#even while remaining anonymous

[flamintgo]

There's also an underlying accusation to that question that non-drummers would probably not directly get, even though you did correctly pick up on the rude tone. Not only are they calling the kit flashy, they're also calling him a fake. II's perfectly succinct response to that question was both the actual answer and a shut down (Imagine, if you will, those big, beautiful, blue eyes rolling in his grumpy skull mask. He is among Sleep's eepiest).

'why so many triggers' ' for gates' But what does it mean??? This was before my time 😭 I'm so excited

I don’t have the screenshot so if anyone wants to add, please do!

Basically, in the way that often happens, somebody on Twitter replies to a photo of ii’s setup and went “why so many triggers?” and like trying to say there’s too much shit on his kit, it’s for looks, it’s overkill and too many, just like general dissing energy

And ii, being on twitter and ready to fight at a moments notice, replied within very short time and just said “For gates.” (Admittedly, not a drummer, so I don’t 100% understand the nuance of this but) which we all basically took to mean “because fuck you that’s why”

Basically the drummer equivalent of “drift, why so many band posts? You’re not adding any music to the world, there’s no creating in what you do, you just yap and thirst and are annoying like why do you post about them so much?”

“For fun.”

[soundleer]

What are the ages for all the kids?

if this is referring to canon minors and my fanchildren alike then ill be obliged to provide the information

sky - 17 (growth spurt hc)

peebii & jaylene - 20

iida - 16

slatey - 7

[haarute]

hi i'm being hip with the trends. here's my top 50 videogames ever played. tell me how many you've played too !

[evildilf2]

You're not goth only I am get your own thing

I am fascinated by your choice to gatekeep via anonymous message it makes me respect you as some sort of genius or philosopher TBH

[groggle]

Yippee)))

@pennyroyald @anisecandy @deep-jellysea-deactivated202412 @groggle @mango-mentally-ill @nyaamaoutofreddit @valentinoappreciator @xyzee1212

Design what your blog would look like if it was a person!

The picrew

I tag @red-skady @superchat @eviligo @maplepastry @nek0hime13 @bestgirlsyndrome @gentlesakura @games2girlsdotcom @deadlycoffee @bunny-stickers @starbitsun @888lvl @little-ikea-waldo @delanore-roosevelt @fefeps @imnevernice no pressure at all!!

If anyone else wants to join dont hesitate to reblog!!

[imunbreakabledude]

You posted a while ago about, like, whenever you post a new fic you get unsubscribers and you just wanna broadcast to the world "I don't write Once Upon A Time anymore". I'm the opposite, hahaha. Every time I post a new work for a fandom other than [main fandom people followed me for], I'm like "please don't leave, I am gonna come back and write another one for that. I'm just taking a short break trust me guys!"

LMAO sorry anon i'm just chuckling because - it is obviously not an Issue that you mixed up the fandom i said (or were just using another one as an example) - but I never wrote for once upon a time and have never SEEN once upon a time and to ME, the idea of me doing that is amusing.

but regardless i understand your point - I would probably feel that way if I was actively writing for multiple fandoms at the same time! hasn't happened to me much. I do love an absurd amount of tv/fiction/etc, but these days I don't have the energy to be super actively involved in fandom for many of them (slash don't always want to), and then on top of THAT, writing fic myself, i've discovered it takes me such a big initial investment to get all the background knowledge (canon) and form my own headcanons that i like and get the feel for writing the characters how i like that when I get IN to a fandom, i write a bunch for it, from inertia if nothing else, but then switching to others is really hard. (I do often think to myself - what if I just hopped around and wrote small fic projects for other shows I like rather than sticking to one for multiple years at a time? might be fun. but the work it'd take to settle into it, look up all the little details that have been established about each character that aren't top of mind to me... etc... it's so daunting. I know you don't HAVE to be 'accurate' when writing fic but it bothers me when i'm not.)

anyways, glad the idea of fretting about what ao3 subscribers think when they stay/leave their subscription to you is relatable haha

[collapsedsquid]

Confused, she emailed Columbia’s office for international students the following day seeking guidance. An official informed her that the revocation would take effect only if she left the country and that she could remain in the United States to pursue her studies for the time being, according to emails reviewed by The Times. The next morning, on March 7, Ms. Srinivasan was on a call with an official from the international student office when the federal agents first knocked on the door of her apartment, which is off campus but operated by Columbia. The official told Ms. Srinivasan to call campus security, while her roommate engaged with the agents from behind the closed apartment door. In an interview, her roommate said that the agents had initially identified themselves as “police,” declined to provide their badge numbers, saying they feared they would be doxxed, and stood to the side of the door so that they were not visible through the peep hole. The roommate, a fellow Columbia student who spoke on the condition of anonymity out of fear for her safety, said that the building’s doorman, who is an immigrant, later told her that he had let the three agents into the building because he was frightened. Ms. Srinivasan abandoned the apartment that night, so she was not there when officials returned the following evening. Her roommate once again refused to open the door to let them in and recorded audio of the interaction, which she shared with The Times. “We were here yesterday,” one of the officials says, believing he was talking to Ms. Srinivasan because the roommate had not identified herself. “We’re here today. We’re here tonight. Tomorrow. You’re probably scared. If you are, I get it. The reality is, your visa was revoked. You are now amenable to removal proceedings.” The official stressed that he and his colleagues were not trying to break the law, that she would have the right to go before an immigration judge and left a phone number for the Homeland Security Department that she could call if she had “a change of heart.” “That’s the easiest and fastest way to do this, as opposed to you being in your apartment and us knocking on your door every day, which is just silly,” he said. “You’re a very smart person. It’s just not — it’s not worth it.” The next day, Ms. Srinivasan received an email from Columbia saying that homeland security had alerted the university that her visa had been revoked and her legal status in the country had been terminated. Because she had to immediately leave the United States, the email said, her enrollment at Columbia had been withdrawn and she had to vacate student housing. The email, signed by the university’s international student office, said that, in compliance with its legal obligations, Columbia was asking her to meet with the homeland security agents. The university declined to comment on Ms. Srinivasan’s case. On Thursday night, three federal agents returned to Ms. Srinivasan’s apartment with a search warrant signed by a judge and went inside to search for her, according to her roommate and lawyers. By then, Ms. Srinivasan was already in Canada.

Laudable roommate, prudent visa holder and terrible college administration

[synvil]

can’t swim // rafe cameron

a / n : rafe cameron thoughts. btw this was actually an anonymous ask i sent to a writer, i don’t know if she’ll write it but im sure if she does, it’ll turn out amazing. @rafeysbunny i’m 🧋 anon, hehe.

fun fact, i cannot swim.

synopsis : in which, rafe overhears that you can’t swim and during a party out on the docks, some of the kooks push you into the ocean to loosen you up.

warnings : reader can’t swim. kelce being an ass, peer pressure, etc.

“are you serious, [Name]?”

The raised tone of her voice causes you to shush her as you tuck a strand of your hair behind your ear and purse your lips faintly. “Not so loud, sare..” You let out a small breath and frown, leaning back against the headboard of her bed.

Sarah nods in understanding, lowering her tone as she sighs softly and crosses her legs on the bed in front of you. “That’s crazy- i mean, everyone here in Outer Banks are either surfers or decent swimmers.”

“Except me..” You trail off, shutting your eyes as you bring your hands up to your face. “It’s pretty humiliating, you know.. Seeing everyone in their swimsuits and able to swim in the ocean or go surfing, without the fear of drowning.”

“Wow, no wonder you wouldn’t ever go into the pool or go swimming with us during the boat parties on the dock..”

Unbeknownst to you two, Sarah’s door was open and a passing Rafe Cameron was on his way downstairs when he overhears your conversation.

“It’s not like I haven’t tried, but each time, I feel my body sinking and it terrifies me. Plus, y’know, with the whole nearly drowning as a kid trauma and shit.” you force a laugh while Sarah shares a bittersweet smile.

“It’s alright, stay by me tonight and I’ll keep an eye out for you.”

“Thanks, Sarah, I appreciate it.. and you can’t tell anyone either, okay, especially not Rafe.” You warn pleadingly and she chuckles and nods. “wait, why specifically him?”

You feel your cheeks warm at her question as you turn away. “Your brother just seems like the type to make fun of me for it, and besides, it’s just embarrassing to have a guy i think is hot, to know that about me.”

Sarah scrunches her nose and shudders. “I think your crush on my brother is more embarrassing than you being unable to swim.” she teases and you playfully push her away from you as she breaks into a laugh.

Rafe peeks into the room and thinks for a moment as his eyes examine and take in your form. He has already known long ago of your developed crush on him, and to say he has a mutual infatuation with you may be an understatement.

Every time you come over, Rafe finds every excuse to be in the house, sometimes even in the same room, just to get a look at you.

The way you tuck your hair behind your ear when you feel shy, the way your eyes light up when you laugh, everything entices him, intrigues him. You were just so perfect.

Rafe quickly pulls away when he hears movement and leans against the wall beside the doorframe for a moment.

Despite being a little surprised at the newfound information, it brought a little smile to his face. You can’t swim? How cute.

“Come on, we should get ready for Topper’s party tonight.” Sarah says and you sigh softly, but get up anyways with her as she heads over to her closet. “It’ll be fun, come on.”

Rafe lingers for a second longer as he imagines what you’ll be wearing before taking his leave downstairs.

It’s around ten at night when the two of you arrive at the docks, the night sky surrounding the area with only the lights of Topper’s large boat illuminating the place.

“I don’t know, maybe i shouldn’t be here..” You go to turn around but Sarah stops you, pulling you to her side. “Come on, it’ll be okay, i promise. Besides, you look super cute, so flaunt it, okay?” She winks and you huff a breath before following after her.

The closer you get, the louder the partygoers become and the music blasting is enough to stimulate the senses.

Once you get on board, Sarah is engulfed by her friends, while you remain on the sideline with a weak smile and awkwardly hugging your arms. Despite being a kook, you weren’t among the popular ones but that wasn’t enough to get you on their bad side at least.

You rub your arms, the thin fabric of your cardigan doing nothing but add to Sarah’s fashion sense of your outfit tonight. In her baby blue, cropped cardigan, a matching spaghetti strapped solid colored tank and dark washed, high waisted denim shorts.

You help yourself to the bar, grabbing a red solo cup and letting the bartender fill the plastic cup with some beer before bringing it to your lips, hoping it would do some good to alleviate some anxiety, while you keep an eye on Sarah from nearby, who’s talking with her friends.

The scene brings a smile to your lips when you recall her saying she would keep an eye on you earlier in the day but you were happy to see her enjoy herself.

However, you didn’t get to enjoy much time alone as Topper and his friends make his way over to you.

“Hey, [Name]. All alone again?” Kelce smirks and you merely offer a small smile in return. “Not much of a party kinda girl.. but it’s nice.” you mention the last part to Topper who dismisses you, understanding you meant no offense.

“Where’s Sarah?” Topper asks, looking around the area and you gesture over a little ways nearby.

“She’s talking with some friends.” You reply, tapping my fingers against my cup as you shift your footing, feeling the anxiety come back, causing you to take another sip of your drink.

You let your eyes wander around the group, briefly catching Rafe’s, who let his eyes trail up and down your form for a moment, taking in your appearance. The way the baby blue color popped against your skin, the way your hair was styled for tonight’s party. Even the way you shyly held your cup to your chest, fingers still tapping against the sides.

Feeling your cheeks warm from Rafe’s intense gaze, you turn away and look back to Kelce.

Kelce and some of the other guys step closer and you give a small smile to them. “Is there something I can help you with?”

“Come on, [Name]. We notice you always come to these parties but you don’t do anything,” Kelce mentions and you force a chuckle. “I’m an observer.” but some of the other guys don’t take that answer. “All we’re saying is, you should loosen up a little. Come on, some of the girls are taking dives off the tail, you should join.”

Your eyes widen slightly and you wave off the idea. “No, i think im good tonight, im actually pretty tired..” You say and Kelce scoffs lightly as his hand goes down to grab your wrist. “Don’t be a buzzkill, [Name], the water will wake you right up.”

“Kelce, i’m not really in the mood to-“ Rafe places a hand on Kelce’s shoulder, stopping him. “Let go, dude, let’s just leave her alone.” But Kelce doesn’t listen as he drags you along to where the other girls are, and the commotion causes all the partygoers to look over, Sarah looking your way.

Your eyes meet Rafe’s and he notices a look of fear and anxiety in them as Kelce brings you over and you try to pull away, the other guys surrounding you all, cheering Kelce and You.

“Yeah!”

“Come on, loosen up, girly.”

“Kelce, I really don’t—“ Despite your futile attempts, Kelce just takes the cup from your hands while Sarah pushes her way through the crowd. “Hey, Kelce, leave her alone!”

Rafe purses his lips and pulls Kelce away. “Hey, seriously, that’s enough.” He warns, pushing Kelce back, who just furrows his brows and scoffs. “What the hell? Why are you getting in the way, man?”

Sarah manages to get to your side, standing over you protectively. But the other girls now get in the way.

“Come on, Sarah, let [Name] do it.”

“it’s not scary.”

You shake your head again, as the girls pull Sarah away, leaving you alone with the kook surrounding you.

Rafe is pushing Kelce away, who’s confused and pushing Rafe back in retaliation. Meanwhile this leaves the other Kooks to act freely and the guys seem to share the same idea and go over to your body.

“Hey, hold on—“

But it’s too late, as the guys pick you up with ease and toss you overboard, a wave of laughter and cheers erupting from them.

“[Name]!” Sarah shouts from the girls hold and Rafe widens his eyes as he whirls around at the sound of your scream and a splash from the impact.

“Shit-“ Rafe curses as he roughly shoves Kelce into Topper as he rips off his shirt before taking a leap off the deck and into the water with you.

You flail, panic surging into you as you begin to hyperventilate. “S-Sa-Sarah—!”

“What the hell?!” Kelce scoffs with furrowed brows while Sarah feels tears brimming her eyes. “[Name] can’t swim!” she cries out as she rips away from the girls and shoves two of the guys out of her way before leaning over the railing. “[Name]!”

Topper’s, Kelce’s and the other kooks’ eyes widen in shock at the revelation. “What?”

They all rush over the rail to peer into the ocean as Rafe is diving under to find you.

Rafe manages to find your sinking body, grabbing you by the waist and pulling you up to the surface, your body already unconscious due to the lack of air and your panic flailing.

“[Name], [Name], are you okay?” He gasps as he reaches the surface and uses a hand to caress your cheek while the other props you up under your back. “No, no, come on, [Name], wake up.”

Sarah rushes around down the boat and on the boardwalk and leans down. “Rafe, Rafe! Come on, bring her over here!”

Rafe clenches his jaw when you still don’t respond and swims his way over towards Sarah as quickly as he can, panting before lifting your body up, Sarah doing her best to help you onto the wooden docks, laying you flat on your back.

“[Name], please! please wake up!” Sarah cries as she jostles you, Rafe climbing onto the dock next to her and looking down at you. She begins doing chest compressions, tears streaming down her cheeks faster. By this time, everyone on the boat is out on the boardwalk surrounding you body on the ground.

Rafe stands up straight, his clothes soaking and dripping but he doesn’t pay it any mind as he tries to catch his breath, staring down at his sister trying to wake you.

He contemplated for just a minuscule of a second, about beating the shit out of Kelce, but he prioritized your wellbeing first.

“Rafe- she’s not waking up.”

Sarah inhales sharply, trying not to think the worst and her older brother kneels down, pinching your nose closed before bringing his lips down to yours.

The kooks are whispering amongst each other, surprised by Rafe’s sudden leadership actions.

Rafe pulls away, continuing Sarah’s chest compressions before going back to pressing his lips against yours, providing CPR.

Please, not like this. wake up, wake up for me, [Name].

Suddenly a choked noise erupts from your lips as you turn to your side and spew out bits of water. Your throat becomes sore as you cough roughly.

Sarah immediately breaks into a smile, a gasp of relief coming from her and Rafe pulls back, a sigh coming from him. “H-Hey, take it easy, you’re alright..”

You look around, feeling dizzy and nauseous as you spit up the last of the water you nearly drowned in, as Sarah pulls you to her chest, engulfing you in a tight hug. “[Name], i’m so glad you’re okay!”

Meanwhile, Rafe stands upright, looking up at the sky, trying to relax his rapidly beating heart, as he takes slow steps to turn around.

“H-Hey, look, I didn’t know-“

Kelce, already knowing what was coming, raises his hands in defense as he backs up.

However, Rafe doesn’t hesitate his fist swinging into Kelce’s cheek, succeeding in knocking him down. “You son of a bitch!”

Rafe clenches his jaw tight as he looks to the other kooks. “Party is fucking over, get the fuck away!”

Topper tries to talk some sense into Rafe but Rafe shoves him. “You hear me? I said get away! go fucking home, now!”

Everyone is stunned into silence as they share looks, before quickly scrambling away and off the dock, not wanting to argue with the Kook King.

Sarah sniffles as she pulls away and looks up at Rafe, who kneels down and tucks an arm under your legs and the other under your back, before lifting you up carefully, bridal style.

“R-Rafe?…” Your hoarse voice calls out, hands pressed to his firm chest but Rafe hushes you. “Shh.. it’s alright, just get some rest.. you’ll be fine.”

Sarah watches her brother carry you towards his truck, wiping her tears as she follows after them, exhaling gently.

Tears brim your eyes as your chest swells with warmth, despite your freezing body.

You stare up at Rafe weakly, feeling your chest grow weak as your eyes flutter close and you press your head into his chest more. “Thank you.. Rafe.. You saved me..”

Rafe’s hold on you tightens, securing you in his arms.

“..I’m so glad you’re okay… i’m so sorry..”

a/n: welp, this could’ve been sooo much better but i rushed this at work hehe. outerbanks is playing on the tv at work so i thought id get a little smth out :3 this is sooo bad though 😭

not proofread or edited. i’ll go back and edit some other time.

synvil™️.

