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valentinedrifter · 2 days ago

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Days with Yuri: Packages

male reader x Jo Yuri

~12k words

A/N: A friend said "yuri fic when" so, here you go I guess? Also a lot of yapping involved, so apologies for that.

Enjoy.

You should’ve expected this to happen.

Jjoyul: Sharing Live Location. HELP NOW ASAP PLS

You blink. You squint.

What the fuck?

You read it again.

What the fuck, that’s not her address.

You: whats going on

Jjoyul: I NEED HELP I SWEAR ILL O U 1

You: with what where are you even are you safe

You sit up from your bed, rubbing a hand on your face in annoyance. Out of all the days, it had to be the day you slept in late for her to fuck about and make you find out instead.

Jjoyul: SAFEST PLACE IN D WORLD RN WILL XPLAIN LATR CAN U PLS COME T_T

You were halfway into typing the word “no” and go back to cuddling your comforter and enjoying some more well deserved sleep until your phone buzzed two more times.

Jjoyul: Image attached. PLSSSSSSS

You groan. Half tempted to throw your phone on the nightstand and forget all about the messages. Half tempted to open the image and hope that you can have an idea on what’s actually going on.

You let the angel on your shoulder win this round and open your phone.

Yuri’s face takes up your screen, sitting down on a couch with an all-familiar pout on her lips, finger pressing her chin, wide innocent eyes, and an adorable little head tilt. You’re pretty sure you’ve seen this type of picture so many times that you feel like she’s recycling old pictures.

You wonder how this brat can be this cute yet so annoying at times because you’re falling for her endearingly irritating tactic of cuteness to get you to help her with whatever it is she needs help with. You were about to press the location text she sent to see where she actually is when she sent one last message.

Jjoyul: ILL EVEN COOK U LUNCH AND DINNER NEXT TIME

Now while free food is nice, Yuri’s cooking is something else. Not that you’d ever tell her that because, well, her ego would skyrocket, but she could cook an egg and you’d think a sous chef made it.

The way to a man’s heart is through his stomach and all that. Your sleep-deprived brain isn’t helping much in that regard to stop it. Besides, it’s free food on call.

What’s the worst that could happen?

You: fine, be there in 30

Jjoyul: U DA BESTTTTTTT IM AT 221 BTW TELL THE LADY THAT UR HERE 4 ME TYTYTY <3

And so began your quick shower, a salmon riceball for brunch, and you’re walking out the door heading to her location. Said place is an apartment complex that looks similar to yours—tall, muted colors, minimalistic design—and you start to wonder what she’s doing in a place so far away from where she lives.

She was surprisingly close to your place too—a good ten minute walk to wake the legs up—and you’re stepping into the lobby to be greeted by the receptionist.

You tell her that you’re here for a “Jo Yuri” and all she does is raise an eyebrow.

“No packages?” Her head tilts in confusion.

“...No?” You respond. “Am I supposed to have one?”

“Oh, no, no!” The lady chuckles. “She’s been getting a lot lately, I thought you would be dropping off some more.”

She points you to where you can get to 221, and after thanking her, your mind stops to think:

What the fuck is she doing here?

You take the stairs, faster that way since she’s just a floor up, and you’re standing in front of apartment 221.

You take a deep breath, curl your fingers, prep yourself to call the cops if you need to, and knock.

Tap-tap-tap.

Silence greets you. You wait. Then try again.

Tap-tap-tap.

Still, no answer. You air out a ‘huh’ and decide to just–

Tap-tap-tap-tap-tap-tap-tap-

“Just a second!” Yuri’s muffled voice comes out of the door, and you hear her padded footsteps rushing.

The lock clicks, the handle turns, and you’re greeted to the sight of a disheveled looking Yuri grinning up to you.

“Hey–” She huffs, grabbing your arm and tugging you inside. Her hand is warm against yours, but it was gone as quickly as it came. “You got here pretty fast.”

“It’s a few blocks away from mine.” You turn around to see her already closing the door before leaning back to it, arms behind her back to face you, giving you a chance to properly look at her.

Hair framing that lovable face, smile that radiates trouble, crescents that screams innocent excitement all wrapped in a baggy shirt hanging off one shoulder and some shorts that hides her figure.

Not that you’d know anything about it, you just…saw it a couple of times. Like when you two attended Minju’s wedding as friends.

Totally not as each other’s wedding date.

You definitely didn’t give her that wide-eyed stare when you picked her up. Or notice how beautiful she looked in the white dress which showed off a bit too much cleavage that definitely didn’t do things to both your heads. Or stand a little too close when one of the groomsmen complimented her on her looks.

And you really didn’t hold her hips when she dragged you to the dance floor because her favorite slow dance started playing. Didn’t like how your hands felt perfect on her. Didn’t feel your heart skip a beat when she gave you that smile when it ended.

You swear it wasn’t awkward the next few weeks after.

Nope. You’re absolutely sure that you and her were totally okay for that period of time.

You focus back on Yuri, who’s gotten close enough to lean into your personal space, face almost touching your chest, shirt swinging low enough for you to see a hint of her generous chest. You can even smell the jasmine radiating off her.

She’s too close.

You blink. She chuckles.

You take a step back. She straightens.

Speaking of personal spaces–“Where are we, exactly?”

“This, exactly, is–” She stretches it out, making drum roll gestures, dancing around you. “–drumroll please–”

She stops, expecting eyes and a beaming set of lips looking up to you.

She wags her eyebrows. You sigh.

“Seriously?” You ask. Her smile widens.

You roll your eyes. She grins.

You make drum roll sounds. She makes drum roll hands as she continues to step backward into the middle of the living room before stretching her arms wide and giving a tiny hop.

“Jo Yuri’s brand new, very own home!” She declares, posing like a little kid who won the lottery. “Ta–da!”

The place was semi-furnished, all the heavier things already out and ready to be used like the couch on one end and the flat screen mounted on the wall. But what’s really getting to you are the amount of boxes in the room.

All the colors you can think of, all the different sizes, labeled, unlabeled, packed, unpacked; They were everywhere, from the floor to the kitchen counter. You don’t even want to know what was inside. God forbid she hands you one of them and it just so happens to be her underwear.

She wouldn’t do that anyway. You trust her enough to know what’s inside all the boxes.

It’s still a mess overall though, and as you’re taking it in, you realize:

You’re here to help her unpack all her shit.

“Pretty nice ain’t it?” Everything about her screams pride of what she’s accomplished—she should be—like the hands on her hips and the way she says it.

“Don’t know about pretty, but it is nice.” You look behind her, eyeing the amount of boxes that were basically mocking you at this point. “How much shit do you even have? And when did you move in here?”

“This is like, eighty percent of it, give or take.” Jesus Christ. “I tried doing it on my own but there’s too many and I didn’t wanna bother the movers because they already helped with all the big appliances and I thought–”

Yuri’s making that thinking pose then a lightbulb gesture like she’s in a sitcom. “–Why do it alone when I can do it with my favorite person in the whole wide world!”

“I thought that was Yena?” You deadpan.

She opens her mouth to answer, then closes it. Her eyes look to the side. Her lips make a thinking face. She looks too damn adorable.

She opens her mouth to answer. “My second! Favorite person in the whole wide world!”

“That’s not how that works, Yuri.” Your head shakes. “Not at all.”

“It is to me.” She giggles, picking up one of the smaller boxes. “Besides, this is a lot more fun than getting this done all alone.”

“Don’t I have a say in this?” She pushes said box to your chest. “This is gonna take us all day.”

“You said yes the moment you agreed to my cooking.” She patters back to the couch, sitting on the small empty space it still has. “No take backs.”

Well, she’s got you there. Her cooking’s worth a day of unpacking all her stuff anywho.

“Can I renegotiate to have that lunch and dinner for two days?” You ask, cross legging down on the floor, opening up the box that contained kitchen utensils.

Fitting, considering the conversation.

“If we manage to get this done before–” She pauses, a box in her lap as she picks up a boxcutter. “Before dinner, I’ll make you food for the next week.”

“Say no more.” You let out a chuckle, the prospect of having Yuri cook for you till the next week already makes you salivate as you stand up to head into the kitchen.

As soon as you see the counter, you freeze.

The kitchen’s chock full of boxes.

Fuck.

—

They seemed never ending, but you two managed to settle into a rhythm. You handled everything that was for the kitchen and the living room, she took care of the bathroom and the bedroom.

She didn’t bother with the labels anymore, just ripped the box open and handed it to you if it was different things for her shelves. You open them with care and precision so as not to make an even bigger mess of the already boxed up fuckery mess that is her apartment.

You can hear her in the bedroom, the rustling of the boxes coming out of the doorway when you came back from putting some of the cartons away and into the front door, so you take the chance to pick out something easy to unpack since you’ve been given all the big ones—definitely didn’t feel like you were setup.

