” 

Bucky went still again. His heart beating so fast he could hear it. “Oh come on, angel…” He sounded like he was begging. 

“Nobody had to know about us.” You whispered, letting your lips leave lipstick stains all over his cheek and neck. 

“Isn’t this wrong?” He questioned, keeping his hands to himself for now. Miraculously. 

“Who cares?” You continued kissing him softly. 

“We shouldn’t.” Bucky whispered, his warning barely believable. 

“It’ll be our little secret.” You promised. Then you reached for his metal hand, and guided it over to your chest. He let his hand linger there. “Please…” You said, pressing further into him, partially because his body heat felt so good. You couldn’t even imagine how nice it would be to have him naked against you– 

It took him a second to make up his mind. He grabbed your wrist and pulled you away from the railing, “Come on then.” 

— 

The elevator ride to his floor was… sizzling. You could feel the tension between you and him, it was almost tangible. A living breathing thing. A hungry animal. 

The moment you both stepped out of the elevator, Bucky led you to his bedroom. He almost said fuck it and almost gave in twice during the short walk to his bedroom, wanting to just push you against the wall and take you right there. But there were cameras… plus he knew it’d be worth the wait. He preferred fucking in bed rather than anywhere else. 

You stepped into his dimly lit bedroom and immediately noted that it was just as dark and moody as him. With more shadows than light. 

You opened your mouth to comment on his room, but you didn’t get the chance to because he grabbed you and pulled you into his chest, bringing his mouth to yours. 

He kissed you, hard and passionately. You melted against him, smiling into the kiss. His hand moved down just a little to grab your breast, squeezing it as he pushed you backward, making you lay down on his bed before he got on top of you. 

He held himself up above you with one hand, while the other explored your body. The material of your dress was thin enough that his body heat seeped through and you were already moaning and squirming under him. 

You arched your back, pressing up against him and he groaned into your mouth before pulling away to look down at you. His stare was fiery, eyes darkening with lust. His voice was deeper than usual as he said, “Take this pretty dress off.”

You were breathless, trapped between his hard, strong body and the softest bed sheets. You were needy too, but you still sassed and said, “So you want me to do all the work for you?” 

Bucky wasn’t expecting it so it took him a moment, but then he chuckled, shaking his head like he couldn’t believe it. “Fine then. I’ll do it.” He sat back on his haunches, grabbed your dress at the neckline and tore the fabric in two, all the way down till you could wiggle your way out of it, giggling as you did. Then he was onto you again, kissing you even more ferociously.

His mouth slowly moved down your body. Kissing along your neck, kissing and biting your breasts, kissing down your stomach, your hips, your thighs. He purposely avoided where you needed him the most as he knelt in between your bare legs and stared at you laying on top of your now ruined dress. Something about it drove him insane. 

“You okay, princess? You still want this?” 

You lifted your upper body up onto your elbows and met his intense stare, burning with desire. “Yes,” You whispered. 

Bucky held your stare as he trailed his lips up to your thigh then placed his hands on both your thighs and spread your legs further apart. “Fuck…” He swore, quietly under his breath as he gazed upon you. Your wetness slowly dripping out of you. “Do you know how desperately I’ve wanted to have you like this? Naked under me? Nice and open for me to taste?” He spoke and each warm breath of his made you whine and squirm even more as he held you there, open for him. 

“Bucky, please… I need you.” You whispered, your voice breathy and desperate. You didn’t even bother hiding it. 

He smirked, then quickly pressed his lips to your inner thigh, his mouth getting closer and closer to your core. You tipped your head back, sighing quietly as you felt his breath against your wet folds. Your body shivered and squirmed. You couldn’t help but slide your fingers into his soft, long hair. 

Fuck, it was softer than you imagined. You were almost mad at him for it. How dare he roam around with soft hair like this? It was ridiculous. 

“Damn you,” You muttered, and tugged harder on his hair as he brought his mouth over to your clit, sucking on it hard enough to make you cry out. 

His tongue slipped past your folds and teased your entrance, occasionally flicking your clit. You tugged at his hair again and he growled against your skin in response. His tongue slowly circled your throbbing clit, parting your wet folds with ease. 

“So fucking good…” Bucky whispered, more so to himself as he kept making you moan louder and louder just with his tongue. His broad shoulders parted your legs further apart as he leaned closer. His hands on your thighs, keeping your legs spread as far as they would go. He slowly brought a metal finger up to your clit, sliding it agonisingly slowly down your slit, parting your wet folds.

It drove you insane how he was still fully clothed while you were naked under him. 

You shivered under his cold touch, then bit your lip to refrain from moaning too loudly. “Bucky…” You sighed, then gasped audibly as he slid a finger inside you, stroking your walls gently while he placed his mouth back on your clit.

“Does that feel good, angel?” He asked. And chuckled when you were only able to moan in response. 

“Yes…” You whispered, breathless and wanting.

He hummed in satisfaction. His deep blue eyes watched you in awe and how you lost control under his touch, legs shaking as he teased your clit and finger-fucked your ever so gently. 

You squirmed and moaned and gasped under his addictive touch. “Bucky…” you moaned out loud, your eyes closing and your head tilting back as you felt a wave of intense pleasure wash over you.

You came hard, all over his tongue, your walls clenching violently around his finger, your moans and gasps of pleasure filled the room. Your fingers scratched his scalp as you tugged harder on his hair as you came down from the high.

A giggle escaped your lips as Bucky left small kisses up your body as he hovered above you again. He stared deep into your eyes. 

“I liked that.” You murmured, giddy with pleasure.  You liked looking at the lipstick stains all over his cheek and neck from earlier.

Bucky smiled down at you. “I know you did.” 

But that wasn’t enough now, was it? You wanted him so bad it hurt. “Please, Bucky… I want you.” You begged, reaching up to tuck a lock of his soft hair behind his ear. 

Bucky’s smile was cocky as he said, “Whatever you want, princess.”

He pulled away only for a few moments, to take his clothes off. You sat up for this, watching him as he undressed. Gods… this man was a work of art. Bucky smirked as he put on a show for you. 

“Oh hurry up.” You said, impatient. 

Bucky chuckled, naked now as he climbed back into bed and kissed you again. You moaned into his mouth at the taste of you on his tongue still.

Bucky pulled away and you saw that he was about to open his mouth to speak again so you growled in frustration and need and said, “Oh damn you, fuck me already!”

Bucky chuckled at your little growl. He smirked before leaning down to kiss you again as he slowly slid his cock inside of you, groaning as he went, burying himself into you. 

You felt his length stretching you, you gasped as he filled you up. Every thick inch of him sliding into your tight cunt. He pulled away to watch you again, and he held your stare as he reached down to grab your legs and wrapped them around his waist, then slowly leaned down to give you a messy kiss. “That’s it, baby. Take all of it.” He whispered against your lips. 

You couldn’t help but moan into his mouth as he moved his hips the slightest bit. 

“You look so good with my cock inside you, angel.” Bucky pulled away and watched you as you whined at the feeling of his cock slowly moving in and out of you.

You could feel your walls clenching around him as he sped up and pounded into you. You moaned, feeling all of him stretching you, filling you up, moving rapidly in and out of you to the point where the only thing you could focus on was the feeling of him moving against your body. Nothing else in the world mattered. Just him. His ocean blue eyes. His strong body moving on top of yours. 

“Do I feel good inside you, angel?” He asked, pounding into you relentlessly, as he bent down to bite your lower lip and tug on it. “Tell me.” 

“Fuck…” You moaned at how perfect his hard and muscular body felt against yours. “Yes, you do. Feels so fucking good.” 

His long hair tickled your skin as he moved. Your legs trembled as you wrapped them tighter around his waist. His thrust was relentless and unbearably good. You closed your eyes as you felt the pressure around your lower body, tight and hot.

Bucky looked down at you as you clenched around his cock. He smirked, looking down to where his cock disappeared into you each time he thrust in.

“Look at that,” He whispered, “You were made for this. For me.” The possessiveness in his voice only made you clench around him again. “Are you going to come all over my cock, doll? Huh? Are you?”

You nodded, unable to say anything because of how good he felt sliding in and out of you. The familiar pressure formed at your core and you whined again when his fingers found your clit as he pounded into you mercilessly.

Bucky loved that look on your face as he teased your clit, utter bliss and pleasure.

“Come for me…” he whispered and that was all you needed to hear before you came undone all around him. Whimpering and back arching off the bed as you came hard around his cock.

He kept pounding into you as your orgasm washed over you, your walls squeezing him violently. Your body trembling under his intense gaze. He watched you in awe, lips parted, breaths in rags, heart racing. That was when he realised he wanted more because this wasn’t enough. 

“I want more,” He said, as he pulled out. His cock still achingly hard, as he flipped you around – your hips and ass up while your face was pressed against the soft bed. “Is that okay with you, baby?” 

You were still catching your breath when his hand reached around and teased in between your legs, his fingers rubbed around your clit and made you tremble and moan. “Yes…” You moaned. “Yes, please.” 

“Of course it is.” His body bent over yours, his warm chest pressing against your back as he kissed your shoulder and the back of your neck until his mouth reached your ear, “Of course you want more. It’s all you’ve been wanting, isn’t it?” He said softly, but you could hear the cockiness and untamed hunger in his deep, low voice. “All you wanted was some cock in you, huh?” 

“Yes…” 

He licked along your neck and said, “You’re gonna come for me again, you hear me?” He bit down on your shoulder and you let out a loud moan. He chuckled at the sound of it. “Fuck, I love that sound you make.” 

You whimpered, “Please.” You murmured, voice laced with need and lust as he pulled away from your ear and kissed along your shoulders.

Then you felt his hands on you as he gripped each side of your hips then pushed into you from behind. Slow and deliberate strokes, until he fit inside you fully. 

“Fuck, tight little thing, aren’t you?” He groaned and grunted as he filled you up entirely and moved in and out of you desperately trying to make you come for him again. 

Your fingers gripped the sheets beneath you tightly, and your mind felt foggy, you moaned wantonly as he pounded into you, not easing into it this time. 

He took you higher and higher. Your walls throbbed and clenched around him each time he filled you up.

With a few more strokes of his thick cock, you felt his thrust becoming irregular, and felt his cock throb against your walls violently. “Come for me again, doll.” He hissed, then moaned as you tightened around him – coming undone again.

He groaned and growled as he quickly pulled out and came all over your lower back as well, grunting and swearing under his breath. You whimpered as you felt his warm cum all over your skin.

“There, all nice and fucked.” He whispered into your ear, kissing your neck and shoulders. “Such a perfect little doll, aren’t you?” 

—

Bucky’s hands didn’t leave you. Even after he cleaned you up nicely with a warm towel, he grabbed your naked body and pulled you under the covers. 

You had no idea if the party was still on or not. You had no idea what time it was. But you knew Bucky wasn’t asleep yet, since he was still drawing imaginary shapes on your thigh, spooning you from behind. It felt nice and safe here, in his arms. 

“I should go. You must have work early tomorrow morning.” You said, and waited for his reply. 

His voice sounded sleepy and tired as he said, “Just sleep here. What kind of man would I be if I let you go home all by yourself after a night like this, huh? I’ll take you home in the morning, angel.” He said, and lazily kissed the back of your neck. 

You smiled to yourself and burrowed deeper in his embrace. 

— 

You woke up to Bucky still cuddling you from behind, his metal fingers wrapped around your throat possessively. You giggled at the thought. As if he kept you in a chokehold so that you wouldn’t run off in the middle of the night. 

“What’s so funny?” 

You heard his sassy, sleepy voice ask. And you immediately hid your face under the covers, just a little shy now that the manic confidence from the night before had worn off. 

Bucky laughed, grabbed you and turned you so you could face him. But still, you hid your face into his chest and refused to look up at him. Fuck, his scent and warmth were delicious. There was no other way to explain it. 

“You slept well?” The deep rumble in his voice was making it hard for you to think straight. 

So you just nodded into his chest. Bucky laughed. 

“What?” He teased, “Not so bold anymore?” 

Your words came out muffled as you whined, “Please stop.” 

“Hey, hey look at me.” Bucky grabbed and pulled the covers down and forced you to look at him. “Are you okay?” He asked, traced a finger down your cheek. “Did you have fun?” 

Fuck. If Bucky was gorgeous the night before, he was straight up godly in the morning. Soft, messy hair. Thicker beard. Soft, warm skin. Just looking at him made your face feel hot. You gave him a shy smile and nodded again. Then asked, “Did you?” 

He leaned in to press a kiss to your forehead. “Yes, princess. I did.” 

You almost purred at the nickname. It warmed your entire being just hearing it. “So… can we do this again then?” You asked, hopeful.

Bucky laughed. “Ah fuck,” He sighed and pulled you into his chest again, “I knew you were gonna be trouble.” He mumbled, his tone gentle and playful. “Yes angel, we can.” He answered, lips brushing against your bare shoulder. 

[pedgito]

𝐓𝐄𝐍𝐃𝐄𝐑𝐋𝐘 | Joel Miller x reader

↝ masterlist | requests? | ao3 | update blog | fic rec 

summary | Joel notices you've been overworking yourself and frankly, he won't allow it.

author's note | this is a request fill! thank you to 'non for sending this in, it's been nice to write some softer, fluffier fics <3

content warning | 18+ MDNI, jackson!joel, established dynamic, unrequited feelings toward one another, reader working two jobs in jackson, mentions of injuries, reader is exhausted and overworked but compartmentalizing it, protective!joel, fluff, joel being the sweetest man, shower smut and a much needed orgasm

word count — 6k

Joel’s got a gift.

He knows things—most of the time.

It was a sense, a lay of the land, he liked to call it.

But, you had managed to slip under his radar for too long.

He sought you out often, knowing you were reliable. 

If he needed something fixed in a pinch? You had it.

A project to build in a day or two? You’d work twice as hard.

Forcing himself to work into the night on his own? You were always there to offer support.

It didn’t go unnoticed, but Joel had let you slip by the wayside lately.

Because, when you were around him, you were happy. 

Bright, full of a life he couldn’t ever manage to encompass, admiring how people fed off of your energy, always laughing and smiling in your presence.

Joel didn’t deserve that—so often, he kept his distance.

Though, that didn’t stop him from late night conversations and drinking to wrap up a build when you often helped him finish up projects that would easily have taken him through the night, getting it done before dawn just so Joel could catch himself a few hours of sleep.

If he wasn’t talking about the work that needed to be done around town, he’d listen to you talk about nonsense that neither of you would remember come morning. He liked to talk to you about Ellie, knowing little about their relationship other than it being complicated, albeit Joel seemed to have a distinct care for it.

For her.

He could be more of himself when it was just you two, alone. 

No watchful eyes to scrutinize you or him—as lovely as Jackson was, gossip and conversation was all most people could cling to outside of their daily jobs within the walls.

Summer in Jackson meant that there would be a swell of projects during the short three month window—but that also meant more of a workload to take on when you weren’t on the job with Joel.

The primary seamstress in Jackson had been backed up for months and you offered to share some of the stress, working dutifully on your days and hours off, even into the dark and quiet hours of the night where everything seemed to draw still.

Your hands ached for a number of reasons, but the pricks and pokes from sewing and twisting and holding your fingers in one position for an extended period of time had proved your body wasn’t handling the overload of work in a healthy manner.

And it didn’t help that often woke up with a distinct heat in your back, a sharp pain that tugged when you kneeled down to far or overexerted yourself with carrying around supplies, hiding the grimace in your face when Joel was around as you buried your head and trudged past.

But, Joel takes notice one particular morning.

Usually you’re good at hiding it, but with the amount of men who were showing up to your doorstep with rips in their jeans and shirts tattered to hell, you had been trying your best to keep yourself afloat.

“We’ve got six builds that need to be finished by the end of the week,” Joel begins as he leans against his desk, flipping through a thin stack of papers as he lists off what projects were taking priority and who would be assigned where.

Joel is habitual, making sure that every one of you makes eye contact with him as he explains what he expects of the day, going down the line until he lands on you, realizing that your eyes had drifted shut and your head rested against your fist.

Quietly, he waves everyone out to start the day before he approaches you quietly, twisting up the paper into a thin cylinder before he taps it against your cheek, his opposite hand resting against his hip.

You wake with a sudden startle, glancing tiredly around the room to find it empty.

Except for Joel.

Joel, who was staring down at you with a mix of amusement and worry, mouth downturned but his eyes soft, slowly morphing into a kind smile as your eyes landed on him.

“I’m sorry,” you say without him speaking, suddenly sleeping as you tuck your hands between your legs and Joel notices the bandages wrapped around your fingers, sparsely throughout but still enough that he takes notice, “I’m sorry, really,”

“You sleepin’ alright?” Joel asks curiously, tilting his head further to look at you as you nod, only managing to look at him briefly before your chin dips, massaging the inside of your palm with the fingers of your opposite hand.

You notice Joel’s hand extend as he tosses the papers on his desk, a movement that you don’t immediately react to, but as you glance up to look at Joel, his lips are pulled tight, repeating the motion with his fingers as he silently asks for your hand.

Reluctantly, you offer one hand and his other palm opens, accepting the other.

Joel notices the healing cuts on the inside of your palm, some fresher than others, and the white cloth wrapped tight around suspected wounds of a similar nature, some tinged with a faint pink and Joel sighs, a harsh breath through his nose.

“You know, I’m not a masochist,” Joel explains, and you look at him with a raised brow of disbelief, one that he responds with a faint tug of a smile as he turns his head away to answer as he scrunches his nose to wash away twitch of his lips,  “I’m not gonna hate you for askin’ for a day off—two, if you need it,”

“These aren’t—” you quickly tug your hands away, “they’re not from building or anything,”

Joel raises his eyebrows in curiosity, silently asking you to elaborate.

“I dunno, you know how I am,” you begin to ramble softly, the couch dipping with weight as Joel comes to sit by you, elbows resting on his knees as he listens, “I get restless, I need to keep myself busy—I thought I could help out Elaine with fixing up clothes, stuff is precious, you know?”

“When do you have the time?” Joel asks, well aware of your schedule as you rarely left time for yourself outside of work and mandatory town meetings once a week.

“When I’m off,” you shrug, admitting more quietly, “usually at night or mornings when I can’t sleep, sometimes I’ll try to fit it in during a lunch break or something,”

“Or something,” Joel echoes, nodding as he laughs softly, “well—you just earned yourself a vacation then,”

“No, I’m fine,” you assure him, “a cup of coffee and I’ll be on my feet just fine. I’ve got insomnia, I’m a little worn down, but I don’t need special treatment,”

You try to match his rhythm as he stands, refusing to be bossed around but the pain in your back comes back tenfold and you wince through clenched teeth as Joel’s hand hovers out of instinct, looking up at him with a subtle annoyance he had become very familiar with.

“Special treatment my ass,” Joel retorts, “I’m lookin’ out for you like I would any of the others,”

Somehow, you find that to be untrue.

He can see it on your face, too.

“I’m your boss,” Joel argues, “you really wanna argue with me?”

“Is that a trick question?”

“Alright, three days off” Joel challenges and you sigh, throwing your hands up in defeat.

“Fine, I’ll take a couple days off,” you agree, though obviously reluctant. 

Joel walkies Tommy a moment later, explaining the situation vaguely as he gives his younger brother the rundown for the day, seeming to pass off his own responsibilities too.

“You’re good at that,” Tommy comments as Joel grabs his mug from the edge of his desk, “pissin’ him off without tryin’—ain’t as good as me, but—”

“Tommy,” Joel warns with a dismissive roll of his eyes before he nods for you to follow him, his hand hovering behind your back with a presence that overwhelms you, feeling the heat of his hand so near but not quite touching.

You look over to find his face pensive, but aware of your gaze, his face softening at your own expression, feeling your own attempt at a lack of emotion slip as you chew at the inside of your cheek, a moment of understanding seeming to string you together.

Joel wasn’t going down without a fight, but neither were you.

–

His initial instinct is to walk you to your own home—comfort in your own environment and all, but the moment he steps through the door, he’s bombarded.

He trips over a stack of clothes labeled SETH and narrowly avoids another pile labeled JOHN, looking around at several stacks of clothes assigned to various people in Jackson.

 At least thirty, if not forty.

You flinch as he grabs for the door handle, swinging it open to keep balance as he turns to you, the guilt washing over your face almost instantly, cheeks heated with embarrassment.

“I know what you’re gonna say,” you start, eyes flitting around without any real target, pointedly avoiding him, “...it’s bad, isn’t it?”

“Oh, darlin’,” he sighs, tenderly cupping the side of your head, his fingers scratching gently behind your ear—it shouldn’t make you feel small, but it does.

Joel rarely touched you and it was always friendly.

“You guys’ve done so much for me,” you explain, “I was near dead when you and Tommy found me, I’m just tryin’ to do my share, seeing as you both saved my life. I kinda owe it to you, the town, y’know?”

“Not if it takes you runnin’ yourself ragged to do it,” Joel argues, his hand pulling away as it curls into a fist—you can’t see it, but Joel does it out of reflex.

As physical as he could be—you’ve seen him loud, defensive, in the face of some young, spry individual that was a little too cocky than he should’ve been, begging to be knocked down a peg. You’ve seen him attack to protect his own, but when it came to something simpler, softer, it just felt…wrong.

“I promise I’ll relax,” you tell him, a half-truth that Joel can see straight through.

“Ain’t good enough for me,” Joel admits, moving his fingers in a circular motion for you to turn, “you’re gonna rest up at mine, ‘least ‘til I’m satisfied.” 

Your shoulders sag, but you turn, Joel’s footsteps lingering behind as he shut your door.

“Is that alright?” Joel asks suddenly, approaching at your side.

“Do I have a choice?” you ask curiously, though your voice is laced with a tinge of frustration and pain.

“Yeah,” Joel tells you, his eyes earnest, “but I’d be checkin’ on you constantly if you stayed home, I might even send Ellie to keep you company, I’m sure she’d love to—”

“You like getting your way,” you shake your head, a quiet laugh tumbling from your lips.

“Guess you could say that,” Joel replies with a hint of smirk, turning over your shoulder to confirm your suspicion, “you’re one of my best workers, y’know?”

“I’m also the only person that wants to listen to you ramble about the different types of wood we’re using for different projects,” you retort, “and the only person who’ll stay up all night working with you, even though you get real grumpy right after eight o’clock,”

Joel opens his mouth to speak but you interrupt him.

“I’d blame it on the old age but I think you’re just like that,” Joel rolls his eyes as he silently guides you onto the sidewalk that led to his house—it was only a block away from yours, “bet you’d hate for people to know you’re also just a big ol’ softie when you get drunk,”

The morning sun filtered through the trees lining the street, making you squint as you looked up at him, gaging his reaction to your words.

Joel side-steps, blocking the glare of the sun with his broad shoulders as he steers you up his driveway, grumbling under his breath as you head for the steps of his front door.

“Ain’t soft,” you chew at your lip to hide your smile, “you get touchy when you’re drunk, if we’re goin’ there,”

You shrug, nonchalant, “You’ve never had any problem with it,”

He didn’t—Joel found out quickly that you were a hugger instead of a casual handshake type of person, always needing to reach out to touch whoever you were talking to, almost like it was a grounding technique—but when you were drunk, boundaries were a foreign concept.

“And your hair is so soft,” you comment with a knowing smile, glancing at him as you pushed past and into his house as he opened the door for you, “very touchable,”

You take a moment to soak in the space, not having seen it in a few months as you’ve hermitted yourself away and you hear Joel close the door behind you, footsteps growing closer as a bubble of laughter slips out, pointing at the furniture in his living room.

“You listened?”

Joel’s brow furrows in confusion before he understands what you’re referring to.

“Oh, well,” Joel waves casually toward the space, “it does…flow better, doesn't it?”

“You,” you reach forward and poke at the center of his chest, “listened,”

Joel chuckles, his eyes crinkling at the corners as he attempts to maintain his composure. "Sit your ass down," he warns, an empty threat that makes you smile as he gently swats your hand away, "relax, ‘for I make you,"

There’s a warmth to his tone that you’ve heard many times before, but it makes your chest flutter, nodding in response as you take a seat on the worn-in couch, sinking into the cushion as you slip off your shoes and tuck your feet at your side.

You can’t help but smile wider at the effort he put into making the place feel more welcoming, more like home. Not just a place to survive, but to live.

The living room, adorned with a few framed pictures of Ellie and some mementos from his past life, suddenly feels a bit more intimate. You spot the framed picture on the coffee table that showcased a younger Joel and his daughter, Sarah. 

That Joel was long gone, but he did appear in flashes. Quick, fleeting.

“Tea alright?” Joel's voice carries from the kitchen, hearing the creak of cabinets doors.

“No coffee?” you ask curiously—Joel knew you hated it, but you couldn’t help yourself.

“Got plenty,” Joel answers, “but given what I had to trade to get it, I’m not sharin’,”

You chuckle quietly and call out, “Tea is fine,”

The sound of water boiling soon followed, and you could hear the soft clatter of ceramic mugs as Joel moved about, clearing his throat on occasion as you watched his shadow move around the kitchen.

You settled deeper into the couch, your fingers tracing along its worn fabric and pulling the blanket draped over the back of the couch into your lap.

When he returned, he balanced two steaming mugs in his hands, the fragrant scent of mint invading your senses, alongside the strong smell of freshly brewed coffee. 

“Here ya go,” he said, nodding toward your mug, dropping down onto the couch beside you.

“Thanks,” you replied softly, taking a sip and letting the warmth seep into your bones, though your fingers still ached, removing one hand from the mug to curl your fingers in, rubbing your thumb against the side of your forefinger where the bandaged was haphazardly wrapped.

“You should let ‘em breathe,” Joel suggests, “I’ll clean ‘em ‘f you want,”

“I know you’re gonna do it anyways,” you respond with tired grin, “go ahead, play doctor,”

“Shut up,” he responds with subtle amusement before grunting as he stands and disappearing again, but for a shorter amount of time, coming back with a small, plastic box that was an obnoxious red.

You’ve never seen him so gentle, so careful. He takes a long sip from his mug before he sets it aside as extends his hand, palm up, waiting for you to offer your hand in return.

You let out a soft sigh as you place your hand into his. He inspects your fingers with a focused intensity, brows furrowing deeper as he examines the damage, unwrapping the thin white cloth to peek at the myriad of cuts, his eyes squinting as he turned your hand over to check the other side.

“You can’t keep pushin’ yourself like this,” he says, almost to himself, but loud enough for you to hear.