[marylxvrr]

" BOUND TO THE THRONE "

𐙚 𝐘𝐀𝐍𝐃𝐄𝐑𝐄 𝐄𝐌𝐏𝐄𝐑𝐎𝐑 — an all-powerful sovereign who bends entire empires to his will but becomes dangerously unhinged when it comes to you, stopping at nothing—manipulation, imprisonment, or war—to ensure you never leave his grasp . . .

𐙚Trigger Warnings: Obsession, power imbalance, emotional manipulation, implied captivity, threats of violence, and possessiveness.

The grandeur of the imperial palace was breathtaking, with its golden halls and ceilings that stretched so high you could swear they touched the heavens. But you weren’t here to admire its beauty. You were a lowly palace worker, tasked with cleaning and maintaining this vast kingdom’s heart.

Your role was simple, insignificant in the grand scheme of things. Or so you thought.

It started innocently enough. A glance here, a word there. The emperor, revered as a god among men, seemed to have a habit of lingering near you. His piercing gaze, sharper than any blade, often found you in the crowd of workers, no matter how much you tried to blend in.

At first, you convinced yourself it was paranoia. Why would someone as powerful as Emperor Kael, ruler of the largest empire in the world, take an interest in someone like you?

But then came the gifts.

An expensive bracelet placed neatly on your work desk, a necklace far too extravagant for a mere servant, and silken robes fit for royalty—all delivered anonymously. You didn’t need a note to know who they were from.

It was unnerving. You tried to refuse, even leaving the gifts in your quarters untouched, but it didn’t stop. If anything, the emperor seemed to grow bolder.

One day, while polishing the marble floors of the grand throne room, you felt it—that familiar, suffocating presence.

“You work harder than anyone else here,” his deep voice echoed, making your hands freeze mid-scrub.

You slowly turned to see him standing there, his imposing figure framed by the grand throne behind him. His regal robes flowed as if the very air bowed to his presence, and his golden eyes locked onto yours with a mixture of amusement and something... darker.

“Your Majesty,” you stammered, quickly lowering your head. “I’m simply doing my duty.”

“Is that all you think you are to me?” he asked, his tone calm but carrying an undercurrent of something dangerous.

You dared to glance up, confusion etched on your face. “I’m not sure what you mean, Your Majesty.”

He stepped closer, each stride deliberate, until he was towering over you. His gloved hand reached out, tilting your chin up so your eyes met his.

“You’re more than just a worker,” he murmured, his gaze intense. “You’ve captivated me in a way no one else ever has.”

Your breath caught in your throat, panic bubbling up. “Your Majesty, I—”

“Do you know how many nobles have tried to win my favor?” he interrupted, his thumb brushing gently against your cheek. “How many have offered their lives, their wealth, their everything to stand where you are now? Yet none of them matter to me. Only you.”

His words sent a chill down your spine. This wasn’t admiration—it was possession.

“Your Majesty, I am unworthy of such attention,” you said, trying to step back, but his grip on your chin tightened ever so slightly.

“You don’t get to decide what you’re worthy of,” he said, his voice low and dangerous. “That’s for me to decide.”

You opened your mouth to protest, but his other hand reached out, brushing a strand of hair from your face.

“Don’t you see, Y/n?” he said, his tone softening, though his eyes remained as intense as ever. “You’re mine. You always have been. I’ve watched you, admired your dedication, your kindness. And now that I have you, I won’t let anyone take you away from me.”

Your heart pounded in your chest as you realized the full extent of his obsession. This wasn’t love—it was control, a twisted desire to claim you as his own.

“You can’t force me to stay,” you whispered, though your voice trembled with fear.

He chuckled softly, his hand moving to cradle your face. “Can’t I? I am the emperor, Y/n. No one disobeys me. No one touches what is mine.”

Tears welled in your eyes as his words sank in. You were trapped, bound to him not by choice, but by the sheer weight of his power.

“Don’t cry,” he murmured, his lips brushing against your forehead. “I’ll take care of you. Protect you. You’ll never have to lift a finger again. Just stay by my side, and I’ll give you the world.”

But all you wanted was freedom.

As he pulled you closer, his arms wrapping around you like a cage, you realized there was no escaping him. He was your emperor, your captor, and in his eyes, your savior.

And he would never let you go.

[helaintoloki]

Safe Space

pairing: avenger!Bucky Barnes x avenger!reader

warnings/notes: themes of ptsd and trauma, violence, mentions of torture, hurt/comfort, angst, fluff

a/n: another request piece that was sent in! this took me a while to come up with but i hope you enjoy !

summary: you struggle to return to a life of normalcy after being kidnapped, but Bucky is there to help you pick up the pieces

The morning sunlight that bleeds through the curtains rouses Bucky from his sleep, and the first thing he is greeted with is your loving smile as you gently push his hair back from his face.

“Happy birthday, Sarge,” you coo softly before pressing a kiss to his cheek. Bucky hums tiredly as he stretches out his limbs and shifts to face you in bed.

“Is that today?” He prompts groggily while pulling you into his arms.

“Same day as it was last year, I’m afraid,” you tease softly, giggling at the way he playfully nips your neck in response to your sarcasm.

“Can’t we just treat it like a normal day and stay in bed?” Bucky groans into your neck, relishing in the feel of your warmth against his skin.

“And miss the birthday party Steve worked so hard to put together for you?” You reprimand him with a raised brow. “Not a chance.”

A small huff of amusement leaves Bucky at your comment. After everything he’d been through and all the years he’d lost, he never once thought it necessary to celebrate the time of passage marked by his birthday. Why bother when he’d already missed so many of them? But then he met you, and suddenly Bucky had a reason to look forward to each new day with you by his side. You were patient and understanding of all he’d been through, you never pushed him to do anything he didn’t want to, and you gave him the courage to take charge of his new start as an Avenger.

“Just give me ten more minutes with you and I’ll get up,” he promises, pressing a kiss to the crown of your head as he cradles you against his chest. You hum appreciatively at the gesture and entangle your limbs with his own.

“Anything you want,” you murmur, already feeling yourself being lulled back to sleep. “I love you, James.”

“I love you, y/n. More than you could ever imagine.”

Bucky’s solemn gaze has been glued to your photo in his hand ever since Steve took over piloting the quinjet. The edges of the polaroid are frayed from being kept in his vest pocket, but your face remains unscathed and allows your permanently etched smile to haunt his every waking moment.

You’ve been missing for over a month.

It had been a simple assignment that you were more than capable of handling on your own. Fury had assured you it would take no longer than one day to retrieve forgotten files from an abandoned weapons dealer’s warehouse; all you had to go was get in and get out. You had kissed Bucky goodbye before he waved you off, and that had been the last time he’d seen you. Your one-day mission turned into three days, and on day five you’d officially been declared MIA. Your tracker was turned off and no one could reach you, and Bucky was left to grapple with his guilt over your disappearance.

The team had received an anonymous tip with information on your current whereabouts, and without hesitation the Avengers had suited up and made their way to your supposed location. Bucky was restless throughout the entire flight, his only goal being to find you and have you back in his arms once more. He wasn’t sure what he was going to do if the tip turned out to be false or, even worse, it had been too late.

A gentle hand on his shoulder breaks Bucky from his contemplative daze as he’s forced to remove his eyes from your photo and look up into the remorseful face of his friend.

“We’re going to find her, Buck,” Steve says resolutely.

“What if we’re too late?” The man utters, agony clear on his features as he looks up at his friend with tears that threaten to fall. “What if this is all for nothing?”

“You can’t talk like that, like there’s no hope,” the blond insists adamantly. “The tip said she’s still alive. That’s gotta be worth something.”

“Sometimes that’s worse,” Bucky murmurs knowingly. A haunted look washes over his features that unnerves Steve, but the Captain isn’t able to discuss the matter further as the team finally makes their arrival to the given coordinates.

The tip had been sent to Fury by a supposed mole from an unnamed terrorist organization. They sought protection in exchange for your whereabouts, and the information led your teammates to a warehouse that had previously been deemed abandoned. No one would have ever thought twice about checking for you here, and that was what made it the prime the location for a secret base.

“We have no idea what we’re up against here,” Steve states as he debriefs the team. “All we know is that y/n is somewhere inside that building, and we’re not leaving here without her. Everyone knows what their job is today.”

Per Steve’s orders, every person is on their own as they spread out across the building and clear the rooms one by one. Bucky’s entire body is frigid with tension as he makes his way down the desolate corridors with his gun raised and his mind on high alert. The soldier is out for blood, heart pounding in his chest and mind frenzied with the endless possibilities of the state he might find you in.

The first few rooms are clear, but it isn’t until he turns the corner that he encounters an unsuspecting guard making rounds through the building. Bucky is on him in an instant, metal arm grabbing him by the throat and hosting him in the air before slamming his body against the wall. The guard’s eyes widen in fear while his fingers desperately claw at the metal arm that slowly crushes his windpipe, but Bucky is unrelenting.

“You have five seconds to tell me where you’re keeping her before I snap your neck,” he all but snarls through gritted teeth. He loosens his hold just enough to allow the man to speak and watches in annoyance as the man takes in spluttering breaths.

“I don’t know who you’re talking about,” the guard insists desperately before immediately being slammed back against the wall.

“I know you have a woman here against her will. An Avenger,” he reiterates bitterly. A flash of recognition washes over the guard’s face that Bucky is quickly able to detect, and the unease it fills him with causes him to falter on his hold.

“I… I know you,” the guard breathes out shakily much to Bucky’s chagrin. “The Winter Soldier...”

“Shut up!” Bucky barks furiously, prompting a faint smirk to form on the guard’s lips.

“You got away, and they decided to take her in your place. Her torture is your penance for your betrayal.”

“Who took her?!” Bucky demands, fist closing tighter around the man’s neck. His patience is thinning as the seconds drag on, but the man finally manages to give his answer despite the pressure to his throat, and the soldier’s stomach immediately fills with dread.

“Hail Hydra.”

The man dies almost instantaneously as Bucky tosses his body aside, but he can’t find himself bothered enough to care as he’s hit with weight of this new revelation. This wasn’t the work of some amateur villain or low level organization; this was Hydra. Hydra had you in their hold for over a month, and Bucky didn’t have to imagine what horrors you’d endured during your time here. He needed to find you, and he needed to find you now before they had the chance to lay a hand on you again.

He’s on the warpath, taking out guards left and right as he storms through the building in search of you. All he sees is red, his ears ringing from the pressure pounding in his head while his sight tunnels to focus on the mission at hand. No one will stop him, no one can stop him, and it’s for this reason only that he finally finds you.

A single door at the end of the hallway is all the stands between you and him. The neatly organized patient chart that hangs on the doorway bares your name, but Bucky doesn’t have the stomach to read any further than that. He uses his metal hand to break the lock on the door with ease before slowly pushing it open. He isn’t sure what he’ll find on the other side, but he just hopes he isn’t too late to save you.

Your still figure lies strapped to a metal table, and the steady rise and fall of your chest assures Bucky that you’re still breathing. The medical grade hospital gown is the only item of clothing you have on, allowing the multitude of bruises that cover the expanse of your skin to be on full display. Your face is sunken and drained of color, and your frail figure indicates clear signs of malnourishment. This is not the same y/n that Bucky had kissed goodbye after seeing her off from the compound, and his heart tightens in his chest at this horrible realization.

Bucky makes careful work of undoing your restraints and notes the scarred skin hidden underneath. It’s evident you’d fought against the straps frequently, and he knows better than anyone the fear that must have consumed you from being held down against your will. He doesn’t even want to think about what else they could have done to you in your time here, so he wills the thoughts away and instead carefully brushes his fingers against your arm in an attempt to rouse you from your sleep.

“Come on, sweetheart,” he hushes softly, harshly swallowing down his anxieties for your sake. “Open those pretty eyes for me. Wake up.”

Bucky watches on with bated breath as you begin to stir, eyebrows furrowing in discomfort and lashes fluttering until you can finally will your eyes to open. You groan, blinded by the harsh lights hanging above you and sore beyond belief from your previous bought of torture. It takes you a moment to grow accustom to your surroundings, and after what feels like ages your gaze finally settles upon the man hovering over you.

“There you are,” he utters softly, eyes brimming with tears as a smile of relief washes over him.

You start to scream.

Bucky is taken back by the shrieks you let out as you immediately begin to fight against him, blindly thrashing around like a caged animal while using your feet to kick him away.

“Please, don’t!” You sob in pure terror. “Get away!”

“Y/n, it’s me!” Bucky insists desperately as he takes hold of your wrists to stop your assault, but this only agitates you further.

“Let me go!”

“It’s me, it’s James!” He reiterates firmly despite the tears that fall down his face. “It’s your Sarge, remember?”

You falter at his words as if clarity has finally taken over your frenzied mind, and after a moment your terrified faces morphs into one of desperate relief as you quietly choke out, “Bucky?”

He feels as if the wind has been knocked out of his chest at the sound of your voice. You look absolutely broken, and it unnerves him to no end to see you so hysterical. Bucky knew exactly what they had done to make you this way because he’d once endured it himself, and he ached with agony at the fact that he hadn’t been there to protect you from any of it. It was his job as your teammate, as your partner, to keep you safe, and he felt like he had failed.

“I’m here,” he assures you, catching your trembling figure as you collapse off of the table and into his arms. He sinks to the floor with you in his hold and keeps you close to his chest while you sob, your screams echoing throughout the building and permanently etching themselves into his mind forever. Tears steadily fall from his eyes but he makes no attempt to clear them away. His focus is solely on your comfort as he carefully rubs circles into your back. “I’m never going to let them hurt you again.”

“I wish they would have just killed me,” you manage to confess while digging your fingers into the fabric of Bucky’s tactical vest. Despite the dread that pools in his stomach, the man merely presses his lips to the crown of your head and nods.

“I know,” he shushes you gently, a look of solemn understanding washing over his features. “I know.”

“Bucky,” a voice calls from the doorway, prompting you to stiffen in his hold while he looks to its owner. Steve stands there with a look of quiet realization on his face as he takes in the sight of your disheveled form in your savior’s arms. You begin to tremble in fear at the new presence in the room, and it’s clear that you don’t register the fact that it isn’t a Hydra agent here to torment you but a friend who longs to reach out for you.

“It’s alright, it’s just Steve,” Bucky hushes in your ear before meeting his friend’s disquieted gaze. “Gather the others and get the quinjet ready. We’ll meet you there.”

The Captain gives a solemn nod before making his exit and hastily following Bucky’s orders. Alone once more, you peer up at your partner with exhausted eyes and trembling lips as you meekly ask, “Do I get to go home now?”

With a watery smile, Bucky gently brushes his knuckles across your bruised cheek and offers you a single nod. He decides in that moment his sole focus in life will be to help you overcome the torture you’d endured and provide you the comfort he’d never been given during his time as the Winter Soldier. Your scars were his to bear, matching the ones he had already held on his own for so many years. His support would be unconditional and unwavering, and despite the long recovery that lay ahead he knew you’d be able to endure it together.

“I’m bringing you home, sweetheart, and no one is ever going to take you from me again.”

~~~

It takes an hour for Bucky to settle you down enough so that Bruce and the team of medics can properly examine you. You’d become frenzied at the sight of doctors and had pulled a scalpel on a poor nurse, but none of it was your fault. How could you be expected to willingly accept care when you’d spent an entire month being physically tormented?

Along with the multitude of bruises and cuts on your body, you were found to be extremely dehydrated and malnourished. You weighed fifteen pounds less than when you last left the compound, and you barely had the strength to keep yourself upright. You couldn’t walk for long distances without help from Bucky, and it made you feel absolutely pathetic. You once had been considered a top agent, cunning and powerful without an ounce of fear in your bones, and now you couldn’t go a minute without jumping at your own shadow. Hydra had ruined you, and you feared the effects might be permanent.

Bruce decides enough testing has been conducted for the day and releases you into the care of Bucky. For now, your main priority is to rest and regain your strength, but that’s easier said than done.

You struggle to remove your clothing while Bucky runs you a warm bath. Your muscles still ache from the beatings you’d endured, and each movement of your limbs sends jolts of pain throughout your body. You let out a quiet cry of frustration at your inability to remove your shirt, tears pooling in your eyes and sweat beading on your forehead as the room suddenly becomes much too hot. Your ears start to ring and you begin to panic at the suffocation your clothes cause you, but the feel of Bucky’s cool metal hand against your arm has you immediately relaxing.

“It’s okay,” he murmurs softly while carefully wiping away the tear that had fallen from your bought of panic. “Do you want me to help you?”

You give him a meek nod and allow him to undress you. Bucky is careful when pulling the shirt over your head, and he tries not to stare too long at the deep purples that stain your skin or the gashes that litter your abdomen. You’d managed to get out some details of your time as Hydra’s prisoner with loving encouragement from Bucky, and you told him of their attempts to coerce you into revealing sensitive information about the Avengers and, more importantly, about him. Your loyalty was unwavering, and though your silence only earned you brutal beatings in return, you never once let them break you. You were incredibly strong even if you didn’t feel that way, and Bucky made sure to express that to you during your assessment with Bruce.

The warm water burns the cuts on your skin as Bucky slowly eases you into the tub, but you try not to let that show. The last thing you want to do is worry him further, and you hate the fact that you’ve put so much on his already full plate for him to bear.

“Does that feel alright?” He murmurs gently while reaching across the way for your bottle of shampoo. You nod.

“Thank you,” you whisper shakily, shutting your eyes as silent tears begin to fall. “I don’t… I’m sorry for putting you through all of this.”

Bucky frowns, faltering in his movements as he sets the shampoo down and kneels beside the tub. He reaches into the water and gently grabs hold of your hand. You flinch on instinct without meaning to, but he doesn’t let show the sadness it brings him.

“None of this is your fault,” he assures you earnestly. “I wish I could take away all of your pain, go back in time and trade places with you, but the best I can do is be here for you. I want to be your shoulder to cry on, your hand to hold, your rock. The same way you’ve always been mine, because that’s what a relationship is supposed to be. Will you let me do that for you, honey?”

You let out a quiet sob from the overflow of emotions that wash over you in response to Bucky’s confession. You can’t get out any words and are only able to offer a nod in response. You’re in anguish from your trauma yet still grateful to have Bucky by your side, and the amalgamation of emotions you feel leaves you overwhelmed. Bucky lets you cry it out while he lovingly washes your hair for you and provides gentle reassurances every now and then. You don’t know what you’d do without him, and thankfully you’ll never have to find out.

You think that maybe you’ll survive this, so long as you have Bucky.