So you pick up one of the smallest boxes you could see, sit down on the couch and lay it down on your lap.

The box itself was small, jet-black and discreet, not unlike all the other bright and colorful ones that preceded it. It was tightly wrapped as well, red tape all over the carton in a criss-crossy pattern.

Nothing the cutter couldn’t handle.

You open it up, thinking that it was another-some-set of something that you feel like you can convince her to sell off because she seriously has too much stuff for one girl so you part the flaps and—

Dick.

Surprisingly detailed, with all the veins and contours and curls shaping it, the smooth head at the top staring back at you. Although the color ruined any form of realism, somewhere between vermillion or coquelicot or sienna—fucking red—that was practically screaming out what it is.

You blink. Two, three, four times.

You close the flaps. Your eyes follow, nose inhaling deep, mouth exhaling slowly, mind counting to ten.

And then you open it again.

Dicks.

Multiple, plural, a lot. Some were small, others looked like a lightstick—that’s a vibrator—and there was even something metallic tucked in the bottom, underneath all the bubble wrap.

You squint, hands frozen on the black carton, not trusting them to touch anything inside and holy shit is that a pair of handcuffs?

You don’t even want to know why she has so many because your mind is already being sidetracked to what she’s doing with them. How often she uses them, which one was her favorite—

“Hey, how’s it going with the rest?” Yuri calls out, casually walking back into the living room.

You’re stuck, heat creeping up your ears, brain short circuiting, doing its damnedest to hot wire it back into thinking, acting, anything as you’re left frozen in time staring into the deep abyss of the box.

“What’s up with you?” Her chin rests on your shoulder, a grin on her features, chest pushing against your back and the smell of citrus invading your nostrils.

It wasn’t until she saw what was in the box that made her lose all emotion, utter the Lord’s name in vain and straight up dive bomb into your arms.

“Gimme that!” She screams, her chest flattening against you sending even more thoughts into your head, her hands already snatching the hellish thing from your grasp, one hand closing the flaps and the other wrapping around the carton.

“You weren’t supposed to see that yet.” She mutters, holding it close to her chest, protecting it from you, or vice versa. It didn’t really matter to you.

What matters was whatever the hell ‘yet’ meant.

“Well, I mean, I can-uh-fuck-” You’re stumbling, sputtering. Because what the fuck do you even say when you find a box full of sextoys that weren’t yours? “I can forget this ever happened?”

“Can you?” She asks, glares really. Raised eyebrow, doubtful eyes, the complete package of disbelief written on her. “Can you really?”

No, you really couldn’t. But you don’t even get the chance to tell her before she stands up.

“Just–don’t bring it up.” She sighs, walking away from you and back into her bedroom.

And it wasn’t. Nobody brought it up for a while, the both of you focusing on unpacking, folding, cleaning. It was all you two did, not even bothering to make conversation. Not without bringing up the box again.

Until she started to do something extremely simple.

Be a mess.

And she’s dragging you into becoming one when she keeps brushing past you even if she didn’t have to. You could be sitting down on the couch and she’d walk past you to get the box that was right next to you instead of the ones that were stacked up right next to her bedroom door.

It wasn’t like there was a lack of them, if anything there were too many. And she kept doing it anyway.

Yuri didn’t even do anything that you’d consider odd or anything and she’s already distracting you. Every pass, brush of your hands, glances that were a bit too long.

You were trying to pretend that you didn’t notice anything and gaslit yourself into thinking it wasn’t intentional. To leave her to do whatever she wants because it is her house but this, this was like scratching an itch.

If an itch were to ask her why she had so many dildos, that is.

You were rinsing up a few of her mugs when she plops down the couch, halfway empty of the cartons that were seated a few hours ago.

It was a mistake glancing because–

“Why do I keep so much stuff.” She moans out, the first words uttered after the box. Her arms stretched upward, her shirt riding up just a bit to show that bellybutton of hers.

You tell yourself you weren’t staring. She’s just casually seducing you with an arm stretch and the temptation to ask her about the damn box grows higher.

“That sounds like a you problem than anything else.” You snap back down, focusing back on the cups. “Why’d you even bother moving out? I thought you shared the old place with Nako.”

“I did, I just…” Yuri goes silent for a moment, before she crosses her legs and gives you these adorable little puppy eyes that make you wanna squish her cheeks. “Promise you won’t tell her? Or anyone else?”

“You don’t need to tell me if it’s too personal, Yuls.” You shake the glass you’re holding. “We can always leave it at that.”

“It’s not really for me, it’s more for her than anything else.” She shakes her head, grabbing a nearby plushie of a bear she left on the couch because she needs one for ‘couch cuddles’. You remember getting that one for her birthday along with a new set of guitar strings.

And she wonders why she keeps so much extra shit like her toys—

“Just please promise me you won’t tell anyone?” She hugs said bear, keeping it close to her chest. “Pretty please?”

“Alright, alright, I promise.” You place the mug down on the dishwasher.

“Swear it.”

“I just said I promised.” You give her a look, as if she’s seriously asking you to double down on an agreement made just seconds ago.

“I need your utmost trust on this.” Yuri glares. It wasn’t scary at all, not with the bear looking at you with a permanent smile on its face. You wonder what that bear’s seen. Or felt.

“Wha-Fine.” You sigh, leaning back onto the counter. “I swear on my need for an eight-hour-sleep that I won’t tell anybody about what you will say.”

She narrows her eyes. “That’s not enough.”

“You know how much I need my eight hours.”

“Everyone needs eight hours, idiot.” She shakes her head, an arm gesturing upwards. She wasn’t exactly wrong. You just thought you needed it more than everyone else because you have the tendency to stay up a lot.

“On my rank in League.” You state. “Happy now?”

That seemed to do the trick when Yuri hums for a moment to think, then nods. She knows how much you play that game to a near unhealthy degree back then before you were convinced—forcefully, you may add—to take a step back from it. Looking back, you’re a bit thankful that happened.

Lord knows what you would be doing if you kept that up.

But it doesn’t mean you stopped though. Maybe a long break or two, but you always come back to playing it like a drug. You were simply volun-told how to take the proper dosages.

“Now, what’s the big deal about you moving out?” You move to sit on the couch, facing Yuri who’s now hiding her face behind the bear.

“Uhm,” She stalls. Eyes darting from you to the bear she’s holding, gripping it tighter. “So you know how Nako’s been seeing Hitomi for a while now?”

“Uh-huh.”

“They may or may not be doing things when theythinkI'msleepingnextdoor.” She rushes, cheeks reddening at the words that came out as she hides further into her bear.

Silence precipitates the room, giving you the chance to soak in whatever Yuri just said.

“Hold on.” You start, lips unconsciously curving upwards. “You moved out because you couldn’t stand them fucking?”

“It’s more than that!” She shouts, slapping you with the bear in such a weak manner it makes you laugh.

“They’ve been wanting to move in together so I thought I’d move out instead.” She explains, grabbing a small yellow box on the table. “They wouldn’t have to worry about looking for another place if I did.”

“Pretty selfless of you.” You comment, leaning back and watching her rip the carton apart. “What made you wanna do that?”

She bites her lip, hesitating, hands stopping from unfurling the bubble wrap covering something.

“Too much?” You ask again, knowing that this wasn’t about her roommate anymore.

“No, I’ve just…” She replies, before she turns to look at you. “I’ve been wanting to move out for a while now, you know? Nako’s been my roomie ever since uni, and before that I shared my room with my sister.”

“Ah. You have that dilemma.” You remember the decision to do it yourself. Your parents were fifty-fifty on it till you had to convince them it was better than hour long commutes to and from work.

“Yeah.” She nods, going back to focus on the wrap. “You must’ve went through that when you moved out.”

“I mean, sure.” Solo living had its perks. Made you appreciate doing chores yourself, you didn’t have to worry about anyone else’s dishes being left in the sink. You could walk around doing whatever with complete privacy, and no one would bat an eye for it.

“It gets lonely at times but you learn to do things for yourself every once in a while.” You add, leaning back to enjoy the soft cushion, watching her open up a box of books.

“And that’s why you got me, dummy.” She teases, picking up one of the books and giving it a once over. You can see a very familiar tie as the book cover and decide to keep that away for safekeeping.

Because a box full of sextoys isn’t enough for her, you guess.

“You do live pretty close by now.” You nod, standing up to pick up another blue container. “We can meet up more if you want.”

“You just like free food.” She bites, stacking up a few books of varying sizes.

“And you like my company.” You bite back, cutting the tape with the boxcutter, the ripping sound following each stroke. You won’t lie and say that you didn’t like the idea of seeing Yuri more often. Maybe even get a peak of what she’d be doing with one of those toys—

You immediately stop that line of thought and glance back at her after and notice one of the stacks she made was close to toppling. “Might want to put the biggest one on the bottom.”