“It’s just… I want to help,” you reply, voice quiet but firm, “Everyone’s been through so much. The town needs it. I don’t see anything wrong with it, taking care of others,”

“Sometimes help means takin’ care of yourself too,” Joel counters gently, his eyes darting between each wound, dabbing it lightly with alcohol. 

His touch is careful yet firm, a contrast that shouldn’t entice you, but it does.

“Okay, dad,” you tease lightly, trying to ignore the heat creeping up your neck,

Joel gives you a look, very fatherly, but it quickly fades.

It was more of a watch yourself, if anything.

A subtle warning.

“I’m gonna clean this up, give you some meds for your back and hope it’ll get you some rest—I’ll let you sleep up in my room,” Joel finishes up with your hand, balancing the first-aid kit on his knee before he closes it up, “figure a bed’ll be easier on your back than this couch,”

“I can manage,” you interject and he shoots you a look.

Right—telling, not asking.

“I can probably scrounge some shit up for dinner tonight,” Joel seems to be doing the mental gymnastics in his head, knowing his fridge was mostly bare,

“Don’t act like you aren’t going to go back to work once I fall asleep,” you counter, tilting your head to catch his gaze, his eyes suddenly tracking toward you, only slightly guilty.

Joel's brow furrowed as he met your eyes, a familiar flicker of frustration igniting within him. You both knew it was a familiar exchange—you'd push against the weakness for you and he'd push back just as hard to mask it.

You were one of Joel’s few soft spots, as much as he tried to deny it.

The silence that hangs between you is thick—it often was, but it never had moments like this to settle. Both of you were too busy, too distracted, unwilling to let anything flourish.

“I’m just gonna go check on Tommy real quick,” Joel explains, “I know if I’m not here ‘round the clock you’ll end up sneakin’ out,”

He wasn’t wrong.

He points at your tea, encouraging you to drink before he disappears again, stowing away the first-aid as he comes back with his hand curled up, holding it over yours until you open your palm, dropping two small pills into your hand.

“Just enough to get you a little relief,” Joel tells you, watching as you rolled the pills around in your palm with your thumb, “and some sleep,”

You swallow them down without any arguing, knowing that there wasn’t any point for it.

“C’mon,” Joel nods, waiting for you to stand and follow.

The walk to his room feels like an eternity, the floorboards creaking under the weight of your paired steps before you finally reach his bedroom door, half-cracked open as he hits it with his foot and turns on the light.

Joel’s bed is unmade, a pile of blankets haphazardly thrown across the sheets, but it only adds to the charm of his space. And it smells like him, something woodsy but warm.

“Just…lay down for a bit,” he instructs, his voice dropping an octave while his hands settle on his hips as you move around him, “I’ll be back before you wake up,”

With a quiet nod, you walk over and climb into his bed, sinking into the soft mattress.

This shouldn’t feel personal, but it does.

Joel watches with a pinched, unreadable expression as you tuck yourself under his sheets. His, the ones he sleeps under every night, his pillow tousled like he was fighting for a comfortable position to sleep in.

You smile, adjusting it under your head. 

Your breath catches when you turn and realize he’s still watching, though his head is bowed and he’s trying desperately to make it seem like he isn’t watching, but he can’t help it—his gaze is intense.

“Joel,” you say softly, startling him in a way that surprises you, his head tipping up almost immediately to look at you, attentive, “I’m really sorry.”

“Stop apologizin’,” Joel reprimands with a gentle tone.

The wave of emotion is unexpected, but it burns your throat. You look down, around, anywhere but him as you blink away tears and force yourself to breathe, quickly wiping away a tear with the back of your hand. 

Joel watched you for a moment longer, his brow furrowing again as if he were to piece together a puzzle in his mind. 

But this time, there was a softness in his gaze—an unguarded look that made your heart race. Without speaking, he approaches, fabric shifting against itself and suddenly he’s in front of you, the bed dipping with his weight as he sits near the edge to face you.

“Hey,” he says, his voice quiet as his hand searches over the blanket for your knee, gently grazing as his hand settles and squeezes, “talk to me,”

You look up hesitantly, his presence warm and grounding, and it’s difficult to wrap your mind around the feeling building between you. Joel was used to seeing you happy, cheerful—even irritated on occasion, but never like this.

“I don’t want to burden you,” you confess, your heart pounding against your ribcage as you meet his eyes. “I am—I know I am, all ‘cause I’m not taking care of myself,”

Joel shakes his head slowly, the look in his eyes unwavering. “You ain’t a burden,” he insists firmly, reaching out to wrap his fingers around your forearm to pull you into an unexpected hug, immediately relaxing into the warmth as you let it wrap you up, strong arms barricading themselves around your body. “I want to help you.”

His hands rub against your back in a way that could lull you into sleep, matching his breathing as the silence settles, suddenly struck with the desire to pull back and look at him, curious if he was feeling the same vulnerability that you were, walls down.

Leaning back to look at him, Joel’s eyes search yours, a depth of emotion mostly unreadable, but for the first time you see a flicker of something more than just concern—a flash of adoration that he rarely displayed.

“I’ll be back by dinner,” Joel tells you, blinking and the moment was suddenly gone, “get some sleep, alright?”

You nod sheepishly and follow his order, his hand drifting up the comforter as he tucked the blanket over your shoulder before he drifts away, the room dimming as sleep begins to pull you under.

—

Again, Joel’s got a gift.

He knows.

When he steps inside the house, something feels…off.

He strips off his shoes and shirt, leaving him in jeans and a worn tank top, burdened by the heat of summer as his clothes stuff to his skin, ready to drown himself in the cool water of his shower—but not before checking on you.

When he reaches the top of the stairs, he knows.

You weren’t in bed, you weren’t even in his room.

But, your own clumsiness gives your new location away.

“Shitshit,” you curse as Joel approaches, shoving the door open as the papers float to the ground, quickly bending to pick them up as Joel clears his throat,

“Can I help you?” Joel asks only slightly accusatively, his face flushed red from the heat and the sight of his arms making it impossible to look at him for longer than a few seconds.

“I napped, I swear,” you quickly assure him, “but, I got restless—and I got…curious of what you’ve been working on,”

It had been a while since Joel had time to set down and work on anything for himself, guilty in the same way that you were, unwilling to let himself enjoy.

His face relaxes as he releases the door to let it swing open slowly, tossing the balled up shirt on the table at his hip as he approaches, pointing at the half-finished horse caught mid-read with a cowboy on it’s back, “Haven’t touched this place in a couple of months,”

You turn as he approaches, feeling the heat of his body at your back as you run your finger along the ridges of the carved wood, admiring his handiwork, “Still, this is amazing,” like most of the figurines that littered the room were, Joel’s talents were kept close to his chest, only caught in moments like this, and it never failed to amaze you.

Joel shifts slightly, his hand pressing into the table near your hip, "Just somethin’ to keep my hands busy when I can’t sleep," he admits, his voice gentle as he watches your expression shift from curiosity to admiration, turning your head to look at him with a soft smile.

“I think we’re a lot more alike than you wanna admit,” you challenge him.

Joel chuckles lightly, “I don’t know what you’re on about,”

“Denial doesn’t suit you, Joel,” you tease, turning your a smidge further and finding that the pain still lingered. Joel notices. 

His head tilts almost accusatory before his hands come to rest over your shoulders, “You mind?” he asks, desperate to change topics.

You shake your head lazily, feeling his thumbs dig into the muscles near your neck, mouth immediately falling open as the tension begins to release under his precise touch. 

“Oh, god,” you breathe out, leaning into his hands as they work deeper into your muscles, a blissful ache spreading from where he pressed. Without speaking, his hands had drifted lower, near your ribs as his hands worked through the balled up tension until you had no choice but to lean forward, hands catching the table in front of you before your hips did.

A soft laugh escapes you despite the discomfort; Joel had a way of making even teasing feel tender. Suddenly feeling a tinge of fear build in your chest, curious that if you turned to look at him it would ruin whatever….this was. You raise your head with half-lidded eyes, enough that you think you can catch his reflection in the mirror without him knowing.

But, he’s looking right at you.

Under the inhibitions of alcohol, you’d tease him.

Instead, you turn, uncertain of how he would react.

Your hands grasp the table behind your back as his drop to his side, balled up into fists as you take in the sight of him this close, the front of his shirt damp at the center of his chest with sweat, his belt hanging unbuckled at his hips and his eyes hungry.

Sure, relaxing was what you needed, but Joel had a strange desire to remind you just how precious your body was—both caring for it, but how much he found himself admiring it. Every curve or scar, he watches as your lips part in a breath, mimicking the movement subconsciously.

“Joel…” you begin, but the words catch in your throat.

“Just let me,” he whispers, a deep richness to his tone and he reaches out again, this time his fingers brushing against your cheek. His touch is gentle yet firm—a promise of safety and assurity layered with something more. 

You lean into his hand instinctively, eyes drifting closed at his touch.

“Can I…” the words linger, but he doesn’t even have to ask.

You nod slowly, met with his lips a century of a moment later.

The kiss is soft at first, cautious and curious, his other hand twisting around your forearm to pull you in, your own fingers dragging up his biceps until they reach his neck, a touch so featherlight Joel fears he’s imagining it, but then you’re deepening the kiss.

Your tongue drags along his bottom lip, hearing him groan as he opens his mouth and lets you in, pressing himself against you as the table shakes with the unexpected weight and you snort softly, pulling away from his lips as he begins to chase them.

You can feel his heartbeat thrumming through the thin fabric of his shirt, a rhythm that matches your own racing pulse. Your hand fists into his tank and the look on his face is picturesque, a mix between wrecked and wanton.

“You smell like outside,” you tell him lightly

Joel chuckles softly, a low rumble that vibrates through the air between you two, “Coulda just said I stink,” Joel retorts.

“Maybe a little,” you quip back playfully, your fingers still tangled in the fabric of his shirt, feeling the solid muscles shift beneath your touch as he leans closer. 

“To be fair, I was gonna shower,” Joel defends, “then I caught you snoopin’,”

“Sorry,” you offer sweetly, though Joel isn’t sure you mean it.

With his hand still cradling your face and his fingers wrapped around your arm, he doesn’t move, watching as your gaze centered on his chest where your thumb was rubbing a circle over the fabric, thinking. 

Waiting.

“Are you gonna ask me to join you?” you ask tantalizingly, eyes flicking up to meet his gaze.

“Didn’t think it was appropriate,” Joel defends, “bein’ your boss and all,”

“Bullshit,” you retort, his face splitting into an unexpected smile at your bluntness.

You stare at him expectantly, fighting the smugness that threatened to spread across your features before Joel leans forward again, quickly kissing it away.

“You’re so damn devious,” he mumbles against your lips.

–

Contrary to what you were expecting, Joel leaves you showering alone for longer than you like, hearing him insist that you needed a change of clothes before the front door was slamming shut and you were already running your hand through the heat of the water.

You were just finishing up washing your hair when the bathroom door clicks shut, some faint shuffling on the other side of the curtain as your impatience grows, pulling the fabric far enough back that you can twist your fingers around his arm and pull him under the running water, clothes and all.

Joel stumbles slightly as you tug him into the warmth, water splashing over both of you, and an incredulous laugh escapes his lips as he looks down at his soaked clothes.

It’s infectious, filling the small space with a sense of mischief as he pulls away just enough to look at you, the droplets cascading down his jaw and neck, “Really?” he asks, “You couldn’t wait?”

You shrug, aware of his drifting gaze as they follow down to your breasts, yearning deeply for his mouth as his lips part before his hands are wrapping around his top and pulling it over his head, tossing it to the floor with soft splat, alongside the rest of his soaked clothing.

“You’re gonna pay for that,” he warns, a dangerous glint in his eyes as the water drips down his broad shoulders, revealing the strength beneath his tanned skin.

You smirk, feeling bold as you inch closer to him, “Oh? How, exactly?”

Without warning, Joel lunges forward. 

His body is solid, pressing into yours as you gasp at the suddenness of it all. 

“Like this,” he murmurs against your lips. This is deeper, more fervent, sealed with desperation and longing. You weren’t sure how long the two of you had been tiptoeing around your feelings for one another, but they seemed impossible to ignore now.

His mouth moves over yours like this was normal, like he knew everything that made you tick. You respond instinctively, lips parting further as your tongues press together, exploring the taste of him mixed with warm, cascading water that poured over you both as you tugged him closer, your hands settled near the sides of his chest, squeezing against his ribs as he guides you against the adjacent shower wall.

His hand finds your thigh, fingers digging into your flesh with a possessive urgency that has you gasping, allowing himself to take a moment to really admire you, watching as the water dripped from his damp hair to his nose, his free hand tracing every inch of your body with lust-filled eyes, a thumb dragging along the underside of your breast until he finds the courage to drag it up and around your nipple, a small gasp slipping from your lips.

“Sensitive?” Joel asks curiously, a subtle smirk betraying his genuine question.

You let out a high pitched noise of acknowledgement as his hand rises to pinch at the bud before you slap at his chest, “What are we doing?” you ask breathlessly, a shake of uncertainty in your tone as Joel’s movements pause, though the hand on your thigh gives a reassuring squeeze.

“You know, I’ve got plenty of methods to help ya relax,” he explains, “could show you one?”

“Joel,” you warn, knowing there wouldn’t ever be a moment after this that you didn’t look at him and see him exactly as he was now, eyes darker than their normal brown and his face flushed with an increasing desire.

Joel leans forward, though tentative, and kisses you slow, waiting for you to react with intrigue, feeling like your brain was having trouble keeping up with his actions, “Let me take care of you,” he urges, “s’the least I can do,”

He pulls back, searching your face with a tinge of nervousness that quickly fades as you nod, the back of his hand pressing against the inside of your thigh to part your legs, hiking up one around his hip before he guides your hands up and around his neck, your fingers playing into the damp ends of his hair as the hand that wasn’t descending between your bodies came around the back of your head, cupping it gently.

With the first touch of his fingers as they split through your folds, you understand his intention with caressing you, your head thudding back against the tile wall gently.

You sigh shakily in satisfaction as you nod again, though there was no pending question.

Joel chuckles, watching as your eyes fall shut in bliss as he dips his head and drags his lips across your shoulder, collarbone, down your chest until he can swirl his tongue around your nipple, sucking on the sensitive skin as his middle finger drags over your clit and circles, a surprised gasp from you at how devastating his touch was.

The end goal was relaxation and you were anything but—though, you couldn’t complain.

Your workload rarely allowed for anything like this, even a moment for you to indulge on your own, mind frazzled with worry.

Joel hadn’t take his eyes off of you, much like how he behaved at work, but this was more intense, more purposeful, his brow creasing at every noise you made, his fingers moving from your clit to slip inside of you, filling you with a fullness that only Joel could offer, his thick fingers stretching your cunt open.

The sensation of him sliding deeper inside you made your breath hitch, the heat pooling low in your belly as your fingers squeezed at the back of his neck. You could feel every pulse of his fingers as they curled inside of you, drawing whimpers from your lips as he worked you open.

“How am I doin’?” He asks quietly, though his tone is cocky, speaking against your skin with his breath hot and heavy, “You thinkin’ about work?”

“Not even a little,” you admit, your response stangled off by a gentle cry as his fingers quickly switch gears, slick from your arousal as his body blocked the stream of water and worked over your clit, your hips rocking up into his hands.

“Good,” Joel notes, his mouth trailing up to your neck and to your cheek, pressed together as you pull him in close, your quiet but quickened breath against his chest that gave him the tell-tale sign that you were close.

“Joel,” he knows—of course he does.

“I know,” he soothes, his touch insistent as he worked over your clit in fast, tight circles until your legs shook, teeth biting gently into his shoulder where you face had found solace against, he grunts at the sensation, his voice soothing, “Oh, I know, darlin’,”

He guides you through every second of your orgasm, pulling back to examine the pinch in your features with a tinge of smug satisfaction as you whisper his name once more.

Joel’s become so familiar with your tone that even a simple slip of his name told him everything he needed to know.

Thank you, is what he hears.

And when you tuck into his bed, rolling your eyes affectionately as he leaves a respectable gap of space between you both, your muscles ache.

But, with good reason.

You’ve never felt more relaxed.

[dmitriene]

cw: mommy kink, some emotional hurt because of simon's past, sex and comfort.

simon never had a normal relationship with his family, not in the form of conflicting misunderstandings, easy everyday quarrels, which often develop into more understanding relationships with age, no, simon's family was a nightmare, dysfunctional, with addicted father, violence and constant fear, the grin of the skull that was his dad, tormenting him, his mother and brother.

the strong mock the weak, and so he became a broken toy, instead of the carefree, fearful boy he was, until deciding to run away from everything that was happening to the army, immersing himself in the service completely, and letting that constant, hard work fill up the empty space that gradually devoured him from the inside, or, as it turned out, for the time being.

simon thought that he no longer missed his mother, that he had outgrown it, because he didn't even cry when he came to put flowers on her grave, and most memories, even the worst and the best, faded somewhere distant from his head, leaving a slight feeling as if it had never happened, until his heavy gaze caught yours from the other end of the pub that he and his teammates got out to for the weekend.

no, you don't remind him of her, and you don't even look like her at all, you're just a woman, and gorgeous as that, he can't deny it, simon doesn't remember the last time he felt interested in any form of intimate contact, but you look as if you caught your prey, with heavy eyelids and fluttering eyelashes, a little grin, knowing what you want, looking at him so hungry even at this distance, even though he wears his mask, and his cock twitches traitorously.

simon thinks about how to approach you, just come up and say hello, maybe put his hand on your rounded hip and dig his fingers in to make everything go faster, or he can order you something to drink, something suitable, but before he can get up from the too narrow table full of his now drunken friends, there's a glass of alcohol placed in front of him, exactly what he drank before, voiced as a gift from another customer, and you wink from the bar, before disappearing into the dancing crowd, throwing a bone to a puppy.

and he takes it between his canines and runs, drink forgotten, any conversation he had cut off, when he pushes with rough, broad shoulder through the crowd and looks around with an overly excited, ragged breaths, searching for you, by the crown of your head, by curve alone, by the sparkle of your eyes, but you find him first, press against the wall of his back, tracing his hip with one hand, tickling your fingernails over the pale skin where his shirt had slightly raised, making him flinch, turn around, squeeze your hand in his and let you pull him through.

— “dance” you purr, not insist, but simon knows better than argue, and he doesn't wants to, not when you let him snuggle up to you from behind, clench his fingers on your hips like he wanted, just like you let, before you start chasing the rhythm of the music with them, your rounded ass pressing against his crotch, firmly, deliberately, rolling and holding him here, trapped, despite all his arousal, the way his cock strains against the plushness of you, until it's too tight, too painful.

a whimper in your ear, followed by a huffed, scorching puff of breath, a terrible, stammered apology that you soothe by turning around and cupping his masked face, he's hot, not by the look, not only, but his skin is hot, you know there's a bright, cherry blossoming flush all across his cheeks, as his eyelashes, pale and wispy, catching the dim, colorful light and reflecting it, quiver at the contact, and he nuzzles in your palm, subtle, still unsure, but then you reach over to his neck, raking up the fabric that hides him from you, fingers trailing over the column of his throat, before your lips meet, messy and desperate.

too fucking sweet, you've never seen a man of his size acting so charming, he snuggles up, tries to kiss you a little more gently, as if afraid to hurt you, as if it wasn't you biting his lips while he kneads your hips and waist like a kitten, and unable to stand it, you pull him towards the restroom, where it's getting darker, less people, and more privacy in order to do the thing you attracted his attention for in the first place, what made your panties so wet that they stick to your throbbing pussy.

simon tries to suggest that you do it somewhere else, his or your apartment, the hotel room, he'll pay for anything, but you lure him deeper, into the toilet stall, onto the closed toilet lid, before rolling the hem of your tight dress, making a show of how wet you are, panties sodden, even prettier like that, barely concealing your puffy folds, making him growl, as you straddle his muscular lap, ready, all by yourself, unbuttoning his tented fly, while having time to kiss and scratch your nails against the nape of his neck, nimble fingers carding through his hair.

he grunts, he moans, gnaws against your throat and jaw like a starved creature, while you spur him on, bouncing on his lap, letting his fingers, calloused and rough because he can't control himself, bruise the supple skin of your hips and thighs, as he helps you up, and down, rippling gummy walls of your cunt swallowing the engorged girth of him down to the base, then up to the drooling tip, and down again, feeling every twitch, every webbed vein, listening to the wet, vulgar plaps and squelching that come from where you keep him snug, as your slick and his precum mix.

you're warm, you're kind, you're sexy, and simon's mind is a complete mess, he missed this so much, to be cradled close, to his hair being stroked, to being called a pretty, sweet baby you moan he is, and paired with his cock being stimulated, clutched in the wet, hot insides of your clenching pussy, his thoughts and words scatter, stutter on his tongue, choke in his throat, and you enjoy it, claw at his chest, tight shirt soaked with sweat, not concealing the impressive bulk of his body, the flex of sinew and tendon, before murmuring, keening, as your soppy walls flutter, and simon's vision erupts in fireworks

— “you gonna cum for mummy? gonna fill me up?”

simon's breath shudders out of his expanding chest in a a long moan, before twisting in a lump of following, loud sob that burned on it way out through his bobbing throat and fluttering eyes, clumping his sooty eyelashes, tingling down his cherry tinted cheeks, over the scars that you traced with your fingers just before, gathering down to his chin, passing his wobbling, chapped lips, and then he chants, “mommy mommy mommy”, head lolling down, trying to bump somewhere between the crook of your sweaty neck and shoulder, as he trembles, and his cock jerks inside of you, spilling rope after rope of vicious, milky seed, plugging your hole.

poor, poor man, you hush his cries tenderly when your shudders subside, ignoring the starting cramp in your thighs and the flutter of your hole as it's oozes cum, instead cupping the back of simon's head, tugging at his hair in a grip that is not too tight, more of grounding, and let him nuzzle in against your shoulder, quivering, sniffing, his stubble uneven and scratchy against your sensitive, bitten bruised skin, and still, you pat down his hair, to his nape, down his trembling back, cooing and telling that mommy's gonna make it all better.

and simon believes you, he does, so, so much, especially when he stops crying, showing his face back to you, red, wet, his crooked nose leaky, as he rubs there with the back of his hand embarrassedly, even the tips of his ears colored hectic, and you just cup his cheeks and place kisses upon every inch of warm skin, brushing his salty tears away, until he's calm, until he feels better, body sagging slowly where he sits, feeling so much more tired than he was, every muscle loose, but you will take care of him.

and he would let you, he would go, accept your help in getting cleaned with some wipes you got in your bag, fix his rumpled, halfway tugged off clothes, fix your dress with shaky fingers and stare as his cum drips down your thighs and into your ruined panties, before letting your hands entwine, clasped tight and comforting, as you lead him out the restroom and past the seemingly unmoving crowd to the exit, simon would text his friends later, let them know he's alright, but for now, he stands beside you as you order a taxi, because he would come home with you.

main masterlist. quidelines.

[sluturu]

don’t mind me, just manifesting jealous/possessive nanami content🕯️🕯️🕯️🕯️🕯️🕯️🕯️🕯️

cw. exhibitionism (sex in public), jealousy ⋆ mdni — 18+ 𐙚

nanami doesn’t like what he sees. you’re mingling, just like he’d begged you to when he brought you to this work event that neither of you wanted to come to, but you’re mingling with the company’s biggest flirt. aka nanami’s best friend (by force) gojo satoru. 

he doesn’t like the way you have one hand clutching your stomach while the other grips onto gojo’s arm like your life depends on it. he doesn’t like the giggles he’s hearing– not because he hates your laugh, but he hates that it’s not him that’s making you laugh. he definitely doesn’t like the look of awe on that jackass’s face while he watches you die over a joke that probably wasn’t even funny to begin with. 

nanami is usually cool and composed. it’s not like him to overreact or let his emotions control him, but this is you we’re talking about. this makes his stomach turn, his blood simmer, and he knows he needs to leave with you before he inevitably blows up.

 the problem? nanami is mid conversation with his boss and he can’t just leave without reason. so he endures it, but his blood pressure continues to rise by the second while irritation gnaws at him. every time he turns his head, you’re there smiling or laughing with another man. 

nanami watches as gojo picks something out of your hair and he decides he can’t take it. he politely excuses himself telling his boss he feels like he might’ve come down with something (a case of jealousy, he forgets to mention) before making a beeline right towards you. 

“nanamin!” gojo exclaims as soon as he spots the blonde. “your wifey here was just–”

he pretends he didn’t hear his so-called friend, “sweetheart, i’m not feeling too well. would you mind if we turned in a bit early?”

your smile morphs into a frown at the words and you give him a soft ‘of course.’ you’re turning to gojo to bid him goodbye, but nanami is pulling you away with his arm wrapped securely around your waist before you even get the chance. 

it’s not till you’re pressed against his audi with nanami flushed against you, his big bulge rubbing against your stomach, that you realize what’s going on. 

his lips are right above your, honey like eyes wild and boring into yours, “wanna tell me what the hell was so funny?”

“what?” you reply breathlessly, your own eyes darting to look around the parking lot to make sure there was no one around. 

his fingers slip under your dress, rubbing circles into your clit over your panties. when you let out a surprised moan, nanami chuckles. it’s almost sinister, but it has you absolutely, positively soaked. 

his speed picks up with each second that passes and pretty soon you find yourself grinding against his hand for more. he speaks up, “you were having the time of your life with gojo. i want to know what he said to make you laugh so hard.” 

“it was n-nothing,” you throw your head back against the sleek car, another moan comes out of your mouth. “k-ken, ugh– please,” you beg. “more, please, need more.”

he tsks disapprovingly, “nothing, huh?” he slows the pace of his fingers and relishes in your whining protests. “didn’t look like nothing. looked like my wife was having the best night ever with another man.”

you open your eyes to look at him, “i can’t remember what he said, ken… can’t think about anything except for you.”

it’s like you know exactly what to say and he swoons. he presses his lips against yours and his fingers skillfully tug your panties to the side before continuing their vicious attack on your gushing cunt. 

you sob into his mouth, body completely wracked with need, but you start hearing voices a few rows down and you freeze.

“k-kento, wait–” you say, panicked and frenzied. “what if someone sees us?”

“i fucking hope they do,” he groans, gripping your chin with his free hand and making you look back at him. “i hope they catch us so they know you’re all mine.”

© all works belong to SLUTURU 2025. do not copy or repost.

[adelliet]

Bob Reynolds x f!reader

I’VE GOT YOU

Summary: Bob was injured during the mission and you helped him to ease the pain, as every good girlfriend should.