~~~

“My patience is running thin, Agent y/l/n,” the woman hums while filing her nails with disinterest. She never once meets your eyes, behaving as if you are beneath her and her time. You know you could snap her neck with ease if not for the chains keeping your arms hovering above your head; she knows this too, and it’s for that reason she feels cocky enough to torment you from her spot across the room. “I will ask again. Where can I find the Winter Soldier?”

“His name is James,” you murmur lowly before spitting at her. The blood that had pooled in your mouth splatters across the floor and lands on the toe of her boots. She looks down at the mess lamely before lifting her head to her counterpart and giving a single nod. You hold in a cry and grunt through the pain as your smacked across the face by the open palm of a Hydra soldier. A punch to your gut follows, knocking the wind out of you and prompting you to slump forward in agony.

“I have all the time in the world, my dear,” the woman says with a pleasant smile that fails to reach her eyes. You watch with wide eyes as the soldier walks towards the nearby table in the room and picks up a a taser. “Now let us try again.”

Bucky is in the kitchen when he hears you start to scream.

He drops the glass of water in his hands and pays no mind to the way it shatters behind him as he sprints back to your room. Your cries echo throughout the hallway and have probably woken up the entire floor by now, but he’s sure it’s something your teammates are used to by now. Night terrors have plagued your sleep since you were rescued, and though Bucky does his best to ensure your comfort, even he can’t erase the memories that continue to haunt you.

He makes it to your room in record time and finds you struggling to remove the sheets from your body. The kick of your legs is panicked and uncoordinated, and Bucky can tell you’re still in the midsts of sleep and consciousness. He’s at your side in an instant, peeling back the suffocating covers before carefully taking hold of your wrists in order to prevent you from hurting yourself.

“You’re dreaming, y/n,” he hushes you gently as your movements begin to slow. “Wake up, sweetheart. I’m right here.”

You open your eyes with a panicked gasp and shoot up in bed, nearly knocking your forehead into Bucky’s. Your chest heaves as you try to still your racing heart, and it isn’t until you meet his worried gaze that you register your surroundings. The dingy interrogation room has been replaced by your bedroom, and in the place of the callous Hydra operative is your loving boyfriend.

“James?” You whisper shakily, harshly swallowing down the bile that had risen in your throat. Your face is wet with tears and sweat, but this doesn’t stop him from carefully cupping your face in his hands and pressing his lips to your forehead.

“I’m right here, doll. I’m always right here,” he assures you softly before meeting your fearful gaze.

“I… I think I had another nightmare,” you murmur shamefully. “Can I even call it that if it… if it really happened to me? If it wasn’t a dream?”

Bucky sighs softly and wipes away your tears before helping you settle back into bed. He makes note to kick the covers far away in order to keep you from feeling suffocated and engulfs you in his arms. You cling to him like a child clings to their favorite stuffed animal and find immediate comfort in his warmth.

“It was a dream,” Bucky assures you, “because you’ll never have to live through that again. I won’t let that happen. We survived, and Hydra doesn’t get to take that from us.”

“We survived,” you repeat quietly to reassure yourself, a grounding technique Bucky had taught you. He smiles faintly and gently runs his fingers up and down your back until you’re lulled back to bed.

In his presence, you’re able to sleep through the rest of the night.

~~~

A month has passed and you’re finally starting to show some signs of improvement. You’ve slowly but surely gained back some of the weight you’d lost, and you can walk around the compound without growing tired or needing to hold onto someone else. Most of the bruising has faded and your wounds have morphed into scars, but you’re still not on the same level of strength you had been when departing for that wretched mission months ago. However, Banner has cleared you to participate in training again, and soon you’ll begin conditioning with Natasha.

The mental wounds haven’t healed as easily, and they probably won’t heal for some time. You still can’t be alone in a dark room, can’t sleep without Bucky beside you, and flinch at any loud noise or sudden movements. The therapist you’ve been seeing at Bucky’s request is slowly helping you work through your trauma, but there’s only so much journaling and meditating can do for you.

You want an easy fix or the ability to speed-run through your cognitive healing. You’d even begged Wanda to warp your mind and rid you of your pain, but she had gently denied your request at the behest of Bucky and the rest of the team. Hydra had already scrambled your mind so much with their methods of mental torture, and your partner knew better than anyone that a mind wipe could only keep the memories away for so long before they began to resurface.

You don’t think you would have had the motivation to survive all of this if not for Bucky. He’s been your greatest comfort and your biggest supporter throughout your recovery, and you adore him endlessly for the unconditional love he gives you every day. No one understands what you’re going through better than him, and he has helped shine light on your darkest hour when you thought it to be impossible.

It’s a quiet morning in the compound as Steve and Sam prepare a nice breakfast for the team. You sit silently at the kitchen counter while they work, the music that plays from the radio hardly registering in your mind as you dissociate. Your mind feels foggy, your body on edge with anticipation despite the absence of any threats. This state of mind had kept you sane during your bouts of isolation when Hydra kept you locked in the dark for days at a time, and you still found yourself disconnecting from your environment at times without realizing.

Bucky notes your sudden silence with a worried frown, keeping an eye on you as he drinks his morning coffee but leaving you undisturbed. He found it was best to allow you the chance to break out of your daze yourself so long as the situation didn’t put you in harm’s way.

“I hate to ruin the mood, Buck,” Steve voices while mixing his oatmeal, “but we have to start preparing for our next assignment. We leave a week from today.”

“There isn’t any way for me to sit this one out?” Bucky pleads after casting a nervous glance in your direction. The conversation doesn’t seem to register in your mind, and for this he’s grateful. He doesn’t want to frighten you or send you into a panic so early in the morning. “I can’t just leave her.”

“Natasha will look after her,” Steve assures him. “I know it’s not the same, but she’ll at least be safe.”

“She needs me, Steve.”

“We need you out in the field, especially for this next assignment.”

“She’s tough, Bucky,” Sam reminds him. The man has just finished plating your breakfast for you and sets it down on your placemat- two eggs with pieces of bacon shaped into a smile and a bowl of fruit. You blink slowly before registering the food in front of you and absently reach for your fork. “And she’s been doing so well. You have to give her credit.”

Innocently and without a second thought, Sam rests his hand on your shoulder to give you an encouraging squeeze. The physical contact startles you back into reality, and almost as if on autopilot you clench the fork tightly in your grasp and swing without warning. Bucky’s eyes go wide in shock, but he’s able to move quickly enough so that his metal hand blocks the impact of the utensil from hitting Sam. It falls to the floor with a deafening clatter that sounds throughout the room, and the three men can only stare at each other in shock.

You come to your senses immediately and look down in horror at the crumped fork that lays at your feet. Your frightened eyes look from the fork to Bucky then back to Sam. Your features are apologetic despite the tears that well in your eyes, and you reach for the man with trembling hands.

“Oh my god, I- I’m so sorry,” you weep, “I didn’t mean to, I swear!”

“I know you didn’t,” Sam utters solemnly, accepting your sorrowful apologies with a hug as you begin to weep into his chest. “I’m alright. No harm, no foul.”

Your quiet cries fill the room as the men exchange uneasy glances. The breakfast is now long forgotten in exchange for the dented fork that Bucky retrieves from the ground and sets onto the counter. It is a harsh reminder of the reality you find yourselves in and the fact that despite your progress, you still have a long way to go.

“I’ll talk to Fury,” Steve murmurs quietly enough for only Bucky to hear. “You’re right.”

“I wish I wasn’t.”

~~~

Your therapist suggests a change of scenery might alleviate the restlessness you feel when being benched from missions. Tony graciously offers you one of his many vacation homes to use at your discretion, and you end up in a secluded cabin nestled next to a peaceful lake.

You sit in front of the bay window with a cup of tea in your hands and watch as Bucky chops wood for the fireplace. His muscles are highlighted by the tightness of his red Henley, flexing with the effort he uses to swing the axe down onto the logs. You hum in quiet appreciation for your handsome boyfriend before leaving your place to join him outside.

It’s not often you get to play house like this with Bucky. Your life as world saving heroes doesn’t leave a lot of time leftover for domesticity, so you enjoy these stolen moments when you can. Your kidnapping served as a reminder that the peaceful lives you’d built together could crash down in an instant, and this thought haunted Bucky daily.

“Is my woodsman ready for dinner yet?” You call teasingly from the porch, prompting Bucky to pause his work so he can focus his attention on you. You look radiant with the golden hues of the sun reflecting on your face. Your eyes are the brightest he’s seen them in months, and here at the cabin it almost feels like the old you is slowly starting to peek her head out from the shadows. You’re healing, and nothing makes him happier than that.

“Just about finished,” he grins, meeting you on the porch to pull you into his arms. You melt into his embrace and allow yourself to enjoy the rare moment of tranquility you feel. You haven’t had any nightmares at the cabin, no moments of dissociation, and you don’t shy away from his gentle touch. You’re happy here, and this was a feeling you thought might never be attainable for you again.

“I like it here,” you hum pensively, peering up to meet his gaze. “It’s quiet.”

“You seem a lot better here than at the compound,” Bucky notes considerately, affectionately running the back of his hand against your jaw.

“It helps being separated from anything related to the incident,” you note with a disheartened frown, “but I have to go back at some point. I can’t run away forever.”

“Would it be so bad?”

Your brows furrow with uncertainty as you pull back to meet his stare. “What do you mean?”

“What if we get ourselves a cabin like this? Maybe we go into early retirement, settle down and start a new life together.”

“Do you really mean that, James?”

“Of course I do, sweetheart,” he grins while grabbing hold of your chin with his thumb and index finger. “That’s always been the goal. I help keep the world safe so that I can wake to another day with you by my side. It doesn’t have to be now if you’re not ready, but just know that my plan is you. It’s always been you.”

You gift him a saccharine smile despite the tears that flow down your face, but for once they are tears of hope and happiness. All you thought of during your imprisonment was Bucky, about not getting the chance to see him again or say goodbye. You loved him with your entire being, and you knew that there was no future for you without him in it.

“I love you, Sarge,” you utter softly, draping your arms around his neck and pulling him closer to meet you in a kiss.