“Shut up.” She looks down, biting her lip to stop the smiling forming on her face as she starts to fix up her makeshift jenga structure. “Anyway, it took me a while to find this apartment, and the movers were a pain in the ass to talk to.”

“What, they didn’t like that you had so much shit for a single person?” You grin, placing the cutter down. “You can always sell these things online.”

“What am I even gonna sell?” She mutters, arms up in the air as she stops re-arranging her novels on the table. She pauses, stares at the books, then looks up to you staring right back at her.

“Don’t say it.” She warns, shaking her head, eyes widening a tiny bit. “I swear to god, don’t you fucking say it.”

All you do is give her a smirk, extremely tempted to say exactly what you were both thinking. Her hands were already moving to hold onto a small novel, and while it may seem idiotic to tempt physical danger, it also sounds very fun to piss her off.

“The bo–” A thump resonates. A pained shout erupts. A groan follows.

“I told you not to say it.” She repeats, hands on her hips.

“Worth it though.” You grumble, hand rubbing your chest where the book hit you. “You’ll get money on the side anyway, what’s the big deal?”

“Getting to know what to sell is a big deal, duh.”

“You’re unpacking. This is like, the best time to.” You place her novel book on top of one of her stacks.

She slouches, looking like she’s considering the idea when she starts glancing around her towers of books and the rest of the taped up boxes. “Promise you’ll help?”

“If you tell me why you have a box full of sextoys, sure.” You smile, sitting down next to her. Externally, you looked cool as a cucumber. Internally, you were dying.

Why the fuck did that come out of your mouth, you wonder. You should’ve just agreed and be done with it but now the awkward silence was eating you alive.

“...Oh my god.” She groans, leaning back onto the couch. “I thought we already went past that!”

“Did we?” You shrug, taking another glance at her stack of books, pretending that you were completely okay with what you just blurted out. “I never agreed to that.”

“I hate you.” She smacks you with her plushie. “I seriously do.”

You laugh, flailing your arms to protect yourself from a bear. “No–you–don’t–”

She hits you a couple more times before she eventually stops—from exhaustion or from being lazy, you don’t know—and glares. Eyes narrowing, lips flattening, mind deliberating. All the while the bear is just staring at you.

The bear’s got a pretty cool hat you have to admit—

“Fine.” She states, lips slowly transforming into a grin. “If we still finish before dinner.”

“Yeah, I still get food though right–wait.” You stop, jaw dropping slowly. “Seriously?”

“Yes, seriously.” She answers, crossing her arms around the bear. “I’ll even give you a live demo if you want.”

“I think I’m good with the story, thanks.” You chuckle bashfully, hands raising in surrender. Not that watching her fuck a dildo wasn’t hot as fuck, it’s simply very bad for your mental and physical health to be given a clear view to that show.

“You sure?” She draws the words out, smirking and teasing. She leans in, her hair falling, getting closer and closer till you can feel her breath on your face. “You don’t wanna see me suck on a strap like it’s your di–”

“Yes I’m fucking sure!” You answer—scream, really—as you stand up, away from any more of her teasing because your hands are starting to get that itch instead of your mouth. You scratch that itch by going back to the mundane job of grabbing boxes.

You don’t notice the grin on Yuri’s face become absolutely feral.

The next few hours were spent unpacking everything else that was still trapped in their boxes, and anything that she thought she could sell she’d leave in the living room. A bunch of books, extra cables, some plushies she has.

You’re sitting down on one of her chairs for a short break when you let your eyes wander the room. Aside from the large cartons that you both decided to leave for later, the place was halfway there to becoming a home.

It inevitably lands back towards her—it always does—where she’s pulling her shirt up to wipe the sweat off her brow. It also lets you have another peek at her waist, the same pair that you held with your own two hands on that wedding.

There’s always that lingering thought in your head on what her bare hips would feel like, caressing them, tracing every inch of skin with your fingers and wondering what her moans would sound like.

Your mind strays, imagining her face when you trail them upwards, moving closer and closer towards her chest, watching her features morph into something filthy. Begging for you to do more. Touch her, kiss her, tame her.

It’s a good thing they’re just thoughts and not actions cause you don’t know if you’d be able to stop yourself from doing all of that given the chance.

Her offer to give a live performance is enough to make your cock twitch. Add your thoughts into the mix and you’re becoming a horny teenager again.

You exhale through your nose, quietly, hiding it through a tilt of your cup and a sip of cold liquid.

“You never answered me earlier.” You let out, getting your mind out of the gutter for once.

It’s been happening too many times today.

“About what?” She peeks over the rim of her glass.

“About when you moved here.” You reiterate, elbows on your knees, placing the cup down on her coffee table. “What’s up with that?”

“Technically I started yesterday.” She scoffs. “But I had this place for a few weeks now when–”

She goes on about how she found out about the apartment through Yena and went with her mother to get an initial view. She got a deal to own it after a few years with a down payment and had the movers prep all her items throughout the weeks and have it all delivered in one go.

“I remember one of the assholes tried peeking down my top when they were moving the couch.” She gripes. “Wasn’t even trying to be subtle about it cause he kept sticking close, the creep.”

“...Do I need to talk to the guy?”

“Mom already handled it.” She answers, standing up to pick up a few leftover cartons, giving you a grin. “But I’ll keep the offer in mind in case I need to move again.”

“Open up one of the big ones while I put these away?” She says, already walking out to her front hall. You could’ve been seeing things but she might’ve been putting a bit more sway in her hips.

“Sure.” Your feet are already moving towards one of them. “Offers always up when you need it!”

And you’re back to the grind. Open, unpack, store.

Except she’s ramped everything up to eleven.

Intentionally bending over in front of you to show off her ass in those short shorts—you’re totally overthinking it when you thought you saw a small indent in her shorts—or giving you another look underneath her top; Her bra’s this dark blue that’s almost black—it’s a bra for fuck’s sake.

The small touches become more apparent. Less boxes, more space, no reason to take the long way and keep walking in front of you for a touch of your forearm instead of anywhere else.

And the looks she’s giving. The winks she’d send your way when she catches you glancing. The bite of her lip when she’s trying to force her way inside a box.

Now this isn’t just mere coincidence anymore.

It’s bothering you a lot; You feel like the air conditioner isn’t cold enough, you’ve been drinking a lot more water in between breaks alongside the snacks that Yuri’s kept feeding you with.

If this wasn’t paranoia, you don’t know what it is.

Then again, you agreed to this the moment she convinced you to help.

You walk back from her bathroom after placing down some medical supplies in one of the cabinets—You really need to have her sell some of her things—where you find her laying down on the floor, now clear of all the rainbow colored cartons save for one last box.

“Want some more water?” You ask, already heading to the kitchen, grabbing two glasses from her cupboard.

“Please.” She lazily throws an arm up towards you.

“Sit up.” You hold out her cup. “Or else I dunk you in it.”

You honestly could. Just shower her in water and soak that baggy shirt of hers, giving you an excuse to ogle her tits–

“Alright, alright.” She gets up to lean onto the sofa seats, grabbing the cup from your hands to take a sip. “Thanks.”

“It’s your house, I’m here to enjoy the free drink.” You sit down on a chair across from her.

“Always food with you.” She smiles underneath the cup. “Too bad you’re getting that story.”

“Speaking of which,” She continues, “Can you get the box from my bedroom? It should be by my desk.”

“Is it that box?” You put the cup down. “It’s that box isn’t it?”

“Are you actually scared of a box?” She giggles. “Yes, you dummy, it’s that box. Now go get it already. It’s important for the tea.”

“Do we really need it?”

“Of course we need it dummy.”

“Just–making sure.” You cough, clearing your throat before doing as she asks, nervous anticipation consuming your thoughts.

You shake your head. You really need to stop with these things.

She wouldn’t actually use them in front of you anyways.

So you distract yourself, focus on getting what you need, and get back to Yuri. It also gave you a chance to look around the place.

Her apartment started to look lived in, her shelves and cupboards full of items, the boxes all folded up and placed near her front door for recycling.

It looked a lot better than it was when you came in, that’s for sure.

You spot it immediately after coming inside her room. It was very her for the plushies to be used as a guitar stand alongside her many, many novels and right next to her keyboard standing near the desk.

Not even a day into living here and she’s already managed to make it into her own. Gotta give her props for that one.

Well, maybe not for some of her clothes still strewn about in her bed.

You can’t stare at it. You won’t. It’ll make you start thinking about what she’d look like in them. What she’d look like without them.

You booked it straight to the box—still black, still closed—your head staring at it, damn near putting holes in it as you walk out of the bedroom to avoid anything else except for the piece of carton in your hands.

Right into even more trouble.

The very first thing you noticed when you came back into her living room was her shorts on the floor.

The sounds registered after. The squelches, the moans, the gasps. All so low, so lewd, so incredibly fucking fucked hearing it all come from her.

You’re almost tempted to go back to her room and leave her be. Pretend you never saw anything, play the dummy that she always call you by.