Warnings: 18+ MDNI, nicknames (sweetheart, baby,…), getting caught, crying during intimacy, overstimulation, multiple orgasms, injury, fingering, handjob, unprotected sex (piv), kinda soft & dom, creampie

A/n: Hii! I hope you'll like this story/smut! If you have any ideas, suggestions, or anything else, feel free to text me. Also, I apologize for any grammar mistakes or phrases that might not make sense—English isn’t my first language :3 But I hope you enjoy the story! <3

Masterlist

By now, the team should have been back. The mission had ended hours ago, and at this point, they should’ve been crowding into the lounge of Stark Tower — laughing too loud, celebrating another successful operation, and raiding Tony’s minibar like they always did. That was tradition. That was how every mission ended.

But tonight, the lounge was silent and your nerves were beginning to spiral.

You hadn’t joined them this time. Not because you didn’t want to, but because it was your mother’s birthday. A rare family gathering, one you couldn’t skip, not even for a world-saving mission. This time, your family came first.

But it wasn’t easy. Because no matter how much you loved your family, this job… this job was your passion.

You loved the thrill, the fight, the fire in your veins as you went toe-to-toe with villains. The satisfaction of saving lives, protecting people, being someone the world looked up to. And the praise? The applause? The adoration? Yeah… that felt good, too. Especially when you had Bob by your side.

Bob had been your boyfriend for a few years now, and from the very beginning, there was something undeniable between you.

That first moment you met — it was electric. A kind of pull. Something you couldn’t name at the time, but felt deep in your chest. You didn’t rush it. The connection grew slowly, naturally.

Conversations turned into glances. Glances turned into touches. And eventually, without either of you having to say much… it became real. You were his, and he was yours.

And when the team found out, they couldn’t have been happier — cheering, clapping, raising drinks in your honor. They loved you two together.

But tonight, that love was being smothered by a rising dread. You weren’t just anxious about the team being late. You were anxious about Bob.

Because while he might be The Sentry, godlike, powerful, nearly unstoppable, that didn’t mean he was untouchable. Something could still go wrong. There were enemies that didn’t play fair. Threats that no one saw coming.

And tonight, you weren’t there to watch his back.

You paced the hallway outside the elevator, arms wrapped around yourself as your boots echoed softly on the marble floor. Your teeth gnawed nervously at your thumbnail. Every few seconds, your eyes flicked toward the elevator doors — praying they’d open.

They didn’t.

Your mind raced, inventing scenario after scenario. Maybe the car had mechanical issues. Maybe there was an ambush on the way back. Maybe one of them got hurt, maybe he got hurt —

You couldn’t finish that thought. At one point, your hand instinctively reached toward your gear, your suit, your weapon.

Your instinct was screaming at you to go. To find them, find him. You were seconds away from sprinting to the armory, from throwing caution aside and flying out there into the night — When you heard it.

Ding.

The elevator chimed and your heart jumped. Your head snapped toward the sound, breath caught in your throat. And in that single moment, everything else faded — fear, anxiety, adrenaline — all waiting for one thing.

The elevator doors slid open with a soft whoosh. Your breath caught, your eyes widened. And for a second, just one suspended, terrifying second, the world around you froze.

Yelena stood there, holding Bob upright, supporting most of his weight as he limped beside her. He looked exhausted, disheveled.

His uniform was torn, one sleeve hanging loose, and his entire body sagged as if every step was a fight. He winced with each movement, clearly favoring one leg. You didn’t wait. You ran straight to him.

“Bob— Bob, are you okay? What happened?” you asked breathlessly, eyes scanning him up and down like you could somehow make sense of the damage with sheer panic.

“I’m fine,” he said, trying to smile. “Just hurt my leg a little.”

But he wasn’t fine. You could see it, the way he winced. The way he tried to hide how much he was leaning on Yelena. His voice was too tight. Too forced.

Your eyes flicked to Yelena, and she gave you a look, equal parts tired and guilty.

“He got the worst of it,” she admitted, her voice low. “Took the hit for the rest of us. Thanks to him, we made it out.”

Something twisted in your chest. You looked at the others trailing into the hallway — laughing, bantering, more or less intact — and then at Bob, still barely standing. He was the strongest among them, and they should have protected him, too. Why was he the only one hurt?

But you didn’t say it. You swallowed your frustration, forced a small nod, and turned back to Yelena.

“Here, switch with me,” you said. She nodded wordlessly, handing Bob over into your arms. You wrapped your arm gently around his waist, guiding him through the hall and into your room. Each step he took made you wince inwardly. He was trying to stay upright, to stay strong, but you could feel how much he was hurting.

Once inside, you helped him to the bed.

“Easy,” you whispered.

Bob groaned softly as he sat down, back resting against the wall, his leg extended in front of him. His breathing was shallow.

“Okay, let me have a better look,” you murmured, crouching in front of him.

You carefully reached for the hem of his pants and began to pull them up, slowly, gently, just enough to uncover the injury.

Bob hissed between his teeth. “Shit…”

The wound was worse than you expected. Not fatal, nor hospital-level urgent. But deep, ragged, swollen, and already bruising around the edges. Blood had dried in streaks down his leg, sticking to the fabric.

“Stay still,” you said quietly. “I’ll get my med kit.”

You moved fast, crossing the room to retrieve the supplies you always kept on hand. You weren’t just another superhero with fists and reflexes. You were trained, a certified medic. In a team like yours, that made all the difference. You’d patched up more people than you could count. But this wasn’t just anyone.

This was Bob. And the sight of him, hurting like this, made your chest tighten painfully.

You returned quickly, climbing onto the bed beside him, hands steady as you laid out antiseptic, gauze, and thread. He watched you silently, eyes soft.

“You’re amazing you know that?,” he said suddenly, voice low and hoarse. “You fight like hell, patch us all up like it’s nothing… And then still find time to take care of me.”

You paused for a second, looking up at him, your hands still hovering over his leg.

“I always find time for you,” you said, voice just as quiet. He smiled — small, tired, but real.

You reached into your med kit with practiced hands, your fingers quickly finding the familiar shape of the disinfectant bottle.

But as you gripped it, your heart sank a little. You knew this part was going to hurt. A lot. Your eyes drifted to Bob, guilt flashing through you.

“I’m sorry,” you murmured softly, already reaching for a nearby piece of clothing, an old shirt that had been tossed carelessly onto the bed earlier. You held it up toward him. “Here. Bite down on this.” He didn’t hesitate.

With a shaky hand, he took the fabric and pressed it between his teeth, jaw clenching as he braced himself. His eyes met yours, full of silent hope and trust, his heartbeat pounding visibly in his throat.

And just before you started, he reached out and grabbed your free hand. His fingers wrapped around yours tightly — not rough, but desperate. Like he needed something to anchor him, something solid, something safe.

You smiled at him gently and gave his hand a small squeeze in return.

“Alright,” you said softly. “Here we go.”

You uncapped the bottle and began to slowly pour the disinfectant over the wound. The effect was immediate.

Bob jerked, his entire body tensing as pain exploded in his leg. A muffled scream escaped into the shirt in his mouth. His eyes clamped shut. He squeezed your hand so tightly your knuckles turned white, but you didn’t flinch. You stayed there with him, steady as stone.

“I know, I know— I’m so sorry,” you whispered quickly, your voice calm and full of warmth as you worked. “You’re doing so good. Just a little more. I’ve got you.”

You continued pouring the liquid around and over the injury with careful precision. His breath came in short, harsh gasps. His muscles trembled from the pain. But you never stopped speaking to him. Words of comfort. Praise.

Only when the wound was fully cleaned and flushed did you finally close the bottle and place it back in the kit. You exhaled slowly, but you didn’t want him in pain for a second longer than necessary, so you gently let go of his hand, reached for the bandages, and immediately began wrapping the injury.

Each motion was efficient, but soft. You worked with purpose, but care, every loop of gauze a silent reassurance: I've got you.

Bob watched you the entire time. He couldn’t take his eyes off you. The way your brow furrowed in focus. The tenderness of your touch. The quiet intensity of your love, visible in every motion. He slowly pulled the T-shirt from his mouth and let it drop beside him, exhaling a little easier.

“Thank you,” he breathed, voice raw but sincere.

You looked up at him, raised an eyebrow, and gave a dry, ironic laugh.

“Oh sure,” you said. “I basically tortured you, and you thank me?”

He smiled, that tired, crooked grin that always melted your heart. “You made it bearable. That’s what counts.”

Once the bandage was secure, you smoothed it gently with your hand, your fingertips tracing the edge. Then, without thinking, you leaned down and pressed a soft kiss right to the gauze.

Bob let out a low murmur as your lips pressed gently against the freshly bandaged wound. But it wasn’t from pain. It was a different kind of sound, something soft, something warm. Something that came from the depths of his chest.

You looked up at him with a small smile and tucked a stray lock of his hair out of his face, letting your fingers trail across his skin just a little longer than necessary.

He was watching you. But not just watching, drinking you in. As if you were salvation itself. As if you were the very last thing he’d ever want to see in this world, and if so, he’d die a happy man. Because that’s exactly what you were to him. The center of his universe.

You tilted your head slightly. “Do you want something for the pain?” you asked softly.

He shook his head, still holding your gaze. “No… well—”

You paused, mid-motion, raising your eyebrows in curiosity as you began putting away the medical supplies.

“There is one thing,” he added, his voice suddenly taking on that teasing lilt you knew all too well.

You turned toward him, the first signs of a smirk tugging at your lips. “Yeah? And what would that be?” Bob gave you a playful look.

“Can I get a kiss for the pain?”

Your face immediately flushed. You ducked your head with a soft, breathy laugh, shaking it in amusement. God, he could be so charming when he wanted to be, a total menace, really. And yet somehow, you never stood a chance.

“Sure,” you muttered under your breath, still smiling.

Then, slowly, you lifted your gaze back to his. You leaned in, closing the distance, and gently brushed your lips over his, just barely. A featherlight touch. A whisper of warmth.

But as you began to pull away, Bob’s brows drew together. That wasn't enough for him.

His hand slid up to the back of your neck with firm, but tender insistence. In one smooth motion, he pulled you in and captured your mouth in a real kiss, one that was hot, deep, and absolutely unmissable.

All the gentleness from before evaporated in an instant. Your body tensed, then melted. Your breath hitched. And for a heartbeat, or maybe more, you forgot where you were.

There was nothing but him. Nothing but his lips on yours, his fingers tangled in your hair, the heat rolling off his skin, the electricity sparking down your spine.

Your lips moved against his in a gentle rhythm —exploring, savoring. A tender dance filled with unspoken emotions, every brush of your mouth against his saying I’m here. I’ve got you.

Bob’s hand stayed at the back of your neck, grounding you to him, his fingers gently stroking through your hair. You could feel the tension slowly melt from his body — replaced by something warmer.

You pressed in just a little more. He responded immediately. The kiss deepened.

No longer hesitant or soft — now it was needy. His other hand found your waist, gripping you with just enough pressure to make your breath catch. You could feel the way he exhaled sharply through his nose, the way his lips began moving faster, his mouth opening more, inviting yours to follow.

And god, you did.

Your hands slid up over his shoulders, into his hair, pulling him closer. Your lips parted. Your tongues met.

The heat between you spiked like a lit match dropped on dry leaves. The way he kissed you… it was wild. Messy. Desperate.

Like he’d been holding it back for days, and now that he had you like this, he couldn’t get enough. Couldn’t breathe without you.

You only broke the kiss when your lungs begged for air. You pulled back slightly, your lips tingling, your cheeks flushed, your heart absolutely pounding in your chest. You were both breathless.

“Wait—” you said softly, brushing your fingers across his face. “Aren't you in pain?”

Bob blinked up at you with that dazed, blissed-out expression that made your stomach twist in the best way. And then he smiled.

“Not when I’m with you.”

That answer hit you right in the chest. You couldn’t help it. You let out a soft, breathy laugh. And then you kissed him again.

This time there was no holding back.

He pulled you against him and you leaned into the kiss with everything you had. You could feel the way your bodies fit together, how he reacted to every touch, every sound you made.

With Bob’s hands guiding your hips, you found yourself straddling his lap, your legs on either side of him, your body pressed flush against his. The kiss didn’t stop. It couldn’t stop.

His hands roamed your waist, your back, anchoring you to him as your fingers slid into his golden hair. Your mouths moved in sync, messy and greedy and breathless. The world faded around you. All that existed was this, his mouth, his touch, his heat, him.

Bob wasn’t always like this. He didn’t always kiss you with such bold hunger. He didn’t always touch you with that certain quiet confidence that now made your breath hitch in the best possible way.

In the beginning, Bob had been, without a doubt, the shyest and most adorably awkward man you had ever met. He was gentle, soft-spoken, always watching his words, always second-guessing his actions.

He was sweet, achingly so. That part of him never changed. But back then, he was hesitant. Unsure of how to move, how to approach you, how to let himself have you.

His touches had been featherlight. Fleeting. Sometimes almost nervous. He rarely initiated physical affection — not because he didn’t want to, but because he was scared he’d mess it up somehow. Like if he reached out too fast, he’d break the perfect thing blooming between you.

It was you who tore down the invisible wall between you. You were the one who leaned in first and kissed him.

The one who showed him it was okay to want, to take, to be close. Even when it came to your first sex together, it was you who led the way, guiding him, showing him it was safe, it was good, it was okay to let go.

And Bob let you. He trusted you so deeply, so purely, it made your heart ache. He admired you. Looked up to you like you were something just out of reach, even as you held him in your arms. You gave him space to breathe, to grow — and now, months later, you could see it happening right before your eyes.

His confidence was growing. Bit by bit, day by day, it bloomed. And you loved it.

That’s why now, sometimes, in the middle of kissing, you’d feel his hands tighten around your hips, fingers digging in just enough to make your breath stutter.

Or maybe he’d trail those hands slowly over your waist, your back, your thighs — exploring without hesitation.

Every now and then, he’d even nip at your lips with a playful growl, pulling you closer like he couldn’t help himself.

Not rough. Not demanding. Just free, free with his love, his desire, his joy. And you adored every second of it.

You didn’t even realize when your hips started moving. At first, it was subtle, a slow, natural roll forward as you adjusted your weight in Bob’s lap. But when his hands instinctively tightened on your waist in response, something in you clicked.

That small shift, that tiniest reaction, made the warmth between your thighs flare up into something much hotter.

You moved again. This time slower. More deliberate. You rolled your hips forward once more, then gently back, creating just the faintest friction between your core and the growing bulge in his pants.

Bob groaned into your mouth. It was deep, low, and impossibly sexy. His lips broke away from yours just long enough to breathe, his chest rising sharply under you.

“You’re gonna kill me,” he whispered, voice rough and full of heat.

You smirked and tilted your head, letting your lips graze along his jawline as you whispered teasingly,

“Oh? Am I distracting you, Bob?”

His hands slid up your back before settling just beneath your shoulder blades.

“You have no idea what you’re doing to me,” he murmured, his breath hot against your skin.

“Oh, I think I do,” you said with a quiet laugh, rocking your hips forward again — slower, firmer this time. The friction made you gasp softly against his lips. “You’re not the only one who’s losing their mind here…” And it was true.

Every time your hips moved, you could feel the heat building between your legs. The ache. The need.

Your body was growing desperate for more, even if your brain kept you teasing for now — just enjoying how it made both of you unravel. The way your core pulsed with every motion, every sound he made… it was driving you wild.

Bob’s breath hitched as you gave another grind, just a little harder now.

His lips caught yours in another kiss — deeper, hungrier, messier. And through every moan, every shiver, every little movement, that fire between you kept growing.

He pulled you closer, impossibly closer, his hands now back on your hips, fingers digging into your skin like he needed to feel every part of you.

“Keep doing that,” he growled against your mouth, “and I swear—”

“What?” you breathed, your lips brushing his. “What’ll you do, Bob?”

He opened his mouth to answer, but all that came out was a breathless, broken moan as your hips rolled again, slow and firm. You were torturing him. And it felt so good.

Bob was wrecked. You could feel it, his hard cock beneath you, straining against the soft fabric of his pants. You weren’t much better. The damp warmth pooling between your thighs was impossible to ignore now. Every shift of your hips sent another delicious jolt through your body.

His breath was heavy against your cheek, shaky, restrained. His forehead pressed softly to yours, and for a second… there was silence. Thick, loaded silence. Then his voice broke through it.

“Did you lock the door?” he asked suddenly, his hands still firm on your hips.

You blinked, dazed. “I… I don’t know.”

Bob paused for half a second. Maybe he thought about getting up. Maybe he meant to. But then you shifted again and the friction made both of you gasp softly. He exhaled through his nose. A defeated little groan.

“Screw it,” he whispered.

Before you could ask what he meant, his hands moved. They weren’t rough, but they were sure. Steady. He trailed one hand from your waist down, slowly, like he’d been waiting for this moment all night. The other stayed on your back, holding you close, anchoring you to him.

Your breath caught in your throat. Your heart pounded against your ribs like a drum.

And when his fingers found the edge of your waistband — gentle, teasing, with purpose — your whole body tensed in anticipation. The heat inside you was unbearable. Almost dizzying.

He leaned up, his lips brushing against your ear as he whispered with that signature Bob softness, “Tell me if you want me to stop.”

But you didn’t. You couldn’t even think of stopping. All you could do was nod and melt into his touch.

You buried your face in his neck, as his fingers brushed against your wet folds. His movement was slow, rhytmically moving up and down, teasing with a smirk on his face. Every movement sent sparks rushing through your veins. Your whole body responded, arching into him, trembling against him, lips parted in barely audible sighs.

“You like that?” he asked innocently, as if he had no idea what he was doing to you, though he knew exactly what effect he had.

You were grinding your hips against the rhythm of his fingers, warm breaths falling from your lips in shaky moans as you tried to chase more friction, more contact, more him.

You nodded harshly, biting down on your bottom lip, your eyes fluttering shut.

Bob kept the same unhurried pace for a moment, watching you fall apart with a hunger in his eyes that made your whole body buzz. Then, without warning, he slipped two fingers between your folds, slow, deep, and deliberate.

You gasped sharply, your head falling back as your spine arched off the surface beneath you. Your body trembled, melting into his touch, your thighs twitching as he hit just the right spot.

The soft, broken moan that escaped you made his cock twitch inside his pants—his jaw clenched, but he didn’t rush. He wanted to take his time with you. He wanted to remember every sound, every breath, every little reaction you gave him like it was sacred.

And god, the way you looked right now—eyes half-lidded, lips swollen, body squirming under his control—it took everything in him not to lose himself right then and there.

His fingers moved with slow, deliberate intent, curling just right inside you, like he already knew what made your body tremble. You could feel the heat pooling in your belly, the pressure building faster than you expected, and still, he didn’t let up.

You moaned his name softly, a breathless whimper that made him look up at you through half-lidded eyes. He was watching you like you were the only thing that mattered, his lips parted, pupils blown wide with lust.

Your fingers tangled in his hair, at first just resting there—but the deeper his fingers went, the more precise his movements got, the harder you gripped. You tugged, desperate, pulling his head back just a little. He hissed at the sensation, his breath catching as he let out a quiet groan in response.

“God…” he muttered under his breath, his hips jerking subtly against the mattress as your moans grew louder. The way you were reacting to his touch, it was undoing him piece by piece.

His free hand slid up your waist, holding you steady as your thighs began to tremble around his wrist. Your back arched, and another sharp tug of his hair made him grunt, his cock straining almost painfully inside his pants now, but he still didn’t rush.

He curled his fingers deeper, pressed his thumb to just the right spot, and your whole body jumped.

You gasped, eyes flying open for a second before they fluttered shut again. “Bob—please, I—”

“I know,” he said, and kissed the corner of your mouth, voice hot and shaky. “I’ve got you, sweetheart. Let go for me.”

And just like that, the pressure snapped.

Your climax hit like a crashing wave, rippling through every inch of you. Your fingers tightened in his hair, your legs trembled violently around him, and a long, broken cry escaped your throat. Your body arched, locked, then slowly melted back into the sheets, trembling in the aftershocks.

Bob didn’t stop right away. He eased you through every pulse, whispering soft praises against your skin—his own breath ragged, his jaw clenched from the restraint. His forehead rested against your shoulder as he slowly pulled his fingers out, his hand wet, his eyes absolutely wrecked from watching you unravel.

“You okay?” he whispered, and you nodded weakly, your lips trembling with a dazed smile.

Your body was still trembling slightly, your skin flushed and covered in a sheen of sweat. You were breathless, completely undone, and yet your gaze locked on his.

He was staring at you like you’d just knocked the air out of his lungs, chest rising and falling as if he was the one who’d just come. His cheeks were slightly pink, lips parted, eyes dark and wanting.

But then you pushed your hands against his chest, steadying yourself on him, and leaned in a little.

“That was amazing,” you whispered, your voice hoarse, a little shaky… but firm enough to make his brows twitch. “But aren’t you supposed to be the one getting pleasure right now?”

His breath hitched. Then, a soft chuckle rumbled from deep in his throat. “Maybe,” he murmured, his voice still rough. “But I love seeing you like this.”

He leaned forward, grinning like a man who was about to break all his own rules, and kissed you—hard. There was nothing gentle about it this time. His lips crashed against yours with hunger, like he needed to taste the sounds you’d made a moment ago.

You kissed him back with equal fire, fingers sliding up into his hair again, tugging lightly as you deepened the kiss. He groaned into your mouth, the sound vibrating against your lips.

Then, without breaking eye contact, you slowly lifted yourself up on your knees, positioning yourself between his legs. You reached down, fingers ghosting along his waistband, eyes locked on his as you whispered: “Now it’s my turn.”

His pupils dilated instantly. You tugged gently at his waistband, and he sucked in a sharp breath, lifting his hips with a grunt to help you. Despite the injury, he was more than willing to let you take control.

You pulled his pants down together with his boxers, just enough to reveal the aching bulge straining against his briefs. He was hard. So hard.

Bob hissed quietly as the cool air hit him, his muscles tensing under your touch. You wrapped your fingers around him—slowly, teasingly. His head fell back with a groan, hips twitching slightly.

“Oh…” he whispered, voice tight and ragged. “Your hands are—god, baby…”

You started stroking him with a slow, steady rhythm. Your eyes didn’t leave his face—not even for a second. You wanted to see every twitch of his lips, every furrow of his brows, every stutter of his breath. You wanted to see him fall apart the way he’d just watched you.

And he was. His abs clenched, lips parting around little gasps, the muscles in his thighs twitching as he tried not to buck into your touch. His hand gripped the sheets tightly beside him, knuckles white.

“You feel so good,” you murmured, your voice a breathy purr as you leaned in to kiss just below his ear. “I want to see you lose control for me.”

He growled softly, his free hand sliding up your thigh in pure reflex. “Don’t stop,” he muttered, voice rough and needy. “Please don’t stop.”

You didn’t stop. Not even when his voice began to crack, or when his hips started bucking into your hand involuntarily, chasing every stroke like it was the last bit of sanity he had left.

Bob was panting, his jaw slack, eyes fluttering shut, brow furrowed in that beautiful, desperate way. You leaned in again, letting your breath brush against his ear, and that was it. His body jerked beneath you, and he let out a broken sound, half moan, half sob.

“I—ah—please, I can’t—” His voice shook, cracking at the edges. Tears pricked the corners of his eyes from the intensity, and he clutched at your thigh like he needed something—anything—to ground him.

You kept going. Just enough pressure. Just the right rhythm.

“You can, baby,” you whispered sweetly, lips grazing his cheek. “You’re doing so good for me. Let go.” And he did.

With a soft cry, his whole body tensed. His back arched off the bed, fingers digging into your skin as hot ropes of release spilled over your hand. His breath came in ragged gasps, each one more broken than the last. A few tears slipped free, and you kissed them away softly, smiling like he was the most precious thing in the world.

He collapsed back against the bed, chest heaving, lips parted as he tried to catch his breath. His eyes blinked open slowly, dazed, overwhelmed—wrecked.

“I… I think I saw God,” he whispered, voice hoarse.

You laughed softly and leaned in to kiss his jaw. “Told you it was your turn.”

You let him rest, wiping him down gently with a nearby cloth, brushing damp strands of hair from his forehead, tracing your fingers softly along his chest. The room was quiet now, save for the sound of your breaths syncing together. You stayed close, your body pressed together.

Bob’s hand found yours, fingers intertwining lazily, his thumb stroking your knuckles.

But after a while, that hunger returned to your eyes, subtle, controlled, but unmistakable. You shifted slightly, signing that you're ready for more. He blinked up at you, still slightly breathless.

“You sure?” he asked, voice soft but already laced with anticipation. “I… I don’t know if I’ve got much left in me.” You leaned down, brushing your lips over his, your voice a gentle whisper.

“Then just lie back and let me take care of you.”

His breath hitched again as he nodded, completely at your mercy. You reached for your pants to unzip them and somehow manage to get them off together with your soaked panties.

You reached between your bodies, guided him to your entrance, and slowly you sank down onto him. A soft gasp escaped your lips as he filled you, the stretch delicious, his warmth spreading through you like fire.

Bob moaned beneath you, his hands finding your hips as his head fell back against the pillow.

“Mhm… you feel—God, you feel amazing,” he whispered.

You began to move, rolling your hips with careful, steady rhythm. Letting the sensation build between you like waves lapping against a shoreline—slow, sensual, deep. You were savoring every inch of him inside you. Bob’s hands trembled slightly on your waist, half from overstimulation, half from awe.

His head tipped back into the wall behind the bed, lips parted, soft gasps escaping as you rocked against him. His lashes fluttered, brows drawn in that way that made your heart ache.

“You’re so… warm,” he whispered, breath catching. You leaned down, your chest brushing his, and kissed him, deeply. Your tongue moved against his with lazy hunger, and he whimpered softly into your mouth. His arms wrapped around you, pulling you closer despite his exhausted muscles.

He kissed you like he needed it to stay alive. Like you were oxygen after drowning.

Your hips kept a steady rhythm, dragging every motion out, making him feel all of you. You whispered little praises against his lips, like spells. But the deeper you sank into each other, the more the intensity began to rise.

You started moving faster, your body hungry for him, chasing that rhythm together. Bob’s fingers dug into your hips, his breath growing louder. His body was exhausted but his need for you overrode everything.

You sat up slightly, your hands pressing into his chest again as you began to ride him properly now. Harder. Deeper.

“B-baby, please—” he gasped, tears welling in his eyes again as the overstimulation hit him full force. But he didn’t beg you to stop. He held on.