Your heart is lighter than it’s been and months, and for once you are filled with hope for a better tomorrow.

~~~

“Like the new suit?” You prompt, shifting left and right to let Bucky take in all the angles. “Tony’s letting me take it out for a test drive.”

“Looks good,” Bucky compliments with a smile that doesn’t reach his eyes. Noting his sudden shift in demeanor, you sigh and carefully rest your hands on his chest.

“I’ll only be gone a day at most,” you utter softly while smoothing out the wrinkles in his shirt. “Fury says it’s a quick job.”

“It’s not that,” he sighs as he tightly takes hold of your hands in his own. Hesitating, Bucky casts his troubled gaze to the floor before meeting your somber eyes. “I just don’t like that you’re going alone, and I wish I could come with you. Someone needs to have your back.”

“I’ll be okay. I know what I’m doing, and if all else fails this suit has a tracker that will send you an alert if I’m in trouble.”

“You sure your trip doesn’t have room for one more?” He attempts again only for you to shake your head.

“Afraid not, Sarge,” you sigh before pressing a quick peck to his lips. His sullen features make your heart tighten in your chest, and as much as you don’t want to leave him behind you know you have a job to do. “I promise I’ll come back to you. Don’t I always?”

“You do,” he relents with a faint smile before wrapping his arms around your frame and giving you a tight squeeze. “Have a safe trip.”

“I’ll be home before you know it.”

The memory of your goodbye is fresh in Bucky’s mind despite it having taken place six months ago. You’ve both changed so much since then, but he thinks it’s been for the better. You’ve only grown stronger despite what you’ve been put through, and he couldn’t be more proud.

“How’s that feel?” He asks after adjusting your thigh holster. You hum appreciatively and flex your leg to test the range of motion it gives you. “Too tight?”

“Fits just fine,” you note with a smile that doesn’t reach your eyes.

“You don’t have to go if you’re not ready. Steve and I can cover your slack.”

“No, I want to,” you insist firmly with a shake of your head. “The doctor says I’m ready, and if I don’t get back out on the field now I never will.”

It’s your first assignment since being sent away by Fury to retrieve those files. You’re nervous, but you’re ready to finally return back to your old life again. Being an Avenger had been everything to you, and you weren’t going to let what Hydra did to you take that away. You’re joining Steve and Bucky in a low stakes reconnaissance mission, and despite your eagerness to be back in action you can tell your partner is worried.

“I’m proud of you,” he utters suddenly, gently brushing back a strand of hair that had come loose from the rest. “And of how far you’ve come. I don’t doubt your ability to hold your own, but as your boyfriend it’s my job to worry.”

“I know,” you affirm with a nod. “I won’t lie to you and say I’m not scared to be going on this mission, but I can’t hide forever. Besides, I’ll have you and Steve with me, and neither of you will let anything happen to me.”

“I have your back,” he reaffirms with a faint smile before leaning down to press a kiss to your forehead. Despite his worries, he knows that this has always been the goal- to take back the life Hydra had stolen from you both. Your traumas bonded you together, but so did your recovery. Finding hope and positivity after the horrors you’d endured would always be a struggle, but it was a challenge the both of you were willing to take head on.

Bucky was your safe person just as you were his, and together you would always make it to the other side.

[tojisun]

simon and his sweet darling filming porn together for his friends.

he starts posting little clips, ones that are only about three seconds long. there’s never a shot of your face nor the actual penetration, and it is meant to only tease, and damn if it doesn’t do a good job at that.

the first time he’s posted, he receives a frantic message from kyle, telling him that, “sir. your private video’s been leaked.”

and it’s so utterly sweet that simon’s only reply is to send to kyle the whole, unedited version of him fucking you raw—it’s actually such a messy session, with lube and spunk coating your thighs and oozing out of your cunt, making a thick glob that in the next second, simon got down to his knees to lick your pussy clean.

he knows garrick will go crazy for that. kid’s a desperate oral giver, simon knows.

(funnily enough, neither his captain nor mactavish raised the same concern and simon knows exactly just why—hell, they were the first notifications he got from that video.)

the other people who started following him for his homemade clips were just a bonus and a confidence boost. you and simon would spend hours going over the comments, giggling to each other at the palpable thirst for either or both of you rolling off of every posted note, while also shelving ideas that were being thrown at them.

simon’s favourite was the pet play. yours was the roleplay where you were a failing student and simon was your ridiculous professor whose only proposal to your issue was to allow him to fuck you.

the videos get longer, of course, but the anonymity remains. somehow, that becomes the biggest charm—just a scarred and tank of a man fucking his girl, folding her every way he can even when she protests that she’s too heavy for him.

you never are, and simon fucks that into you every single chance.

it takes about a month of regular posting when, finally, his mates cracked.

johnny’s started a group chat, and all his message reads is, “please. wanna see bon’s face when she’s cumming.”

simon turns to you, his eyebrows raised. “your call, love.”

you roll your eyes at him like you don’t know how much he’s been waiting for this. then, you trill, “go on. tell them.”

simon grunts like he isn’t blushing himself, desire heavy in his eyes, before finally sending his reply. it’s an encrypted attachment because he’s still going to put your safety above all else, but also because it is another game. another taunt. another means of teasing his mates.

but when they break through, oh how thankful they will be.

(there are hours of videos saved in the file, many of them sorted out by date and by name. it was a surprise, after all. a pleasant gift. and when they watch it, when they finally get a glimpse of you—and you are the best thing that simon ever had—they’ll forget how it was to cum without seeing you.

without watching the way you mewl and tremble underneath simon’s touch.

…without hearing the rasp of your voice calling out their names.)

five minutes pass by when a new message comes in. it’s from john.

> Christ above.

simon laughs.

[swordgrace]

❝ 𝐣𝐮𝐬𝐭 𝐬𝐨𝐦𝐞𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐚𝐛𝐨𝐮𝐭 𝐲𝐨𝐮, 𝐛𝐚𝐛𝐲. ❞

┊ 𝐫𝐞𝐪𝐮𝐞𝐬𝐭 𝐬𝐲𝐧𝐨𝐩𝐬𝐢𝐬: by anonymous — “cuffing john to the bed and doing whatever you want with him after nagging him for weeks about it.....”

𝐩𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠: john walker x fem!reader.

𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭: 5.2K.

𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬: smut (mdni), pure filth, porn with plot, sub!john and switch!john, use of handcuffs/restraints, headboard breaking, oral sex (m!rec), blowjob, body worship, teasing, begging, john walker’s praise kink, unprotected p in v sex, cowgirl, creampie, descriptions of cum. cute ending.

𝐚𝐮𝐭𝐡𝐨𝐫’𝐬 𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐞: this fic had me freaked up !!! horny !! I am not ashamed at all! lowkey this is the first blowjob scene I’ve written in a long time so sorry if it’s bad! anyway I hope you all enjoy 🫶

“Have you given it some thought?”

The penultimate question is posed during a mission debriefing while you’re wedged beside John, thigh-to-thigh, attempting to mask the topic at-hand. It’s the worst possible time to be discussing what goes on in the bedroom.

For you, it’s an opportunity, one that you’ve been patiently awaiting, steadfast.

Following a team scenario exercise and training that had gone rather smoothly, it was an early evening stuffed with tactical discussions and talking strategy. It was crucial, the both of you knew that; however, your inquiry had distracted him.

A mere wisp of a hum, your cadence floats beside his ear, low and perplexed, gaze glittering with expectancy. One fist remains snug beneath your chin, a smile pulling at the corner of your mouth.

John huffs, as if you’re asking something offensive, jaw twitching as he reclines into the padded leather. He’s wearing his beret, something you’ve both teased and complimented him on, attempting to pay attention.

“You’re asking me this now?” John murmurs, a low husk uttered in response, piercing through you with an incredulous expression.

The conversation at-hand is as hushed as possible, with little desire to draw unwanted attention to yourselves.

With a shrug, you seem to brush his concern aside. “It’s as good a time as any.” Admittedly, it wasn’t the truth, but you enjoyed toying with him, anyway. A flush of crimson blanketed his features, crawling beneath his beard.

“You’ve got awful timing.” He counters, cadence wonderfully low, for only you to hear. You’re both sitting together in the back as if it isn’t blatantly obvious that you’re together.

For weeks, you’ve proposed trying something different; cuffing him up, or something to that nature. Nagging, more like, but he’s put up with it so far, remaining cautiously open-minded about it.

The idea sounded silly at first — however, the more thought he’d given it, the more hot and bothered it made him. A myriad of fantasies swirled within his mind, and none of them were appropriate.

Shoulders brush together, kevlar over body armor, and even that is enough to send a shock of warmth through your bodies. “So you have thought about it.” Little more than a droning buzz, you’re cornering him, a smile crossing your features.

John scoffs, as if it’s preposterous, but he’s gotten significantly worse with masking his feelings around you after you solidified your relationship. “Don’t do this here.” He mumbles, brows pinching together.

He knows it’s payback, payback for all the times he’s tormented you with flirtatious remarks and wandering hands during a meeting. There was an instance of text messages being exchanged at one point in time.

Before you can summon a playful retort, Bucky’s voice interjects, sharp.

“Do you two have anything substantial to add to this debriefing?” Inquisitive, he lifts an eyebrow, hands on his hips like a scornful parent.

“No.” With a simultaneous answer, you and John sound worlds apart with one singular word. The blissful innocence in your tone is a stark contrast to his own frustration, furthered by your poking and prodding.

Poised to pay attention, John doubles his efforts, countenance furrowed as he keeps his gaze glued to the screen. Even then, it’s made exceedingly difficult by the torrent of thoughts crossing his mind, and it’s all you.

It wasn’t often that your demeanor allowed for more of a dominant edge, typically subservient when it came to getting intimate. However, John wanted to hear you out and indulge; you were incessant about it, too.

There’s a hazy image forming at the recesses of his mind, bound against the headboard with you in his lap, doe-eyed, stringing bruising kisses over his abdomen. His throat feels thick, bobbing as he swallows, stifling the twinge of arousal.

He shifts uncomfortably, as if any sliver of movement might relinquish his growing desire. Nothing ceases the lewd thoughts that careen through the forefront of his mind, and he’s left with the rawness of his overactive imagination.

Bucky is droning on about the specifics — the drop-point, compound layout, landing times, down to the most minute detail. It’s information he’ll recant on the quinjet, prompting you to pay little mind to his speech.

Yelena and Ava seem to be the only ones thoroughly invested, arms crossed, bodies canting forward. Alexei gives a theatrical yawn, stretching an arm over the back of his chair, seemingly drowsy, as if he’s being lulled to sleep.

John wants to immerse himself in the strategic aspect of the debriefing, but his mind is rampant with your harmless question — he’s cursing you for even bringing it up.

The picture of innocence, your gaze is fixated on the screen overhead, blissfully oblivious to John’s heated glower. Blue hues narrow, drifting over your jaw, over the exposed flesh of your throat; there’s still a mark he left.

Through a taut exhale, his hand clenched into a fist in an attempt to relieve some tension, muscles all coiled into a knot. Still, his gaze traces your features, absorbing your beauty, softening when you careen into the cushions.

In conclusion, he’d given it too much thought.

John’s too preoccupied, elsewhere, wanting to drag you with him into the corridor and kiss you hoarse. He feels your fingertips brush over his knuckles, the gesture fleeting, subtle enough to go completely unnoticed by the others.

A threadbare smile pulls at his mouth, reserved for you, calloused digits ensnaring the tips of yours. The handholding on the couch is sweet, sure, but he’s thinking of more; he wants more.

In his peripheral, he catches your smitten side-eye, a warm noise stirring within his chest, masking his sentiments for the sake of the debriefing.

It doesn’t seem to carry on for much longer, with Bucky giving a rundown of tomorrow’s expectations. He dismisses you with a ‘get some rest’ and some half-hearted, inspirational jab that Alexei parrots to the rest of the team.

Once the team begins to file out, you’re prepared for an easy evening; it typically fills you with jitters, the night before an operation.

Maintaining cordiality, the both of you have gotten talented at pretending to have some element of indifference when around the rest of the team. Despite John’s reminder that he failed drama class in school, he’s not half-bad at acting.

In the corridor when he’s convinced no one is watching, he pulls you against the wall, mouth pressed to yours, swallowing an enthused groan. Your hands are splayed over his chest, a sweet moan tearing past your throat.

“You’re gonna kill me.” A rumbling timbre snakes around your ears, the noise sending shivers through your spine. He’s strong, inhumanly so, body flush to yours, keeping you pinned.

A teasing laugh slips past your lips, and you do feel a twinge of regret for getting him all flustered. “I wouldn’t do that to you.” Soft and placating, the saccharine ooze of your voice brings him to heel.

John grouses, cerulean hues dropping to the delicate slope of your jaw, over the still-healing marks of teeth slotted into your throat.

It fills him with a wave of need, of possessiveness. Quiet, his lips consume yours again.

The kiss is an unbridled thing, weeping with a mutual repression, more from his end than yours. He kisses you as if you might cease to exist, hands roaming your hips, anchoring your body to his.

“Yours or mine?” John murmurs, gaze hooded, eclipsed by a festering desire that flickers into a fully-blown flame. His restraint is dangerously threadbare, now nonexistent.

“Mine,” Through a flustered beam, you fail to smother your excitable whine when he kisses you again, hot, as if he might melt through you. Hands dig into the swell of your hips, concealed by kevlar and ripstop fabric. “John.”

There’s a blind spot he’s carefully selected to avoid being apprehended in the act, lips molding themselves to yours, slotting a thigh between your legs.

Cool tile bites into your back, sending shivers through your spine. Each kiss evokes a gnawing hunger from within you, unfurling like the petals of a flower, skin crawling with warmth.

It’s become glaringly apparent that your innocuous question had gotten him wound up; there’s a shadow forming within his eyes, one you’re well-acquainted with.

Mouths tether, collide with passion, and repeat the process until you’re left gasping for air, lungs stinging as he withdraws. “Give me twenty?” He murmurs, beard pleasantly scratching against your lips, now pressed together.

With a brief nod, you’re reluctant to untangle yourself from him, heartbeat galloping at an accelerated pace, breath hitching. He presses another chaste kiss to your mouth before breaking away.

A warm flush clings to his features, your own scalding to the touch, heart fluttering beneath your breast. “Twenty.” You concur, patting his chest before skittering in the direction of your room.

John steals a lingering glance as you’re walking away, a smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. There’s something lighter with you, unburdening; he isn’t trying to prove himself or be the man that he’s expected to be.

He’s himself, closer to the man who wanted to be Captain America to help people, without becoming a government pawn.

Still, the pain he’s caused doesn’t lessen, but you’ve helped him learn to grow, navigate through it without self-deprecation.

Once you’ve slipped past the door to your quarters, you’re clamoring from your suit, draping it over the back of the chair; you’ll need it come morning.

Finding one of John’s shirts that he’d left, you tug it on, fabric kissing your thighs as you wait for the knock. It’s typically after the rest of the team has settled for the night, the both of you sneaking around like two teenagers.

Admittedly, you’re really enjoying yourself with this relationship. It didn’t start off that way, riddled with indifference, but you’d gotten to know him, his heart — you liked John, loved John.

John is still growing accustomed to the fact that someone genuinely likes him; it’s strange, falling in love again after the divorce.

Part of it feels wrong, like he shouldn’t, but it’s effortless with you, something easy.

He doesn’t fully trust falling in love after his divorce — but he does it anyway, he keeps falling for you, and falling again.

In your nightstand, you locate the pair of handcuffs you’ve been itching to use, hoping he’ll be open-minded enough to indulge you. Something tells you that he’s secretly eager about the whole thing.

When he taps the door, you’re scrambling to let him inside, the panel sliding open with a soft hiss.

You’re on him instantaneously.

He’s grabbing your hips with an ironclad hold, hoisting you up until your legs are tangled around his waist. John grunts in surprise, hauling you forward until you’re on your mattress.

Mouths connect with a gnawing hunger, a knot of teeth and tongue, lips clamoring as if it’s the last thing you’ll ever do. He groans when you bite his bottom lip, teasing him.

“Jesus, what possessed you?” He remarks, feeling you plant a string of hot, needy kisses over his jaw, hands flat over the nape of his neck. A soft exhale left him, one of satisfaction.

“I can stop,” The playful jab of your retort causes him to shake his head, a groan catching in his throat when you kiss his neck. “You’re so handsome.”

Preening beneath your sweetly-spoken compliment, his features turn scarlet, brows pinched together. One hand moves to squeeze your thigh, rough fingertips trailing upward, closer to your hip.

“That’s my shirt,” John huffs against your mouth, tone tinged with mild surprise. It looks good on you — better than it ever did him. “Looks better on you.” He murmurs, pinching at the hem.

“Yeah?” With a bright smile, you welcome his presence between your legs, nails lightly tracing over the back of his neck.

A low grunt tears through his throat, lips hotly sealing themselves to your neck, sucking a bruising hickey into the sensitive flesh. It earns him a pretty moan from your mouth.

“I’ll let you do it,” John mumbles into your skin, beard scraping against you, blue eyes glittering with something indiscernible. “But nobody on the team can know about it.”

A tingle of glee shoots down your spine, lips parting as you make sure he means it. “Are you sure? If you aren’t comfortable, I don’t want you to do it.” You press, tongue raking over your teeth.

“I trust you,” It means something coming from him, something resolute. His mouth twitches into the ghost of a smile. “I can break out of them if I hate it.” John shrugs, which you know is true.

There’s a gap of quiet before you answer him, head gesturing toward the rest of your empty mattress. “Take your shirt off and lay down, Mr. Walker.” You know that nickname drives him up the walls.

John’s jaw unclenches, a fire burning within his eyes as he complies with you, for now. He huffed a laugh, as if this is mildly ridiculous, but the ache in his cock says otherwise.

He’s blushing, feeling stupid like this, vulnerable, but he can only stomach it when it’s with you. Standing upright, calloused hands snag the hem of his shirt as he tugs it off in one fluid motion.

Mesmerized, you shamelessly ogle his body, sinewy and taut, thick muscle packed beneath sun-kissed skin. You follow the light dusting of blonde hair as it slips beneath his waistline, and drool pools in your mouth.

“Are you gonna keep staring, or are you gonna handcuff me?” John questions, pulling you from your momentary daze.

“You sound excited.” You counter, and that shuts him up, pride gone with it. He playfully grumbles something before laying down on the bed, watching as you retrieve the handcuffs.

They’re nondescript, a dark, metallic silver fringed with cushioned leather on the inside. John’s breath hitches subtly when you climb on top of him, straddling his ribs as you lean over.

“Last chance to back out.” Your offer is soft-spoken and free of judgment, but he doesn’t protest, doesn’t say anything to counteract you.

“I’m not backing out.” He huffs; it’s a pride thing, now. It’s just a pair of handcuffs, John thinks, but the real tragedy will be not being able to touch you at all.

You look devastatingly pretty like this — his shirt, no bra underneath, clad in risqué panties that make his cock twitch, thighs squeezing at his sides. He marvels at you while you’re handcuffing him to the headboard.

Biceps bulge and flex as he adjusts himself, hands comfortably restrained over his head, blue eyes looking wantonly. He’s already trying not to fall apart beneath you.

Wordlessly, you bend at the hips, mouth pressing against his, kissing him softly, at first — your lips part, as if to coax something out of him.

He grunts, reciprocating with an edge of desperation, feeling your hands perch atop his chest. A low groan shakes his chest, fluttering into joined mouths.

He hates this, he hates not being able to touch you; it’s akin to torture. He’s left raw and wanting when you pull away, kissing a trail toward his neck, lower still, lips peppering across his collarbone.

“You’re so handsome,” You croon, and he lets out a guttural groan at the praise you lavish on him. His cock twitches again, straining against the front of his sweatpants, brushing over your core. “Already?”

“Shut up,” John hisses, feeling you smile into his flesh, kissing at his chest as you continue your sluggish descent. You don’t leave any part of him untouched, worshiping his body. “Jesus, you — Shit, keep goin’.”