But you look up, because what you’ve been imagining for so long is right in front of you and the devil in your shoulder is whispering all the dirty things that you’ve been wanting to do with Yuri. Do unto Yuri.

Everything.

And boy, was it a sight.

Yuri made herself comfortable on the couch, legs spread with a hand between her legs, blue-ish black panties that matched her bra pulled to the side with a small silvery object playing in her fingers rocking back and forth into her tight ass. Her other hand’s busy pinching a nipple, her shirt ridden up to her chest along with her bra.

She’s easing into the plug, teasing herself, the tip all wet and shiny from what you think is lube. You can see her tense up every time she pushes it in, mouth trying to bite a piece of her shirt to stifle her moans.

Didn’t really work, but the view.

Hips rocking with every thrust, the plug slowly disappearing into her, thighs shaking, muscles rippling. The hand on her tits hasn’t stopped pinching and squeezing. Everything about her looks so fuckable in all the ways you’ve thought extremely hard not to.

It almost made you drop the box, with the sound of saving it alerting Yuri to your presence.

“He-Hey.” She moans, pushing the entire thing deep, taking all of it into her ass before fixing up her panties. “You were taking too long.”

“I–” You start. Your mouth stays open for a good while, trying to think of something to say. You can’t.

Because you don’t exactly know what to say when someone’s fucking herself on a butt plug in front of you.

“You want-wanted to know about the toys right?” She says, letting the plug settle, hand pulling away from it to cup her tits. “C’mere and give me one.”

You follow, mouth still stuck in that perpetual curse of being unable to move as you sit down right next to her, box in hand.

The box moves from one pair to another. Yours to hers, where the flaps open once more to show her very bright collection of dildos, vibrators, and handcuffs.

Yuri’s planning something devious, or ambitious. Could be one, could be both. She hums, eyes looking through her box, tongue slipping out of her mouth to lick at her lips.

Definitely both.

“Pick a toy.” She asks you, face full of perverse mischief, hand roaming over her wares. “We can take turns choosing.”

You were completely still, stuck from earlier, mind processing; Embedding the image of Yuri playing with her ass into your head like a core memory of hers that you would never delete from your brain.

“Yuri–” You exhale, making her hum—purr, really, but who gives a shit at this point. “Are you seriously asking me to pick a fucking toy?”

“Duh. They’re all clean by the way, so touch all you want.” She answers, rolling her eyes, leaning back into the couch’s arm. Her shirt’s still ridden up, her breasts out in front of you, nipples hard from her earlier teasing. “Or do you want me to go first?”

She’s already reaching out to the black carton, decision made on what she’d be showing you—or using on herself—before you cut her off with yours.

“The dildo.” You say, one of your arms picking it up. It was the same one you first found when you opened it earlier. Red, large, and girthy, something that looked like it would fill her up all the way. “This one.”

You hand it over to her. It looked comically large in her hands, yet she’s all grins and giggles when she brings it closer to her mouth, tongue already lapping at the tip of it.

“Would you believe me when I say that this is the first one I bought?” She’s slobbering all over it, sucking on the first few inches of the toy, tongue flicking and licking to get it all wet and ready for her.

Her eyes are closing, moaning as she takes it deep, likely imagining that she’s throating a real cock. Yours is twitching at the thought of it being yours that she’s fucking her mouth with.

“This became one of my faves too.” She lets out, biting her lip as she lowers it down to her clothed pussy, rubbing it over herself. Her panties are stained from earlier, a wet darker patch of it in the middle. “Other than the vibrator, but I use both anyway–”

She cuts herself off with a strangled moan, her hips raising, arching as she presses the toy into that spot, rubbing it in, wetting it even more with the saliva that stuck to it.

Jesus Christ, is all you can manage to conjure up in your brain as you watch her edge herself with her favorite fucking strap. The thought of pulling her panties aside never seemed to cross her mind because she’s pushing it inside her to no avail.

“God, the things I did with this fucking thing–” She’s babbling, starting and stopping about how she’d always use it whenever, wherever, whoever.

“Fuck, I’d just use this to get off when I needed a good dicking–” It’s probably why she never goes out on dates even when everyone’s telling her to go on them. Who needs a boyfriend to satisfy her if she can do it herself anyway?

“Had to-god-to get the smaller ones cause I couldn’t walk in public with this.” That gets you thinking, pacing, recollecting every moment you’ve been with her if she had one stuffed inside of her pussy.

“Yena even borrowed one of them–” Now the vivid picture of Yuri and Yena sharing the red toy with each other, fucking each other with it, wondering how’d be on top, is painted inside of your mind. “And she still hasn’t given it back, the bitch–”

You might never look at Yena the same again with that.

All the while Yuri’s kept on going, hands never quite stopping with her metaphorical blue balling. Her underwear is completely soaked with her juices, even marking the couch with the damp spots underneath her.

“Fuck, Yuls–” Your cock’s been straining against your pants since she’s started, in dire need of relief from the confines of your clothes. One of your hands comes to undo the draws of your sweatpants to relieve the tension but you’d think the air can get you off at this point.

“Fuck me, huh?” Her tongue paints her lips before a question—a very dangerous one, you might add—comes out of her mouth. “Is that what you want?”

“God yes,” You confess, eyes roaming all over her. From her delectable thighs, her perky tits, her adorably sinful face; It’s all so ruinable. “Wanted you ever since–”

“The wedding?” She cuts you off.

“Even before that.”

“Tell me.”

So you do.

Tell her that it happened at that university reunion party you all attended. It was pretty memorable, considering that’s when Minju was officially announced ‘out of the market’.

Yuri was blonde then, wore this green dress that hugged her curves and showed her off in all the right places. That was the first time you ever saw her outside of baggy clothing or the tamer casual wear she has on.

It didn’t help that she stuck to you like glue for the majority of it all. You and her were making sure Yena didn’t do something stupid when she had a bit too much to drink.

You tell her how much you wanted to pull her into the bathroom and rail her against one of the stalls; You would hike her dress up and pull her underwear down and go to town on her pussy, not caring if anyone walked in and found out about it.

Watch her face morph into a state of euphoria as you give her a nice, thick load at the end of it. Steal her panties so she’s forced to go back out there glowing from the aftermath and dripping with your cum.

Her eyes are closed all throughout, hand lazily circling the dildo over her, clinging to every single word, and all the dirty things you wanted to do to her that day. It gets her even more riled up hearing you talk like that, judging from the way she’s pushing the toy harder through the cloth.

Then she grins, pulling at the fabric covering her cunt at the same time she pushes. Whether it’s to tease you or to pleasure herself, you can say both and you’d be rewarded, just like she’s doing to herself when she stops for a moment to hike up her legs and take off her panties.

It’s left dangling on one of her legs when she brings it back down and spreads them once more, wet pussy out in the open. You wet your own lips at the sight of it, wanting to put your cock in between her legs and feel how hot she would feel.

Even the butt plug is mocking you, the shine of it inside of her ass barely visible because of the grip that she has on it.

“You-you wanna know something funny?” Her eyes are locked into yours while her hands are back to playing with herself, grinding back on her toy. The lack of ruined underwear makes it even better for the both of you. “I had this plug on my ass that day. Fuck, I even had this on ever since we talked about moving in.”

You two were fucking hopeless.

She slides just the tip in, relieving all the built up tension she’s had for the past few whatever long time has passed and the moan she lets out sounded heavenly, the relief of everything crashing down on her.

“It was my first time too,” She continues, slouching down further into the couch to give you a better view of her ass, holes filled up with her toys. “Having it in me in public. I was so fucking horny that day that I probably would’ve let you fuck me in that bathroom–”

The red toy goes deeper inside of her, shutting herself up with her own actions. A whimper rings out, her thighs trembling with each thrust of the dildo into her drenched cunt.

“Wish th-this could be your cock–” She squeals, biting her lip to stop the perverse giggles that were trying to sing out of her. “You’d stretch me out so well–”

You couldn’t take it anymore. All the stories, the teasing, the view of Yuri fucking herself to the thought of you. You’re bursting at the seams, needing to chase your own pleasure this time.

So you stand up, a visible tent in your pants—she’s already eye-fucking it—and grab something different from her collection; A vibrator, all white with teal highlights because of course she has the classic one.

You turn it on, watch it whir for a moment before turning it off. You turn your head back towards her, still fixated on your pants, your cock, before you take a step. Her breath hitches.

Take another, and you stop to take your pants off. Quick, crass, it did the job to relieve your own stress as your length is freed from its confines. Yuri visibly shivers in excitement.

One more, and you’re cock-to-face with Yuri, her gaze finally looking up from one head to another.

“Holy shit.” It’s only two words, but those alone speak volumes. She reaches out, gripping you at the base, before she starts to lazily pump away at your shaft. “You’d ruin me for all my toys with this.”