“I’ve got you,” you breathed, voice firm and loving. “You can take it, I know you can.”

And he could. He did.

Even in his spent state, he tried to meet your thrusts, hips twitching upward with what little strength he had left. His hands ran over your body like he couldn’t get enough, fingers trembling against your waist.

“I—I love you so much, I can’t—” he groaned, voice breaking. Your movements faltered for a second as those words hit, and your eyes met his, wide, open, vulnerable. And he meant it. Every word. Your chest tightened with something far deeper than arousal.

“I love you too,” you whispered, and then your lips were on his again, devouring the moment.

You rode him harder now, moaning into his mouth as your body coiled tighter and tighter. His name fell from your lips like a prayer, again and again, and his gasps turned to cries.

He was losing it, hands gripping you, moaning brokenly, muttering your name like he was afraid he’d forget it if he stopped.

And when you clenched around him just right, you felt him shudder.

“I’m gonna— I can’t—”

“You can,” you whispered against his lips, grinding down hard. “Let me feel it. Give it to me.”

And he did.

His second climax ripped through him like a thunderstorm, violent, overwhelming. He let out a desperate, shattered sob, clutching you tight as he came inside you, hips jerking uncontrollably. His whole body arched, muscles seizing, breath stolen right out of his lungs.

You followed just seconds after, crying out his name as you collapsed against him, your body trembling from the force of your orgasm. It was perfect.

You stayed there, forehead to forehead, chests pressed together, your bodies still joined. Bob was shaking beneath you, completely spent, tears still glistening on his lashes. But he was smiling. That dazed, euphoric, in love kind of smile.

“God,” he whispered, brushing his fingers weakly along your back. You kissed his cheek, tasting the salt of his tears.

“Did I ease the pain,” you whispered back, “at least a little bit?”

He laughed a soft, breathless sound. “More than a little bit darling.” He held you tighter, like he never wanted you to leave and both of you were happy, warm, still inside of each other, still connected.

Then suddenly a click. The door creaked open.

“Hey, I just wanted to check if Bob’s—”

Bucky froze mid-step. Your eyes flew open in horrified realization. Bob turned his head, blinking in confused panic.

“Oh my god—”

“SHIT!” Bucky’s eyes went wide. Like regret-wide. He immediately spun on his heel and slammed the door shut.

“NOPE—NOPE—I DIDN’T SEE SHIT!” His voice echoed faintly from the hallway, clearly scarred for life. There was a beat of absolute silence.

Then you and Bob slowly turned to look at each other with wide eyes. You were still inside him. His hair was a mess. The sheets were chaos. He swallowed loudly and then you burst out laughing. Bob followed a second later, throwing his head back with a groan.

“I swear to God,” he wheezed, voice still breathless, “I’m never going to be able to look him in the eyes again.”

You giggled uncontrollably, burying your face in his neck. “Well,” you snorted, “looks like I forgot to lock the door.”

Bob let out a helpless, high-pitched laugh, wrapping his arms around you tighter even as his cheeks burned red.

“Babe, I love you… but we’re never speaking of this again.”

“Too late,” you grinned against his skin, still laughing. “I’m gonna tease you forever.” And even though embarrassment still buzzed under your skin, neither of you moved.

You stayed like that as long as you could and even though the two of you were thoroughly satisfied and wrapped in each other’s arms, Bucky was probably out there somewhere, scrubbing his eyes with bleach.

THANK YOU SO MUCH FOR READING!

I hope you guys enjoyed it! If you have any suggestions, don’t hesitate to let me know! I’d also be super happy for any feedback; whether it’s a reblog, comment, like, or even a follow.

Have a lovely day!

BYEEE🪻🌂

[drewsephrry]

Love Island: Episode 9 - Imperfect for You

pairings: rafe cameron x fem!reader

warnings: cuss words, sexual innuendos

words: 5.7k

series masterlist

The moon hangs heavy over the villa, draping the yard in a silver glow that feels too quiet, too still, compared to the muffled laughter and clinking glasses drifting up from downstairs. Y/N doesn’t move. Her hand rests on the door handle like letting go of it would make everything real.

“I…I didn’t think you’d actually come.” He says, voice low, caught somewhere between relief and disbelief. She swallows, eyes flicking away.  

“Me neither.”

A silence sits between them for a beat too long. Then he gestures softly toward the couch. No pressure, just hope. She walks in slowly, almost cautiously, smoothing the fabric of her jeans as she sits down beside him, though not too close. Her body is angled slightly away.

“You wanted to talk.” She says, staring down at her hands. “So…talk.”

He hesitates, his breath shaky. 

“I don’t even know where to start.”

“Maybe the part where you lied to me?” She glances up at him, sharp now.  He nods, as if the hit is deserved. 

“Right. Fair.” There’s another pause, heavier this time and when he speaks again, his voice trembles just enough to show the crack beneath it. “I didn’t tell you about my last relationship because…I thought if you knew, you’d look at me the way I look at myself. And I already hate myself enough for what I did. I’ve gone to therapy, I had multiple conversations, apologies that probably didn’t fix anything but I still said them. I mean…I even apologized to her mom. I’m not proud of who I was. But I’ve tried to change. I have changed.”

She doesn’t answer right away. She just stares at him like she’s searching for the lie in his eyes.

“You could’ve told me.” She finally says, her voice sharp with emotion. “Maybe we could’ve saved ourselves from all of this.”

“I know.” He replies, voice raw. “I was a coward. And the other night, I was a massive dick to you. You were trying to help and I blew up. That’s on me. Every second of it.”

He leans forward slightly, eyes locking on hers with a sincerity he rarely lets show.

“I like you, Y/N. So much it scares the hell out of me. And I will fix this. I’ll fix all of it. If you let me.”

Her gaze doesn’t waver. 

“How do I know this isn’t just love-bombing?” She asks quietly. “How do I know you’re not just saying all the right things because you think that’s what I need to hear?”

His face falls and for a moment, he just stares at her, unsure if he should be hurt or if he deserves it.

“Y/N-” “No.” Her voice cuts through his like a knife. 

“I can’t sit here and listen to the same lines I’ve heard a hundred times. ‘I’ve changed.’ ‘It won’t happen again.’ Spare me.”

His jaw tightens. The words sting more than he expects.

“I’m not like him!” The words come out louder than he means and her face shifts, just slightly, but enough.

“Him?” Her voice is smaller now. Unsure. He runs a hand over his face, like he’s trying to wipe the moment away.

“Kelce told me. About your ex.” He says it carefully, almost like he doesn’t want to say it at all. “What he did.”

Her body tenses. She looks away, jaw clenched, eyes fixed on nothing.

“That’s not your business.”

“It is.” He softens. “Because it’s still in the room with us. Even when you pretend it’s not.”

“Don’t try to psychoanalyze me right now.” She exhales loudly.

“I’m not. But you call me out for not being honest with you and I get that. I do. But you haven’t been either.”

“You didn’t ask.” She snaps. The words are quick, like armor.

“I didn’t want to push.” He pauses. “But I’m not gonna pretend like it doesn’t matter. You were hurt. And whether you like it or not, that matters to me.”

She stands abruptly and for a second, he thinks she’s going to walk out. But he reaches out, catching her hand. Not to stop her, just to hold something steady.

“I’m not like him.” He says again, quieter this time. “And I’m sorry. I’m sorry for what happened to you. For how it’s still with you. And I’m sorry if I brought even an ounce of that back. You didn’t deserve that. Not then. Not now.”

She doesn’t speak. Her breath trembles and when her eyes meet his, there’s a storm building behind them.

“I’m not asking you to forget it.” He adds. “And I’m not asking you to forgive me. But I know what we have, whatever it is, it’s real. I feel it. I know it.”

He lets go of her hand.

“If even a part of you feels it too…just give me a chance. One more. I’ll spend every day showing you, proving to you that I’m not him.”

She stares at him, arms crossed tightly over her chest.

“I’m not going to apologize for not telling you.” She says quietly. Rafe nods without hesitation. 

“You don’t have to. I get it. You didn’t owe me an explanation. That’s fair.”

“But I am sorry…for pressuring you to open up.” She glances down, her voice softer. He shakes his head. 

“You don’t need to apologize for that either. This was gonna be a thing sooner or later. I’m just glad it happened now, early enough that I might still have a shot at earning your trust back.” He exclaims. She nods slowly, but her expression stays guarded. 

“It’s going to take more than this conversation.”

He nods right back. 

“I know. I’ll do whatever it takes. You want me to beg? I’ll beg.” He suggests and her mouth lifts into a smirk. 

“A little groveling wouldn’t hurt.”

Without missing a beat, Rafe slides off the couch onto his knees, taking her arms gently.

“Y/N-” “Oh my god, get up!” She says, half-laughing as she pulls him back up. He grins, now standing in front of her, his eyes flicking between hers and her lips. She mirrors the movement without meaning to.

“I’m gonna need time.” She says quietly. “To move past this. To trust you again.” 

A beat. 

“Though…a kiss like the one downstairs might help.”

He smirks and steps in, hands landing softly on her waist. 

“Yeah?” He murmurs. “You mean the ‘10 out of 10’ kiss?”

She groans, pulling back and rolling her eyes. Rafe laughs and tugs her back toward him.

“You’re insufferable.” She mutters.

“You’re gonna have to deal with it, sweetheart.”

Her heart flutters at the pet name, but she tries to play it off. He keeps going, eyes glinting.

“And let’s be real, I’m gonna remind you about that kiss for a long time. Didn’t you call it-what was it? ‘The most amazing kiss of your life’?”

“I never said that.” She insists, shaking her head.

“That’s what I recall.” He teases.

“Are you trying to gaslight me right now? I never said that.”

“No?” He leans in with a smirk. “Hmm. Must’ve been the wind.”

She laughs despite herself, fingers weaving behind his neck.

“This is so wrong.” She murmurs. His brows furrow in confusion. 

“What do you mean?”

“It’s just…kind of toxic, isn’t it? We barely talk things through and then end up right back to our usual horny selves. Like, nothing happened.” She replies.

“Wait, are you horny right now?” He asks with faux innocence.

“Rafe!” She gasps, laughing as she swats his chest. “I’m being serious.”

“Okay, okay. I get what you’re saying.” He pauses, then shrugs. “But why is it wrong? We’re figuring it out. Following our hearts…or whatever Taylor Swift lyric fits here.” He tries not to sound as corny and she snorts. 

“She hasn't said anything like that. Just...I don’t want to get into stupid fights with you just to end up making out a few minutes later.”

“So…we are going to make out?” He asks, one hand coming up to cup her cheek.

“Oh my god, do you hear anything I’m saying that isn’t about kissing?” She stares up at him in disbelief. 

“I do. I swear I do. But you’re just really pretty. It's distracting.”

She blushes and hits his chest again, though this time she leans in.

“I hate you.” She mumbles.

“No, you don’t.” He whispers, smiling as their foreheads meet. “Can I?”

She nods just as he closes the distance. Soft, slow, but with purpose. His mouth finds hers without hesitation and this kiss is different. It’s full of emotion, but also something darker, possessive, desperate, aching.

It’s gentler than before, but hot enough to make her forget everything else. Forget the kiss with Ryan. The one she shamefully leaned into. The one that had rage flashing behind Rafe’s eyes and a muscle ticking in his jaw.

Now, his hands grip her waist tighter, pulling her against him like he needs her there. Like she’s the only thing grounding him. She gasps softly into his mouth and that’s all the encouragement he needs.

His voice drops an octave, low and raspy against her lips. “So…are you getting turned on?” He asks and she giggles, breathless, eyes flicking up to his with flushed cheeks. 

“Honestly? Shut up.”

But her mouth crashes back into his before the last word even finishes. This kiss is hotter. Hungrier. His hands slide down her back, then lower, cupping her ass and pulling her harder against him. She moans softly and he groans into her mouth like it’s driving him insane. 

When they finally come up for air, her fingers are tangled in the chain around his neck, her thoughts spinning.

“You good?” He murmurs, brushing a strand of hair behind her ear with a tenderness that almost undoes her.

‘Yeah.” She nods. “Because we’re gonna be fine.” She exclaims. His lips twitch into a smile before he leans in and presses a soft, final kiss to her lips.

“We should…probably head downstairs.” He says, though he doesn’t move an inch. She turns toward the door, but Rafe stays put, exhaling hard through his nose.

“Just…give me a second.” He mutters, nodding down toward his pants, where the fabric is visibly strained. “He needs to chill.”

“I’m sorry.” She chokes on a laugh, hand flying to her mouth. “He?”

Rafe looks away, clearly flustered, trying to will his body into cooperation.

“George.”He mutters, with that smug little grin.

“George?” She raises her brows.

“You know…curious George.” He explains, scratching the back of his neck and she chuckles again.

“Oh, I’m absolutely telling the girls.”

“No. Y/N, wait-”

But she’s already slipped through the door, laughter trailing behind her.

“Fuck me.” He groans, chasing after her, catching up just before she reaches the stairs.

“Please, sweetheart.” He says, voice dropping into that low, sweet tone that usually makes her knees weak. She smirks over her shoulder. 

“You said you’d make it up to me any way I wanted.” She recalls, with wide eyes and pink swollen lips. 

“Fine.” He exhales, jaw tense “Go. Just…I seriously need a minute.”

She kisses his cheek, laughing softly.

“I said go.” He calls after her with a grin, adjusting himself with a wince.

“Sorry!” She shouts from halfway down the stairs. “Sorry George!”

His laugh follows her, thick with amusement and frustration.

Confessional - Y/N

She stares at the camera, slightly traumatized.

“I am never seeing Curious George the same way again.” She shakes her head. “Ruined. Completely ruined.”

The night winds down as the girls gather upstairs in the makeup room, wiping off their glam and slipping into cozy pajamas. Laughter bubbles up as they rehash the challenge.

“Maddy, you got the best one!” Alyssa teases, referring to Kelce’s win. The girls laugh as Maddy pulls on one of his hoodies.

“Guess I’m lucky.” She says with a shrug and a small smile.

“Anything exciting happen tonight?” Cleo asks, dragging a makeup wipe across her face. Sarah lifts a brow at Y/N, who meets her gaze for a second. Y/N gives a subtle shake of her head before turning back to the group.

“Y/N…” Kiara says, looking at her. “You and Ryan were talking before the challenge, right?”

Y/N exhales quietly, grateful they hadn’t caught the moment between her and Rafe. No one’s brought it up, yet.

“Yeah.” She gulps. “He pulled me for a quick chat. He was really sweet, honestly.”

“How are you feeling about him?” Cleo asks, eyes curious. “I mean…you did give him a ten.”

Y/N lets out a small laugh. 

“Okay, to be fair, I didn’t even know that was him when I rated him. But yeah, I told him I want to get to know him. And the kiss didn’t hurt, that’s for sure.”

“What about Rafe?” Abigail chimes in, focused on braiding her hair. Y/N’s smile fades a bit. She glances at Sarah before answering.

“It’s still… complicated.” She replies, her voice softer now. The room quiets for a moment.

“Take your time with it.” Maddy offers gently.

“Honestly, Ryan’s a way better option anyway.” Kiara adds, applying lip balm with a casual shrug.

Y/N doesn’t say anything. She just sits at her vanity, staring at her reflection in the mirror, silently nodding as the buzz of conversation moves on around her.

Downstairs, the boys are in full post-challenge mode. Shirts coming off and banter flying.

“So…Ryan.” Topper says, tossing his button-up aside as he eyes him with a pointed look. “Enjoy tonight’s challenge?”

“Didn’t we all?” Ryan replies with a light scoff, earning a few nods and chuckles from the others.

Topper glances over his shoulder toward Rafe, who’s folding clothes in silence, clearly uninterested in the conversation.

“Just asking.” Topper continues, tone more loaded now. “You did get a solid ‘10’ out there.”

That grabs Rafe’s attention. He shuts the closet door a little harder than necessary and makes his way back to his bed without a word.

“It was…nice.” Ryan admits, a small grin creeping in as he thinks back to the kiss.

“The kiss or the rating?” JJ asks, half-curious, half-confused.

“Uh, both, I guess.” Ryan scratches the back of his neck and grabs a t-shirt to throw on. Topper leans back, watching Rafe again. 

“She’s a pretty little thing, huh, Ryan?”

Rafe shakes his head subtly, trying to signal Topper to drop it.

“Yeah, for sure.” Ryan replies casually. Rafe picks up his phone, suddenly very interested in whatever’s on the screen.

“Would you pick her in a recoupling?” Topper pushes, eyes flicking between Ryan and Rafe.

Just as Ryan’s about to answer, the bedroom door swings open. Laughter fills the room.

“I’m serious, Sar!” Y/N’s voice rings out as she enters, wearing Rafe’s hoodie which is oversized on her, paired with boxer shorts. He looks up instantly, a smile breaking across his face.

She walks toward their bed, resting her water bottle on the nightstand as he lifts the blanket for her. The other girls start settling in and the tension in the room visibly eases.

“Neighbor.” Ryan says with a nod toward her as he slides into the bed next to hers.

Y/N nods back politely, adjusting herself under the covers. Rafe watches their exchange carefully. His hand slips beneath the blanket, resting gently on her thigh, giving it a light squeeze.

“I love that hoodie on you.” He murmurs, voice low so only she can hear. She glances over at him, smirking. 

“Looks better on me, doesn’t it?”

“Oh, definitely.” He grins, eyes tracing her face as she snuggles into the fabric.

“It still smells like you.” She mumbles, nose wrinkling playfully.

“Is that a good thing?” He teases, brushing a strand of hair from her face.

“God, no.” She groans jokingly.

“Oh, really?” He says with mock offense before suddenly launching into a tickle attack, his hands finding her waist. Her laughter breaks through the quiet hum of the room.

“Stop!” She gasps between giggles, trying to wriggle away.

When he finally pulls back, triumphant, she collapses against her pillow, breathless and glowing. Her eyes flicker to his lips for just a second before darting away nervously, checking to make sure no one else noticed.

Right then, the bedroom lights shut off.

“Good night.” She whispers, turning over.

Rafe hesitates, watching her. To him, it almost feels like things are falling back into place. Gently, he wraps an arm around her waist.

“Is…is this okay?” He asks, his voice soft.

She nods slowly, pressing back into him as he spoons her. His hand stays steady on her waist, his breath warm against the back of her neck.

And for now, that’s enough.

Morning sunlight creeps into the villa as the bedroom lights flicker on. Groans echo around the room as the islanders slowly stir to life.

Y/N pulls the duvet over her face, resisting the day with every fiber of her being. Rafe stretches beside her, arm brushing hers before he leans back against the headboard.

Suddenly, a burst of energy enters the scene. Sarah, wide awake and grinning, launches herself from her bed straight onto Y/N.

“Oh my god, Sarah.” Y/N groans, voice muffled by the blankets as Sarah giggles.

“Rise and shine, sleepyhead!” Sarah chirps, wedging herself between Rafe and Y/N like it’s the most normal thing in the world.

Rafe just laughs, shaking his head as Y/N’s face peeks out from under the covers, eyes squinting against the bright lights.

“Get up, girl!” Sarah urges, grabbing Y/N’s shoulders and giving her a shake.

“Sarah…”

“Come on. Big day ahead. And I want you to curl my hair like you did yours the other day? It was so cute!” She exclaims. Y/N groans but finally sits up, adjusting Rafe’s hoodie on her shoulders. 

“Why are you so energetic right now?” She asks, rubbing her eyes.  

“Good sleep? Positive vibes? Who knows.” Sarah shrugs. She hops up and tugs on Y/N’s hand, urging her out of bed.

“You’re literally the most impatient person alive.” Y/N mutters, stretching as she stands. Her hoodie lifts slightly, revealing a flash of skin. Rafe watches, a smirk tugging at his lips. Ryan, from the bed nearby, does too, but more discreetly.

Y/N grabs her water bottle, letting Sarah drag her toward the hallway. The two of them head upstairs, just the two of them, chatting casually as they brush their teeth and wash their faces.

“So…” Sarah starts, drying her face with a fluffy pink towel. “What actually happened last night? You totally skipped over the Rafe part when the girls were asking.”

Y/N spits out her toothpaste and sighs. She dries her face with a towel and walks into the makeup room next door, Sarah close behind her.

“We talked.” She says, settling into her seat. “He explained his side. Said he didn’t mean to hurt me, that he was sorry.”

Sarah listens closely, perching on the edge of the counter.

“And…okay, this is something I haven’t told anyone in here.” Y/N continues. “Before Kelce, I dated this guy. Total douche. Cheated on me. Left me feeling like shit.”

Sarah reaches out instinctively, squeezing her hand. “Y/N…”

“I’m fine now, but…that’s why I reacted the way I did with Rafe. Anyway, Kelce told him and Rafe said he didn’t want me to think of him like my ex.”

Sarah nods, quiet, letting her friend talk.

“He said he was willing to do anything to make it up to me and regain my trust. I told him I need time to think. But also…that the kiss during the challenge was really good. And one thing led to another and…we made out. A little.”

“Oh?” Sarah raises her brows.

“And now I feel like such an idiot.” She pauses, biting the inside of her cheek.

“Why?” Sarah tilts her head, waiting.

“Because I said I needed space, but then I jumped right back into kissing him like nothing happened. It’s like…my brain and my heart just aren’t on the same page.”

Sarah nods, letting her speak.

“And what we have? It’s starting to feel real. Stronger even. But…I’m so confused.”

Sarah reaches out, brushing Y/N’s hand gently. 

“Hey, it’s okay. You don’t have to figure this out right now. Feeling like this is normal. And I know you’re worried, but Rafe is totally down bad for you. Everyone can see it. I honestly believe he wants to make this work. He’s not just saying things to mess with you or make you feel stupid.”

Y/N looks down, voice softer. 

“I didn’t want to say anything in front of the girls. I love them, I really do, but I was scared of being judged for forgiving him so fast. Actually, I was trying to find you last night to tell you first. But then Topper cornered me with some protein powder rant or something.”

Sarah laughs softly.

“You’re the one person I thought would really understand me.” Y/N says, glancing over at her. “You’re my best friend here.”

Sarah’s face softens. She pulls Y/N into a tight hug.

“I love you.” Sarah whispers.

“I love you too, Sar.”

“And for the record.” Sarah says quietly, pulling back just enough to look her in the eyes. “You don’t owe anyone an explanation. If you forgive him, that’s your choice. And if anyone judges you? That’s on them, not you. Period.”

Y/N nods, a small, grateful smile playing on her lips.

“So…” Sarah leans back. “What about Ryan? No pressure, but you said you wanted to get to know him.”

Y/N exhales. 

“He’s…different.”

“Different how?”

“He’s softer. Calmer. Compared to Rafe, he feels more…balanced. At least from what I’ve seen so far.”

Sarah watches her, nodding slowly.

“I like where things are going with Rafe and I’m open to giving him another chance.” Y/N says. “But I’m not closing the door on Ryan either. It’s still early.”

Before Sarah can respond, the makeup room door swings open and the rest of the girls pour in, filling the space with chatter and laughter.

Y/N gestures for Sarah to take a seat so she can start on her hair and just like that, the morning rolls on. Chaotic, loud and full of possibilities. 

As the girls finish getting ready, a knock sounds at the door, barely catching their attention. It creaks open a moment later and Ryan steps in, one hand covering his eyes, the other holding a glass.

“Is everyone decent?” He calls out, nearly bumping into Maddy, who laughs and steadies him.

“We’re good.” She grins, pulling his hand down from his face.

He blinks, adjusting to the light, eyes scanning the room until they land on Y/N. She’s sitting in front of the mirror, nearly finished with her makeup.

“Hey.” She says, smiling.

“Hi.” He returns the smile, stepping closer. “I made you a smoothie. Strawberries, bananas and blueberries. Hope you’re not allergic or anything.”

Y/N looks up at him, surprised and touched. She stands, wrapping her arms around him in a quick, warm hug.

“Thank you.” She says softly, pulling back to meet his eyes. “That’s really sweet of you.”

He hands her the glass with a small smile. 

“No allergies?”

“Nope. Don’t worry.” She shakes her head.

“Oh, good.” He lets out a breath of relief. She takes a sip and her eyes widen.

“Okay, wait-this is actually amazing. Thank you, Ryan.”

He grins, nods once and heads out. The moment the door clicks shut behind him, the room bursts into squeals.

“Told you. The better choice.” Kiara points out again.

Meanwhile, Rafe, Kelce and Topper are mid-set, sweaty and shirtless, but the vibe is easy, until Rafe speaks.

“Y/N and I talked last night.” He says, grabbing a towel and wiping his face. His tone is casual, but the look he shares with Kelce has weight. 

“Yeah?” Kelce raises a brow. Rafe nods. 

“It wasn’t everything, but…it felt like a start. She said she’s open to forgiving me. Eventually.”

Topper doesn’t miss it. He glances over, unimpressed. 

“So not actually forgiven, but you’re getting there?” Topper asks.

“I mean…we kissed.” Rafe says it with a small smirk, but his eyes flicker with hesitation.

“Okay, that’s something.” Kelce replies, leaning against the bench. “How’d it feel?”

Rafe shrugs, then nods slowly. 

“Real. She wasn’t trying to shut me down. I didn't pressure her. It was just…her and me. Like before all the bullshit.”

“So why not forgive you already, then?” Topper asks, grabbing a dumbbell. “She kissed you but still left you hoping for her forgiveness?”

“She’s being careful.” Rafe replies. “I don’t blame her. I didn’t exactly make it easy to trust me.”

Topper scoffs. 

“I just don’t get it. If she’s still into you, then why all the ‘I need time’ crap? What? Is she keeping you on standby while she explores other options?”

Kelce’s head turns sharply. 

“Don’t do that.” He mutters and Topper blinks. 

“What?” He asks.

“Don’t talk like she’s playing him. Or like she owes anyone an answer right away.” Kelce says flatly. “You don’t know what she’s feeling.”

Topper lifts both hands in defense. 

“Alright, relax. I’m just looking out for Rafe.”

“Cool. Look out for him without throwing Y/N under the bus.” Kelce grabs his water and walks off.

Rafe stays back, running a hand through his hair, somewhere between frustrated and hopeful. Topper watches him for a second longer, then claps a hand on his back.

“Just…keep your head clear, man.” He mutters. “You’ve been through enough already.”

Rafe doesn’t answer. He just stares straight ahead, caught between the weight in his chest and the hope still tugging at it.