It’s easy to get him riled up, larger body burly and yours, hands clenched into fists when you feather needy kisses over his abs. Every scar is graced with a kiss, every yellowing bruise falls to your mouth.

Soft fingertips caress circles into his muscle, like kisses of silk, leaving him aching for more. The trail of kisses continues, dangerously lower, and he knows exactly where you’re going.

One hand slithers to tug at his waistband, slipping underneath to palm at his growing bulge. The silence is deafening, marked by labored sighs and excitable exhales.

Gently, you begin to peel his sweatpants aside, gazing at him through half-lidded lashes, incendiary enough to make him squirm.

A dark, thick patch has already formed over the front of his boxers, slathered with damp precum as you wrestle those off, too. He doesn’t go anywhere, just watches like a man starved.

“F—Fu …”

John trails off when your fist finally closes around his cock, beginning to stroke along his length, thick and hot within your palm.

Arousal seeps between your thighs, warm and wanton as you let him writhe against the sheets. His hips jolt into your touch, wanting, and he’s painfully hard in your grasp, oozing heat.

“You’re gonna kill me,” He rasps, a groan tearing through him when your mouth graces the underside of his cock. The headboard groans in protest, buckling beneath his strength. “Fuck — Hey, stop teasing.”

All of that peacocking and bravado is stripped away to reveal the man underneath, and you love it — you love him. He’s so desperate, wound up into a hundred tight knots.

Mouthing at his cock, your tongue traces over the reddened tip, slow and methodical, the rest attended-to by your hand.

A shimmering glob of saliva pools over his cock when you let it trickle from your mouth, slicking over his shaft. He shivers at the sensation, the sight of it obscene when you keep stroking him off.

Your spit made everything easier, coupled by the sheen of precum coating his length. He’s squirming, muscled thighs taut, and he freezes when your nails prick over the skin there.

He wants to combust, wants to explode — John is absolutely desperate for a release.

All of that tension, all of that frustration he carries; it’s unburdening from him when you drag him toward a swift precipice. He jolts into your embrace, jaw slack, brows pinched.

As you begin to fully fist at his cock, your mouth follows, lips pursing around the flushed head before you move downward. The warmth of your lips nearly unravels him then and there, sheer ecstasy.

Blood rushed behind your ears, tendrils of heat curling over your bones, slithering between your thighs. The handcuffs rattle as he strains against them, helpless.

John is noisy, and you know his tells; sharp, guttural grunts and low-pitched groans, the clenching of his jaw. He sucks in a sigh when you begin to develop a softer rhythm.

“Shit, honey — Please don’t stop.” He feels somewhat pathetic, begging you like this, but he can’t help himself. His hips happen to buck up, cock filling your mouth as you sputter.

It nearly touches the back of your throat as you take him fully, momentarily gagging. The sensation of lewd, feeling his cock pulse within your mouth, but you’re eager to continue.

Murmuring a string of apologies, you compose yourself and continue, tongue flicking along the underside of his cock, over the tip.

Ripples of pleasure go coursing through his length, abdomen coiled into knots of bliss, thighs spasming as you pleasure him. Your mouth comes up, a string of saliva pooling from your lips.

“Being so good for me, John,” You croon, caressing along the thick muscle of his thigh. He shivers, daring to look down at the sinful sight between his legs, and the headboard strains again. “So handsome.”

He buckles beneath the praise, lips parted, visage tinged with scarlet — he’s barely hanging on, chest burning with labored pants. The sheen of spit hanging from your chin makes his head spin.

Again, you treat him to another barrage of your tongue until he’s writhing, wanting to break free and ruin you. Part of him doesn’t want to — he wants to stay underneath you.

“Christ,” His hips jerk again, feeling your delicate fingers stroke him off like you own him, and you do — you absolutely do. “Let me — Shit, let me fuck you.” John gruffs.

The husky cadence of his tone is alluring even when he’s begging, and you click your tongue. “Yeah? Are you gonna be good?” It flows so easily off of your tongue.

John shudders, chest constricting with a groan as he nods, blonde tresses disheveled, pupils wide and black with desire. “Yes,” He grits. “Just — C’mon, need you to sit down.” A grunt escapes him afterwards.

Letting your hands gather at the hem of your shirt, you remove it, and he’s razed.

The sight of your breasts bouncing softly, flesh velvety as it catches through the dim light, digits hooking into your panties — he wants to touch you, needs to touch you.

Wiping the tendril of drool from your mouth, you move to straddle his hips, letting his hard cock rest near his stomach. John strains, shifting against the handcuffs with a sliver of self-control.

“Can’t keep this up,” John confesses, looking thoroughly wrecked, red-faced and heated, jaw clenched tight. “Gotta touch you.” He breathes, and you consider letting him go.

You don’t say anything, adjusting your position in order to slide your panties off, and he spots the sheen of arousal on your inner thighs. It’s a small victory for him — you’re getting off on this, too.

Instead, you bend to kiss him, and he’s put into some frenzied state when he kisses the spit from your lips. John growls, a feral noise that sends shockwaves through your belly.

His cock is flush against your navel, painfully hard and aching to be inside of you. The sensation of it prodding into your stomach makes him grunt, mouths clawing for one another.

Every kiss is dizzying, as if you might collapse, but he’s steady, strong — he kisses you back as if you’re the air he breathes.

The sight of him all tied-up and desperate is an image that won’t leave your mind anytime soon. The illusion of control is there, he lets you have it, surrenders for a time — but he’s notoriously impatient.

In a heated clamor, he jerks his bound wrists forward, shattering the handcuffs with inhuman strength.

The headboard goes with it.

A loud CRACK reverberates through your bedroom as he dismantles the headboard from the wall, destroying some of the paint, but he doesn’t care.

He’s free, and his hands are on you like a vice, gripping you lovingly.

“John,” You gasp, but it catches in your throat as he kisses you hard, sitting up enough to manhandle you where he wants you. His hand is firm on your thigh, the other finding your cunt. “Holy shit!”

“Jesus, I couldn’t — Spread your legs,” John gruffs, digits sliding to the wet heat between your thighs. As soon as he parts your folds, you’re moaning, hands firm on his shoulders. “That’s it.”

The sight of him like this, wanton and desperate, is enough to make your pussy clench around nothing at all. A glassy sheen resides within his blue eyes, two fingers working over your slit repeatedly.

Any scrap of friction you received drove you mad, desperation climbing to new heights as your hips rocked forward into his hand.

“That’s all for me?” He presses, savoring the sensation of your wet pussy, slicking his fingers with your arousal. It’s obscene, it’s lewd, but he’s never wanted anything more.

“Yeah,” With a strained sigh, you let your body roll naturally into his palm, letting him finger-fuck you, first. “It’s yours, I’m yours.” Those words flip some trigger inside of him, something possessive.

Planting a kiss to your jaw, he continues, hand fervently working to pleasure you. His fingers tease your aching cunt for a little while longer, thumb drawing circles around your clit.

“J—John, please,” You moan into his ear, feeling tendrils of precum slather over your belly, cock rutting into you. “Just fuck me.” It’s filthy, it’s wanton, but you don’t care.

He doesn’t need to be told twice, obedient as he adjusts you enough to lift your hips, cock aligning with your soaked core. The flushed tip slides a time or two, but you’re eager.

The scratch of his beard is everywhere — over your lips, your jaw, your throat. He nips into the sensitive flesh there, biting back a guttural grunt when you sink onto his length.

Your cunt clenched around him even when he’s only an inch or two deep, causing the both of you to shiver together. His hand molds into your hip, the other still toying with your clit.

John’s teeth suddenly puncture the juncture between your neck and shoulder, harshly grazing over your soft skin.

Another pleading moan erupts from your throat, finding pleasure in the sting of his rough bite. It’s a brand, his mark, and you’re content if he does it a hundred times over.

“Fuck, you’re tight,” John exhales, voice deliciously low and husky, strung-out with lust. It’s all heat — bodies flush, sticky, messy. “That’s my girl.” He groans, letting you ride his cock.

The both of you are thoroughly debauched; needy, worked-up, and desperate for one another.

Your position forces you to feel every inch of him, and he’s infuriatingly well-endowed. His cock kisses your walls, cunt clenching pathetically around him the further he goes, bodies now entangled.

Static buzzes through your body, mind blank as he guides your movements, relieving some of the ache in your thighs. You bounce in a rhythm — back and forth, up and down.

John’s head rolls back, jaw slack, eyes half-lidded, loosing a primal groan that makes your cunt clench around him.

Each slap of his cock lewdly urges against your slick cunt, arousal thick and honeyed around him, making everything easier.

“F—Fuck, John,” Delirious, you’re drunk on your own desire, brain fuzzy with white-hot bliss, mouth slack to make room for throaty moans. “God, you feel so good, please!”

With each deliberate bounce of your body, his length sheathed itself within you, the warm familiarity of it enough to make your body tremble in ecstasy.

Without warning, his hips buck into you, cock lewdly clashing into your cunt, the force of it enough to make your head spin. A soft sigh plumes through your lips, nails digging crescents into his skin.

The remnants of the headboard make things somewhat awkward, but the both of you are too lost within the ecstasy to care.

The silver glint of one handcuff is still around his left wrist, the hand that’s holding steadfastly to your hip. His thumb traces circles over the silky flesh there, the other still playing with your clit.

“Fuck, I’m close,” John groans, low and heady into the sweetness of your mouth, feeling one of your hands fist at his blonde tresses. “S’perfect, you’re perfect.” A half-growl snares within his throat.

Each downward thrust is deliberate, his cock kissing your walls, nearly bottoming out inside of you. It’s blissful, one of the best sensations you’ve felt, noises becoming increasingly crass.

As his thumb continues to grind into your clit, your breath hitches, and your orgasm is suddenly ripping through your body like fireworks.

It was hot, unexpected — your peak is white-hot as a thrumming buzz snares through your bones, accompanied by a rush of blood to the head. John feels your pussy ripple around him, and he’s nearly gone, too.

His name echoes from your mouth when you find your release, hands digging into the nape of his neck, one fisting at his hair. Your breasts press into his chest, bodies craving one another.

His hand slithers from between your thighs as he cups your chin, thumb dragging over your bottom lip, the same one that had touched you seconds ago.

“You feel so good, so — Mm,” You moan, hot breath pluming over his face, foreheads pressed against one another. You ride him still, taking his cock in full, downward motions. “So perfect, John.”

That praise and validation is delicious — he eats it up gleefully, mouth parted, blue eyes glazed-over with a thick sheen of ecstasy.

“S’good,” He sighs with you, cupping your chin to coax you in for a hot, messy kiss. Your mouth is sweet, tongues briefly brushing together, his hand still kneading at your thigh. “Just like that.”

The words stick low in his throat, emerging as a husky lull that travels over your spine in pleasant waves. Even after you cum, his cock is still hammering away at your pussy.

“Christ, fuck — Gonna …” John’s all bark, voice tapering off in senseless half-sentences when he fucks you deep. The pressure mounts, and when it collides, he’s done for.

Melting beneath you, John lets out another feral growl when he cums, his orgasm a rush of sticky heat, painting your cunt white.

Ropes of his spend come pooling forth, cock throbbing incessantly as he stays rooted inside of you, no sign of going anywhere. You kiss the pad of his thumb, hips beginning to slow to a crawl.

He looks whipped, muscles stinging with exertion, remnants of handcuffs and headboard still scattered around the both of you.

Blonde tresses stick to his temples, body glittering with a thin layer of perspiration. He begins to relax when your hands smooth over his chest, across the coarse hair there, over firm muscle.

Ripples of bliss shoot through your veins even still, seeing stars through closed eyes, thighs quivering like leaves.

John’s chest breaths ragged with each sigh, as if he’s exhaling fire, brows still furrowed together. His cum paints your pussy, leaking out of you still, a crass amalgamation of your arousal and his.

It takes awhile for the both of you to come down from the high, labored breaths tangling with one another.

“Are you okay?” You ask him first, noticing the ruinous mess of rubble that’s collected around the both of you. There’s dust from the wall on your pillows, debris from his accident.

He laughs, a real, genuine chuckle. It floods your insides with butterflies, and he almost looks a little embarrassed.

“Yeah,” He clicks his tongue. “Sorry for ruining your bed.” John muses, giving your thigh a gentle pat before gesturing elsewhere

“No, it’s fine,” You interject, pressing several kisses over the scruff of his jaw, over the crooked bridge of his nose. He’s smiling, savoring your affection. “It was ridiculously hot, if I’m being honest.”

John snorts, mouth lopsided as he pinches his brows together. “You think so?” He gruffs, and the cadence of his voice nearly makes you melt.

“Mm-hm,” Smitten, you decide to get off of him, met with a rush of sticky warmth that oozes lewdly between your legs. You’re rattled as you head to the bathroom to clean up. “How are you going to explain that to Val?”

Biting back a smirk, John grabs what blankets he can, the ones that he hasn’t ruined, and relocates to your floor. The tile is cool, icy — he makes a poor, makeshift bed on top.

“Haven’t figured that part out yet,” He muses, sheets loosely collecting over his hips, one arm arched behind his head. When you come back, you join him on the floor. “Not so bad down here.”

You laugh, curling up against his chest with a wrinkled nose. “Guess I’ll have to handcuff you more often.” He can taste the delight in your tone, and he doesn’t protest.

“Hm,” John grunts, snaking an arm around you, hand drifting over the small of your back. “Think it should be your turn next time.” He suggests, and he can tell that got you flustered.

“I think you’ve got yourself a deal, Walker.”

[norcigs]

ADDICTING (CAM BUNNY .ᐟ ᢉ𐭩 pt 2)

previous part series masterlist

synop: lando’s cam girl crush grows quickly

warnings: smut with plot, m and f masterbating, use of slut, doll, and bunny, sub(ish) reader, use of vibrator, slowww burn

🎰: 2.8K words

the next few days really dragged on for lando. workouts seemed to last an hour too long, sim races felt like a full blown grand prix. every now and then, a flashback of you would flicker behind his eyelids, and send a jolt through him. your hips, or waist, or the way your thighs would squeeze your pillow when you were close.

initially he had tried to ignore the lingering thoughts you left like love letters in his head. but it became increasingly more obvious to him that wasn't going to be possible. not when he thinks about you any time his dick starts to harden up. not when the frustrations of his job were made easier knowing he might get to see you sunday. not when his mind drifted to you when he laid awake too late at night.

admittedly, he had found his way back to that website, refreshing your page like you might suddenly appear in front of him. your collar bones shown in your profile picture being enough to have lando huffy– almost, missing you. he swallowed whatever hesitation remained in the back of his throat and made his account.

name? that was easy. four. no more no less. completely him, yet entirely too vague to be distinguishable. profile picture? that was harder… surely, he cant show any part of himself, or anything brand associated. but he needed something to make you interested, or at least not scare you away. but what did you like? he scrolled his camera roll, flying past anything that didn't seem cool enough for you. pictures he took of flowers seemed too feminine, but pictures of old cars seemed stupid. he scrolled past one picture that did give him pause. a mirror selfie, fresh out of the shower, the mirror was very fogged. lando was shirtless, you could see that, but any detail that could pin the photo back to him was blurred away in the warm condensation.

would you think it was dumb? or not even ever look at it? he didn't know, but he liked the idea of you being able to see some part of him, while still anonymous, like you. as he selected the photo, a warm sensation swirled around his gut. this was a photo of him. someone could know, or somehow guess, someone might see it and start asking questions. it made him excited nervous. but he knew he was only coming back on this site for you, and for whatever reason, he trusted you.

on sunday morning, lando woke up early, the sun seeming warmer and sky bluer. he tried his best to ignore the twitch he felt in his dick every time he thought about seeing you tonight. he started wondering what ‘night’ meant for you, as it was the only hint he had as to when you would go live. What if your timezones were different or a million other things that could lead to him not seeing you.

the idea of your legs spreading, waiting for someone to maybe watch, for him to watch. or maybe you never really wanted anyone to find you on there, so you would never stream again. he tried to relax, really he did. in cuddly clothes with a movie and snacks, but every now and then his hips would rutt up against nothing, craving that release. the one only you could give him.

as the glow of the monaco sun started to set, he was eager with excitement, each minute it became more ‘night’. it was still about 3 hours until the time you were live on wednesday, but he started his preparations anyway. he showered, scrubbing himself with different soaps and body wash in case somehow, you could smell him. obviously, that was impossible, but the idea of getting himself ready for you made his breath catch in a way he kept chasing. the clothes he picked out were comfortable but intentional. a shirt that hugged his arms well, and red plaid pj pants to match that little skirt you wore for him last time.

not that you would ever know or see any of it, but that didnt matter as much to lando anymore. something about you, despite knowing nothing, spoke to his core so deeply. deeper than the warmth you sent to is cock, no this was somewhere closer to his heart.

he sat his laptop down on his lap as he sank himself into the couch. the embarrassment of the screen already being on your page was quickly fading as he saw LIVE below your username. he clicked in faster than he could think, finger jumping with reaction time his coach would dream of. when your cam came up fullscreen, he clicked off as fast as he could while his thoughts caught back up to him.

maybe you had just went live, maybe it would be weird if he was already joining. maybe him being there early would get boring and you wouldnt be as excited by the thought of being watched. questions and doubts bounced around his head, while he watched you through the thumbnail of your live. it was blurry and the framerate was bad, but you looked divine. the camera was closer to you now, mainly just showing the bed now, and all of you. you sat with your back against the pillows lining your head board. knees still shut together tight like you were shy. he could see more of your hair that fell down your shoulders into frame. still, your face was comfortably out of the shot, which he didnt seem to mind.

that was about all he could take before he was clicking back in to watch you full screen. your bed spread was pink with white polka dots, made up with decorative pillows. had you made it for the stream, or was it just a habit of yours to make it each morning, he wondered. you wore a flowy red lingerie top that laid gently against you, the only non-sheer part being the bralette that covered your breasts. your shins blocked whatever hid near the sweet spot he wanted to see so badly. knees pulled to your chest, not letting him see you yet.

his eyes glanced down to your title, only after willing them off your body.

I MISSED YOU

it read. his stomach churned and cheeks flushed. it wasnt possible it was in reference to him, he knew that, right? he figured it was just in reference to the streaming yourself in general, smiling lightly at you enjoying this exposure so much. he knew you hadn’t thought about that one viewer and that one chat message since wednesday, unless of course, you had. lando decided it wasnt bad to let his imagination toy with the idea.

your soft hand raised subtly again, slow and barely there– like last time. a wave. light and missable, but never for him. his heart raced in his chest as he felt the heavy beating in his crotch as well. he opened your chat box, doubt washing off his back the longer he looked at you, his girl. he wanted you to think about him as much as he has been thinking about you. dick starting to strain against the waistband of his pajamas, he typed

STILL ME, BUNNY

this time he had a name, and a picture. no longer just a string of letters and numbers hiding him completely. you had your phone sat on the bed to the left of you, reaching for it you started typing something. pink text popped up in the chat box that said

MISSED ME ALREADY? <3

and there it was, you speaking directly to him, only him. you two experiencing whatever this was, together. this was the first form of conversation he had with you besides your sweet waves when greeting him.

YOU HAVE NO IDEA BEAUTIFUL

your thighs clenched around nothing again when his message came through. you stretched your legs out finally and he could see you were still wearing panties. pink ones this time, however the writing was now in a thick black font, bunny spelled out and hard to miss. you pulled your knees to your chest, legs spread as wide as you could hold them. panties hardly covering your cunt, lando’s hand slipped into his pants and head dropped back to just soak you all in.