“Would I?” You ask, moving to grope one of her tits. She felt so soft against your hand, so perfect. You needed to feel every inch of her, squeezing, pinching, tugging. Move from one breast to another, and you’re addicted. “All those toys, and I’d ruin you?”

“You fucking would.” She arches, hand between her legs moving faster, no rhyme or rhythm to it. Only a need to cum, and she didn’t care how she’d achieve that high. She pulls you closer, your cock resting on her face, the tip of her tongue having a small taste of you. “Because a real cock would feel so much more better.”

She starts kissing your cock, making out with the head, lips glued to you. Her tongue’s twirling and flicking and dousing you in her spit. She moans, the vibrations thrumming over you, making you clench your legs.

“Yuri, what the fuck–” You steady yourself by leaving her tits to grip her head, the other still holding onto her vibrator, waiting, begging to be used on her.

“This already beats out sucking on Glassy.” She even has a name for the damn thing, and it’s not even made of glass. “I can feel you throbbing.”

And you were, when she presses you back to her face. You are when she giggles, giving you pecks all over your length. And you still will be when she inevitably goes back to sucking your cock.

Her hands pump what she can’t put inside of her, wetting your shaft, surrounded by the hot feeling of her mouth that shakes you to your knees. She has the perfect grip on you, stroking you just fast enough to keep you aching for more.

You don’t know if she’s practiced on a dildo to suck somebody’s—your—dick. Not that it mattered if she did it for anyone else.

Because it’s Jo fucking Yuri that’s loving your cock right now, and that is a dream come true.

Her cheeks hollow, tightening her lips around you, just like yours hands are around her hair. It might’ve hurt her scalp. In reality it turned her on even more, bobbing her head quicker, taking more of you inside her mouth.

Then you remember: You’re holding onto one of her toys too.

A finger is pressed on a button, and it begins humming low, drowned out by her filthy fucking slurps. She’s too entranced with your cock to notice that you’ve brought it down to her chest, letting it massage one of her tits.

She hums, eyes closing, enjoying all the sensations she’s feeling. It’s all a fucking mess; From her sucking you off to fucking herself on Glassy. And she’s enjoying every single minute of it.

She mutters something; Too hard to understand with your cock in her mouth, too obsessed with your cock to let go of it. Girl can’t even bother to let her lips go off your head. So she speaks with her actions instead.

Her hand leaves the base of your shaft in favor of your forearm, resting there while you move the vibrator from one nub to another. Still set low, massaging her breasts slowly, pressing it into her.

Yuri even incentivizes it. She starts going at you faster, getting messier and messier with spit starting to drool down her chin. She keeps uttering indescribable things while she’s at it, and you can’t understand a single fucking thing.

“You know I can’t understand what you’re saying.” You pull at her hair, popping your cock out of her lips, now pouting at the loss of her new favorite toy.

“I was enjoying that.” She whines, trying to push herself back onto you, pulling your arm, anything to get you back. “You taste so good, I could just suck on you all day.”

“I’m not exactly part of your collection, Yuls.”

“Yeah you are.” She retorts, shaking her head at another attempt to escape your grasp. “I have Glassy, and you are Dummy.”

“Fucking–Seriously?” You’re in disbelief. Known each other for who knows how long and she suddenly treats you like an object. “I’m a toy to you now?”

“Of course not!” She grins, hand finally coming up from her legs with the sex toy. She’s waving it around, drenched in her juices, glistening in it. “I love each and every single one of them.”

The implications are damning, yet your lust-addled brain is too horny to comprehend that fact.

“So who’s this?” You ask, pressing the vibrator into her chest, watching her tits sink in. You so badly want to suck on them, make her cry out when you bite one of her nipples. But you save that for later.

Right now you have other priorities.

“Oh, Cherry?” She has a name for everything. “A friend got it for me when she went to Japan.”

The only one you knew that went to Japan recently was—

“You wouldn’t believe the stuff she has.” She grins, the hand on your arm pulling you downwards, to the dip of her breasts, to her midriff, and stopping just above her clit. “She’s crazier than me.”

“Having toys isn’t enough?” You push the vibrator, making sure to up the setting and make her thighs quiver. “Nothing’s crazier than that.”

“You-You’d be surprised.” She admits in the middle of her moans. “Cherry’s the real reason why I moved out.”

“Yeah?” You bring it lower, the head of it moving directly on top of her clit, and you repeat the same words she told you minutes prior.

“Tell me.”

So she does.

Tells you all about that time when she overheard Nako and Hitomi over the walls of her old bedroom. All the moans they were letting out. They were trying to hide it for Yuri too, when she says that they were a lot more muffled than usual.

She just got the toy you’re holding; ”All the way from Japan.” She comments, and was wanting—dying—to try it out.

“The hearing aid helped out a lot.”

She continues with how she used it in tandem with her other toys. Had it go in the same places you had it while she bounced on top of a dildo while she had another smaller one up her ass.

“I’ve always wanted to have this in my ass but it’s too fucking big–”

Her breathy moans sing out of her lips every few words, drawing her story out even more. Yet the pressure on her clit never really goes away, only being released for a short moment when she gets too lost in the pleasure to keep on talking.

She knows what you’re doing because she’s done the exact same thing to herself. All the words, the actions. It’s gotten to a point where the both of you are getting so close to losing all composure, yet you still want to carry on with this game.

So she carries on, giving you a play-by-play of what she did that night. It’s so detailed it makes your cock harder if that was even possible, made you leak pre-cum right there in front of her.

She’s eyeing it of course, has been since she’s started talking, still deprived of your cock in her mouth. She brings her hand back to your shaft, gripping you, jerking you slow. Another comes back to her pussy, her toy pushing back inside of her.

Her eyes meet yours, and the face she makes for you is extremely tempting; Tongue pushing into her cheek, eyebrows wagging, eyes full of perverse ideas.

A pull of her hair stops her, and with a whine or a whimper, she keeps on going.

She admits how she got a bit too noisy after a while, louder than the couple at the other side of her room. She didn’t stop even when they did, if anything it got her hornier at the thought that they knew about what she was doing.

All her thoughts about that night was how much she wanted to get in on the action between the two. Yuri’s heard them so many times and the one time they took her into consideration her libido was at an all time high.

“It wasn’t the first time, either.” Yuri giggles, confessing that she’s gotten off to the both of them so many times at this point. The realization that she got caught that night made her cum all over her bedsheets.

The morning after was awkward for the both of them, she says. How Nako had to sit her down and tell her to stop being so loud with what she was doing. But that only spurred Yuri on, knowing that Nako was listening in on her masturbating to said girl.

Her hands haven’t been idle; Stroking you faster, fucking herself deeper. Her clit’s being abused by the vibrator that you’ve constantly held there, and you can tell that she’s close to cumming her brains out.

She’s all twitchy, legs and arms and mouth just begging for you to turn it up to the max.

“You are just…” You pause, trying to find a single word in your limited dictionary of horny thoughts. A lot of words spring up to mind, but only one really fits the description of Jo Yuri in this very instance. “Such a slut.”

“Yeah?” She cackles, depraved, debauched, deafening. Her entire being is screaming it, and you are loving every second of it. “Cute innocent Yuri being such a closet perv, who would’ve known.”

“Be-Bet you didn’t think of that when you wanted to-to dick me down at that party.” She’s abandoned Glassy in favor of bracing herself to your arm, the shaking in her thighs intensifying as you turn the vibrator up a notch. “Like–Fuck, like you wanna do me right here on this couch.”

You want to confirm something. It’s been gnawing at you ever since she’s decided to ‘obtain’ you as part of her collection. And just as she was about to cum, you slow down.

“One more.” You press a button, and the humming dims.

“One-one what?” She can’t focus anymore, so you turn the toy down to low and watch her exhale in annoyance. “What the fu–I was so close!”

“One last toy you gotta tell me about.” You answer her, tugging her hair back and making her fall back down into the sofa. “Swear on my rank I’ll make you cum right after.”

She’s taking deep breaths, her entire body having these micro spasms, angry and disappointed at her orgasm being halted as well as urging her to finish the job herself. But she decides to indulge you.

“Fi-Fine.” She accepts, “Which toy?”

You reach down, yanking the toy out of her pussy, a guttural mewl spilling out of her followed by a yelp as you throw the vibrator away and pick her up by the waist. You take her place on the couch, ignoring the fact that there’s a giant damp spot where she sat—you’ll help her clean it up after—and manhandle her into your lap.

“This toy.” Your cock is pressed to her lips, dripping with need. You can feel the heat in her legs. “Tell me everything you want to do to me.”

Yuri takes a moment to regain her bearings. It doesn’t take long for those words to register in her head, and when it does, she looks you dead in the eye, and grins.

“Fucking perv.” She comments, grinding onto your lap, shirt up and thrown out of her frame somewhere into her apartment, her bra following soon after. You can feel the heat radiating off her legs and the cold plug in her ass. “Wanna hear me say how much I’ve wanted your dick?”