Confessional - Rafe

“She just needs time. That’s fair. Honestly, after everything...I get it.” He nods slowly, almost like he’s trying to convince himself. “I know she’s not playing me. She wouldn’t do that.”

The day drifts by in a haze of sunshine and splashes, the islanders lounging by the pool or stretched out under the sun. Kiara catches Pope’s eye and motions for him to join her. They head over to one of the yellow couches, the warmth still radiating off the cushions. She adjusts her sunglasses as she settles in, lips pressing into a line.

“How you feeling today? Having fun?” She asks, casual but kind. Pope leans back, smiling. 

“Yeah, it’s been chill. I think we all needed a pool day.”

She nods, agreeing, but her smile doesn’t quite reach her eyes.

“Listen…” She starts, hesitating. “I’ve been meaning to talk to you for a few days now.”

Pope squints, shielding his eyes from the sun with one hand. His expression shifts.

“I liked the time we spent together. You’re a great guy. But-”

“I get it.” He cuts in gently, a familiar weariness in his voice. “I’ve had this conversation before. You’re not interested. It’s okay.”

Her face softens, eyes searching his. 

“I didn’t mean to hurt you.”

“You didn’t.” He replies quickly. “I just…wish I knew earlier.”

Kiara fidgets with the corner of a pillow. 

“You didn’t waste time, Pope. I really did enjoy getting to know you. But we don’t have that…spark. We just don’t click like that.”

“I get it, Kie.” He says, gaze dropping as he looks away.

“You can still meet new people.” She offers quietly. He nods, jaw tight, emotions tugging just beneath the surface. 

“Is that all?”

“I’m sorry.” She says.

“Yeah.” He says, standing. “Me too.”

She rises with him, smoothing her bikini bottoms before looking up. 

“Can I… give you a hug?”

He doesn’t hesitate, steps forward and pulls her into a hug, brief but sincere. He presses a kiss to her temple and offers a small smile before walking off toward the guys.

Kiara makes her way back to the sunbeds, dropping onto the empty one beside Y/N and Maddy. Both girls peek at her over their sunglasses.

“I think I hurt him.” She says quietly. Y/N sits up slightly. 

“What did he say?” She asks.

“That it’s not the first time he’s heard this. And when I apologized, he could barely look at me.” Kiara explains and Maddy sighs. 

“He really felt something with you, Kie. That’s why we told you to talk to him sooner.”

“I know.” She murmurs. “But…am I the bad guy here?”

Y/N shakes her head. 

“No. Your feelings are valid. But so are his. He liked you and he tried. So did you. You can’t force something that’s not there. But you also can’t expect him not to be hurt.”

“I agree.” Maddy adds, reclining again. Kiara lets out a slow breath and glances over at the kitchen, where JJ is trying to distract Pope with small talk and laughter that doesn’t quite reach his eyes.

As the sun sets over the villa, the islanders get ready for another lively night. Cleo lounges on the daybed with a drink in hand, laughing with Maddy and Kelce when Pope walks over.

“Hey.” He says, offering a small smile. The group makes room for him, but then he glances at Cleo. “Actually...I was hoping to talk to Cleo for a second.”

Cleo raises a brow, surprised, but Maddy grins and gives her a playful nudge. With a reluctant smile, Cleo stands and smooths down her dress before following Pope over to one of the couches.

“You look really pretty tonight.” He says, sincere.

“Thanks.” She replies softly.

Pope takes a breath, clearly trying to gather his thoughts. 

“Okay, I’m just gonna be upfront and say it. You’re amazing, Cleo. And I was an idiot for not realizing it sooner. And I want to get to know you, if you’re still open to that.”

Cleo studies him, not saying anything at first.

“Pope…” She finally says, her voice calm but guarded, “I’m not interested in being someone’s second choice. You and Kiara just ended things and now you’re here saying all this to me. Can you see how that might not sit right?”

“You’re not a second choice.” He says quickly. “What you said the other night...I felt it too. I just didn’t know how to deal with it then.”

“So how do I know this isn’t just a rebound? How do I know you mean any of this?”

Pope sighs, rubbing the back of his neck. 

“I get it. The timing sucks and it probably looks messy. But I’m not making this up. I’m genuinely attracted to you and not just physically. I want to see if there’s more there. I’m not expecting an answer right now, just…think about it?”

Cleo pauses, letting his words settle.

“I want to get to know you too.” She says carefully. “But if this is just your way of getting over Kiara, I need you to be honest now. I’m not signing up to be someone’s distraction.”

“I swear, Cleo, that’s not what this is.” Pope says earnestly. “Just give me a chance?”

Cleo watches him for a long second, then finally gives a small nod.

“Okay.” She says softly. He smiles, visibly relieved. 

“Yeah? Okay.”

They sit for a beat, the tension easing slightly, but the air still thick with possibility.

Meanwhile, on the couch beneath the terrace, Rafe and Y/N sit close. Close enough to feel each other’s presence, but not quite touching. Y/N’s eyes scan the villa, landing briefly on each islander.

“You nervous or something?” Rafe asks, his tone casual but observant. His arm slips around her shoulders. She stiffens for a second before letting out a quiet breath.

“Sorry. It’s just…” She hesitates, trying to find the right words. “I haven’t told the girls about us…possibly making up.”

“Okay?” His brow furrows slightly. 

“I mean, we talk about everything. And I didn’t want them to judge me for trying to fix things with you. They weren’t exactly Team Rafe after…you know.”

“Yeah. That makes sense.” He says, nodding slowly. Then, more gently. “I…uhh…told Topper and Kelce.”

His fingers trail lightly along her arm, not pushing, just letting her in. She blinks, then nods. 

“No, yeah…I get that. I just wasn’t ready. But I will be.”

He nods again, letting it land without pressure.

“Is that why you’ve been kind of distant?” He asks, his voice softer now. There’s a flicker of something in his expression, hurt. “Afraid they’ll see us?”

“I’m sorry.” She says quietly. “Everything just feels messy right now.”

“Don’t apologize.” He says, shaking his head. “Seriously. You’re here. That’s what matters to me.”

She melts a little, pressing a quick kiss to his cheek. He immediately darts his head around, pretending to scan for witnesses like a spy. She bursts into laughter.

“Oh! By the way, can I tell you something?” She asks, her voice dipping conspiratorially.

He claps his hands and rubs them together like he’s prepping for drama.

“Spill the tea.”

She chuckles again.

“Last night, during the challenge, when you had headphones on and Alyssa came up to you, she stopped and said ‘I never got my chance with him, sorry, Y/N’ but in this super passive-aggressive, mean girl voice.”

Rafe raises his brows, unsurprised. 

“Honestly? Not shocked. You remember how she was when she first got here. I told you I didn’t trust her.” He exclaims.

“I know. It just threw me off because she’s been nice since our talk.” She sighs.

“You’re not seriously thinking about talking to her again, are you?” He asks, suddenly serious.

“I mean…I don’t know. I probably shouldn’t-” “You shouldn’t.” He cuts her off.

“But-” “No buts. You already gave her a second chance. She said she wanted to be your friend and now she’s pulling this? Nah. She’s not genuine.”

“Rafe-”

“You don’t see it or maybe you don’t want to, but she doesn’t care about you. If she did, she wouldn’t keep doing this. Did she even apologize?”

Y/N slowly shakes her head, lips pressing into a tight line.

“Exactly!” Rafe throws his hands up like it proves his point. She lets out a sigh, brushing a strand of hair behind her ear.

“Okay.” She says, her voice a little steadier now. “I’m not going to bring it up with her. It’s not worth it.”

Rafe nods, firm. 

“Good. You shouldn’t let people walk all over you.”

She gives a small nod back.

Suddenly, the sharp clack of heels cuts through the night. The bedroom door swings open and a figure steps out from the corridor of flowers. The villa falls silent as everyone turns to look.

From the beanbag, Sarah gasps. 

“Ariana? What are you doing here?”

to be continued...

taglist: @cherrygirlfriend @judesgfirl @slickdickwitchbitchh @leather-n-velvet @alinavalentine @littlelamy @ts1mp0ne @starkeyslibrary @rafecameronsfavourite @rafesbuzzcutseason @lolharrystylesissexy @k4yr14 @drewslefttoe @angielvsnick @malibuhearts @sabrina-carpenter-stan-account @harryweeniee @imawhoreforu @fastlovela @jjmaybankmylovee @nemesyaaa @drewsnr1slut @laniirackssss @oconnrs @cornliastreett @pvyden @swagmoneydrew @lerclec @rafecameronxxx @totalswag @xoxosblogsblog @julesbog @st8rkey @lewispool @silkylovey @heartlesslies @akobx @vdotcom @runawayrafetrain @stvrkeysgal @heartzshiftamy @xilatrxvmp @rafesgreasycurtainbangs @maybankslover @cameronsbabydoll @veesgrapejuice

[takenbypeter]

Delivery For The New Avengers

Bob Reynolds x fem!reader

Words: 1597

A/N: here is the second part to: Delivery For Bob. I am obsessed with this story and I’m having real fun writing for all the Thunderbolts. It’s fun including all their diff personalities.

“Delivery for John Walker,” you said entering the usual vicinity. The recently busy room was quiet this time around with only the blond and Bob occupying the space. 

“On your left.” You turned, now locating the recognizable voice. You handed over the bag receiving a, “wait right there,” from him as he opened the bag and began checking the contents. While you stood, you peeked around as usual and waved at the familiar face who was poking his head out from behind a chair a bit away. 

Bob. 

Seeing you wave he waved back his concerned expression shifting into a more content one. 

“Perfect everything’s here thanks.” You nod, taking a step back but his voice pulls you forward again.  

“Oh and this is really random but I had a question,” you gave him an uncertain expression, finding yourself getting used to the questions that were thrown at you recently. 

The last two weeks have definitely been…an experience. At first you only delivered to the brunette, Bob, but now it was like each member of the new avengers suddenly grew aware of the delivery app and was making sure to use it. You didn’t blame them, it honestly just meant more money for you and they gave pretty good tips. But the strangest thing was that each time you dropped off a new delivery someone always had a question to you that was unrelated to your job. 

Once it was, “where is your favorite place to eat?” Another time it was, “do you have siblings?” And another, “what is your favorite thing to do?”

The questions were getting more and more bizarre and personal and honestly with each one you started to think they were either pranking you or planning to murder you. 

While the others have increased their ordering, Bob on the other hand decreased his. Mainly because he felt bad for how many times you’ve already stopped by. Plus even he had to admit the questions that his teammates were asking you were getting out of hand. 

Honestly though, it did slightly irritate him that they had more conversations with you in a week and a half than he has in a month. But that was his own doing really. 

“So my question is do you prefer brunettes or blondes?”

Bob immediately moved his body making sure John could see him shaking his head.

Your eyebrows furrowed, “it doesn’t really matter to me.”

John narrowed his eyes, “okay but if you had to pick which one would you pick? Brunettes,” he lifted one hand up before lifting the other and sending the other down like a scale, “or blonds?” 

“Both I guess. I don’t really have a preference.” John stood there, hands still up while your phone dinged. “Sorry, I have another order to do and this is sort of a weird question so I’m gonna go. Bye Bob,” you waved, making sure to say your farewells while he again waved back. You always made sure to acknowledge that Bob was there. 

“Oof guess we’ll never know the answer to that one Robert. Sorry about that.”

“Okay can you just,” Bob pressed his lips together, his hands coming up grabbing the air pretending to crush it, before he turned around and returning back to his spot. 

“What! I actually was hungry that time,” John shouted before Bob’s hand came up over the seat making sure Walker could see his middle finger.

Despite Bob thinking that was so far one of the most obvious and obnoxious questions yet, Yelena would soon up the ante with a question of her own that evening.

The team was together, well most of them aside from Bucky. When the elevator dinged again. 

Yelena didn’t even wait for you to say your spiel as you entered, immediately just walking up to you, “oh thank you! I have been craving this all day,” she mumbled as you gave her the bag. 

“Wait here,” she turned to no doubt get the tip but she then turned around again, “actually I had a question for you?”

‘Here we go again,’ Bob thought as he instantly covered his face out of embarrassment from where he stood. 

“Are you single?” Bob’s expression moved at the horror of Yelena’s words. Astonished and embarrassed by the intruding question. 

“Oh I have a question too! What is your thought about dating big time superhero? It’s very cool, no? ” Alexei added. 

“Follow up question,” said John as he raised his hand. “Do you find my friend Bob Reynolds here attractive?”

“Okay,” Bob finally got up and stood in front of you so you could put your attention on him. “You don’t have to answer those ridiculous and private questions,” he says, making sure to look over his shoulders at the others as he purposefully highlights those two words. Turning to you again, he guides both you and himself into the elevator and presses the button to descend to the lower level. 

“Let’s head down, I’ll just give you the tip,” was heard as the doors shut. 

“I bet,” John muttered, earning the rest of the group to turn to him with a series of revolted looks on their faces.  

“Ew,” Yelena said. 

“What?”

“Disgusting, really,” Ava chimed. 

“It was a joke,” he defended. 

“Ten minutes time out now,” Alexei commanded. 

“I’m not a child you can’t—“

“Ten minutes, no one talk to the U.S. Agent!” He shouted as everyone turned their back to the blond who let out an annoyed groan. 

Meanwhile in the elevator it was quiet, the only sound being the machine traveling downwards. 

You two faced forward and Bob finally leaned towards you a bit to apologize on the others behalf, “I’m sorry about them and all the questions. You don’t have to answer any of them, ever!” He stressed while you just chuckled. 

“It’s okay.” 

Bob closed his mouth as the silence returned. He occasionally peeked in your direction realizing that this was the longest time he had spent with you. While also recognizing it had been a while since it was just you and him in a room together. 

His voice eventually eased the tension again, “can I ask one thing? I swear it’s not too crazy.”

You nodded knowing he was one of the few who seemed to actually respect you. 

“Why do you keep coming back? You know they’re going to keep asking you dumb stuff.”

You nod agreeing, “that’s true. But I don’t know,” this time you glanced to your side finally meeting eyes with the man and he swears his breath hitched at the mere contact. 

“They’re funny. Seems like you have a really good crew here. And how many people can say they’ve gotten to interact with the New Avengers,” you said, bumping your shoulder against his, causing his body to hunch into itself, practically liquifying at your mere touch while a smile finally grew on his lips. 

“Plus they’re not so bad, and I know you’re not so bad.”

He was happy that you felt safe at least. Bob’s joy took a quick pause though when you spoke again. 

“Can I ask you a question though?” He turned to you showing you he was all ears.

“Do they ask all the delivery guys questions or just me?”

“In all honesty no. They’re just trying to help me.”

That piqued your interest. “Help you?”

“I mean yes, but at the same time they’re also making fun of me?”

You raised an eyebrow and he picked up on your want for an explanation. “Okay this is not how I wanted to tell you,” he said under his breath as his eyes hit the floor. They squeezed shut as his head tilted, almost like he had to force the next words to come out of his mouth, “they sort of picked up on the fact that I maybe…sort of…like you?” He peeked one eye open trying to gauge your reaction and when you didn’t say anything he opened both eyes, “I mean if that’s okay with you, of course. I was perfectly willing to ride this crush out, and I mean it’s not like a gigantic huge crushing crush it’s more of a, she’s cute. Hope I get another chance to see her again. I would love to hold the door open for her, and give her flowers, and watch the sunset together, sort of thing.” His eyebrows came down at his realization of how his words sounded. 

Your eyes were wide now and he really should’ve stopped talking. He took a step back giving you some space due to his crazy talk. “Wait, this is coming out all wrong. I just like you. A lot. That is all I wanted to say." He gave one final wave with his hands showing he was done and he faced the doors again. You thought he was finished but he spoke again, “don’t worry though I am going to squash this thing. It’ll be over in no time.”

The elevator dinged once again as he concluded, not giving you any time to respond. Noticing you were at the designated floor he let out an, “oh,” before reaching into his pocket. “Let me give you your tip.”

You reached out a hand stopping his movements, “save it…” he did as told while you stepped outside the elevator doors, “…for when you want to maybe hold a door open for me.”

His feet were planted in the elevator and his cheeks slowly lifted while he was speechless. You smiled back and then…the doors slid shut. 

[pitlanepeach]

Radio Silence | Chapter Forty

Lando Norris x Amelia Brown (OFC)

Series Masterlist

Summary — Order is everything. Her habits aren’t quirks, they’re survival techniques. And only three people in the world have permission to touch her: Mom, Dad, Fernando.

Then Lando Norris happens.

One moment. One line crossed. No going back.

Warnings — Autistic!OFC, pregnancy, strong language, slight smut, a bit of general anxiety.

Notes — Welcome to Miami!!!!!

2024 (Miami—Imola)

The McLaren garage was quiet in that early-morning lull before the chaos. Screens still black. Tyres covered. Mechanics nursing coffees and stretching into the day. Amelia stood just inside the halo of overhead lights, hands on her hips, watching her car, her car, come alive in pieces.

The floor gleamed with fresh resin. The side-pods were lean, smooth, seamless in their curvature. The front wing was finally the right spec; the airflow data had confirmed it. The new floor geometry played nicer with the updated rear suspension. The whole package, finally cohesive.

It had taken months of pushing. Quiet conversations. Brutal ones. Drawings on the back of napkins, pacing in her kitchen at 2am. And it was all here now, carbon and copper and logic made real.

She didn’t say anything at first. Just circled the car slowly, one hand brushing against the wing mirror, the leading edge of the nose, the curve of the intake. Reverent, almost.

Tom stood a few feet back, sipping from a thermal mug. He was always nearby at the moment; watching and learning. “Looks different,” he said.

Amelia nodded. “This is the car I designed from the beginning. No compromises. No shortcuts.” She crouched beside the floor, fingers tracing the sculpted undercut, the exact shape she’d fought for. “We’ve been patch-working upgrades onto old foundations. But this; this is a clean slate. It’s mine. Finally.”

“So it’s ready?” He asked.

She looked up at him, eyes sharp. “Yeah. It’s ready to win.”

Lando ducked into the garage then, still in joggers and a hoodie, yawning around a protein bar. He caught her eye, then stopped mid-step. “Holy shit.”

Amelia nodded.

He stepped closer, hands in his pockets. Studied the car with wide eyes, taking in every minor adjustment, every small change that’d somehow made the entire car look different. Meaner.

“It looks fast.” He breathed.

“It is.”

He turned toward her, something quiet in his expression. “You happy?”

Amelia didn’t blink. “I’m relieved. Now it’ll do exactly what I designed it to do.”

Oscar wandered in a moment later, eyebrows lifting when he saw the chassis. “Oh shit, this the final spec?”

“The one I promised you both,” Amelia muttered.

Oscar grinned, circling the nose. “Looks like a weapon.”

Amelia hummed. “That’s because it is. All the patchwork’s gone. This weekend, you’ll both be driving the car I built for you from the ground up.”

Tom, now beside her, tapped his pen against his notebook. “You going to name it?”

Amelia looked at him like he’d grown two heads. “It already has a name — and that name has my initials in it anyway. Why would I give it another name?”

Oscar shrugged. “I name my chassis something new every weekend.”

“That’s because you’re weird.” She told him.

But later, when they were running race simulations and Lando had slipped out for media, she sat alone beside Oscar’s car, one hand resting lightly on the side-pod. Just for a second. And under her breath, too soft for anyone to hear: “Don’t let me down.”

Because it was all here now; her vision, her work, her legacy in motion.

And in Miami, for the first time all year, she was finally going to see her car on track.

—

Even in Miami, the F1 Academy paddock felt smaller. Tighter-knit. Less spectacle, more steel. It reminded Amelia of the early days she’d watched on flickering TV screens—before race suits were tailored, before engineers had agents. When she’d been three feet tall and already knew more about car setup than most of the men working on them.

She walked beside Susie, the low hum of tyre warmers and generators buzzing faintly underfoot. The air smelled like brake dust and fuel. It smelled like home.

“You don’t get much spare time,” Susie said, glancing down at the curve of Amelia’s bump beneath her papaya hoodie. “So thanks for making this one count.”

“I wouldn’t miss it,” Amelia said, eyes scanning the compact garages. “These girls are the future of motorsport.”

A mechanic rolled a jack across their path. A knot of young drivers stood nearby, still in their fireproofs, talking fast, voices tight with nerves.

Susie called one over. “Chloe. Come here a sec.”

Chloe Chambers jogged over, ponytail bouncing, already grinning like she knew exactly who Amelia was.

“Amelia Norris,” Susie said, pride softening her voice. “Meet Chloe. One of our brightest. She’s been dying to pick your brain.”

Chloe stuck out a hand, eyes wide. “I’ve watched every onboard from Oscar since you started working with him. And you basically built this year’s McLaren, right?”

Amelia glanced at the hand, winced, then gave a small shrug. “Built it. Argued over it. Cried about it once or twice. So—yes.”

Chloe lit up, dropped her hand like she didn’t even register the rejection. “I want to do what you do. I mean—I want to drive first. But also understand the car. Maybe even design one. Someday.”

Amelia's smile tugged sideways, something more serious behind it. “Then don’t let anyone tell you to choose. You don’t have to.”

A few more girls wandered over—Doriane, Abbi, Maya. One asked if it was true she’d rewritten part of the ride height algorithm in the middle of the night, thanks to pregnancy nausea.

“It’s true,” she said dryly. “Wouldn’t recommend it. I couldn’t stand the smell of carbon fibre for three days.”

They laughed, young, high, unfiltered, and something eased in her chest. She didn’t feel like a figurehead here. Not a myth. Just one of them. Older, yes. Blunter, definitely. But still part of it.

“Do you still get nervous?” One asked. “Being Oscar’s engineer?”

“No,” Amelia said. “But sometimes, I get… quiet before an upgrade. Or a tough strategy call. But I trust the hours I put in. That’s how you survive in this job—you trust the work, then you trust yourself.”

They asked for a photo. She said yes.

Afterwards, stepping back into the heat and light, Amelia felt something shift beneath her ribs. Not the baby. Something else.

“These girls,” she murmured. “They’re so—”

“Ready,” Susie finished. “They just need someone to show them what’s possible.”

Amelia looked down at her belly. The baby kicked once, low and firm. She wondered—would her daughter want this one day? The speed. The noise. The risk.

Would she want her to?

She didn’t know.

But she knew this: she wanted the door to be open. And she wanted it to stay that way.

“Well,” Amelia said, eyes back on the track. “Let’s make sure the road stays clear.”

Susie nodded, a quiet kind of promise in her voice. “That’s exactly why we’re here.”

—

The room was dark.

Not pitch-black—just enough light from the closed blinds to trace the edges of things. A spare media suite deep in the team hospitality unit, soundproofed from the bustle outside. Cold air whispered from the vents overhead.

Amelia sat curled up on the floor, back against the wall, knees drawn to her chest. Her hoodie sleeves were pulled down over her hands. In her lap, she twisted the stim toy between her fingers: click, roll, flip, snap. Again. Again. Again.

Her morning had unravelled in that invisible way it sometimes did. Nothing catastrophic—just too many voices, too many schedule changes, someone touching her shoulder without warning. The wrong texture on the cutlery at breakfast. The wrong smell in the paddock. She’d swallowed it all down with a brittle smile until she couldn’t anymore. Now the inside of her head felt raw and overlit, and only silence helped.

Click. Roll. Flip. Snap.

The door opened.

Soft, slow. No bright light flooding in. Just a narrow slice of hallway glow and a silhouette. Lando.

He didn’t say anything. He just stepped inside, closed the door again behind him. Let the dark settle. He moved quietly, then sat beside her, legs stretched out, shoulder to shoulder with hers.

A beat later, the door creaked again. Oscar this time.

She didn’t look up, but she knew him by the shape of his walk, the subtle way he moved like he was trying not to wake a sleeping cat. He settled on her other side, crossed-legged, just close enough to touch but not quite.

Nobody spoke.

Amelia kept clicking. Rolling. Flipping. Snapping.

And slowly, her breathing evened out.

Lando reached over and gently brushed his fingers across the back of her hand. She didn’t flinch. Didn’t pull away. She let him. Then let her head tilt sideways until it rested lightly on his shoulder.

Oscar stayed quiet, respectful in that way he always was with her—like he got it, even if he didn’t always understand. He just existed beside her, like a grounding point.

The toy made a soft clack as she turned it over again, her fingers finding the rhythm she liked best. The baby shifted inside her, low and firm. She exhaled slowly.

They weren’t talking. They weren’t asking her what she needed. They just were. Present. Patient. Steady.

It hit her, then, with quiet force: how deeply she was loved. Just… for being.

She blinked hard. One tear, maybe two. Nothing dramatic. Just the kind that came when the pressure released, even just a little.

Click. Roll. Flip. Snap.

Lando rested a hand on her hip, tracing soft circles on the red, itchy stretch marks. Oscar leaned his head against the wall, eyes closed, humming something tuneless under his breath.

Amelia let the dark hold all three of them.

And she knew that soon, she’d feel okay again.

—

Amelia had gone out for air.

That was the plan, anyway—just ten quiet minutes away from the structured chaos of media day. No cameras, no questions. Just walking, hoodie on, head down, hands in her pockets.

But somewhere along the paddock hospitality row, she saw them—six or seven VIP fans lingering near the McLaren garage, lanyards bright, eyes wide, trying not to look starstruck and failing. Most of them were young women. One had a notebook. Another had made her own earrings out of mini DRS wings. A third was nervously adjusting the hem of her papaya windbreaker.

They saw her before she could disappear.

“Hi—sorry—Amelia?”

She could’ve smiled and nodded and kept walking. Instead, she stopped. “Yes,” she said. “Hello. You’re not supposed to be standing there. You’ll block the tyre trolleys.”

One of them blurted, “You’re, like… kind of our hero.”

Amelia blinked at them. “Why?”

Which made them all laugh awkwardly.

“I mean,” the DRS earring girl said, “you built the car. Everyone knows it. You’re the reason we’re consistently getting podiums again.”

“That’s not entirely true,” Amelia said bluntly. “But thank you.”

The girl with the notebook held it out. “Could I maybe ask you a few questions? Just for fun?”

Amelia glanced around. There was a patch of artificial turf by the hospitality tents where a drinks cooler sat forgotten. No cameras. No execs. No schedule.

“Fine,” she said. “But I want to sit down. And I want something to eat.”

Fifteen minutes later, Amelia was cross-legged on a grassy patch, a fizzy drink in one hand and a half-eaten granola bar in the other, surrounded by a semicircle of fascinated girls. Someone had scrounged up crisps and trail mix from a hospitality unit. It was, essentially, a picnic.