you reached over to your night stand, before he saw the light pink vibrator coming back into the picture. you turned it on, the lowest setting, and rested it on your clit. that’s when he heard it. a soft sigh, like pure honey. eyes moving back up to your figure where now he saw the little clip-on mic attached to the strap of your lingerie. if he hadn't been so in awe, he might have cum right then, to the sound of your sweet little voice. his mind was going a little blank but he felt some level of pride swelling up in his chest. thats my girl, he said, outloud. he realized since the praise seemed to go right to your hips last time, he should say things in a way you could ‘hear’ them.

you picked up your phone again to see his message

THAT'S IT, BABY

it was simple, and pointed. your hips shifted, pushing you further into your viberator. a real moan passed your lips. still desperate and quiet but definitely not one you had any control over. lando then realized how easily he was jacking himself off. his tip leaking enough pre-cum to act as a lubricant. the wet sounds coming from his own fist, and watching you stay in that position like he was the one fucking you, nearly had him finishing before you.

you were moaning more consistently now, lando’s jaw slack as he barely traced his dick print to not let himself cum. everytime you hit that sweet spot, angling your clit just right against the vibrator, you would pull it away, whining. his sweet girl. talking to you in his head like you could hear every word. i know baby, i know its just too much for your sensitive pussy isnt it, he thought. unable to keep his hands out of his pants he wondered about pushing his luck. he knew better than anyone, the only way to win, is by knowing where the limit is, and still choosing to brush against it.

typing with one hand, and still pumping his cock with the other, he hit the enter key as butterflies hit his chest before you saw the message.

KEEP IT RIGHT ON THAT SPOT DOLL, CAN YOU DO THAT FOR ME, PRETTY GIRL?

he watched your hand linger near your phone. then he saw, by the way your hair bounced, how enthusiastically you were nodding yes. your grip tightened around the wand as you held it firm against yourself, only letting up by rolling your hips, moving your panty covered clit against it. the limit had moved, he hadnt expected you to listen so well. his dick pulsed in his hand as the string of moans ripped through you. they werent soft or gentle anymore, no now they high pitched and greedy. your cunt controlling you more than your brain now, you lifted one of your bent legs up holding it even more wide open. he didnt know if it was for you to get more friction, or if you wanted him to really picture himself between your legs using your pussy how he pleased.

you stayed like that for him, like somehow, you knew he was close. fisting himself, he was too hot, too wet, too tense, everything was building up too quickly. you were mewing and moaning like a slut and it was for him. his head dropped back, eyes still desperately trying to stay open to watch you as his coil snapped and he soaked himself again. thinking about you beneath him, fucking wrecked before he is even all the way in. your moans leaking through his computer speaker like a prayer as stars flooded his vision. pleasure flowed over him as he thought about how desperately you might beg him to cum inside you.

coming back down to reality, his eyes were back on you. computer brought closer to his chest to watch you intently. no longer distracted by any selfish pleasure or desire, but just watching you make yourself feel good. watching you show yourself to him. you looked back over to your phone, a huff escaping through the flood of moans. no message from him? is that what upset you?

YOU WANNA COME FOR ME, BUNNY?

looking back over to see that had your other leg stretching out toes curling, body clenching, completely desperate. you nodded your head, whole body bobbing, as a moan– sob– left you.

USE YOUR BIG GIRL WORDS. he typed. a different kind of warmth in his belly than usual as he brushed the edge of the limit once again.

“yes sir, please, wan’ come for you” you spoke in a hush that was laced with both heaven and hell. lando’s ears burned hot. there it was. his girl. your body started to clench in all the right spots as you stared at your phone needing him more than ever.

MAKE ME PROUD THEN

was the message that came through before your vision went white and moans left you loud enough lando thought his neighbor might hear. you were shaking, body relaxing completely before tensing and giving you another rush of pleasure. knuckles white, clenching the wand of your vibrator, never once moving it after he told you. a good listener too, weren't you. the strangled noises were the first things that came back to you. ‘hnng’ and ‘mmph’ sounds that meant nothing and actually shot more to lando’s heart than his dick.

you clicked off your vibrator as your legs collapsed back down to your bed. looking as exhausted as last time– body tired and heavy in a way that made lan want to soothe you. made him wish you had fallen apart right here, in his arms, in his house, so he would be here to put you back together.

DID SO WELL FOR ME DOLL

he heard a giggle pick up from your mic between your deep breaths. a pulse to his heart he ignored. or tried to.

“was it good for you too?” you whispered into the mic your knees curling back to your chest, nervous again. he thought you were too good to be true. how you were so delicate and yet so quick to bend your legs like his own personal pornstar. still taking care to keep your face out of frame, you adjusted to reach for something off the floor. pulling an orange hoodie over your head sent his head back into a tizzy. spinning, and fucking whipped at the sight of you, his girl in his color.

BETTER THAN GOOD. ADDICTING. SAME TIME WEDNESDAY?

came through your screen and you hummed softly. a promise of more, a third encounter.

“yes, same time sunday, four” your voice said his number better than he had ever heard it in his life. it sounded better coming out of your mouth than any broadcaster announcing him a grand prix winner. “and maybe ill have a little surprise for you” you finished, leaving his skin buzzing, chest thumping with anticipation despite it being days away.

standing up off your bed, you moved towards whatever device was hosting your stream. same way you ended it last time.

ONE LAST THING BUNNY.

you saw as you moved closer, breasts in your pretty lingerie taking up the whole frame. he was able to see details of your skin that he knew would keep him up much later than it should.

“yes sir?” you asked with an innocence in your voice that didnt match his view of you just minuets ago.

MAYBE TURN ON YOUR TIPS NEXT TIME?

you scoffed back to the screen, skin turning a light shade of pink near your collar bones, flushed. “hmm maybe, just for you bub” your voice held the remnant of a smirk he could only dream of. then his screen flashed white and he was met with

CAMBUNNY HAS ENDED HER LIVE!

back in his bathroom, cleaning himself up, his head raced thinking about you. about everything that happened. about your voice. he was sure that was going to keep him up the latest. really it was the smaller things, like how your giggle made him flush, or the freckles along your collar bones, or how you listened to him, that worried him most. the joy that fluttered deep in his chest at the memory of you in his color saying his number, was probably a sign he was in this deeper than he should be. but with you, he just didnt care.

[cloudtransprncy]

Clothes Off

KOF Belle X Male Reader | 7k words

"Keep me wet, mark my checklist…" Some lyrics aren't just words on a page

The clock on your laptop read 1:17 AM. Seoul's skyline glittered beyond your floor-to-ceiling windows, a constellation of city lights against the night.

Your penthouse had morphed into a songwriter's dream den—cushions and blankets scattered across the floor, empty Sprite cans and convenience store wrappers evidence of the hours spent creating.

The oversized sectional had been pushed back, ambient lighting casting everything in that perfect 1 AM glow. The kind that makes bad ideas seem brilliant and good ideas seem inevitable.

Belle sat cross-legged on a cushion beside you, notebook balanced on one knee. Her blonde hair fell in waves past her shoulders, catching the light in a way that looked accidental but probably wasn't. Nothing about Belle was ever truly accidental.

"I still think the bridge needs work," she said, tapping her pen against the page. "But we can fix it tomorrow."

Three years of writing together had created a rhythm between you—a creative shorthand that had produced hits for LESSERAFIM, Chungha, and now, hopefully, KISS OF LIFE. Though industry insiders whispered about the anonymous genius behind their favorite lyrics, you preferred staying in the shadows, letting the artists shine while you collected quiet accolades and royalty checks.

Belle was different. She'd sought you out after hearing about your work, determined to write with you. That first session had ended with her hand lingering on yours after a celebratory toast, a moment stretched thin until her manager called.

Then came the marathon session for Chungha's EP—falling asleep on the studio couch and waking up with Belle curled against you, both pretending nothing happened by morning. Her late-night voice notes from European tour stops, voice dropping to that whisper that lived rent-free in your head for weeks after.

Three years of almosts. Three years of moments dripping with possibility, interrupted or carefully sidestepped when reality intruded.

"I think we're done for tonight," you said, saving the file. "Twenty-five demos is enough, even for us."

"Twenty-six if you count that rap throwaway," Belle corrected, stretching her arms overhead. Her white tank rode up, revealing a sliver of skin that pulled your focus like a magnet. "Though we both know only three or four will make the final cut. The way these company execs gatekeep tracks is toxic, but whatever."

She reached for her water bottle, the movement practiced and graceful. The makeup she'd worn to her earlier schedule remained perfect—winged liner accentuating her dark eyes, lips tinted pink that matched the slight flush creeping up her neck.

You turned back to your laptop, ready to shut down when Belle shifted closer, her shoulder pressing against yours. The scent of her perfume—something expensive and subtle that you'd caught yourself looking for in crowds—filled your senses as she pointed to a filename.

"What's this one?" she asked, voice close to your ear. "clothes_off_030125?"

Her proximity sent that familiar jolt through you—the same electricity that had been building since that night six months ago when she'd called you after her company dinner, voice wine-soft, confessing she'd turned down a setup because "there was someone else" before hanging up abruptly.

"Oh, that's..." you hesitated, mouse hovering. "It's for Kehlani."

Belle's eyes widened. "Kehlani? As in THE Kehlani?"

You nodded, unable to hold back a smile at her reaction. "Yeah, she's doing a collab with kwn—that upcoming R&B artist from Oakland. Sent me the beat last week."

"Holy shit." Belle straightened up, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. "Play it. Right now."

"It's not finished—"

"I don't care. Play. It."

You clicked open the file. The beat filled the room—a deep bass line that seemed to sink into your bones, followed by subtle percussion that built with deliberate patience. The kind of track that didn't just ask for attention; it demanded it.

Belle closed her eyes, body swaying slightly. You watched her reaction, the way her lips parted, how her fingers drummed against her thigh in perfect time. You'd seen this look before—when you'd played her the instrumental for MIYEON's track, the one that earned her that songwriting credit she'd been chasing.

"Fuck, that's good," she whispered, eyes still closed.

"Yeah, Kehlani wants something raw. Authentic." You ran a hand through your hair. "Lyrics that feel real."

Belle opened her eyes, meeting yours. "Well? What do you have so far?"

You pulled up the lyric document, cleared your throat. "Girl, the way you're pushin' up on my body..."

"That's it?" One perfect eyebrow arched, the judgment softened by the playful curve of her mouth.

"I told you it wasn't finished."

She moved closer, eyes scanning the screen. "It's good. But something's missing." Without asking permission, she pulled your laptop toward her and began typing.

You leaned back, watching her work. Belle wasn't just an idol; she was a genuine songwriter. One of the few who could translate feeling into syllables that stuck in your head for days.

"Don't be scared, I ain't scared, no..." she murmured as she typed, her voice dropping to a register you'd only heard once before—in that hotel room in Japan when she'd thought you were asleep and was singing quietly to herself in the shower. You'd lain awake afterward, staring at the ceiling, trying to erase the sound from your memory and failing spectacularly.

Her fingers paused over the keyboard. "Can I dare to leave your bed a mess and wet?" she read, letting the words hang in the air between you.

Holy shit. The room suddenly felt ten degrees warmer. You swallowed hard, memories flooding back of the night you'd had too much soju after finishing the Chungha project—how Belle had leaned in, lips parted, before her phone rang with a call from her manager. The frustration in her eyes as she'd answered it, the moment slipping away.

Belle shifted her position, moving from cross-legged to kneeling beside you, the blankets bunching beneath her knees. The movement was fluid, catlike. She leaned forward to look at the screen, her body angled toward yours, the loose neckline of her tank dipping slightly.

Is she doing this on purpose? Your brain was fighting a losing battle against your body's immediate response. We've been dancing around this for too long. Maybe it was the late hour, maybe it was the lyrics, or maybe three years of tension had finally reached its breaking point.

She looked up through her lashes, pupils dilated in the dim light. "Oh, you better take my clothes off..."

This isn't about the lyrics anymore. The realization hit you with absolute certainty. After three years of missed chances and interrupted moments, this felt deliberate—Belle was done waiting.

Her lips parted slightly, the tip of her tongue wetting her bottom lip—the same gesture you'd caught yourself staring at during late-night takeout and early morning coffee runs.

Fuck, she's unreal right now. You'd always known Belle was stunning—that was just objective reality—but in this moment, with her blonde hair falling around her face and that look in her eyes, she was devastating. And for once, there were no managers calling, no schedules to rush to, no interruptions looming.

Her fingers trailed along her collarbone as she waited for your reaction, her head tilted just enough to expose the curve where her neck met her shoulder—the same spot you'd found yourself staring at during that summer session when the air conditioning broke and she'd pinned her hair up, fanning herself with sheet music.

"Focus, oppa." Her tone was pure temptation, the honorific carrying a weight it never had before.

She's been thinking about this too. Every lingering touch, every late-night call, every inside joke that brought her just a little too close—they hadn't been coincidences.

"I am," you lied, voice rough even to your own ears.

No the fuck you are not, your brain helpfully supplied. You haven't been focused since the first day you met her.

The beat continued to loop, becoming hypnotic in its repetition—bass, snare, hi-hat, silence, repeat . Three years of professional boundaries, carefully maintained through interruptions and bad timing, were finally crumbling.

The music surrounded you, but all you could hear was the thundering of your own heart and the magnetic pull between you.

You'd set your phone on the cushion between you, voice memo recording to capture any sudden inspiration. Standard procedure for your sessions, though tonight it felt like documenting evidence of something dangerous.

Seconds stretched into minutes. Neither of you moved. The line between writing lyrics and something else had blurred beyond recognition, leaving you in this strange limbo where every word felt like both work and confession.

You broke first, clearing your throat and turning back to the laptop. Work. Focus on the work.

"Maybe something like..." Your fingers moved across the keyboard, typing before you could second-guess yourself: "Girl, the way you sex me..."

Belle's breath caught audibly. Her eyes flickered from the screen to your face, pupils dilated against dark irises. She bit her lower lip, leaving a small indentation that your eyes couldn't help but track.

"That's good," she said, voice dropping lower. She shifted, her knee now pressing against your thigh, the warmth of her skin seeping through both layers of fabric. "But it needs..."

She leaned forward, reaching across you to type, her chest brushing against your arm as she added: "I don't share, I ain't sharin'..." The scent of her perfume intensified with her movement, mixed with something more primal—the subtle heat radiating from her skin.

Her hair fell forward, a strand brushing against your cheek like a whisper. She didn't apologize, didn't pull back. Instead, she stayed there, half-draped across you, her face inches from yours as she studied the screen.

"That flows better," she murmured, turning her head slightly. Her lips were close enough that you could feel her breath ghosting across your jaw. The voice memo caught the subtle hitch in your breathing, preserving evidence of your unraveling composure.

You opened your mouth to suggest another line, but your mind had emptied of everything except awareness of her proximity. Belle had already shifted closer, one hand coming to rest on your shoulder for "balance." Her fingertips pressed lightly against the nape of your neck, nails grazing the sensitive skin there in a way that couldn't possibly be accidental.

The notebook had fallen from her lap, forgotten among the blankets. The voice memo caught the rustle of fabric, the subtle shift in breathing patterns, the almost inaudible sound of her tongue wetting her lips.

"You always say I have to feel the song to write it properly," she said, her voice barely above a whisper. Her fingers traced idle patterns against your skin, each touch sending electricity down your spine. She looked up through her lashes, the same expression she'd given a thousand times before on stage, in music videos, during photoshoots—but never like this, never this close, never with this tremor in her voice.

"Then make me feel it."

Your phone captured the sharp intake of breath—yours or hers, impossible to tell. The beat continued its relentless loop, providing structure to a moment rapidly spinning out of control.

She turned back to the laptop, fingers moving across the keys with purpose: "Keep me wet, mark my checklist..."

The words appeared on screen, black against white, impossible to misinterpret. Her hand moved to your thigh for balance as she leaned in again, the warmth of her palm burning through the fabric of your sweatpants. Her thumb traced a small circle, each rotation inching slightly higher.

Her free hand tucked her hair behind her ear, deliberately exposing the curve of her neck—the same spot you'd caught yourself staring at countless times. A silent invitation.

"Turn my hands into your necklace..." Her voice was deliberately seductive now, each syllable caressed rather than spoken. She emphasized the word "hands" by sliding her fingers up your arm, leaving goosebumps in their wake. No pretense of professionalism remained—this was Belle, the woman, not Belle the idol or Belle the songwriter. The Belle who'd been carefully kept at arm's length for three years.

Your phone recorded the trembling exhale that escaped you, the slight creak of cushions as weights shifted, the building tension made audible.

She repositioned herself, kneeling between your legs now, her hands braced on either side of your hips. The movement was fluid, purposeful, her body caging yours against the cushions. Each breath brought her chest fractionally closer to yours, the distance between you shrinking with each passing second.

Her eyes never left yours as she whispered the final line: "I'm gonna take your clothes off..."

The space between you vanished—had it ever existed at all? Three years of careful distance collapsed in an instant. Your foreheads nearly touched, sharing the same air, both waiting for the other to make that final move.

The voice memo captured everything: the subtle sounds of fabric shifting as her hand moved to your collarbone, tracing it slowly; the quickening of your breath as her fingertips grazed your pulse point; the almost inaudible whimper that escaped her when your hands finally settled on her waist.

"Belle—" Your voice came out ragged, uncertain.

"I'm tired of pretending," she cut you off, her lips nearly brushing yours as she spoke, the confession captured in perfect digital clarity by the still-recording phone. Her fingers tangled in the hair at the nape of your neck, tugging slightly. "Aren't you?"

The beat looped once more. Bass, snare, hi-hat, silence.

And in that silence, three years of restraint finally shattered.

You were both done pretending.

You kissed her first—a decision three years in the making that happened in less than a heartbeat. Your lips crashed against hers with the force of every suppressed want, every interrupted moment, every almost-but-not-quite from the past three years.

Belle responded with equal hunger, fingers immediately threading through your hair, gripping with bruising intensity. Her mouth opened under yours, tongue sliding against yours with none of the hesitation that had characterized your relationship until now. She tasted like soju and the spicy tteokbokki you'd shared hours ago, with lingering traces of mint gum—but beneath it all was something headier, more intoxicating: pure, unfiltered desire. Three years of restraint dissolved on your tongue, the taste of finally giving in more potent than any alcohol.

"Finally," she gasped against your mouth, nipping at your bottom lip. "Three fucking years I've been waiting for this." She kissed you again, harder, deeper, her body pressing against yours with an urgency that made your head spin. "Just us. No interruptions, please."

Her hands were everywhere—sliding under your shirt, nails dragging down your back, palming your chest. You matched her desperation, hands gripping her waist before sliding up to cup her face, angling her head to deepen the kiss. The beat from your forgotten track looped in the background, the bass vibrating through the floor beneath you.