“I told you mine.” You slide a hand up to one of her tits. “Tell me yours.”

Her grin’s turned into this lewd smirk. Combine that with a bite of her lower lip, and you might as well forget about what you asked at this point.

“Remember that bachelorette party,” She’s edging herself with your cock now, toys all but forgotten. ”When you came to pick me up after we got in trouble with the club. That’s how long I’ve wanted you.”

She’s on a roll, going over all the times she’s gotten wet to the thought of you. The wedding, the after party, every night, to right fucking now. She hasn’t stopped rubbing her folds—like you haven’t been groping her tits—cock in between as she starts to lose herself one more time to the pleasure.

“Watching me fuck myself, having me suck your cock–” Her eyes are fluttering shut, the utter perversion of her words taking over the both of you, pouring gasoline into the already raging inferno of your libidos. “You could dick me down right fucking now and I’d thank you for it.”

Fuck it, you’ve heard, seen, and felt enough.

You grab her by the waist and lift her like she’s another damn box to unpack, and push into her in one smooth thrust. You’re both gasping at the sensation, her arms wrapping around your neck, yours around her hips.

“So much better than my toys.” She sighs out, finally getting what she wants. What you both want. “You’re fucking throbbing.”

“And you’re so fucking tight.” It’s unbelievable how true those words are, gripping you so snug every movement makes her squeeze you oh so harder. She’s had that dildo inside her for so long that it made fucking her all the more easier, and all the more better. You slither a hand down to have a feel of her ass, giving it a little pinch before you start to lift her up and down your length.

Her moans ring out in your ear alongside the kisses down your neck as you bounce her on your cock as if she’s your sex toy now. She’s not idle at all however, hands tugging your hair, her hips rolling in your palms, tits pressing up against your chest.

“S-Shit, you’re the best.” She gasps, needy pants airing out straight into your eardrums. “Don’t think I’ll ever go back to my toys after having this dick all to myself.”

“What makes you think I’m yours, Yuls–”

“Shut up, you fucking dummy.” She cuts you off, straightening up before bottoming herself down, taking your entire length. “Thought about this for weeks. Got myself off at the thought of riding you.”

“I know you’ve thought about it too.” You can barely understand a word, her pussy almost suffocating you. “Fucking told me all about it, you dummy. And now you’re mine.”

She starts doing the repetitively damning motion of lifting herself up and slamming herself down on your cock. She was slow, enjoying the way you fill her up, taking every single inch of you before she rides back up again.

Her hands are still on your shoulders, staring right into the face that’s enjoying every small bit of Yuri’s doing. Every hip roll, every squeeze, every bounce; It is everything and more that you’ve thought about with her, and you are craving to have more of it.

You snap your hips up just as she comes back down, giving her ass a squeeze. The gasp she lets out when you do add a slap to the same cheek is like getting hooked up on drugs.

“And what does that make you, huh–” You’re grabbing onto both ass cheeks, keeping her steady as you take back control, setting a rough pace that makes her leave scratch marks on your shoulders. You catch glimpses of the cool metal of her butt plug on your fingers, still fitted so snugly inside of her ass.

“Wh-What do you think?” She retorts amidst the cries of bliss that you’ve caused.

“Say it.” A hand creeps down to the metal, giving it a tug before placing it back in. The guttural moan that comes echoing into the room makes your cock throb harder inside her, as if it wasn’t already throbbing enough for her.

“N-No–” She’s lost all control of her body, surrendering it to the pleasure she’s feeling yet she’s still putting up a front to you. Pretending that she hasn’t when you both know she already has.

“Say it, you brat.” Another slap to her ass before the both of you pause.

Yuri stares. Gives you that look you’ve seen a million times by now. Her entire body’s sweating, hair matted to her face, even with the cool blow of the AC. The playful glint in her eyes that never seems to leave, and you can’t help but be lost in them for just a moment.

And utters two words. Two words that caused you to come right down to reality, and snap.

“Make me.”

Your grip moves to her waist, hard, enough to leave marks on them as you start to pound into her needy cunt, as if you want her to regret ever saying those words.

She won’t, and she never will. Doesn’t mean you won’t try.

“Oh my god–” Her hand braces itself onto her couch, absolutely ruined by what you two have done to it. “Give me more, fucking wreck me–”

You don’t stop. Make her perverse moans turn into desperate gasps in the air. Turn her body into mush in your hands as you do in fact, wreck her pussy for anything and anyone else.

Fuck her till she has tears in her eyes from how good she’s taking you. Until her toes go numb from all the curling. Until she can’t take it anymore. Until she begs.

“Say it.” It’s a mantra you’ve repeated all throughout. Everytime you fuck her so close to cumming before you stop, slow down, whatever it took to keep her from reaching that high.

And she’ll keep denying it. Keep saying all these different ways to tell you no and you’ll keep forcing it out of her. Keep fucking it out of her.

It’s a game. Some fucked up, depraved version of an unstoppable force meeting an immovable object. Neither of you want to lose, but the both of you oh so want to win.

So you start cheating.

Your mouth moves to her chest, taking in one of her nipples, twirling the nub over and under your tongue and giving it a messy suck. You can taste the sweat off of her, that surprised gasp ringing in your ear when you give her a bite.

“Yes, fuck–” She moans, hands wrapping around your neck, mixing through your hair as she leans further into your mouth, keeping you locked in her entire frame. You’re hammering into her harder, the couch protesting in silence at the stress it’s received today. “I’m so close, please, please–”

You murmur those two words, the repetition breaking her down, sending the vibrations straight into her chest with a swipe of your tongue over a bud before clamping back down to suck on her tit.

Your other hand isn’t idle, dipping down low between her legs, your hand getting a coating of her juices before you bring it back to her plug, using it against her. Pushing, pulling, teasing her tight, delectable ass.

You repeat those two words one last time, reveling in the fact that you’re ruining her for everything else, just like she said you would. Feel her legs start to tremble, waist start to shake, face start to get a rosy hue from all the teasing. All the fucking.

“Please, please keep going, I-I’ll say it, just–” She’s pleading, demanding, begging, for you to finish what you’ve started. “Just make me cum!”

“Swear it.” You’re making her work for it, pushing that plug all the way in to her ass, making her take every inch of the plug as you fuck her into her much needed orgasm.

You only need her to speak the words you’ve been wanting, no, needing to hear into existence, and you’ll give her what she wants. What her body is naturally telling her to do.

Yet she’s lost all manner of speaking, syllables coming out as broken moans because you’re not giving her a chance to rest. The heat of her pants brushes your face when she brings you up from her chest to meet her gaze. Yuri lets out this silly drunk chuckle, before her lips crash into yours.

It’s needy, it’s soft, it’s messy, it’s her. It’s a way of agreement, and you respond with fervor. Tongues meld, grips tighten around each other’s bodies, an urge to take everything this brat of a woman in your lap is giving you rising deep within your chest.

You accept it, all of it, and you return it in earnest by finally giving her what she wants.

You all but rip the buttplug out of her ass at the same time you bottom into her, and she’s reached that high she’s been denied for so long.

Yuri seizes up, abruptly pulling away from your lips as her jaw slackens, back arching as a silent scream is frozen on her features before she starts to shake, jerk, convulse everywhere. Her thighs, her chest, her pussy. She’s gushing, spilling herself all over your cock, the couch, the floor, and you’re left close to your own end.

Yet you pepper her neck with kisses, holding her as she trashes about on your lap. Give your entire focus on her, one of the most beautiful things you’ve seen, and the moans and whimpers that followed were so…fuck.

In that moment all you know is her, completely enraptured by the view of her being undone. Let her break, and watch her be remade. Her teary eyes return back to you, and she regains her bearings with a cup of your cheeks.

“Yeah,” She lets out a weak laugh, leaning in to press her forehead to yours. “Definitely the best.”

She leans in, pecking your lips. Then another, and another, until she’s showering you with them. She’s following it up with these giggles that sounded suspicious.

“Give you my spare key if you give me yours.” She whispers after leaving a kiss on your cheek. It’s a sign of an unspoken promise between you two. One you wholeheartedly agree to.

“If it’s an excuse to spend more time with you,” You reply, thumbs circling her hips. “Then it’s a deal.”

“Like you would say no after this.” Yuri laughs, before a flicker of realization crosses her face, followed by a short roll of her hip that makes your cock jump inside her. “You haven’t cum yet.”

“Close.” You groan, fingers tightening around her hips, head lolling to the sofa back. “Really close.”

“You gonna cum inside me?” You can see the perverted amusement twinkling in her eyes, lips turning into a smirk. “Make me swallow your thick cum? Maybe cum in my ass. You would, wouldn’t you, perv.”