She’d taken a napkin and a pen and was now drawing vortex flows and side-pod shapes in clean, confident lines, explaining how turbulent air off the front wing could be used as a tool, not just a nuisance.

“People always think air is the enemy,” she said. “It’s not. It’s a language. And if you understand what it’s saying, the car will behave for you.”

Someone gasped. Someone else scribbled furiously. One girl offered Amelia a gummy bear, which she accepted without breaking eye contact from the diagram.

“Do you… want your daughter to be an engineer too?” One asked, softly.

Amelia paused. “I want her to believe that she can be anything she wants to be.”

That was when Lando found her.

He was coming from an interview and nearly missed the scene entirely. Then he spotted her—Amelia, sitting in the middle of the grass like a camp counsellor or a pre-school teacher, surrounded by fans who all looked like they were in total and utter awe of her.

Oscar arrived seconds later. “Is this… what’s going on?”

“I think it’s a cult,” Lando whispered. “My wife has created a cult and she is their leader.”

One of the girls spotted them and nudged the others. The whole circle turned.

“Oh. Hi,” Amelia said, gesturing vaguely to them. “They asked me about ground effect. I got carried away.”

Lando sat down beside her without a word. Oscar followed, grabbing a crisp from the communal bowl like this was all perfectly normal.

“We’re learning,” Oscar said solemnly. “Let’s not interrupt the professor, Lando.”

One of the girls burst into laughter. Amelia handed her the napkin diagram and grinned.

And there, in the middle of a media day she’d meant to escape, Amelia Norris held court not to journalists or executives; but to the next generation. Bright-eyed. Hungry to learn. Eager to belong.

—

Later, Lando slipped an arm around Amelia’s shoulders.

“So,” he said, voice light but steady, “when our daughter’s old enough, do we risk teaching her about vortex generators and having her build a wind tunnel in our bathroom?”

Amelia rolled her eyes, resting her head against his chest. “Who knows? She might put us all out of a job.”

He laughed softly. “She’ll definitely get your brains.”

“And your stubbornness.” She gave him a sidelong look. “And adrenaline addiction.”

“Great combo.”

They walked slowly back toward the garage.

“Can I ask you something?”

“Anything.”

“If she wanted to race,” Amelia started, her hand moving instinctively to her hip, “would you want that for her?”

Lando scrunched his nose, bit his lip. “God. Uh…” He paused, searching her eyes. “I’d be worried. Not happy about it, but if it’s what she wanted, I’d make it happen.”

She studied him. “You’d make it happen even if it made you unhappy?”

“Worried,” he corrected gently. “Worried sick, probably. I’ve crashed, seen the worst of it. You know how dangerous this sport is. Would you be okay with it?”

She shrugged. “I’d tell her the risks, the stats. Karting? Sure. But racing professionally… I don’t know.” She hesitated, voice quieter. “I don’t know.”

Lando cupped her cheek. “It’s okay not to know yet.”

“I don’t know,” she repeated, staring into his eyes as panic fluttered beneath her skin. “Why don’t I know? I should.”

He pulled her close, voice low. “It doesn’t work like that, baby. I’m sorry.”

She sniffled, clutching his shirt. “Parenting is already hard and she isn’t even born yet.”

“Yeah,” Lando agreed, with a shaky kind of inhale. “Yeah.”

—

Amelia sat on the couch in their hotel room, fiddling with her stim toy, brow furrowed. The past few weeks had been… confusing. She knew about pregnancy hormones, but this sudden surge in her sex drive? That was new and confusing territory.

Lando entered the room, carrying a glass of water. He caught her eye and smiled, but there was a flicker of something (nervousness?) in his gaze.

“You okay?” He asked, voice a bit higher than usual.

Amelia bit her lip. “Can I ask you something?”

He nodded quickly, almost too quickly.

“Is it… normal to suddenly want sex all the time? Like, nonstop?” Her voice was blunt but uncertain. ‘I’m nervous to look it up in-case weird stuff comes up.”

Lando’s face flushed, and he scratched the back of his neck, looking anywhere but at her. “Uh, yeah. Totally normal. Second trimester… hormones and all that.” He cleared his throat. “Not that I’m complaining.”

Amelia blinked, surprised by his sudden heat.

Lando shifted closer, cheeks still pink. “I mean, it’s… well, you’re pretty irresistible right now.”

She raised an eyebrow. “Irresistible?”

He swallowed hard. “Yeah. So, uh… we can make you feel better, if you want?”

Before she could respond, he leaned in, brushing his lips lightly against hers. The kiss was soft but full of promise, and Amelia’s heart sped up in that familiar way; equal parts surprise and warmth.

When they parted, Lando grinned sheepishly. “You want to?”

Amelia stared at him. “Yeah. Now. And then again a few more times. And tomorrow morning before we go to the track.”

He stared at her for a beat before he smiled wide, sharp little fangs and all.

—

Amelia lay awake.

Her head rested on Lando’s chest, his hand soft against the curve of her belly. His breathing was slow, steady, familiar. She could feel the faint shift of it under her cheek.

She stared at the ceiling, fingers tracing idle circles over the sheets.

She hadn’t expected to want him like that. Not with this body — not now, not so much. And yet…

Flashes of the night flickered across her mind like bright sparks.

Lando’s laugh, half-muffled against her neck.

His voice, rough, whispering, “You sure? You’re sure?”

The way he’d kissed the inside of her wrist every time.

Her hoodie halfway off, clumsily caught around her elbows.

The sound she made when he touched her lower back — sharp, surprised.

His thumb brushing gently over her bump, reverent. “Hi, baby,” he’d whispered, “Your mum’s kind of a goddess.”

She blushed in the dark just thinking about it.

But what stuck with her most wasn’t the heat — it was how seen she felt. How known. How safe.

She’d spent most of her life learning to translate herself for the world. She thought that’s what relationships would always have to be — filtering, explaining, shrinking things down.

But with Lando, she had never once had to do that.

He read the pauses in her voice like she would read telemetry. Felt her silences without trying to explain. Met her confusion with patience, not pity. Anticipated the needs she hadn’t even decoded herself yet.

She tilted her head, studying him in the quiet.

She hadn’t just fallen in love with him all those year ago.

She’d grown into love with him — steady, real, elemental.

And somehow, impossibly, he kept giving her more reasons to love him even more.

She pressed a kiss to his chest, so soft he didn’t stir.

Then closed her eyes, finally ready to sleep.

—

The bathroom lights were aggressively bright for how little sleep Amelia had gotten.

She was perched on the closed toilet lid, sleep-shirt inside out, bump resting on her thighs, and a toothbrush in her mouth. Her phone leaned against a half-used roll of toilet paper on the counter, and Pietra’s face filled the screen, already smirking.

“You look like you’ve been run over,” Pietra said with wide eyes.

Amelia spat into the sink. “I had sex for four hours straight last night.”

Pietra choked on her iced coffee. “Good morning, mami.”

Amelia shrugged like she was reporting on tyre deg. “Hormones.”

“Second trimester hitting like DRS on the main straight, huh?”

She nodded seriously. “It’s physiological. There’s blood flow redistribution and heightened sensitivity in—”

“Stop,” Pietra laughed. “You can’t do the engineering breakdown of your sex life.”

Amelia grinned, a little proud. “I definitely can. Do you want to see my graphs?”

“No graphs.Please. No vibes. How’s Lando coping?”

“Hydrated. Exhausted. Still asleep,” she said, brushing through her tangled hair. “He kept making these noises like he couldn’t believe what was happening.”

Pietra chuckled. “Yeah, he’s down bad for you, my girl.”

“I know,” Amelia said. “He, like, kept kissing my wrist.”

“Amelia. Please.”

“No, like he held it and did it twice.”

There was a pause.

Pietra blinked slowly. “That’s so sweet.”

“He made me feel like myself again.” She flushed.

Pietra was quiet, her smile gentler now. “Because you are.”

Amelia nodded once. “He’s also half-worried that our daughter might invent a bathtub wind tunnel.”

“Oh God,” Pietra said, grinning again. “That little girl is going to make him go grey. I hope she cuts up her dolls and builds a diffuser from their severed limbs.”

“She won’t have dolls.” Amelia said dryly. “She’ll have CFD software.” Even though her tone was flat, the twitch of her lips betrayed her joke.

Pietra laughed. Amelia finished tying her hair into a low, slightly messy ponytail. A streak of sunlight cut through the window, warming the tiles beneath her feet.

“I should go,” she said. “Track walk in forty-five minutes.”

“Tell Lando I said ‘well done’.”

Amelia rolled her eyes. “No. That’s weird.”

“You love me anyway!”

Amelia ended the call and stared at herself in the mirror for a second.

Messy. Flushed. A little wild-looking.

Entirely herself.

And deeply, deeply loved.

—

The heat shimmered off the asphalt in waves, the whole paddock buzzing with anticipation. Miami was loud, chaotic, full of pastel shirts and bass-heavy DJ sets; but the McLaren garage felt like a storm waiting to break.

Amelia had one hand on Oscar’s halo as he settled into the car. Focused. Calm. Starting fourth on the grid. It was a good starting position, but they both knew it wasn’t going to be an easy climb through the field — if they even managed to keep their position into turn one.

“Conditions are fine. Brakes might take a while to come in. Let the tyres come to you.”

Oscar looked up at her, half-grinning under his visor. “And if I don’t?”

“I’ll scream at you over the radio for being annoying and not listening to me.”

He laughed. “As usual.”

She patted the car once, stepped back, and moved to her tiny little thrown-together desk just as Lando passed her on his way to climb into his car. His hand grabbed her back. Their eyes met. He gave her a look; small, private, thrilling. The kind of look that said: I think today is the day.

She nodded once. Just once.

She’d believed in him for years now — since before Sochi, since before he’d even been given the full-time McLaren seat.

He was capable of incredible things. 

—

The first 20 laps were a blur of strategy juggling and telemetry surges. Amelia was locked into Oscar’s race; managing his energy deployment, traffic, undercut threats.

He was driving sharp. But something wasn’t sticking.

A slow pit stop on Lap 32 killed their momentum. They dropped back into traffic. She clenched her jaw, recalculated in seconds, called Plan C.

“Ducky, don’t lose steam. We’re still in this for good points. Head down.”

“Copy,” he said, clipped. Frustrated, but fighting.

But further up the field, Lando was flying.

And then there was the safety car.

Chaos. All improper preparation and garages rushing.

And then Lando exited the pits. And he hadn’t just made up a few positions — he’d taken the lead.

The garage erupted. Amelia nearly stood up from her station. She felt it before the numbers confirmed it — Lando was about to win his first Grand Prix.

She could barely breathe.

—

Oscar crossed the line P6. Solid points. Not what they hoped for, but not failure.

But Lando…

Lando held off Max for the last five laps like his life depended on it. No mistakes. Just pure, blistering pace and nerves of steel.

And then—

“Lando Norris. That’s P1. You are a Formula One race winner!”

Will’s words cracked through the comms.

The garage exploded.

Amelia didn’t move.

She sat frozen, one hand over her mouth, the other gripping the edge of the console like it would float her back to earth.

He’d done it.

Finally.

No more self-doubt. No more what-ifs.

Lando won.

Her husband, who stayed up with her until 3am looking at ride height data; had won.

And he did it in the car she built for him.

"We did it, Will. Amelia — baby, we did it. We did it!" He said over the radio.  

The first race it was fully her spec — and sure, they’d gotten ‘lucky’ with the safety-car, but luck was insubstantial. His pace said it all.

He’d won. And he’d won by a mile.

—

The moment she found him in Parc Ferme, still helmeted, still breathless, still shocked, she ran.

Not far; just to the holding area, where only a few people were allowed. But she was McLaren’s lead engineer. She was also his wife.

She had every right.

He turned and saw her and the helmet came off in one swoop.

His face was flushed, eyes red-rimmed, disbelieving.

She launched into his arms and he caught her without hesitation, arms around her waist, face buried in her shoulder.

“I can’t believe it,” he whispered. “I won. I fucking won, baby.”

“I can believe it,” she said, steady and breathless. “I knew it was coming. How long have I told you that this would happen for you? You’ve been driving like a winner all year, Lando.”

He kissed her, fast, messy, barely containing the wild joy in him. “Tell me you saw the move on Max.”

“I saw it. It was amazing.”

He laughed against her neck, giddy and stunned and vibrating with relief. “I did it, Amelia.”

“You did.” She leaned into him, eyes pricking with tears. “I am so, so proud of you. So proud.”

—

They went to a few parties. Smaller ones. Danced together — Lando being celebrated in exactly the way he deserved.

He hadn’t been all to keen on the idea of his visibly pregnancy wife going into the Miami nightclub, but she’d insisted they go. Even just for a little while.

Oscar and Lando stayed close — like bodyguards. Max was no better, hovering, constantly bringing her water. It was sweet. It was nice to still be involved in the celebrations.

His trophy sat on their hotel room table.

Lando was in the shower, singing Queen, completely off-key.

Amelia sat on the bed in one of his t-shirts, one hand on her belly, the other tracing the MCL38-AN etched into the side of the silver.

Their daughter kicked.

She smiled. “Your dad,” she whispered, “is a Formula One race winner.”

—

They touched down just before dawn, Heathrow still hushed in early morning fog. Amelia’s body ached with the kind of deep exhaustion that only adrenaline can leave behind; but her hand never left Lando’s.

He’d won. That wasn’t going to stop echoing in her head any time soon.

By the time they got to his parents’ house, the sky had cracked open with gentle rain. The front door opened before they even rang the doorbell.

His mum pulled him into a tight hug, burying her face in his chest. His dad hovered behind, proud and misty-eyed in the quiet way he always was. There were champagne flutes already out in the kitchen, a cake someone had clearly stayed up late decorating — “P1, Finally!” scrawled in sugar icing.

But what caught Amelia off guard was how his mum hugged her too.

Carefully, because of the bump. But tightly. Fully. Without hesitation.

“We were watching,” she said, her voice warm in Amelia’s ear. “I’ve never screamed so loud in my life. He wouldn’t have gotten here without you, you know?”

Amelia blinked. Didn’t know what to say to that. Just squeezed her hand and nodded.

—

Later, in the quiet of Lando’s childhood bedroom, Amelia lay curled into his side beneath soft, over-washed sheets. The walls were still plastered with old racing posters, a few crooked photos of karting days — a little shrine to where it all began.

The trophy was on the dresser.

Not a glass cabinet, not a pedestal. Just… sitting there. Like it belonged next to a lava lamp and a stack of F1 magazines from 2009.

Amelia snorted at the sight of it. “You really just plonked it there?”

“It’s weird, right?” Lando said, his voice drowsy. “Feels like it should be… more. But also not. I don’t know.”

“It’s exactly right,” she said. “It belongs where you started.”

He looked over at her. Tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. “You okay?”

She nodded. Then, after a moment, “It’s strange. Everyone talks about how hard it is to get here. To win. To be part of something like this. But nobody tells you how hard it is to… stop. To come down from it. To believe that it’s real.”

He didn’t answer right away. Just pulled her closer, hand on her belly. “She’s gonna know,” he said softly. “Our daughter. She’s going to grow up knowing this is possible. Because she’ll have you. And she’ll have me too.”

“You,” Amelia said firmly, “are going to be her favourite person.”

He flushed, kissed her shoulder. “You’re both my favourite.”

—

Breakfast was a chaotic, sweet mess. His younger cousins had come by with orange balloons and mini trophies made of Lego. His grandmother insisted on touching Amelia’s belly and declared, in full authority, that the baby would be born with racing boots on already.

Someone pulled out a bottle of something sparkling, and Lando looked like he might cry for the tenth time in 48 hours.

Amelia stepped outside with her tea, just for a moment. The garden smelled like damp grass and daffodils.

Lando came out after her, wrapping his arms around her from behind, nose pressed into her neck.

“We really did it,” he murmured.

“You did.”

“No,” he said. “We.”

She leaned back into him, eyes fluttering shut.

For once, she didn’t argue.

—

The highly sought after private clinic was tucked behind a row of converted barns; all soft wood beams and white walls, the kind of place that smelled faintly of lavender and sterilised plastic. Quiet. Private. No waiting rooms. No fluorescent lights.

It had taken Amelia weeks to agree to in-person visits. Not because she didn’t trust the care, but because the idea of new faces, new spaces, new sounds — it made her skin hum in the wrong way.

But this midwife, Fiona, had been patient. Kind. Spoken to her over the phone like Amelia wasn’t strange or fragile or complicated. Just… herself. And today, for the first time, they were meeting in real life.

Amelia sat in the softly-lit consultation room, sleeves pulled over her knuckles, while Lando leaned back in the chair beside her, fingers loosely linked with hers.

The door opened, and Fiona stepped in; mid-forties maybe, silver at her temples, Doc Martens under a midi skirt. Exuding a calm energy.

“Hello, Amelia,” she said with a small smile. “It’s good to finally meet you properly.”

Amelia blinked at her. “You don’t sound as tall as you do on the phone.”

Fiona laughed, delighted. “That’s a first. Most people say I sound shorter.”

Lando grinned. “She’s very good at spatial audio. It’s… sort of freaky.”

Amelia elbowed him lightly. “It’s not freaky. It’s useful.”

“I know, baby,” he said, kissing her hair.

Fiona sat, not rushing. Just matching the room to Amelia’s pace.

“Shall we talk through everything slowly?” She offered. “We’ll do the checkup, listen to baby’s heartbeat if you’re feeling up for it — and then talk about next steps. I’ve got your notes printed exactly how you like them. Font size 13, double spaced.”

That surprised a smile out of Amelia. “You remembered.”

“Of course I did.”

—

Fiona talked her through every step before touching her. Let Amelia guide where the Doppler went. Gave her control.

The heartbeat came through — fast and steady and perfect.

Lando stared at the screen like it was made of gold.

“There she is,” he murmured. “There’s our girl.”

Amelia stared at the graph. “Still sounds like a horse galloping.”

“Strong horse,” Fiona said. “Very healthy.”

They spent another fifteen minutes going over nutrition changes, sleeping positions, birth plans. Fiona never pushed. Never filled silence with filler words. Just waited.

“You’re very good at this,” Amelia said finally. “I don’t like many people.”

Fiona smiled gently. “That means a lot. Thank you.”

—

They stepped back out into the quiet spring air, a softness between them.

Lando opened the car door for her, waiting until she was settled before getting in himself. He looked over at her, one hand finding hers on the armrest.

“I like her,” he said.

“I don’t hate her,” Amelia replied, which was even better.

“You did so well,” he added softly. “I’m really proud of you.”

She glanced at him. “Why?”

“Because I know how much it costs you to do things that feel uncertain,” he said. “And you still showed up for her. For our daughter.”

Amelia’s eyes prickled, caught off guard by the depth in his voice.

“She deserves someone better than me, sometimes,” she whispered.

“No,” he said firmly. “She’s getting someone more brilliant, more brave, more herself than anyone could hope for.”

She kissed him. “Okay. Take me to get some chicken, please?”

—

The kitchen was full of soft light and the smell of roast chicken and rosemary potatoes. There were too many voices, too many overlapping stories, the occasional clink of cutlery — but somehow, it didn’t overwhelm Amelia the way it usually did. Maybe it was the dimmer switch Lando had installed last year. Maybe it was the way he kept checking in with her from across the room. Or maybe… maybe it was just the peace that came from knowing her daughter was still tucked safe inside her, heartbeat strong.

Dinner was warm.

They passed around the scan print-outs — Lando sliding them carefully across the table. His mum teared up a little at the clearest one, where the outline of a tiny face and curled fingers was visible.

“She’s so beautiful already,” Cisca whispered.

“She looks like an angry shrimp,” Amelia said flatly, which made Adam chuckle into his wine.

“An angry shrimp with a big Norris head,” Lando added.

“Oi,” Adam said. “Watch it.”

“She’s got Amelia’s precision, though,” Lando added, turning the scan toward his dad. “Perfect symmetry in the profile. Look at that jawline. Look.”

“She’s 38 centimetres long, Lando,” Amelia said, eyebrows raised. “She’s still just a smudge.”

He shrugged, grinning. “Let me have this.”

—

Cisca topped up everyone’s water and gently set her glass down. “Have you two thought much about… the birth yet? Or after? What it’ll look like, who you want with you, where?”

Amelia nodded immediately, already sliding her phone from the edge of her placemat. “Yes. I’ve got it all planned.”

She pulled up a bullet-pointed note, clean and colour-coded. “I’ll be labouring at home for as long as is medically safe, with Fiona monitoring. Then transferring to the birth centre — the one with the adjustable light panels and hydrotherapy. I’ve selected a playlist that aligns with optimal relaxation frequencies, and Lando will be coached on pressure-point guidance in case I don’t want verbal input. We’ll have backup bags packed and pre-positioned in the car by Week 37.”

The table went still for a moment. Not unkind. Just… a bit awed.

“And after?” Adam asked gently.

“Fiona will do at-home checks. I’ll be off work technically, but I’ll still be supporting Oscar’s data remotely if we’re out of hospital. I’m going to stay with my mum in Woking. Sleep will be rotational in the first two weeks depending on Lando’s schedule, but my mum had already agreed to step in. Breastfeeding is Plan A, bottle Plan B. I have a spreadsheet.”

There was a quiet pause.

Then Cisca reached over the table, her hand warm as it closed gently over Amelia’s. “That all sounds wonderful, my darling. But, and this is only a but, if it doesn’t go exactly the way you’ve planned, don’t panic,” she said. Her voice was soft but certain. “Sometimes babies decide to do things their own way.”

Amelia didn’t flinch from the contact — rare for her. She just looked at Cisca’s hand, and then at her face. “I know that,” she said, a little stiffly. “Logically.”

“But knowing it logically isn’t the same as feeling okay when it happens,” Cisca said gently.

Amelia looked down at the scan photo in front of her. Then quietly, almost like a confession, “I want to do it right. I want her to feel safe from the second she arrives.”

“She will,” Lando said, reaching for her hand under the table. “Because she’ll have you.”

—

The door was already open before they even made it up the path.

“There she is!” Zak’s voice boomed from the hallway as Amelia climbed out of the car, Lando trailing behind with his hand protectively on the small of her back.

Tracey appeared right behind him, dish towel still slung over her shoulder. “Let her breathe, Zak, Jesus.”

Amelia barely had time to blink before she was enveloped in one of her mother’s trademark, over-long hugs — all vanilla perfume and chaotic warmth.

“I can’t believe how much she’s grown,” Tracey murmured, hands sliding down to press lightly at Amelia’s bump. “My granddaughter’s in there, that’s crazy.”

“She’s the size a watermelon,” Amelia said, dry. “A big watermelon. But still.”

Lando grinned. “Not for long. She’s growing every day.”

Zak clapped a hand on his son-in-law’s shoulder. “Still wrapping my head around the fact that you’re gonna be a dad, son.”

“Same,” Lando replied with a breathy laugh.

—

The Browns’ home was bigger than you might expect, but still carried the energy of a family who talked over each other and left laundry on stair banisters. The TV was on in the background playing a re-run of some F1 docuseries, and Zak had already pulled out a bottle of strawberry alcohol-free wine.

“No, Dad,” Amelia said, waving him off. “No bubbles. I’ll get heartburn.”

“I’ve got ginger beer!” Tracey called from the kitchen. “And saltines!”

Amelia drifted toward the fireplace, fingers brushing over old framed photos. There was one of her as a little girl with a screwdriver in one hand. Another of Zak holding her on his shoulders at the Silverstone track.

She stared at that one for a beat too long.

“You okay, kiddo?” Zak asked gently, appearing beside her.

She didn’t look up. “Yeah. Just remembering.”

“You’d sit on the garage floor with the brake calipers,” Zak said, fond. “You used to name them.”

“They needed names. They had personalities.”

“You said one was ‘grumpy and over-torqued.’ You were five.”

She let out a tiny laugh.

—

Dinner was loud. American-style pot roast, mashed potatoes, green beans drowning in butter. Tracey refilled everyone’s drinks every ten minutes. Zak told old stories about testing sessions Amelia had half-forgotten.

Later, Amelia found a quiet spot in her childhood bedroom, lights dimmed, the duvet still vaguely smelling of fabric softener. Lando leaned against the doorframe, watching her brush her fingers over an old model car she’d built with Zak when she was nine.

“You okay, baby?” He asked.

She nodded. “Yeah. I’m nervous to be staying here again, after having the baby. I wish we could just… have her in Monaco and disappear for a few months.” She frowned. “We didn’t plan our timing very well, did we? You’ll be mid-season, and Oscar won’t have me there, and—“

Lando crossed to her and wrapped his arms around her from behind, resting his chin on her shoulder.“Hey. Hey, calm down, baby. I think that you’re exactly where you’re supposed to be,” he murmured. “You’ll want your mum, yeah? She’ll be able to help you adjust without being overbearing.”

She hummed against his chest, her hands closing around his shirt. “What if you’re not here when it happens?”

He was quiet for a beat. “I’ll come home as soon as possible, baby. I promise.”

“I don’t want you to miss a single session.” She said, hotly. “But I want you with me all the time and I can’t have both, can I?”

“No, baby. I’m sorry.”

“It’s fine.” He murmured. “It’s fine, baby.”

—

Amelia stood at the edge of the test platform, squinting at the flow viz spread across the prototype floor. She wasn’t officially here to work, just visiting. Just dropping in. Just… checking the numbers. Seeing the model. Touching the damn tunnel wall like it could somehow speak to her.

“It’s still bleeding airflow here,” she muttered to herself, pointing at the front of the floor, just under the bargeboard curve. “Boundary layer’s detaching early.”

“Still better than Ferrari’s design,” someone mumbled behind her.

“Low bar,” she shot back.

She didn’t look up. Her fingers danced automatically across the control screen. Toggling split channel overlays, flipping between computational fluid dynamics layers. She could feel her heartbeat syncing with the faint thrum of the tunnel, her mind slotting into gear like it always had.

Until she felt someone step beside her, too quietly for a regular engineer.

“Amelia,” Oscar said softly, hands in his hoodie pockets. “Hey.”

She blinked, her brain still five seconds behind in aero-language.

He glanced at the setup, then at her bump, then back to her face. “Did you… sleep at all last night?” He asked.

“I took a nap on Lando’s thigh for twenty-three minutes in the car,” she said.

Oscar huffed. “Very normal. Very healthy.”

She turned back to the airflow sim. “This isn’t right. The adjustment from the Miami spec — it’s throwing off drag balance on the mid-straight.”

“Amelia.”