Belle pushed you back against the cushions, climbing onto your lap with practiced grace, her thighs straddling yours. She ground down against your hardening length, a keening sound escaping her throat. "I've thought about this," she admitted, voice dropping to that register that had haunted your dreams. "Every time you'd bite your lip while you were working. Every goddamn time you'd roll up your sleeves and I could see your forearms. When you'd stretch and your shirt would ride up..." Her hips rolled against yours again, more deliberate this time. "I'd go back to my hotel room and touch myself thinking about you."

The confession sent heat surging through you. Your hands slid under her tank, finding the warm skin beneath. "Show me," you growled, tugging at the fabric. "I want to see you. All of you."

Belle smirked, that same confident smile that had graced magazine covers across Asia, but with something rawer beneath it now. She crossed her arms, grabbing the hem of her tank and pulling it over her head in one fluid motion.

She sat before you in her black lace bra, blonde hair tousled from your hands, chest rising and falling with rapid breaths. The sight punched the air from your lungs. You'd seen her in stage outfits more revealing than this, but this was different—this was Belle, undressing for you, eyes dark with want.

"Your turn," she demanded, tugging at your shirt. You pulled it off, flinging it somewhere behind you.

Her hands were on you immediately, tracing the contours of your chest, nails dragging lightly across your skin. "Fuck, look at you," she breathed, leaning forward to press open-mouthed kisses along your collarbone.

You couldn't wait any longer. Your hands moved to the clasp of her bra, unhooking it with surprising dexterity given how badly your fingers were trembling. The straps slid down her shoulders, and then she was bare before you, perfect breasts with dusky pink nipples already hardened into tight peaks.

"Jesus Christ," you exhaled, hands moving to cup the weight of them. "You're fucking perfect."

Belle arched into your touch, a pleased sound escaping her when your thumbs brushed across her nipples. You leaned forward, taking one nipple into your mouth, tongue circling the sensitive bud before sucking hard enough to make her gasp. The flesh pebbled against your tongue, hardening further as you alternated between gentle suction and the careful scrape of teeth. Her hands tangled in your hair again, nails scraping your scalp as she held you against her chest. You moved to her other breast, leaving the first glistening and reddened from your attention, a perfect contrast against her flawless skin.

"More," she demanded, grinding down against your erection, the friction maddening even through layers of fabric. "I want to feel your mouth everywhere."

You obliged, trailing kisses across her chest, up the column of her throat, sucking at the delicate skin just below her ear. Her pulse jumped beneath your lips as you worked your way down, teeth grazing the sensitive junction where her neck met her shoulder. You sucked harder, intent on leaving a mark, but Belle's hand flew to your hair, tugging you away with a breathless "No marks where they can see."

The idol in her was still conscious of appearances, but before disappointment could register, she guided your mouth to the spot just below her collarbone, hidden by most clothing. "Here," she whispered, pressing your face against her skin. "Mark me here."

You didn't need to be told twice, sucking and biting at the designated spot until a deep purple bruise bloomed against her golden skin. The sight of it satisfied something primal in you—visible evidence that this wasn't just another almost.

Belle's eyes darkened as she watched your admiration of the mark. Without warning, she leaned forward and latched onto the side of your neck, sucking hard enough to make you hiss, her teeth adding just enough pressure to ride the edge between pleasure and pain. She pulled back to admire her handiwork, a satisfied smirk on her lips at the sight of the fresh hickey. Unlike her, you didn't have stylists to please or cameras to face—you could wear her mark proudly.

Belle's nails scraped down your back, leaving trails of fire in their wake. Her teeth found your earlobe, biting just hard enough to make you hiss, then soothing the sting with her tongue. Every touch was hungry, desperate, as if she was trying to make up for three years of restraint in a single night.

You stood suddenly, lifting her with you, her legs wrapping around your waist automatically. Her back hit the wall, a small "oof" escaping her lips before you captured them again in a bruising kiss. Your hands fumbled with the button of her jeans, desperation making you clumsy.

"Just rip them off," she panted against your mouth, the words nearly making you come on the spot.

You set her down, yanking at her jeans with little finesse, dragging them down those impossible legs along with her underwear. And then Belle was naked before you, all golden skin and subtle curves, blonde hair falling past her shoulders in waves that caught the dim studio light.

She was a vision, standing there with none of the shyness you might have expected. This was Belle in her element—confident, aware of her effect on you, reveling in the power of your desire. Her blonde hair framed her face like a halo, the contrast almost laughable given the sinful curve of her smirk.

You took a moment to just look at her—the subtle definition of her abs from countless hours of dance practice, the curve of her hips, the small constellation of beauty marks along her right side that you'd never known existed until now. Her body was a contradiction of soft curves and toned muscle, the body of someone who worked as hard as she played.

Belle didn't give you long to admire her. She stepped forward, hands moving to your sweatpants, shoving them down your legs along with your boxers. Her eyes widened slightly at the sight of you, hard and aching for her. Her hand wrapped around your length, stroking once, twice, pulling a groan from deep in your chest.

"Fuck," she whispered, thumb circling the tip, spreading the wetness she found there. "I knew you'd be perfect."

You couldn't take it anymore. You pushed her back onto the cushions, covering her body with yours, the first press of skin against skin making both of you moan. Your mouth found her breast again, sucking harder this time, teeth grazing the sensitive peak. Your hand slid down her stomach, fingers dipping between her legs.

She was soaked, slick and hot against your fingers. "Holy shit, Belle," you groaned against her skin, fingers circling her clit. "You're literally soaked."

"For you," she gasped, hips canting up into your touch. "I've been wet af thinking about this for three years, don't act surprised."

You slid down her body, pressing open-mouthed kisses to her ribs, her stomach, the jut of her hip bone. When you settled between her thighs, you took a moment to just look at her—glistening pink folds, the skin above shaved and bare, everything about her so perfect it made your chest ache.

"Please," she whimpered, a crack in her confident facade. Her hand reached down to tangle in your hair, guiding you to where she needed you most.

The first taste of her pulled groans from both of you. She was sweet and musky and perfect, her essence coating your tongue as you licked a broad stripe from her entrance to her clit. Her arousal was abundant, slick and hot against your mouth, the taste intoxicating—like nothing you'd ever experienced before. Your chin quickly became coated in her wetness as you devoured her, each pass of your tongue drawing more of her essence.

Two fingers slid inside her easily, her body practically pulling them in, so ready for you that the sound was audible—a wet, sucking noise that made your cock throb painfully against the cushions. She was tight around your fingers, her inner walls gripping them like a vise despite how wet she was, the contrasting sensations making your head spin. You curled your fingers forward, searching for that spot that would make her see stars, feeling the subtle difference in texture when you found it.

Belle's reaction was immediate—a sharp cry, her back arching off the cushions. You added a third finger, stretching her further, watching in fascination as her body accepted the intrusion eagerly. Your fingers glistened with her arousal when you pulled them out slightly, before pushing back in with more purpose. The sight of her taking your fingers, her pink folds stretched around your knuckles, was almost enough to make you come untouched.

Your tongue circled her clit, alternating between broad strokes and pointed precision, learning what made her gasp, what made her thighs shake. Her hands were in your hair, on her own breasts, gripping the cushions—restless with pleasure.

"Oh god, right there," she panted, her body arching when you found that perfect spot inside her. "Don't stop, please don't stop."

You had no intention of stopping, not when she was making those sounds, not when she was looking at you like that—eyes half-lidded, lips parted, cheeks flushed with pleasure. You sucked her clit between your lips, fingers pumping faster, and felt her begin to tighten around you.

"I need you inside me," she gasped suddenly, tugging at your hair. "Like, right now. Please, I'm literally dying to feel you."

You looked up at her from between her thighs, mouth and chin wet with her arousal. "Beg me," you said, voice rough with desire.

A flash of defiance crossed her face, that same look she got when company executives tried to tell her what to do. She tugged your hair sharply, the pain sending a jolt of pleasure down your spine.

"Fuck me," she commanded, all idol authority despite her position. "I swear to god, if you don't put your dick in me right now..."

The power struggle between you was intoxicating. You surged up her body, positioning yourself between her thighs, the head of your cock pressing against her entrance. "Is this what you want?" you asked, circling her clit with the tip, coating yourself in her wetness.

"Yes," she hissed, trying to shift her hips to take you in. "Stop teasing."

You pushed inside her in one smooth thrust, both of you freezing at the sensation. She was tight and hot around you, her nails digging into your shoulders, her legs wrapping around your waist to pull you deeper.

"Fucking finally," she breathed, eyes locked with yours, the connection between you transcending the physical. Three years of tension, of almosts and maybes, culminating in this perfect joining.

You began to move, hands gripping her thighs, pushing them wider, pinning her to the cushions. Each thrust drew breathless sounds from her lips, her blonde hair splayed across the dark fabric beneath her like spilled sunshine.

"You feel so good," you groaned, the tight heat of her making coherent thought impossible. "So fucking perfect."

Belle matched your rhythm, hips rising to meet each thrust, hands gripping your forearms, your shoulders, your back—anywhere she could reach. Her lips found yours in a messy, desperate kiss, all tongue and teeth and shared breath.

The beat of the forgotten track continued its loop—bass, snare, hi-hat, silence—providing a rhythm that your bodies naturally found. Belle's moans became the melody, the wet sounds of your bodies joining the percussion, creating the most authentic thing you'd ever produced.

Just as you felt the familiar tightening at the base of your spine, Belle shoved at your chest. "Wait," she gasped. "I need your dick in my mouth. Right now."

You withdrew reluctantly, the sight of your cock sliding out of her, glistening with her arousal, nearly making you lose control. Belle pushed you onto your back, positioning herself between your legs. Her blonde hair fell forward as she leaned down, tongue darting out to lick a stripe up your length.

"Fuck," you hissed, hands instinctively moving to her hair, gathering it back from her face so you could watch her.

Belle looked up at you through her lashes, lips wrapping around the head of your cock, tongue swirling around the sensitive tip. Her mouth was hot and wet, the perfect counterpoint to the cool air of the studio. The sight was obscene and perfect—Belle, the idol whose face was plastered across billboards in Seoul, taking you into her mouth with evident pleasure, her lipstick smudged, her eyes watering slightly as she focused on her task.

You traced her cheekbone with your thumb, feeling the subtle hollow as she sucked harder, watching in fascination as her jaw worked to accommodate your girth. Her lips stretched wide around you, glistening with saliva and traces of her own arousal that still coated your length. The contrast of her pale pink lips against your skin was mesmerizing, like something from the most forbidden fantasy.

She took you deeper, humming around your length, the vibrations sending shocks of pleasure up your spine. The wet heat of her mouth surrounded you, her tongue pressing against the underside of your cock with perfect pressure. Her hand worked what couldn't fit, twisting on the upstroke in a way that made your toes curl, her grip firm but not painful.

Spit dripped down your shaft, pooling at the base and trailing down your balls, her movements becoming wetter, sloppier, more desperate with each passing second. The sounds she made were pornographic—wet suction, breathless moans, occasional gags when she took you too deep. Saliva gathered at the corners of her mouth, threatening to spill down her chin.

You pulled out briefly, a thick strand of saliva connecting her lips to the head of your cock, breaking only when she licked them hungrily. You traced her bottom lip with the tip, smearing it with the mixture of her saliva and your pre-cum. On impulse, you pressed two fingers against her lips. Belle opened immediately, sucking them into her mouth alongside your cock, her eyes never leaving yours as she worked both with equal enthusiasm. The feeling of her tongue sliding between your fingers while simultaneously laving the underside of your cock was mind-bending.

When she took you to the back of her throat, gagging slightly before adjusting, tears gathering at the corners of her eyes, you nearly lost your mind. Your hands tightened in her hair, guiding her movements, careful not to be too rough.

"Belle, fuck, I'm going to—" You tried to pull her away, not wanting to finish like this, not yet.

She released you with an obscene pop, lips swollen and wet, a string of saliva connecting them to your cock. "Not yet," she agreed, wiping her mouth with the back of her hand. "I still want you inside me."

Belle turned, getting on her knees on the couch, facing away from you, ass presented in a way that made your mouth go dry. She looked over her shoulder, hair falling down her back in golden waves. "Like this," she said, reaching back to spread herself for you. "Please."

You moved behind her, transfixed by the sight of her on display—ass raised, back arched, hair cascading down her spine like liquid gold. Her arousal glistened on her inner thighs, evidence of how turned on she was. Unable to resist, you leaned down to taste her again from this new angle. Your tongue circled her entrance, gathering the abundant wetness there, before sliding up to her clit. The taste of her was even more intense now, her arousal having built to a fever pitch.

Belle gasped at the contact, pushing back against your face shamelessly, grinding herself against your tongue. You gripped her ass with both hands, spreading her wider, diving deeper, feeling her thighs tremble against your cheeks. You slipped two fingers inside her while your tongue worked her clit, curling them to hit that spot that had made her cry out before. Her inner walls clenched around you, pulling your fingers deeper, her body telegraph its need.

"Inside me," she demanded, voice breaking with need. "Now."

You straightened, taking your cock in hand, sliding the tip through her folds, gathering her abundant wetness. The head of your cock glistened with her arousal as you dragged it from her clit to her entrance and back again. Each pass collected more of her essence, until your cock was coated and dripping. You pushed just the tip inside, feeling her body try to pull you deeper, before withdrawing completely.

Belle whimpered, trying to push back, to take you in, but you held her hips steady with firm hands. You slapped your cock against her swollen pussy, the wet sound echoing in the studio.

Once, twice, three times—each contact sending visible ripples through the flesh of her ass and drawing desperate sounds from her throat. Your length rested against her for a moment, hot and heavy, before you did it again, harder this time, watching as her wetness created strings that connected your cock to her folds when you pulled away.

"Tell me what you want," you demanded, continuing to slap your cock against her, sometimes catching her clit, sometimes sliding between her lips without entering. Her arousal had become so abundant that it dripped down onto the couch below, creating a small dark spot on the fabric.

"You," she gasped. "Inside me. Filling me up. Please."

You pushed in slowly this time, savoring every sensation—the initial resistance as the head of your cock breached her entrance, then the way her body yielded, pulling you in deeper with each inch. She stretched around you, accommodating your girth, her inner walls gripping you like a vise despite how wet she was. The sight of your cock disappearing into her was mesmerizing, her pink folds hugging your length as you sank deeper.

Belle's back arched beautifully, her spine a perfect curve, her hands white-knuckled as they gripped the back of the couch for support. A long, low moan escaped her as you bottomed out, the sound so raw and unfiltered that you knew you'd never hear anything like it in any of her recordings. Her walls pulsed around you, adjusting to the intrusion, seemingly trying to pull you even deeper.

Once fully seated, you paused, overwhelmed by the sensation. The wet heat of her surrounded you completely, squeezing with subtle pulses that threatened your control. Your hands dug into her hips, fingertips leaving temporary indentations in her skin. You ground against her, circling your hips to feel every part of her, to let her feel every part of you.

Your hands slid up her back, gathering her blonde hair in one fist, pulling just enough to arch her back further. The silky strands wrapped around your fingers as you guided her movements. Your other hand traced the curve of her spine, feeling each vertebra beneath your fingertips, then followed the dip of her waist to the flare of her hip. She was a work of art beneath you, all golden skin and perfect curves, the subtle dimples at the base of her spine catching the studio's amber light.

You began to move, withdrawing almost completely before driving back in, watching in fascination as your cock appeared and disappeared, glistening with her arousal. Each thrust was accompanied by an obscene wet sound, evidence of how ready she was for you. You set a punishing pace that had the couch creaking beneath you, the sound mixing with the slap of skin against skin and Belle's breathless moans.

Belle met each thrust with equal force, pushing back against you, the impact sending ripples across the flesh of her ass. The sight of her taking you so eagerly, so completely, was almost too much to bear. Your cock seemed to disappear into her endlessly, only to reappear coated in her essence, wetter with each withdrawal.

Your free hand slid around to find her clit, circling the swollen bud in time with your thrusts. It was stiff under your fingers, slick with her arousal, the hood pulled back to expose the most sensitive part. You alternated between gentle circles and more direct pressure, learning from her reactions what pleased her most. The position allowed you to feel yourself moving inside her, your cock creating a subtle bulge against your palm with each deep thrust.

"Yes," she cried, head falling forward despite your grip on her hair. "Right there, don't stop."

You leaned forward, pressing open-mouthed kisses to her shoulders, the nape of her neck, the knobs of her spine. Your teeth grazed her skin, marking her, claiming her after three years of waiting. The scent of her perfume mixed with sweat and sex, creating a heady combination that made your head spin.

Belle reached back, hand finding your thigh, nails digging into your skin as if trying to pull you closer, deeper. The gesture was unexpectedly intimate, a silent plea for more connection even in this raw, primal position.

"I'm close," she gasped, inner walls beginning to flutter around you. "So close."

You redoubled your efforts, hips snapping against hers, fingers working her clit with more purpose. When she came, it was with a cry of your name that echoed through the studio, her body seizing around you in rhythmic pulses. Her inner walls clamped down with stunning force, rippling along your length with contractions so strong you could track their progression. Her back arched impossibly further, her hands clawing at the couch cushions, her thighs trembling violently against yours. Wetness gushed around your cock, soaking both of you further, dripping onto the couch beneath in a primal marking.

The visual, auditory, and physical sensations combined to trigger your own release. You buried yourself to the hilt, grinding deep inside her, feeling her body milk every drop from you. Your vision blurred at the edges, pleasure crashing through you in waves so intense they bordered on pain. You groaned against her shoulder, teeth grazing the delicate skin there as you pulsed inside her, filling her with your release.

The sensation of her body still contracting around you as you came extended your orgasm, drawing it out until you were both shaking with oversensitivity. For a moment, neither of you moved, joined together in the aftermath, your chest pressed against her back, both of you coated in a fine sheen of sweat. Your breath came in harsh pants, mingling with the sounds of the beat still looping endlessly in the background.

You could feel your combined arousal beginning to seep out around your still-hard cock, creating a mess between you that neither of you cared about. Your hands, which had been gripping her hips with bruising force, now gentled, stroking her sides with trembling fingers. Belle's body occasionally shuddered with aftershocks, each one squeezing your sensitive length and drawing small sounds from both of you.

You collapsed onto the couch, Belle's body following yours, limbs tangled together in a sweaty heap. Her head rested on your chest, blonde hair sticking to your damp skin, her breathing gradually slowing to match yours. The studio was thick with the scent of sex, the air conditioning struggling to clear the heat you'd generated between you.

"That was..." She trailed off, apparently unable to find adequate words.