“Christ, Yuri–”

“You’d cum on my face though, right?” She’s given you all these options but the brat’s already decided where you would cum. “Shut me up with that cock, make me choke on it, fuck my face till you burst–”

You’re not going to fall for it. Not gonna pull her off of you and get her down on her knees and cum all over her—the thought makes your cock twitch—when her pussy’s pulsing around your length, trying to milk you of your cum. You feel like you’d cum when you pull out anyway, and she would probably consider that a waste.

So you grab her hips and flip her on her back, pull her legs up to her chest, and give her another sloppy kiss. She moans into it, even as you shove your tongue down her throat just to get her to stop talking. You didn’t even realize that you'd placed your hand on her neck when you pull away.

“Just shut up and get fucked, Yuls.”

You give her throat a squeeze, firm enough to make her gasp, make her eyes blow out and this shit-eating grin forms as you slam into her, fast and rough, with no regard for her at all this time.

“That’s it.” She’s hooked her arms around her legs, keeping them upright for you, giving you all the leverage in the world to fuck her into the sofa. “Use me as your toy, make yourself cum. Fuck it all inside me, I’ll take it, I promise I’ll take all of it for you–”

“I said shut up.” You clamp down harder on her neck, feeling the vibrations of her gullet as she moans into every harsh thrust. Her walls are clenching around you, drowning you in her juices, making it so much easier to drive your hips down harder, urging you to flood her with your cum.

Yuri’s fucking you up with your eyes too. Her eyes are starting to roll back, jaw gaping in struggling sobs, perky tits swaying at every movement, a desire to slap the flesh stirring deep within you.

But you can’t. Not when you’re so close to filling her up with your cum. Your hips get punchier, unfocused. Keep hitting that spot that gets you dizzy from how tight and wet and amazing she feels, taking the hand out of her neck in favor of pressing down on her legs.

She’s almost folded in half, but she’s taking your cock so well, her wails burrowing the slaps of wet flesh against each other as she experiences another orgasm, and the last few thrusts makes your entire body tense up and you finally let go.

Every spurt felt larger than the last; Each rope of cum being unloaded deep inside her. The pleasure was immense, the feeling of filling her up seemed endless, giving her deep thrusts as if you wanted to fuck the cum deeper.

You don’t think you can ever go back to your hands after this.

You’ve collapsed on top of her, completely spent as you move your arms to rest on each side of her face, brushing a stray strand.

“So much…” She mutters, glassy eyes looking up at you, wrapping her arms around your nape. “It feels so good.”

Ditto, is all you can muster up, too tired to move a muscle. You can’t help but stare at her. The matted hair, the drool on her chin, the sweat of her skin, and she’s positively glowing after being wrecked.

She presses a kiss on your forehead, before dropping back down on the couch. “You’re helping me clean this up.”

“Anything for you, Yuls.” You blurt it out without thinking, and the giggle you hear makes you smile.

“Dummy.” She utters, giving you a small peck on the lips before pushing you up. “Come on, get up. I need to make dinner.”

“I thought I wouldn’t be getting free food anymore.” You chuckle, sliding yourself free from her. The both of you let out differing versions of disappointment in your mouths—hums, moans, whines, groans.

“I’m hungry.” Is all she needs to say. “But we both need a shower first.”

“Is that an invitation?”

“No.” She denies, pouts, thinks, then smiles. “Maybe after dinner.”

#jo yuri #jo yuri smut #yuri smut #kpop smut #izone smut

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the-shedevil-writes · 2 days ago

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A Night to Remember (Bob Floyd x Reader)

DESCRIPTION: When Phoenix sets Bob up on a blind date with one of her closest friends, he’s already nervous. So when he finds her to be the most beautiful woman he’s ever seen, he’s convinced he’s out of his league. But as the night unfolds, he starts to realize they may work together better than he ever expected. WORD COUNT: 3.7k WARNINGS: Super fluffy. First date/Blind date! Reader is a big nerd- D&D and comics. Nervous Bob. Kissing. MY MASTERLIST - READ ON AO3!

Bob sat with his thigh anxiously bouncing in the booth at The Hard Deck. In a white polo tucked into a pair of black slacks, he held a small bouquet of daisies mixed with a few other light blue flowers. All at the advice of Phoenix, of course, who sat in front of him currently.

“You’re gonna be just fine.” She said, looking down at her phone to check. “I’m telling you, Bob. You’re gonna get along.”

When his pilot had come up to him, saying that she was setting him up, it was like she had experienced a stroke of genius and needed to experiment. She told him that she was setting him up with one of her close friends who had recently moved to San Diego. And that just made him all the more nervous. What if things didn’t work out, and now Phoenix felt awkward bringing her friend around? Or what if things didn’t work out, and now Phoenix felt weird around HIM?

Bob didn’t exactly have the most experience with dating. He took a girl to prom once and went on a date or two after enlisting, but nothing ever came out of it. Next thing he knew, he was 30 and he felt like he was falling behind all his friends who were either getting married or had at the very least a boatload of experience. This blind date felt like walking into a minefield.

“Do I look alright?” He asked with wide eyes

“You look like your usual dorky self.”

Then her phone chimed, and Bob’s head whipped over to it. Phoenix looked and nodded. “She’s here. I’m gonna walk her in then… It’s all up to you, bud.” She tapped the table excitedly as she got up.

“Don’t say that.” Bob groaned, nervous out of his goddamn mind.

As she left and walked out the front doors, he looked down at the flowers that he had gotten. According to Phoenix, she liked blues and pinks. But they didn’t have any pink flowers… He hoped they sufficed. He gently moved some of the flowers with bent stems and fixed the arrangement so nothing was falling out.

After a moment, he looked back up and saw Phoenix open the door for someone. Her. His jaw dropped slightly, and he suddenly understood why Phoenix refused to show pictures. If he had seen pictures, he would’ve believed it was some kind of prank. She was gorgeous. She wore a simple, white dress with a square neckline that fit snugly on her figure. Her hair was down, and it gently blew in the beach breeze, then settled as she walked inside. His eyes traveled down her legs to see the little red heels she wore.

Dear God, what was Phoenix thinking, setting her up with him? His entire face turned pink, and he had to force himself to manually breathe. He watched Phoenix point him out, and his date turned and smiled at him. Bob quickly scrambled to stand at her beautiful smile like he was called to attention. Should he walk to meet her? Should he wait by the table?

But she was already walking towards him.

“Bob?” Her sweet voice called out as she got close enough.

He nodded nervously. “Hi.” His own voice sounded like sandpaper in his head.

She smiled again. “I’m Y/n. Phoenix’s friend.” She looked him up and down with a small smirk, and it made his heart pound in his chest. Was that a good look? Or a bad look?

Bob put his hand out. His internal thoughts screamed at him that a handshake was entirely stupid, but she took it excitedly. Then he remembered what was in his other hand.

“These are for you.” He said with his typical crooked smile, and he held out the flowers.

She gasped and her face lit up like a Christmas tree. He silently prayed a thank you to Phoenix. Taking the flowers in her hands, they complemented her perfectly.

“Thank you so much. I’ve never gotten flowers on a first date. That’s so thoughtful.” She said

“Well, Phoenix helped me pick out which ones you might like.” He admitted. It felt like a dumb move to say that, but he kept to his guns. “Wanna- wanna sit down?”

She nodded and looked over at the booth before sitting down. Bob followed to sit across from her. Then he quickly realized-

“Wait! Uh- would you like a drink?” He asked

“Oh. A water would be nice.” She smiled

“Got it.” He nodded before awkwardly scooching back out of the booth.

When he made it to the bar, he was practically hyperventilating. There sat Phoenix, who watched him with a smug smirk. Bob got the attention of Penny first. He didn’t wanna make it seem like an excuse to talk to Phoenix. Maybe he was overthinking all of this.

“Hi. Can I get a water and a Diet Coke? Actually, make that a water and two Diet Cokes. Please.” Bob said. He figured he might as well get her something just in case.

Phoenix’s laugh finally brought his attention to her.

“You look like you’re gonna pass out, Floyd.”

His eyes widened at her. “What were you thinking? My first date in years, and you set me up with a girl I have no chance with?” He asked quietly through gritted teeth.

She rolled her eyes. “Just. Talk to her. You’ll see.”

Penny slid over the two Cokes and the water glass. He quickly scooped them up and walked back over to the table, looking back at Phoenix nervously.

Y/n looked up at him with eager eyes as he sat back down.

“You like Diet Coke?” She teased him about having two.

He chuckled nervously and slid into the booth again. “I do, but the other one’s for you in case you wanted something other than water.”

She smiled. “Thank you. You’re sweet.”

The words were so simple, yet his face turned a bright shade of pink.

She took a sip of her water, very obviously eyeing him up and down again with a small smile around her straw. After she swallowed, she started:

“So you’re Phoenix’s WSO?”

He nodded. “Yeah. Yeah, I backseat for her. She’s great. Uh- she tells me that you’re her friend from school?”