She didn’t answer this time. Just kept muttering corrections under her breath, lips moving like she was translating a language no one else could see.

Oscar stepped closer, then placed one hand gently on her wrist — not to stop her, just to connect.“You’ve been here for hours. You can come back to this later,” he said.

“I don’t know how to be here without doing something.”

“I know,” Oscar said. “But we’re not racing this week. And you’re allowed to just… exist in this space without trying to fix every tiny issue that you see.”

Amelia looked at him. Her mouth opened, then shut again. He didn’t push. Just stood with her in the quiet hum of the room, solid and calm.

Eventually, she whispered, “My brain’s too loud when I stop.”

“Then let me help you turn the volume down,” Oscar said simply. “C’mon. Let’s go sit by the lake for a bit.”

—

They ended up outside with two mugs of ginger tea that Oscar had somehow convinced catering to let them take out of the dining hall. Amelia sat with her feet up on the bench edge, dress stretched over her bump, breathing slower now.

She watched the fountain spray in silence for a few minutes before saying, “Thanks.”

“For the tea?”

“For not treating me like I’m fragile,” she said. “But also not treating me like I’m a machine.”

Oscar smiled sideways. “You’re a human. A terrifyingly brilliant, data-possessed human. But still.”

She let out a tired laugh and leaned her head briefly on his shoulder. “Don’t tell Lando I had a moment.”

“Alright,” he said. “It’ll stay between us and the ducks.”

She smiled. “My ducky and my ducks — conspiring together. Cute.”

He rolled his eyes.

—

The morning sun hit the Emilia-Romagna pit lane with a sharpness that reminded Amelia of why she loved racing. Clean, brutal light cutting through the lingering coolness of dawn.

She stood just inside the garage, eyes scanning telemetry streams on her iPad, but her mind elsewhere. This was her second-to-last race before maternity leave. A strange mix of accomplishment and anticipation knotted inside her.

Lando caught her eye across the garage, giving a small thumbs-up. She returned the gesture with a faint smile.

Oscar approached, carrying his helmet. “Ready?” He asked.

“Of course I am.”

—

During a quiet moment before qualifying, Amelia slipped out from behind the pit wall to find Lando.

He reached for her hand, squeezing it lightly. “You okay?”

She nodded. “I’m okay. Just… thinking about how this is all starting to feel a bit too much like a goodbye for my liking.”

He brushed a stray strand of hair behind her ear. “We’ll hold the fort. You’ll be back before you know it. You don’t need to worry.”

Her eyes softened. “I know. But it feels… weird.”

He held her. Kissed her. “You’ll be fine, baby.”

—

The race was intense. Strategy calls fired rapidly, tyres switching, gaps closing. Amelia’s voice came calm and precise over the radio, guiding Oscar through every corner, every lap.

When the checkered flag finally waved, Oscar finished fourth — solid, but just off the podium. Amelia exhaled, a complex wave of pride and bittersweet acceptance washing over her.

Lando’s race had been even more intense; a nail-biting late charge from Lando, a nail-bitingly close finish between him and Max.

They’d take second.

But she could see it. Hear it.

Her husband had enjoyed winning. And he was hungry for more.

—

Back in the garage, the team gathered around the screens replaying Lando’s brilliant win at Miami — a reminder of the highs to come. Amelia let herself smile, feeling the warmth of the team around her.

Lando slipped an arm around her waist. “Only one more weekend to go,” he murmured.

She leaned into him. “Yeah.”

Tom gave them a nervous smile. “I feel ready to take the reins. Do you think I’m ready?”

“As ready as you could possibly be.” Amelia told him.

Oscar laughed a bit. “I feel like I’m being passed between my divorced parents.”

Amelia rolled her eyes at him. “You’re ridiculous, ducky.”

[suguru-getos]

-> caleb when he makes you squirt for the first time : f!reader ₍^. .^₎⟆

oftentimes you wonder what makes the colonel so busy, sometimes you seek him out just to meet your childhood friend, but you don’t see your childhood buddy at all. you see the person commanding the farspace fleet, you see the person that has authority over skyhaven. you see… colonel caleb…

and somedays, you get pissed off because of it. like right now, you are sulking in caleb’s muted toned apartment, letting the couch engulf you — while he is busy in his home office, going through classified documents. of course you don’t wish to probe. but it’s stinging because you don’t get many vacations either. “you know,” you leaned against his office door. “no one abuses my vacation hours like this.” your eyes carey a glint of rage and mischief.

caleb freezes, turning around to face you with a little pout, those signature puppy dog eyes coming out to play. “i know pipsqueak— i’m sorry, just five more minutes and i’d be done. i promise.” he soothes, or atleast — tries his best to. you however, have other plans. you want to make him just a little riled up. “you know, zayne would never do this to me… he’s so busy too, being the cardiac surgeon at akso..”

and just like that, you could feel the aura of your conversation change. his puppy-dog, golden retriever tendencies fading like morning dew drops. “what did you say?” he lets the file he was holding go, walking closer to you, caging you against the door of his room.

“i said what you heard, caleb.” you shrugged. oh you feel the consequences of your words already rise up and burn your stomach with anticipation…..

and, that’s what brought you here. caleb’s hands gripping the plush skin of your thighs and bolting them down, his evol suppressing through your pelvis like an unwanted anchor so you don’t squirm away. and his mouth stuck to your clit like a rabid dog. he’s taken out an orgasm already but he’s showing no signs of relent. your toes are curling up, your breathing is bated. “gah- oh god—“ you could swear you feel a little dizzy with it all.

“what? you wanted my time and attention pips, so i’m giving you all of it.” caleb growls, shoving two of his fingers skilfully in your sopping wet pussy, curling them against his ever-so-familiar favorite spongy spot inside you. making you lose your ability to even think properly.

the next orgasm feels different, you feel your insides getting tased almost. “caleb-!! wait!! stop!!” you cry out, body jerking & convulsing. but he doesn’t. he hasn’t heard the safeword so there wouldn’t be any stopping at all. especially when you’ve riled me up this much.

and just like that — your body is convulsing, tripping off the sweet edge and a transparent, waterlike liquid gushes out of your twitching heat. caleb smirks, chuckling at the victory. “oh so she squirted? damn— if you wanted me to push your buttons just say so pips, no need to make me jealous.” he smirks as you spray all over him, his fingers not leaving that spongy spot underneath you.

“gimme another one~ please—“ there we go with the puppy dog face again. :3

[81pastrys]

Jealousy

Summary— Her ex starts becoming more prominent, along with her harmless interactions- until Lando notices.

Warnings— smut ; serious talk ; rough sex ; aftercare ; overstimulation

A/N— short ik ik

Lando One Shots

Request— Hii, I love your works sooo much!! Can you please do one where Lando saw reader talking to her ex, then he gets so jealous that they end up having rough s*x???

Dividers @bernardsbendystraws @dollywons

It was an accident- the first few times. Now that it’s happened a lot more recently, Lando is starting to believe it’s not an accident. Her ex, who worked for SkySports F1 and seemed to find her at every race recently and they would end the conversation as soon as Lando or a current hookup of his came into their sight. It was suspicious and Lando didn’t like the guy to begin with.

“So if my ex worked for SkySports would you be okay with me talking to her?” He asked, he was annoyed, pissed, above and beyond the point of caring. He was all for her being independent and confident but with her ex? That’s different.

“What?” She asked confused. It was innocent talks, reminiscing on past things. Lando didn’t seem to believe that was it but he had no proof to hold against that it wasn’t so he just never brought it up.

“Well you seem to catch him in conversation every race, so I’m just asking if the table were turned how would you feel?” His insecurities were showing, vulnerability in his annoyed state.

“Oh baby, your jealousy is showing.” She said mockingly. Not that she was taking him for a joke but he sure saw it like that.

“Jealousy? I feel like all you do is talk with him at races, like I’m not one garage over.” She’s now realizing Lando was in fact not kidding and seriously was questioning it.

“Lan, baby, I love you. I would never go back to him, let alone ever cheat on you.” She furrowed her brows at him. “I can stop talking to him if it’ll make you feel better, seriously I don’t mean to hurt you.”

That eased his worries, not that he thought otherwise, but that she understood what he was trying to say without saying it. “I’d appreciate it if you didn’t talk to him as much as you do, but I won’t stop you. It’s your decision, your ex.” He shrugged still a bit annoyed they’re even having this conversation even though he brought it up.

“Lando, seriously if it bothers you I’ll stop.” Her words did no justice in changing his mood. “I want you to know that I wasn’t trying to be sneaky or suspicious- I honestly got excited to stop talking to him when I saw you.” She admitted.

Lando left it alone, there was break upcoming and he knew they would go back to just them. Well, that’s what he had thought. She begged to take her car out to the bar one night and Lando was confused. Usually they would take his car, his beautiful sports car. He obliged and they left however.

It was only when she became severely clingy to him at the bar- only two drinks in- that he noticed her ex standing with another girl on the dance floor. He sighed heavily and pushed her to a corner where he couldn’t see. His arm outstretched above her head and the other wrapping around her hips.

She felt small, the way he held her like this. His eyes said ‘spill’ and so she did. “I didn’t know he was in town.” She lied.

“Oh, so we took your car for fun? Not because he would be able to see that mine was in its place?” Lando teased with a knowing look. “Then all of a sudden decided you needed to be all over me as if he didn’t just get here? Hm?” The added hum got her to blush and bite her lip.

He kissed her forehead and tapped her ass. If she wanted to out on a show, he would put on a show. He dragged her to the dance floor, forgetting any drinks they had. He danced behind her but held her hips close, purposefully grinding her hips to his. “Lan..” She whined.

“Move with the music baby, isn’t this what you wanted?” He said into her ear. His strong arms helped her sway to the music as his hard dick was very much noticeable while grinding on her party dress. She whined and he decided that was enough for the night. “Home. Now.” He commanded.

The ride home was quiet, the low murmur of music playing and the street sounds echoed. Lando’s hand was planted firmly on her bare thigh as she looked out the window. His thumb lightly caressed her outer thigh the entire ride.

Inside was no different, shuffling to the room and getting undressed while haphazardly throwing clothes around. He was on her within seconds of them being naked.

He had her hands pinned up by her head with his and the other held her hip still as she tried to wriggle. She was giggling to no end. “So jealous.” She mumbled. He tightened his grip and she groaned.

“Wouldn’t need to be if you didn’t flirt around with exes.” He said low and teasing in her ear. He kissed her rough, teeth clashing as she tried to pull away from the rough handling. “Don’t go anywhere this is what you wanted, no?”

She panted and nodded, her eyes looking up at him like a lost puppy. He smirked at her and lined himself up, letting her hands free although she kept them in place. With a swift thrust he was inside her. A punched out moan spilled from her throat.

He watched her as he wrecked her in every way. Hands running down her body, kisses on her collar bone and neck, whispering the occasional, “Yeah, baby?” At her involuntary moans.

He noticed she was getting close and kept the pace and angle just right, watching her crumble. Her body twisted and contorted as her orgasm took over. “Fuck! Lando!” She screamed out. Her body shakily lowered back to the bed and his thrusts turned teasingly slow.

“Scream my name again.” He whispered warningly. The slow thrusts hurdling her into another orgasm quickly. Her hands finally moved to push at his hips, which was no use— he had the strength against them. “You know what to say if you want me to stop.” He reminded.

“Lando! God- fuck!” She whimpered as he kept the slow, teasingly, languid pace. It felt good, but overstimulating her over the edge again.

“That’s it baby, give me another.” He teased, looking between their bodies where they connected. He leaned back to settle himself upright, only to grab her hips and find that perfect angle.

She yelped at the overstimulating pleasure as her body shook with the intensity of her fourth orgasm. “Okay, okay, I won’t- fuck! I won’t flirt with him please!!” She begged. He smiled and set her hips down.

“I’ll take your word.” He compromised. “How many was that baby?” He was kissing her upper body while stilling his hips and her breathing calmed the slightest bit.

“Four.” She panted. “Four Lando, your number.” She connected the dots in her wrecked state.

“That’s right, my number for my girl.” The kisses subsided and he pulled away, returning with a wet washcloth to clean up the mess he made of her. “Quit flirting with him like you aren’t screaming my name in bed after.” He whispered before they fell into sleep.

I’ll have a lot of free time soon and I will put it to use- trust.

@il0vereadingstuff @kallanfiona @itznotsophia @justaf1girl @pandabiiissh @angelluv16

[thetetra]

@bravelycowering

is it tomorrow yet?

also I found an old conversation with a friend who is better versed about these things

here's his rundown

GraphineOS (https://grapheneos.org) is a heavily modified android based OS that has a preference for pixel hardware. Afaik it's to do with hardware level encryption on the pixels

LineageOS (https://lineageos.org) is another android based OS, but it's a lot more user friendly and more or less debloated stock android

PostmarketOS (https://postmarketos.org) is the closest to "ready for prime time" mobile OS that's not android

happy to have more information if you have it

it should be fucking illegal for phones to install random apps every time they update. i will actually kill you

[ghouljams]

I'm fully smitten with Mr. and Mrs. Riley. Call me trite, but I love some good old high school sweethearts. But I also think that getting married that young would definitely raise a few eyebrows.

You know that feeling you get when you see people your age start to do grown up things, like getting engaged or buying a house? I imagine that's what your acquaintances at uni feel like when they find out you're married.

People know that you have someone, because every now and then there will be a mention of "my Simon". So you have A Simon, whatever that means.

Eventually it always comes up in conversation. Someone will ask if you have plans with your boyfriend for the summer, to which you respond "oh, he's not my boyfriend." This revelation causes the person you're speaking with to think they've fully stepped in it. Had the two of you broken up recently? Or were you just in some sort of long-term situationship? Their train of thought gets swiftly interrupted by you going "he's my husband."

While they silently question how the fuck someone in their early twenties has a fucking husband, you happily chat on about your summer plans.

It's not like you planned on getting married young. It's just that your Simon has a terribly dangerous job and a terribly big heart, and he won't leave a man behind. He'd looked so guilty telling you how he'd run into a fire fight to drag a man to safety, apologized, he knew he promised you not to do anything dangerous and-

Well... How could you not marry a man like that?

It does raise some eyebrows though. You try not to advertise your marriage. You don't have a ring, neither you nor Simon had the money for one. You don't have a house, again, money. You don't have kids, though you do think about them often. Really the only thing you have are the stories that you and Simon have made together. Walks in the park that had you pulling him out of the pond. Movie theaters that kicked you out for crying too loudly (and for Simon arguing with the usher). Nights at the pub that ended in great heaving laughter. You're sure you paint a pretty picture of your relationship.

Your Simon. You don't have anything else to call him, he is yours. More than just a husband, he's your best friend, and besides it still feels so strange to say that. ("My God we're like child brides," you'd told him as you were signing the papers. "Worse," he'd joked, "we're military wives.")

You make it through two years of university, and multiple deployments before any of your uni friends find out you're married, and it happens in the worst way.

Your Simon goes missing in action somewhere in Mexico.

You get a call as you're walking out of lecture, and when your friend asks what's wrong (following your complete breakdown into tears in the middle of the sidewalk) you tell them that your husband is MIA. They can't tell you where, why, or how, but they do tell you to prepare for the worst.

Weeks with no news. Barely eating, barely eating, only doing your work because there has to be somewhere for Simon to come home to if they ever find him. Two months pass in a sick haze of lectures and part-time work.

Another call, while you're working this time. You barely apologize to your boss before rushing out, a hastily scribbled hospital name clutched on notebook paper between your fingers. You don't even notice the distance, time barely passes from point A to point B. One moment you're at work, the next you're standing beside a hospital bed.

He looks rough, nose broken, eyes ringed in purple, gauze covering half his chest, leg broken, angry red scars raised on any uncovered skin, but it's your Simon. The brown of his eyes is as soft as it's ever been, and his cracked lips still smile when he sees you. He's alive, and this- this is far from the worst thing you could have prepared for.

And you're so young suddenly, crying like a child at nearly losing your best friend, big wracking sobs that nearly crumple you because your heart is still here with you. It's Simon that lays a big hand on your head and comforts you.

"Told ya I'd come back," He reminds you, "Jus'took a minute."

He doesn't give you any details until he's out of the hospital. Not until you're both cuddled up in the just slightly too small bed that fills your bedroom in your definitely too small flat. The duvet is heavy and Simon still can't rest on his side, but you cuddle close, listening to him walk you through Mexico with a heavy heart. Classified. He keeps repeating it, like that will make it easier for you to digest. The secrecy of it when he tells you about dragging Washington to safety. It makes your stomach squirm. 'He shouldn't have done that' you think guiltily, 'he should've saved himself.'

You don't feel as guilty when Simon meets Washington again and tells you, "'e did somethin' odd, not sittin' right wi' me."

Makes you feel better screaming and shouting when you spot Simon's brother in arms tailing you on campus, when he grabs you and you kick him in the balls just like Simon showed you. The cops find a gun on him, he spews vitriol, spouts manifestos. Brainwashed, they tell Simon.

It's hard to keep a marriage under wraps when the city paper writes a story about you. "Terrorism in Manchester" is front-page news, after all.

[gyeomsweetgyeom]

[1:47 pm]

(cw: f!reader)

tagged! @bluedbliss

Fratboy!Jaemin did a lot of things in university just for the fun of it. Massage class? Sure, why not. Gymnastics? Again, why not. Join a frat? Only because Jeno did. Working at the on campus daycare? Well, that one was because of his mom. He needed a job and she happened to know the head teacher.

So now he spent three of his days here at the daycare, taking care of the young kids with the help of one main teacher and another aide, you. The kids had named you "Pretty Teacher" and he couldn't agree more. You were a full time aide and he found that he could handle some clingy kids and no sense of personal space for a few hours a day when you were helping out beside him.

Right now, you were both leading the kids through circle time outside while the head teacher took a quick break. After some stretches and some calming exercises for the kids, they focused on building with some blocks.

One of the girls, looked up at you, judgement written clearly on her face as she looked between you and Jaemin. Her little voice rang out, "Pretty teacher, is Teacher Na your boyfriend?"

The other kids looked up then, "oohing" at the word "boyfriend." You shook your head with a soft laugh, prying apart two blocks before handing them to the boy sitting beside you, "no, Teacher Na is not my boyfriend."

The kids pouted and even Jaemin found himself fighting back a pout along with the four and five year-olds. He wanted you to be his girlfriend. He thought he'd made that pretty clear when he insisted that he play the role of 'dad neighbor' when you were given the role of 'mom neighbor' or when he brought you snacks or coffee at the before the kids showed up.

Another girl, this time sitting beside Jaemin, squealed with excitement, "he's your husband then! You're married!"

Jaemin coughed awkwardly, "we're not married."

"But you like her?" The girl asks as she cocks her head to the side.

"Yes," Jaemin answers, immediately drawing sounds of excitement from the kids. He even finds that your eyes flicker to meet his gaze before he adds quickly, "because she's my friend."

"My mommy said her and my daddy were friends before they got married!" A boy adds, "my daddy was my mommy's sister's boyfriend! That's why they don't talk no more!"

You bite back a look of shock as you try to guide the conversation away from marriage and parents, or any other topics these kids might have overheard at home. They're stubborn though, insisting that the two of you get married because that's what adult boys and girls do, "duh, teachers!"

You're given a bundle of flower weeds and pushed until you and Jaemin are sitting side by side on the bench. The oldest of the bunch, a five year-old, grins widely and begins the 'vows' going on about love and happiness. She claps her hands, "now you're married! Kiss!"

The kids sound out in a mix of cheers and boos. You laugh softly, choosing instead to hug your coworker swiftly to give into the requests of the students. It's basically nothing, you can barely call it a hug since it's more like two bodies just pressed against each other for a second. Jaemin thinks he just saw heaven. It's the best hug he's ever had and it lasted a full, singular second. It was great.

Somehow that's the only thing on his mind as he finishes off his work day. He grabs his stuff after everything has been wiped down and disinfected, lingering around the gate as you walk toward him.

"Hey, Pretty," he greets you, watching as you laugh softly.

"Hi, Nana, you waiting for me?" You ask as you close the gate behind yourself.

"A good husband waits for his wife doesn't he?" He asks with a gentle smile.

You giggle softly, knocking his elbow with your own, "oh, did we go straight from coworkers to husband and wife?"

He shrugs with an easy smile, "gotta start somewhere, right?"

You shrug, staying silent as you both walk across campus. He comes to a stop, drawing your attention, "actually, I did really want to ask you... do you want to go out some time?"

"Ooh, first date as husband and wife?" You laugh with a wiggle of your brows.

"We have to start somewhere don't we?" Jaemin asks as his smile turns nervous.

You turn to him and notice how he seems less confident, nervous as he waits for her to answer. You reach for his hand and give it a reassuring squeeze, "a date sounds really nice."

"Perfect, I'll text you, Pretty."

[electricgg]

Ancient Dreams In A Modern Land

Chapter 9: As Long As I’m Held, I Don’t Care If It’s By Teeth

Masterlist Chapter 1 / Chapter 2 / Chapter 3 / Chapter 4 / Chapter 5 / Chapter 6 / Chapter 7 / Chapter 8 / Chapter 9 (Here!) /

‘A family is forever.’

It sounded like static. At least the first few times, until her ears finally tuned in to the words as if she clicked into the right channel.

‘A family is forever.’

She was sitting on a small bed, made for a child, with colorful lines on the bedsheets. Toy cars and dolls were scattered on the floor. Posters of movies, old series, and robots hang on the walls. A pair of white sneakers with green stripes were just by her bare feet.

When she lifted her head, a twin bed stood parallel to hers on the other side of the room.

It was empty. The bedsheets were unmade.

‘A family is forever.’

The door of the bedroom creaked open. She got up and walked through the frame, encountering a never-ending hall of different types of doors. Their shapes, colors, and sizes, changed in the blink of an eye.

They were glitching.

‘A family is forever.’

It was a woman’s voice, the one repeating those words over and over again and echoing down the long hall and reaching her still body. Sinking right through her skin and enveloping her senses. 

It felt like she was in some kind of trance.

Her steps felt light, like walking in a cloud. She walked down the hall, hands hovering right in front of her as she scanned the changing doors. Trying to figure out which one was the right one.

The right one for what? She wasn’t sure, but it had to be the right one.

Another creak was heard farther down, making her snap her head towards the noise. There, in a dark corner, a red glitching figure dived inside a half-opened wooden door on the right side of the hall.

She didn’t hesitate and started to run. 

“Hey, wait!” she yelled, running harder when she took notice of the hallway narrowing down and the doors glitching and slamming open and closed.

The groaning and splintering of wood made her look over her shoulder. The sight of the hall falling apart in a dark hole made her sprint harder, and she decided not to look back again, as cold sweat dripped down her temple.

As she passed by the doors, bits of conversations filtered through her head.

‘My wife and her flying saucers’  ‘My husband and his indestructible head’

Dad? Mom?

‘I'm so sorry. Excuse me. I am Glamour, and this is my delightful assistant, Illusion.’ ‘I am Glamour, and he's Illusion!’  ‘Yeah, what she said. Today, we will lie to you, and yet you will believe our little deceptions because human beings are easily fooled due to their limited understanding of the inner workings of the universe!’

Where are you? What is this?

‘I can't tell from this angle.’  ‘I can’t wait to be a proud papa-ya!’

Dad. I’m right here?

‘That puts you at about... six months! Boy, oh, boy, I thought I had superspeed. I can't keep up! Please don't misinterpret; I can't wait to meet you, little Billy.’  ‘Billy?’  ‘Yeah!’  ‘Well, I was thinking Tommy. Just a nice, classic, all-American name.’  ‘Hmm, Tommy? Hmm, yeah. Yeah. Then there's Billy, isn't there? Named after William Shakespeare, “All the world’s a stage. All the men and women are merely players.”’  ‘Well, I guess there's only one solution to this debate. Hope for a girl.’

MOM, I AM RIGHT HERE. MOM. DAD. MOM-

‘Can you believe it? Twins!’ 

‘I’m a twin. I had a brother. His name was Pietro-’

A deafening screeching sound made her scream out, covering her ears and scrunching her eyes shut. But she didn’t stop running. She could feel the floor splintering under her feet, scraping the skin and making it bleed.

But she didn’t stop running.

If she had opened her eyes, she would have seen how everything around her had blurred out, or how her legs were leaving an imprint on the floor by how fast she was running.

‘You know, I don't miss the crying, but jeez Louise, did you have to learn to walk? You two never stay put.’

There! The door!

She reached out for it as it began to close, slamming it closed behind her and sinking to the floor with a crushing sob. Her back against it, hanging onto dear life by the frame of it as it rattled and tried to get busted open by the unseen force.

Then, silence.

She didn’t even notice she had her eyes screwed shut, tears slippnig down her cheeks as sobs ripped out of her throat.

What was happening? What is this? So lost, so confused. She wanted this to stop. The pain, the noise, everything. She just wanted to go ho-

“Sweetie, did you fall?” a motherly, warm tone snapped her out of her internal turmoil.

She wasn’t in the manor. Gone where the dark walls and expensive painted portraits. The smell of old dust and piney scent was no longer there. Instead, bright colors and a living room straight out of an 80s sitcom, with the heavenly aroma of freshly baked cookies and the faint smell of spices in the air, stood right in front of her.

But what took her breath away was the curly-haired woman wearing a suspender pants and a square-pattern shirt with a gentle smile on her face.

“Look at you! You’re bleeding, sweetheart!” she fussed, taking her in her embrace and carrying her towards the huge kitchen.

The woman settled her on the counter, muttering to her and wiping away her tears with her fingers. She kissed her forehead before separating from the girl and walking around the kitchen, picking up paper towels and a glass of water.

The girl looked around until she made eye contact with her reflection on the metal toaster. Gasping, as her little fingers touched around her face and the new wardrobe. A long-sleeved striped shirt and green overalls made out of soft material, her hair in two ponytails with huge green plastic balls on the hairties. Two on each side.

She didn’t even notice how small she had become. She looked like she was five years old!

“That’s why we always wear our shoes when running around, sweetheart.” The woman began to wipe off the blood on her feet, making her focus on her once again.

“Sorry,” wow, even her voice sounded small!

“Oh,” the woman cooed. “That’s alright. We all make mistakes, but we learn from them, right?”

She could feel tears coming out once again, lips trembling with an ugly sob, and pulling the woman in a state of panic. Items around the kitchen began to float, which only kick-started a new crying session.