"Yeah," you agreed, equally eloquent, fingers tracing lazy patterns on her back. "Definitely worth the wait."

She hummed in agreement, pressing a kiss to your chest. "Better than I even imagined. And trust me, I imagined it a lot."

The beat still looped in the background, a reminder of the work that had started this—work that should probably be saved before your laptop went to sleep. You reluctantly shifted, easing Belle off you with a kiss to her forehead.

"Let me save this session real quick."

You sat up, reaching for your laptop, fingers moving automatically to save the project. Your gaze drifted to your phone on the floor where it had fallen during your activities, screen still lit up. You froze.

The voice memo app was still running, the timer showing 46:27 and counting.

"...Fuck."

Belle, who had been stretching languidly on the couch, followed your gaze. "What?"

You picked up the phone, showing her the screen. "It's been recording. The whole time."

Belle sat up, tucking her hair behind her ears, not bothering to cover herself as she leaned over to look at your phone. Her eyes widened momentarily before her lips curved into that signature smirk—the same one that had launched a thousand fan edits online.

"...Keep it," she said, her voice casual in a way that made your heart race again. Her fingertip tapped the screen. "Tuck it in the back of the song."

You stared at her, certain you'd misheard. "You're serious?"

Belle shrugged, one perfect shoulder rising and falling. The motion made her breasts shift in a way that threatened to derail your thoughts completely. "You said Kehlani likes 'real' in her music, right?"

You nodded, still processing her suggestion.

Belle took the phone from your hand, tapping the playback button. The sound of your mingled breathing filled the room, followed by a breathless "Oh God, right there..." in Belle's voice, higher and more urgent than her normal speaking tone. The recording continued: "Don't stop, please don't stop," punctuated by the unmistakable sounds of skin against skin.

She stopped the playback, raising an eyebrow at you. "Tell me that doesn't sound fucking fire."

You couldn't help the laugh that escaped you, equal parts shocked and impressed by her audacity. "Kehlani's gonna hear us fuck."

Belle's grin widened, something mischievous and proud in her expression. "She's gonna love it." She leaned over to your laptop, fingers moving across the keyboard with surprising energy given your recent activities. "Listen," she said, adding a line to the lyrics document: "'Til the neighbors knock this door down..."

She turned to you, expectant, clearly waiting for your reaction. The track continued to loop, but now you could hear it differently—could imagine those captured sounds layered beneath the beat, the breathless quality of Belle's voice adding an authenticity no studio session could fake.

"It's perfect," you admitted, shaking your head in disbelief.

Belle's smile was triumphant. "I know." She saved the document with a flourish, then stretched, a movement that seemed deliberately designed to showcase her naked body. "Now, about that bedroom you mentioned..."

You laughed again, marveling at her endless energy. "Give me five minutes to export this."

"You've got three," she countered, already gathering her clothes from around the studio. "And then I'm testing how soundproof those bedroom walls are." She paused, another smirk playing at her lips. "For research purposes, of course. The song might need a part two."

You watched her move around your studio, completely at ease in her nakedness, all the boundaries between you permanently shattered. The voice memo continued to record, capturing this moment too—the aftermath, the planning, the promise of more.

With a decisive tap, you stopped the recording and saved it. Whatever happened next didn't need documentation.

Some things could just be for the two of you.

AN: Clothes off by Kehlani

[cherrygirlfriend]

─── YOU'VE GOT MAIL .ᐟ

...or the drive to the cabin.

★ pairing.ᐟ frat!rafe x nerd!reader

★ summary.ᐟ rafe cameron is the golden boy of kildare university; certified frat boy, captain of the football team, relentless party animal with lines of girls to sleep with.

reader couldn't be more different; while she has the best grades in the whole school, she suffers from social anxiety disorder, and her social life is limited to her three best friends and the cat she secretly snuck into her dorm room.

both of them decide to join the anonymous chatroom for their campus, and start talking to one another, a friendship starting to form between the two; but neither of them know how different the other is.

★ author's note.ᐟ WARNING: ANXIETY ATTACK!!! also i’m considering posting this series twice a week so lmk if you’d like for me to post it once or twice a week <3

YOU'VE GOT MAIL!

MalachiConstant: yo poe girl MalachiConstant: send me some road trip tracks for a four hour drive MalachiConstant: no taylor swift, lana del rey or olivia rodrigo

YOU: hey! what's wrong with those?

MalachiConstant: accidentally put on bbm baby and almost got shot on sight

YOU: bbm baby? who are you trying to impress?

MalachiConstant: girls ;)

YOU: figures. slut.

MalachiConstant: just send me random five tracks you like and i'll add them onto my road trip playlist

YOU: rina sawayama - an eye for an eye YOU: fleetwood mac - rhiannon YOU: peach prc - josh YOU: king princess - pain YOU: abba - voulez-vous

MalachiConstant: and will i get fun of for these?

YOU: oh 100%!

MalachiConstant: sadistic woman

YOU: you love it.

"is that all you're bringing?" vivian furrowed her brows as the three of you walked towards the parking lot, referring to the duffel bag you were dragging along with you, the girl herself having brought a suitcase that matched the color of her hair. "c'mon viv. you've known her for years and you still don't know that all she needs is underwear, one book per day and enough changes of clothes to not be thought of as 'unhygienic' and all of them likely are just a pair of different colored leggings and a sweatshirt." emilia shrugged.

"hey!" you exclaimed in offence, your lips now in a slight frown. "am i wrong?" emilia asked, "did you even bring a swimsuit?" vivian asked overdramatically, her brows raised in question, and you didn't even need to answer; the pout on your lips was enough of an answer. "come on! vivian exclaimed, bumping into you. "you're lucky i know the kind of crap you like to pull and brought two slutty swimsuits."

a g-wagon became visible to you three, topper and his friend rafe leaning against it, both wearing sunglasses. "they look like douchebags." emilia said, holding the copy of edgar allan poe's selected poems you'd loaned to her to block the sun, making you grin, "em, they don't look like douchebags. they are douchebags."

"hello, ladies!" topper exclaimed, and even though he addressed all three of you, his eyes remained on vivian, the girl simply looking at anywhere but at him while he took his suitcase and put it into the back, "viv, do you wanna sit in the front with-"

"i'd rather stab my eye out." she said bluntly, yet topper's excited smile didn't waver, "alright, you three can have girl time in the back while rafe and i sit in the front."

a few hours in, vivian pulled one of your earplugs out of your ear while you were in the middle of reading, nudging you in excitement, "wha-" "it's our song! topper, turn the volume up!" she interrupted your sentence, basically bouncing in her seat, the boy (obviously) doing as she told him to.

"does your mum still buy your clothes 'cause I know you're still at home you're getting too old all your moneys rolled up your nose"

"peach..." you mumbled under your breath as vivian hummed along to the artist you introduced to her, "our part is coming up!" she exclaimed in excitement, nudging your shoulder

and i don't wanna talk when you're knockin' off drunk at four o'clock i thought you were blocked...

"FUCK OFF STOP CALLING ME JOSH!" the three of you shouted in unision before bursting into laughter. "are you three insane?" topper's friend chuckled. "yes!" emilia shouted back.

when the car pulled up in front of the lake house, the gravel driveway was filled with people, and as everyone got out of the car, you stayed seated, your nails pressing into the palm of your hand, clenching your jaw, resisting the urge to tug on your own hair. when vivian noticed this, she handed the bags she'd been holding to topper, getting back into the car with a rush.

"hey." she said softly, yet your eyes remained on the group of people outside the cabin, watching as what you counted as fifteen different people interacted together, your heart beating against your chest. "hey." vivian said again, forcing your hands apart, the indents of your nails still visible on the palm of your hand, "close your eyes."

you did as the girl said, forcing your moist eyelids to close as she squeezed your hand, "nothing exists outside of us. nothing matters outside of us. nobody's looking at you."

"what's going on?" rafe nudged topper when he saw what was happening in the car, the pink haired girl's hands cupping your head, "i don't question viv. she just does random shit and i obey whatever she says. come on." topper simply shrugged, rafe hesitantly following him inside.

"you're not there anymore. no one will hurt you. no one will say anything about you." vivian pressed a kiss on your forehead, your heartbeat slowing down, your breathing getting back to normal, "if they do i'm roundhouse kicking them in the throat." the girl's words made you chuckle softly as you took in a deep breath, opening your eyes and looking at her, tears still lingering on your lashes, "are you good to go inside now?" she asked, and you nodded in response.

rafe sat at the bonfire some of the guys had set up, yet his eyes were on the dark-haired girl sitting with viv and their third friend, a joint between her fingers.

he'd only gotten a glimpse of the title of the book she'd been reading in the car earlier, but when she'd set it down on a dresser inside of the cabin, rafe was able to see it in its entirety. the raven and other selected poems. by edgar allan poe.

the book, the song... it was all starting to add up.

the girl laughed, throwing her head back, and rafe's eyes narrowed. he was starting to picture her sitting in her dorm room with a cat purring in her lap, writing messages to him on her laptop.

rafe cameron was sure that vivian's friend emilia was AnnabelLee.

taglist: @yktayy9669 @tinythebunni @dywho @melalsworld @akobx @samwinchesterisawhore @st8rkey @jjasmiineee @ltristessedureratoujours @a-lovers-card @uselessnewt @lunaleah @letstryagaintomorrow @cinnamqnnlatte @papapoy @kay133sposts @wtfisastiles @butterfly1c @emmiesummers @melodyyybubbles @toomanywhitelies @littl3loveydovey @scne-vampire @alwaysmaybank @mysticbby2009 @luna443 @drewstarkeyswife-7 @flowerluvr @kisselxoll - cont. in com

[joetastic2739]

Statement Regarding False Claims Made Against Joetastic by Dylan/ @anyamusumesonlywife

Author: Concerned members of the Mouthwashing community, friends of Joe, and Joe himself

Introduction

This post is a joint statement written in defense of Joetastic (hereafter referred to as Joe), a creator in the Mouthwashing community, who has recently been the target of misinformation, mischaracterization, and public defamation. The accusations originate from a former collaborator, anyamusumesonlywife (hereafter referred to as Dylan), and have been circulated via a written document on Google Docs, two TikTok videos, one Tumblr post, and several word-of-mouth messages in community servers on discord.

While Joe has remained silent publicly until now, the scale and intensity of the false claims, combined with the reputational damage they have caused, make it necessary to issue a detailed and factual response. This statement reflects not only Joe's perspective, but also that of peers, colleagues, and neutral parties who have reviewed the evidence and feel compelled to clarify what truly occurred.

This document is not intended to cause harm, incite harassment, or encourage retaliation against Dylan in any form. Its sole purpose is to clarify the facts, present context, and refute the false claims that have been made about Joe. While emotions are understandably high, we ask that readers approach this with maturity and respect. This is about defending someone’s character, not attacking another’s. Any form of harassment directed toward Dylan or anyone involved is strongly discouraged and not condoned by Joe or anyone contributing to this statement.

Context & Timeline

December 26, 2024: 

Joe contacts Dylan on Discord asking permission to use their OC in a fan animation. Dylan responds enthusiastically, stating: “YOU CAN 100000% USE MY OC IN ANYTHING!! ID BE SO HONORED.”

Over the following weeks, Dylan provides detailed reference material, lore, and expresses gratitude. They never object to any creative decisions made during this period.

Joe maintains professional, transparent communication throughout. Even clarifying their pronouns so as to not misgender their OC accidentally. There is no indication of discomfort or distress from Dylan.

January 11, 2025:

Joe starts becoming increasingly uncomfortable using someone else’s OC for public-facing content. This is influenced by private feedback and the growing popularity of his work. Joe begins planning an original character, Eira, as a way to tell WLW stories while keeping personal and professional lines clearer. 

January 12, 2025: 

Dylan noticeably starts to change attitude and starts pressuring Joe

"Yeah if I paid for something I'd want it to be posted D: I don't mean to argue at all /gen I was just super looking forward to finally being seen with my Oc and thought that maybe you posting about them would get selfshipping a bit of a better representation" 

Joe talks about making the OC video for free to make it up to Dylan and labeling it as a commission in order to protect both of them over harassment regarding favoritism which Dylan agreed with and voiced no complaints.

Keep in mind that at this point, despite Joe quoting Dylan $40 for a casual model of Dylan’s OC, the transaction has not been made yet and Dylan has not paid for anything.

Dylan later tells Joe that they are in a hospital before proceeding to mention Joe abandoning Dylan’s OC again

Joe pays the $40 out of his own pocket for Dylan’s Casual OC model on Dylan’s behalf first and offers Dylan to pay him any amount for it as he feels bad and wants to make it up to them.

Dylan mentions how the model has a bigger chest which was a misunderstanding by the modeler that was cleared up quickly.

January 15, 2025: 

Dylan tells Joe that people are sending cruel messages to them because he was going to use their OC

Joe suggests to Dylan to turn off anonymous inboxes in order to stop the harassment. Dylan states that they chose not to turn it off on their other RP account and continues showing Joe the harassment Dylan has received.

Joe once again sympathizes with Dylan and makes a post telling people not to harass them on his Tumblr profile.

February 27, 2025: 

Joe debuts Eira publicly. The character receives instant fan praise, with followers eager to see more interactions between her and Anya.

March 2, 2025: 

Dylan voices being upset that their OC did not get the chance to be used by Joe.

Joe points out it’s for the best incase they mischaracterize Dylan and end up hurting Dylan’s feelings.

Joe tries to reassure Dylan again.

March 4, 2025: 

March 8, 2025: 

Dylan starts blaming Joe for harassment and taking the spotlight from sapphic people like them. Joe states that those harassing Dylan do not represent him and that he does not condone them harassing anybody. Joe once again reassures Dylan it isn’t his intent to steal attention away from anybody’s OC.

At this point, Joe began to feel that Dylan was manipulating him. Blaming him for things beyond his control and growing increasingly hostile. Though he agreed to make another Tumblr post at Dylan’s request, he hesitated, wanting first to confirm whether his suspicions about Dylan’s intentions and feelings toward him were valid.

Joe once again made it clear that it was never his intention to make anyone uncomfortable. He expressed this repeatedly, hoping to de-escalate the situation and reassure Dylan of his good faith. However, the constant accusations, shifting expectations, and increasingly tense tone from Dylan left Joe feeling emotionally drained and deeply uncomfortable continuing the conversation. Despite his efforts to resolve things respectfully, it became clear that nothing he said was enough to satisfy Dylan. After enduring repeated blame and pressure, Joe ultimately decided, for his own well-being, to stop engaging with Dylan after March 9th.

March 12, 2025: 

Despite their agreement to part ways after the free video Joe made for them, Dylan begins circulating a document on a private server framing Joe as manipulative, inconsiderate, and abusive. 

The document was then intentionally sent to the developers of Mouthwashing.

March 13, 2025: 

When Joe learned that Dylan had created a document filled with false claims and had shared it with the moderators of the Mouthwashing server, knowing it would reach the developers, he felt that a clear line had been crossed. This wasn’t just a personal dispute anymore. Iit was an attempt to damage his professional relationships and potentially jeopardize his future opportunities within a community he had contributed to. It was deeply hurtful to see someone he had once collaborated with try to turn trusted colleagues against him. 

In light of this, Joe made the decision to formally request that Dylan no longer use the free work he had created for them. He asked that all related posts be removed from Dylan’s social media, as continuing to showcase the work felt exploitative and disingenuous given the circumstances.

March 15, 2025: 

Although Dylan initially respected Joe’s request and removed the content he had worked on, they soon chose to go public with their version of events. Dylan published a Tumblr post detailing their side of the situation, painting Joe in a negative light and reigniting the narrative despite previously agreeing to take a step back. When Joe became aware of the post, he was disappointed but chose to remain silent. At the time, the post wasn’t gaining much traction, and Joe hoped that by not engaging further, the situation would deescalate. His priority was to move on quietly and avoid fueling more drama, even if it meant allowing false or misleading narratives to go unchallenged, for a while.

March 21, 2025:

Joe publicly releases a new animation featuring his characters Eira and Anya. The video shared a few thematic similarities with the earlier animation he had created for Dylan, but it was completely re-animated from the ground up.

Shortly after its release, Dylan sent Joe a direct message accusing him of stealing their animation idea. This was despite the fact that Dylan had never contributed to the production of the video in question. Not in writing, animation, direction, or execution. Furthermore, the themes Dylan claimed ownership over were not unique: they were common story beats that had appeared in Joe’s videos months before he and Dylan had ever interacted.

What made the accusation more troubling was the emotional pressure that followed. Dylan told Joe that because of this video, they had been unable to sleep, were throwing up, and feeling physically ill. The blame was placed entirely on Joe for Dylan’s emotional distress, adding yet another layer of guilt and responsibility to a situation already fraught with manipulation and false claims.

While Joe acknowledges that there are surface-level similarities between the new video featuring his OC and the animation he previously made for Dylan, it’s important to clarify that both videos were conceptualized, animated, and completed entirely by Joe himself. As the sole creator, he has every right to revisit themes, scenes, or stylistic choices from his own body of work.

March 28, 2025: 

Joe begins experiencing increased hostility, especially in the Wrong Organ server. 

Rumors originating from Dylan began circulating within the Wrong Organ Discord server. Some concerned members of the community reached out to Joe directly to inform him about what was being said.

One of these individuals, growing increasingly concerned, chose to inform Joe about what was happening. It was revealed that Dylan had also been privately messaging random members of the Wrong Organ Discord server out of the blue to talk about Joe.

According to this individual, Dylan not only reached out to people to talk about Joe, but also frequently used these conversations to vent their personal problems and frustrations. When the topic shifted away from their issues, Dylan would quickly lose interest and disengage.

March 30, 2025: 

Dylan decides to be bolder and creates 2 TikTok videos claiming Joe has been stalking and harassing them. Dylan also lies to everybody about Joe’s age and sexuality in order to make him seem more creepy, and accuses him of fetishzing lesbians. Dylan also claimed Joe purposefully shared suggestive content to minors on discord when what he did was simply share the videos he made to the Wrong Organ discord server. The Developers and Moderators have stated those videos were not suggestive and are okay to post.

Wrong Organ Discord Mod statement after Dylan started saying the Video Joe posted there was suggestive, confirming that the video would remain up and would not be removed, as it did not violate any server rules:

Confirmation from Wrong Organ themselves:

Dylan’s accusations that Joe is being creepy and fetishizing lesbians are based on out-of-context screenshots. In this example, Joe was not referring to lesbians in general, but specifically to Dylan, who is not a lesbian. The comments were a direct response to Dylan’s repeated criticisms, not a dismissal of the broader sapphic community. The framing of this exchange to suggest Joe was targeting all lesbians is intentionally misleading.

These TikToks that Dylan posted were quickly gaining traction and starting to snowball out of control. When Joe woke up to these videos, he saw that it had already gotten 20k views, 3k likes, 270 comments and 500 bookmarks with these numbers quickly increasing each minute.

In the comments of both TikTok posts, Dylan continued to spread false information and actively engaged with, and at times endorsed cruel, demeaning remarks directed at Joe.

Fearing for the safety of his reputation and watching the false rumors gain increasing traction, Joe realized that remaining silent was no longer an option. After weeks of trying to avoid conflict, it became clear that Dylan had no intention of stopping. The only way to set the record straight was to speak up. Shortly after, Joe made a public Twitter post addressing the situation:

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