The living room, the smells, the kitchen, the outfit. Everything. Everything was the same. This was home. But home had disappeared. Along with Mom. With Dad. With Billy. Home was gone. It was supposed to be gone. They were all supposed to be gone, but now she is here, and she knows it can’t be real. It can’t be real, but god, she wants it to be so bad, and it’s so selfish of her because Mom had to do the right thing, but she wants it back. And she wants it ba-

Her sobbing gets muffled as she gets pulled against somebody’s chest, hearing strong heartbeats under her ear. Hushing and soft words while her pony tails get undone by gentle hands, and soothingly caressing her hair.

Her Mom continued to hold her until her sobs settled down, taking big breaths as she gripped her mother’s clothes.

“You’re so strong, my sweet girl.” She said. “You have done what you can by yourself, and I’m so proud.”

“I wanna stay here,” the girl whimpered.

“I know.”

“I wanna be with you and dad.”

“I know, baby.”

“I want Billy with me.” She sniffled, lifting her head and looking at her teary-eyed mother. Her mom smiled wetly, cupping her cheeks and stroking the chubby skin with a soft laugh.

“He’s coming, sweetie. He’s closer than you think.” 

The light in the room began to brighten up. Muffled noise coming from outside the house. She looked around, heart pounding as the walls and the tables started to glitch and disappear.

When she turned to look back at her mom, she was standing up and face to face with her. Back to her real height, it seemed. 

“Mom, please,” the girl pleaded, hugging the woman tightly. “Don’t make me leave. Stay, please.”

Her mom held her tightly, making sure the girl’s face was against her body so she wouldn’t look at the glitching house. “Billy is close. I am close, and so is your father.”

The girl shook against her, hands fisting around Wanda’s shirt, as if hanging as tightly as she could would be enough to keep her grounded to her.

“Mama, I can’t do it. Not alone.” She whimpered, feeling the counter glitching behind her and the voices outside becoming louder.

“You’re not alone. And you're strong,” Wanda took her daughter’s head away from her shoulder so she would be able to look at her directly. She smiled widely at the crying girl.

“You’re a Maximoff. You’re strong and brave. And you will never be alone, because you have a family out there looking for you, and you need to hang on.”

The girl took deep breaths, and the ground started to glitch beneath the two of them. But she only looked at Wanda.

Even when everything glitched out and became black, all she heard was her mother’s voice.

“A family is forever. We could never truly leave each other even if we tried.”

“-me on! Snap out of it!”

She blinked, a loud, grave voice yelling right in her face, making her wince out loud. The bruising grip on her arms suddenly loosened as the tall, concerned man took a few steps back from her space.

The cold night breeze had made her skin cold to touch, her senses finally kicking back in. She quickly hugged herself, looking around the empty street she had woken up in.

The street lights flickered every three seconds. The road was soaked with what she supposed was from the late-night rain she remembered pouring outside in the manor while she listened to Wayne’s recordings once again. There were a few parked cars scattered around, some of them visibly damaged with broken windows and missing tires. The smell of trash and smoke almost made her cough and gag, but her teetering teeth made sure that didn’t happen.

She was wearing her sleeping clothes, a worn t-shirt of a seventies asian singer, and pajama shorts that she only used for the sake of wearing something underneath. 

…She didn’t like long pants for sleeping. It was a pain in the ass waking up with pantaloons after twisting around in bed, don’t judge.

“What are you doing out?” The man in front of her growled out, an angry frown on his face. “It’s three and a half in the morning, and you thought going for a stroll down in Chinatown was a good idea?!”

He was tall, really tall. And built like a tank, judging by how his arms and legs threaten to rip out the seams of his clothes if he dared to flex even a little bit (best to take cover if something like that happened-). His hair was a messy mop of black, with a white streak curling in the front. A healed scar running down the side of his cheek, accompanied by a toxic green glare that truly made her hesitate to move from her spot.

If she weren’t so disoriented, she would probably yell at him to mind his own business and walk away. But right now, her mind is still wobbly, so her charming comebacks are a no-go.

“I’m-” Her hand instantly went to her throat, caught off guard by how cracked it sounded. As if she were screaming her head off. She cleared it with a cough, wincing at the raspy sensation.

“I don’t know.” She groaned out, receiving a blank look from the fuming man.

He began to take off his jacket and put it around her freezing body, the whole time grumbling under his breath about ‘damned Wayne genes of acting dumb’ and ‘how are you even so far away from the manor’. She gawked at him, shoving her arms inside the huge sleeves.

Until she noticed a familiar flickering pattern from a nearby street light.

“.--- .- ... --- -. .-.-.- / -... . / -.-. .- .-. . ..-. ..- .-..”

JASON. BE CAREFUL

‘So this is Jay,’ She mused to her thoughts, letting him guide her down the street with a hand on her shoulder.

Wayne barely mentioned him. All that she had learned about the missing brother of the family was from the recording tapes and mentions from eavesdropping conversations around the mansion by pretending to ignore them while using her headphones.

And most of the information she found wasn’t exactly good.

₊°︶︶︶︶︶︶︶︶︶︶︶︶︶ ‧₊˚

Diary Entry: Year 8

“...I don’t really know how to begin his tape.”

“I’m supposed to be happy. Be glad that he’s back with us. That he is alive and safe and finally home…”

“But it feels wrong.”

“He looks wrong.”

“His eyes look so, so wrong.”

“...Mom mentioned something like it. A long time ago, when she wasn’t like she is now. About old rituals. Of bringing people back from the dead. She said that it was never good to anger Death, especially when it’s about taking a soul away from her.”

“Whoever takes from Death shall pay the consequences with their blood. Mom always warned me about it… But I can’t tell Dad about it.”

“He is still strange. With Jason back, he barely leaves the office, and in the past years, even mentioning Jason would be enough for him to shut down and disappear for days.”

“And Jason… he has changed. A lot.”

“He’s so angry. At everyone. And I can’t blame him for it because he has every reason to, no matter how much Dick tries to make things smoother.”

“...But sometimes, letting people be angry is a good thing. It is good that Jason feels angry rather than nothing.”

“No matter how much he scares me now, I prefer that he yells and fights and argues.”

“Even if I miss his smile and his talks, I know that Jason is gone.”

“All that is left is the anger, and I’m okay with that.”

“Even if it hurts.”

“Even if it scares me.”

₊°︶︶︶︶︶︶︶︶︶︶︶︶︶ ‧₊˚

At least, she wasn’t the only undead person in the family. Yay!

Though both of their cases were quite different, there was one common fact. Which was that the two of them didn’t come back the same after their deadly encounters.

She still didn’t know how exactly Jason came back to life (still researching on that), but she was sure that Jason didn’t get his soul switched up by some twin brother that somehow-

“Since when do you sleepwalk?” He asked, gathering her attention once again.

The question made sense. She remembered falling asleep on her bed, all the tapes around the mattress before snoring her ass off all sprawled out over the covers. Then, that dream sequence (that’s still stuck in her head, by the way. Because she saw her mom. Her real mom. Her real house. She finally has her real last name. She is a Maxi-) and now, she woke up while standing in the middle of a street with no shoes and-

Wait. That’s right.

She ran. 

She ran barefoot.

Jason yelped when she came to a full stop, lifting up her foot and holding it with her hands with a puzzled expression at the sight of the skin.

See, the skin on the soles of your feet, while thick, is still delicate and can be damaged by friction and pressure. Even in her dream, she had her feet all scraped and bleeding from mere wooden splinters. If she had managed to get out of the manor, go through the rocky path towards the gate, climb over the gate, and go through the dirty streets of Gotham while running, there was a huge probability that her feet were screaming out in pain, and she wouldn’t be standing at all.

Instead, there was no sight of blood. Not even a scratch on her skin.

“Damn lucky, if you ask me,” Jason said, tilting his head as he observed her unscatched skin. A glint of wonder in his gaze directed towards her.

“Yeah, lucky me,” She muttered, wiping away some of the dirt on her foot and sighing. She smoothed back her hair, some annoying strands bothering her view while staring at Jason with a grimace. “I guess you’re my ride back?”

He stood quiet for a moment, his glare getting under her skin and making her feel on the edge about his unsettling green color.

Wayne was right. Something about him was off.

“No, actually,” He grunted, walking forward and nodding towards an upcoming familiar car. “That would be Alfred. Good luck on that rant, kid.”

Jason walked over and passed the car, giving Alfred a quick nod as he got out of the car before continuing down the street to get on an old-fashioned bike that was parked further down.

Guessing on how much Alfred’s sharp eyebrows furrowed on his forehead, she knew she was having a long ride back to the mansion.

Well, she got a lot of things out of this. For example, Jason was also someone that she should avoid (still questioning that). And, of course, a very important detail.

Maximoff. She has her name back.

Fucking finally.

──── ∗ ⋅◈⋅ ∗ ────

Contrary to what Tim believed, sleeping in the Titan’s tower did not work out like he expected.

His mind was on the verge of a breakdown, his brain begging for rest and sleep, but still refusing to do so. Like his own body knew what it needed to do, had even tried to do so without his permission, by the multiple times he jolted back to consciousness after nodding off in front of the main computer, or the sound of his friend walking down the halls.

Tim compared his situation to Pavlovian conditioning. And he was sure two people shared the blame.

It was a classical conditioning experiment or respondent conditioning. A behavioral learning process where a neutral stimulus becomes associated with an unconditioned stimulus, leading to a learned response to the formerly neutral stimulus. 

This process was named after the russian physiologist Ivan Pavlov, who famously demonstrated it through his experiment with dogs.

In the experiment, three things were used: a dog, a bell, and food. The neutral stimulus (the bell) is repeatedly paired with an unconditioned stimulus (the food), which naturally elicits a reflexive response (the dog starting to salivate whenever he hears the bell because he knows that when the bell rings, he will be getting food). 

In his case, Tim was the dog, and his reflexive response was sleep.

And the bell was his sister’s piano.

He thought it was stupid at first, but after a week and a half without proper sleep or naps, everything made sense.

Tim had associated his sister’s music with sleep. Unconsciously conditioning himself and his body to wait for the soft keys of the same old song echoing in the halls, so he would allow his tiredness and sleep to consume him and go to bed. And he had done it for years, even! Without ever noticing what she was doing!

Because two share the blame in this.

Him, because he was stupid enough to get himself conditioned like a fucking dog and understimating her.

And her, because, of course, she had these intentions the whole time.

Drive him insane without her music. Her daily check-ups. Not picking up his dirty dishes in the hall. It was all part of her meticulous plan of starving and depriving him of sleep.

He couldn’t help but laugh breathlessly, rubbing his eyes while leaning back in his chair.

His clever and cunning sister.

‘I can’t believe she managed to outsmart me,’ he thought as a contented smile pulled to his lips.

Maybe it was pride that he felt. Proud that she had twisted the odds and put him down from his high horse by playing the long game. By acting with patience. Waiting for the perfect moment to take away something as simple as-

“Still can’t sleep?” Conner’s voice kicked him out of his head, turning around in his chair to look at his concerned friend.

Conner had been the one to suggest that Tim could take a break in the tower, noticing on their calls that he wasn’t resting enough due to the current case going on in Gotham. And the young Kryptonian had been checking on him during his whole stay.

But no matter how much Kon tried to get him to talk, Tim wouldn’t say what was really going on.

He will keep his discovery to himself. No one else.

He was the one to figure her out.

His discovery. 

His investigation. 

His and only his.

“Just a bit,” Tim lied with ease, turning back his chair to the computer. The screen shows the new statistics and documents from the missing kids case. “I’m still going through the clinic documents that B sent a few days ago.”

Bruce had found their missing piece: Medical History.

All of the victims had been visiting hospitals in Manchester, Metropolis, Bludhaven, and Gotham in the past three years. General and specialized clinics.

Clinics that worked with genetics, specifically.

Kon leaned with his elbow against the back of Tim’s chair, scanning through the documents on display with intrigue. “What are your theories? Trafficking? Ransom?”

“It’s too late for ransom,” Tim muttered, tapping away on the keyboard for more documents to pop on the screen. “And trafficking would be more precise. Like a group of kids that stayed out too late or anything along that line, all of the children were taken at different times and with weeks of difference-”

Tim’s personal phone began to vibrate on the table, drawing both of their attention.

He took his phone, frowning at the ID Caller being none other than the demon spawn of his nightmares. He answered.

“What could you possibly want, Damian?”

The boy ignored his slashing tone. ”When are you returning, Drake?”

“Why do you even care?” Tim gave Kon a roll of eyes, to which the taller guy just shrugged.

“Because you’re the only one competent enough to hack into Arkham Asylum’s archives without questioning too much.”

“...You want me to what?”

“I am well aware you don’t lack hearing, Drake.”

Tim stood up from his chair, motioning to Kon to stay there as he walked outside the room to talk in the hall with his demanding younger brother. “I will need some context if you want me to do this behind B’s back.”

The line went quiet for a moment, hearing some door closing in the background and some shuffling around.

“I found some letters in Father’s office. Hiding in a compartment on his desk.” That got a groan out of Tim.

“Damian, you know that Bruce doesn’t like it when-”

“They’re letters for Embarrassment.”

That got Tim’s attention. “From Arkham? Letters from Arkham? To her? From who?”

“They’re all signed as U.H.. I believe the U stands for uncle, judging by the contents of the letter.”

“You read them?”

“And so will you, if you manage to hack into the Arkahm archives so we can figure out who this bastard is.”

The older sibling was very intrigued, despite the headache that was invading his brain. He was pretty much in the moment she was part of the investigation (more information about her, the more he could have in common with her-), but he would still complain about it just to annoy the little demon.

“And why is this bastard so important to you?”

The next words out of Damian’s mouth sent him down a spiral and directly to pack his things so he could head out of the tower as soon as possible.

“Because he is taking her away. All of the legal custody belongs to him.”

──── ∗ ⋅◈⋅ ∗ ────

“I have made it perfectly clear, Clark.”

It’s been three days since that urgent meeting.

Three long days of rejected calls, ignoring messages, and blocking emails from everyone in the league, trying to change Bruce’s mind on the whole ordeal before he made a big mistake that could lead them to a completely preventable war.

Though that scenario was a bit extreme. But you could get the point.

“I get your point. I do,” the hero of Metropolis assented, his hands over the long meeting table in the Hall of Justice. “But you have to see what the consequences of your rule can bring to everyone else. Especially to Gotham.”

The Bat didn’t even look up from his file report. 

“I do know. And the answer is still the same as before,” It didn’t take too much for Clark to know Bruce was glaring at him once he dropped the file to look at the hero directly.

“No metas in my city. And that includes mutants.”

Clark shook his head with a sigh. “You can’t control that. There’s no way of knowing who is a meta when they’re not actively using their powers, and mutants have been fighting for years for their rights and avoiding a legal registry so they can live normal lives.”

“Then, Gotham is not the place for that normal life.” Bruce shot back. But Clark didn’t let it deter him.

“So what then? The moment a mutant kid has their abilities awakened, they should just pack up and move? Leave their family and the place they have only known as home?”

Bruce got up from his chair, posture upright and tight. But didn’t say a word, simply glared at the fuming man in blue and red.

“...I know we are negotiating with a dangerous man,” Clark said in a calmer tone, sitting down on the nearest chair. “But Erik Lehnsherr is only trying to get rights for mutants after years and years of discrimination. I have interviewed mutants, Bruce. They are still humans and deserve to-”

“I will not,” his voice was like rumbling thunder, coming from deep in his chest and thundering around the empty room. “Listen to the pleas of a madman and a terrorist, Kent.”

They stared at each other for a few deafening moments of silence. The harsh exchange of words brought a tense and cold atmosphere between the two leagues’ most important members. Bruce’s chest was still as stone, but Clark could hear the blood pressure going up in the Bat’s veins.

It was Bruce who moved first. Picking up his things and walking towards the exit door, he muttered to Clark on his way out.

“No mutants in Gotham, that’s my order.”

Clark mused to himself, now alone at the table. The tip of his fingers tapped against the white fiberglass table.

At least, the meeting with Magneto wasn’t as ineffective as this chat with Bruce.

╰───────────✧──────────────╮

“-we’ve talked about it and we’re still discussing the outcome of such demand, Mr. Lehnsherr.”

The whole League was gathered with a rush from the sudden call, sitting on their designated chairs with Batman at the head of the table and Superman and Wonder Woman on both of his sides. 

A life-sized hologram of the man the world used to know as Magneto (now known as Erik Lehnsherr, ruler of Genosha) stood proud and tall with his hands behind his back as he listened to Wonder Woman’s words.

He was an older man, significantly older than the rest of the heroes by appearance, despite the good shape he was in. Judging by his muscles and good health, Lehnsherr took care of himself and kept a balanced way of life. He had a head of full white hair, slicked back with stray strands framing his severe face. Tanned skin, covered by an armor of red and purple accents. A dramatic cape was draped over his shoulders, and it waved at his ankles. His helmet, floating just beside him since the beginning of the meeting.

He commanded attention. Power. And Clark could see that Bruce did not like him one bit.

“Wonder Woman,” his deep, accented voice filtered through the sound system. “I am well aware that as an important security branch of the American government, you must make alliances with ‘threatening’ countries for the sake of your president’s peace.”

Everyone could understand what he meant by that.

“But,” he drawled, gaze sharpening towards the man sitting at the head of the table. “I can’t simply grant access to Genosha to the same government my people had to take refuge from. I have, above all, the security and well-being of my kind as a top priority.”

That’s when Clark decided to give his piece to the discussion. “We understand your views on the manner, sir. But what you ask in exchange-”

“Your leader wants to know if I’m making weapons. If I’m building an army.”

Glances and stares were exchanged as the silence in the room became tense.

But Erik Lehnsherr simply sighed, suddenly looking way older by the look in his eyes. 

“I know my reputation. I know my history, and that can’t be mended. No one can erase the mistakes from the past. What is done is done, and I’ve made my bed with it.”

Suddenly, he turned, making sure he could look at every hero sitting at the table.

“All that I do, all that I’ve done, is for my kind. For the new generation of mutant children. So they are able to walk securely on the streets. Be accepted into normal schools. Live normal lives without the fear of getting chased or isolated by something they were simply born with. Simply because nature decided they would be different.”

He looked over his shoulder at the three main leaders.

“I am willing to have official visits from any of your members, monthly or yearly, with strict conditions during your stay.”

A few members visibly sighed in relief at that. They have been trying to get somewhere with this manner, and it was finally showing that it would be getting to a more positive route.

“As long as you grant sanctuary to mutants in your protected cities.”

╰───────────✧──────────────╮

And that’s when the meeting went to shit.

All because Bruce didn’t want mutants in Gotham, and Erik wanted sanctuary in each city that was under the territory of every single member of the Justice League.

“All or nothing” was what he said before leaving the meeting.

Clark understood both sides. Gotham is a stressful place, always under threat, and it could trigger a powerful mutant and cause more trouble and damage.

But most of these mutants were just kids. Scared children who have nowhere else to turn but their clueless families. And of course, a huge part of the homeless community was formed by mutants. People who didn’t get any help or were denied the help they deserved.

Maybe he was being biased, but Clark would have to change Bruce’s mind.

And that thought alone made sure he had a headache for the rest of the day.

──── ∗ ⋅◈⋅ ∗ ────

“Give me two more laps, Wayne!”

When Mr. Munroe had inscribed her to the track and field team, she wasn’t expecting him to become her coach.

“The school said they didn’t have enough people to form an official team. They just let athletes warm up in the track, and that’s it. But what your family doesn’t know won’t hurt them.”

And with that, she had an excuse to stay after school. Track and field practice with Mr. Munroe (Who insisted on being called Logan, but just to get on his nerves, she started calling him Mr. Logan-).

Even if it was a made-up club, she had Mr. Logan as backup in case something happened.

And it wasn’t like she wasn’t practicing!

“Come on, Babes! You can run faster than that!” Bobby yelled and clapped from a bench as she jogged by him. She gave him a quick middle finger before sprinting down the track, his loud laugh making her grin.

Warren and Bobby were also tagging along with her to pretty much everywhere.

They took most of their classes together, excluding extracurricular activities (meaning Bobby’s baseball team and Warren’s debate team). Other than that, they would be attached to the hip even while at lunch or free period.

No matter how much Warren complained about needing to study, he wouldn’t move away from the two smiling idiots.

“She is gonna burn those shoes again,” Warren muttered, without looking up from his notebook, while Bobby turned to look at him.

“We put tape and glue on the soles yesterday, it’ll be fine.” He shrugged, glancing back at her as she began to run her last lap.

That would have been her twentieth lap. And it’s only been less than half an hour. Both of them knew she was fast, but it still shocked them how fast she actually was. 

On Tuesday, she made five laps while still wearing her school uniform, not a single sweat in sight, but her shoes were suffering the consequences.

On Wednesday, she made ten laps with proper shoes and attire. Still not a sweat in sight, but she looked thin after running. Until Mr. Logan shoved some homemade energy bars into her hands and gave her a rant about eating properly and having enough calories in her food.

On Thursday, (While looking pretty much half dead and complaing about sleepwalking) Warren gave her the number of his tailor. Her uniform was way too big on her and needed adjustments. Bobby decided to keep a closer look at how much she was eating and the number of servings she got at lunch (A total of six servings, and big enough to make him a bit nauseous. That’s without counting all the snacks Mr. Logan kept giving her throughout the day and in practice.) She made fifteen laps. And the soles of the shoes chaffed off. 

It’s Friday, and she just made twenty laps without a single sweat. In just five minutes. And no shoes burned.

“Oh shit!”

Scratch that. Two shoes burned.

Warren closed his notebook, walking towards an exasperated Mr. Logan, who inspected the ruined shoes, and a whining girl, who sat on the ground with her legs sprawled out as she ripped off her socks. Bobby followed him.

Her green jacket (a track jacket that she always wore to practice) and running attire (A white compression shirt and some green Lycra shorts with white stripes on the sides) didn’t show any signs of perspiration. Not even her skin seemed to sweat (and now it had some light tan to it, after spending this week running outside on breaks and in the afternoon).

“Looks like you need new shoes, bub. Can’t let you run in these anymore.” Mr. Logan said, making her throw herself back on the ground with a wail. “You melted the glue with your laps. The track is probably running hotter than I expected.”

For many reasons, Warren didn’t believe anything in that last sentence.

Bobby crouched down next to her as she mourned the death of her precious shoes, tapping her forehead so she would at least look at him. He smiled brightly when she opened her eyes and pouted up at him, making Warren roll his eyes.

“We can go shopping tomorrow! I need to buy clothes, and we could get you better shoes!”

Warren scrunched his eyes and crossed his arms. “Who is ‘we’?”

He was obviously ignored by both of them. She groaned out sitting up while slouching. “I can’t. I’m gonna go to the hospital to visit my mom in the afternoon.”

“We could go early,” Bobby offered, standing up and grabbing her arm to help her get off the floor. “I got my car, so we can go to the mall and then drop you off at the hospital! Maybe even meet your mom too!”

Warren waved his hand with a twitching smile. “Again, who is ‘we’?”

She threw herself over Bobby’s back, sighing at the cold temperature of his body and making the heat of the sun go away from her skin. Bobby jokingly broke his posture, receiving a whine and a pinch to the shoulder. He stood still as she looked over at Warren with a pleading glance.

“Would you guys do that? For me?” Bobby joined in the puppy dog eyes, both of them pouting at Warren as Mr. Logan shook his head in amusement, clapping off the dust from his hands as he walked away with the shoes.

Warren, red in the face, as his two friends scooched closer to him. Making exaggerated pleading faces and motions, until he groaned out to the sky and let them drag him into their weird and awkward embrace as they cheered.

“Fine, but only because I need to look for some shirts.” He grumbled, a twitch under the clothes on his back.

“It’s gonna be fun! We can also go eat something. I heard there’s this booming boba tea place, and I really want to try it. Oh, we can also go to Chili’s!” Bobby began to list off a lot of things to do, as he dragged both of his friends towards the bleachers to gather their things and kill some time before it was time for her to get picked up.

Maximoff could only think that she was glad to have people whom she could hang on to. 

Until Billy found her.

She could see them getting along with him. They could make a great group.

Perhaps… she could tell them what is truly going on. Eventually, obviously. 

Yeah, eventually.

──── ∗ ⋅◈⋅ ∗ ────

Author's Note: PUT YOUR HANDS IN THE AIR, I'VE GOT A NEW CHAPTER FOR YOU!!! Literally locked in to write this chapter because I found out I was gonna spend the weekend celebrating my Mom's birthday. This is probably my favorite chapter to write uptill now. We got Mama Wanda, Insane Tim, PEEPAW MAGNETO- and more insight in the mutants💖😉 And got filled with energy by all the asks (AND NOW ACTUAL FANART???) and the love this story has been reciving. Keep in mind the new schedule! Update will be Sunday night/Monday morning. And remember that I love to answer comments and asks so keep them coming!! Lots of love and hugs. GG✨

Tag list:

 @bat1212 @kneelforloki @1abi @galaxypurplerose @yhin-gg @cxcilla @momentomoribitch @stargirl404 @initial-ari @welpthisisboring @icefox8155 @bunniotomia @alittlelostmoonchild @devotedlyshamelessdetective @shycreatorreview @nirvanaxx1942 @soulsire @ryuushou @rinkydinkythinky @lithiumval @ithoughtthinks @reeyy0-2 @cssammyyarts @lordbugs @ilovecoffe0 @kore-of-the-underworld @fortunatelydifferentqueen @vanessa-boo @livingund3ad @aelxr @im-so-goddamn-tired @lovebug-apple @staarflowerr @xoxoyukixoxo @whyiseveryuseenametaken @holderoflostmemories @doggyteam2028 @leeiasure @shadowypeachsweets @jjoppees @astraeasworld @wrenbirde

Bonus Memes:

[asexualzoro]

i have on more than one occasion recommended One Piece to someone and taken it for granted that not everyone knows Luffy can stretch. funniest time was a close friend of mine, who had heard me and another one of our friends talk about One Piece for months, finally started the series. somehow, in all of my rambling and of all of our conversations at lunch, none of us ever thought to tell her about his powers, because obviously! everyone knows about luffy’s powers!

her shock at him being rubber was eclipsed only by my shock she had somehow never heard about him being rubber

this is especially funny considering how open i was with other spoilers—i assumed my friends wouldn’t watch/read it, so i didn’t hold back on anything. shoutout to jess for starting One Piece knowing about the most major character death in the series, but not about the protagonist’s day one ability to stretch

LUFFY CAN STRETCH?? LIKE FULL ON JAKE THE DOG SHIT?? HES NOT JUST SOME AUTISTIC GUY???