“Mhm! We’ve been close friends since elementary school. All through high school, too. But then she enlisted, and I went to college. It’s been nice seeing her again.”

“What did you study?” He asked curiously. The small talk didn’t feel as painful as he had anticipated a blind date would be. She felt easy to talk to.

“Aeronautical Engineering.” She explained, “That’s why I moved here. Got a gig being a mechanic.”

Bob’s heart stopped slightly. She engineered planes- his first and greatest love. And that had to mean she was incredibly smart. Not that that surprised him. She held herself like she was.

“Wow. That’s- that’s awesome. We really owe you guys more appreciation. We get to fly cause you guys do all the math.” He said genuinely.

“I like you, Bob. You don’t gotta say all that.” She joked.

His face blushed harder, and his eyes widened. “No! No- I really mean it. It’s true. I couldn’t do what you do.”

She laughed at his nervousness and leaned forward to push his shoulder. “I’m just giving you a hard time.” She took another sip of her water and put her elbows on the table. “So, Bob, what do you like to do, other than boss Phoenix around?”

He looked down at his hands with a tight chuckle. He knew he should tell the truth. There would be no point in lying and acting like he was much cooler than he was. The conversation was going so well so far… but he felt like he could screw it up here. He didn’t hit the gym or go partying on the weekends. He spent most of his time alone.

“Well, uh- I come here every Friday with the squadron and that’s pretty fun.” He started to clarify that he wasn’t a complete loner, “I hike sometimes. But honestly, I play a lot of video games. Like… a lot of video games.”

It didn’t feel like a special answer. He didn’t feel interesting in any sense of the word. But he watched as her eyes brightened.

“What games?” She jumped to ask.

“Oh uh-” He couldn’t help his stammering, “I collect a lot of retro stuff. Mostly games for the Atari. Pac-Man, Galaga, that sorta thing. But I also play the usual Call of Duty, Battlefield, Counter Strike…” He felt like he was talking too much. Well, it was more than what he’d usually say on a Friday night with the squadron, at least.

“Oh goodness, I’m so bad at FPSs.” She giggled, shaking her head, “But that’s so cool that you collect all that!”

What. He swallowed and tilted his head, almost confused. She found that… cool?

She continued. “There was one summer where I spent every weekend trying to get myself on the scoreboard of the Frogger machine at the movie theater. Phoenix wanted to kill me.” She chuckled.

“Did you?”

“Third place. Still pisses me off that I couldn’t get higher.” She said lightheartedly.

“We’ll have to play it on mine sometime so you can beat my score.” The words had slipped out so easily. An implication that he wanted to see her again. He blinked, hoping it wasn’t too forward.

But instead of seeming weirded out, she nodded excitedly. “Yes! That’d be so fun.”

Bob smiled and let out a relieved sigh. This was going so much better than he assumed it would. By this point, he figured he’d screw it all up. He cleared his throat.

“What do you like to do besides fixing planes?”

She blushed and looked down at her drink. “It’s a bit embarrassing.”

“I just told you I spent my weekends playing Pac-Man.”

With a small laugh, she shrugged.

“Well, I’m a bit of a nerd. I collect comics and love superhero movies. I could talk your ear off about them. Also… god this is so dorky.” She started with a bashful smile, “I like playing D&D. So sometimes when there’s a campaign going on, I’ll spend my Saturday night doing that.”

“Like dungeons and dragons?” Bob asked

She nodded. “I know it’s totally nerdy, but it’s so much fun. Have you played?”

He blinked hard and shook his head with a smile. “No, but I’d like to.”

She just… completely and utterly out-nerded him. He looked over at Phoenix at the bar, who nodded at him like ��I told you so’. This felt too perfect. Too good to be true.

Forty-five minutes later, they were both laughing in the booth. Bob didn’t want to say that he was surprised by how funny she was. But he didn’t expect to be laughing so hard that he had tears in his eyes. She was just so unapologetically herself, and that came with witty phrasing and side jokes that punched hard. After their laughter subsided, he looked at her, and it just slipped out:

“Do you wanna go for a walk?”

He didn’t want the date to end with just some colas at Hard Deck.

“I’d love to.” She smiled, “Haven’t gotten to see the beach much.”

He nodded and stood up from the table. After he gestured for her to go first, she walked toward the door. They both noticed the raised brow and glare that Phoenix sent their way.

“We’re going for a walk!” Y/n waved excitedly at her.

Phoenix smiled at that, seeming relieved that she wasn’t going home with him. Bob would never. He knew that taking a girl home on the first date was pretty normal these days, and he didn’t judge anybody who did. But his mother raised him to never do that. She’d probably kill him if he ever did. Knowing her, he didn’t want to test that.

“Have fun. I’m heading home.” Phoenix said as she signed her bar tab. “I’m trusting her with you, Floyd. If you do anything stupid, remember who’s controlling the jet you’re in tomorrow.”

Bob swallowed and nodded. He wouldn’t dare. But also the threat of Phoenix doing everything in her power to make him vomit in his lap was a genuine one.

“You got it.”

Then they walked out the door.

The night beach breeze hit, and her hair swayed softly. Lit by the warm lights pouring from inside the bar, she looked gorgeous in the night time. He wished that he could photograph her. The light hit her perfectly, and the shadows enhanced her features. His confidence felt strengthened from the success of the earlier conversation/

“You look really pretty tonight.” He choked out. “I-I should’ve said it earlier, but I was so nervous. Still so.”

She froze, looking up at him with an almost shocked expression.

“Thank you.” She said, and for the first time that night, she was the one blushing and not him. It felt good to make her suddenly shy. It reassured him that… maybe she could like him too.

Looking down at the ground, she suddenly reached out her hand. Bob looked at it and his head picked up with a small inhale. Quickly, he wiped his hands on his slacks, hoping they weren’t too sweaty. He walked forward and took her hand in his. His hand dwarfed hers just ever so slightly.

Fingers intertwined, they walked towards the beach. Suddenly, he was hyperaware of every function in his body. How sweaty his hands were. How his heart was thrumming in his chest. How his breath kept getting stuck in his lungs. And he was also very well aware of how her hand felt in his. There were small callouses that matched his- no doubt both from their lines of work.

When they reached the sand, he stepped forward in his dress shoes. But when Y/n stepped forward, her heels sank into the sand with a little ‘Oh!’ She wobbled unsteadily, and Bob quickly grabbed onto her waist to steady her. After she gained her balance again, she looked up at him. His arm was wrapped around her, and they both took in each other’s shocked faces. Until she started to laugh, and he joined softly with her.

“We can stick to the sidewalk.” He said, “I don’t wanna get your nice shoes all sandy.”

He gently moved them back to the sidewalk. She giggled and kicked her feet, letting sand pour out from her shoes.

“It’s a little too late for that.”

His eyes widened, looking down at her red heels that were now covered in an opaque sheen of dust. “I’m sorry-”

“No, no! It wasn’t your fault.” She laughed, “Come on, I’ve barely seen the beach yet.”

The starry night sky blanketed them as they started walking again, hand in hand. He tried to look around and not stare holes into her, but he also wanted little glimpses of her every now and then. The soothing rush of the ocean waves nearby hushed over them. The night was peaceful as they were the only two people on the beach. It felt like they could be the only two people in the world.

“Some weekends, the squadron all comes here, and we’ll spend the whole day just playing football.” Bob said softly, “Phoenix is really good.”

“That sounds so fun.” She said, “There aren’t exactly beaches back in Alabama. So it’s strange to be so close. Like on the drive to work, the ocean is just there.”

“It’s nice. It’s really nice.”

There was a gentle silence, and Bob wanted to keep talking, but then he couldn’t figure out how to continue the conversation. Luckily, the tension didn’t feel awkward. It just felt… different.

They walked near one of the small cliffs, and she looked to him with a thrilling look in her eyes. “Wanna go up?”

Bob nodded, “I think there are stairs. ”

Making their way around the other side, sure enough, there were wooden stairs embedded into the side of the small mountain. She climbed up first, and Bob drifted his eyes away to make sure he wasn’t looking up her dress.

Once they got to the top, the breeze was slightly stronger. And she turned back to face him as he made his way up, her hair blowing with a small smile. After a brief heart attack for Bob, she looked away and looked out to the ocean.

“It’s so pretty.”

He nodded and joined her at her side. “You should see it in the day. Or even better, in a jet. It’s great. You can see the whole stretch of beach, and the ocean goes so far back. It’s insane.”

She smiled. “Is it fun? Being able to fly?”

“Wouldn’t do it if it wasn’t.” He answered with his hands in his back pockets, taking in the view. “Though there’s the downsides. Like possibly dying.”

“You better not.” She lightly threatened with a raised brow. “I’d like another date.”

Bob’s head whipped over to look at her. Sure, he had mentioned playing Frogger earlier, but now she was initiating the idea of another date.

She giggled at his reaction and shook her head as she looked back out at the view.

“What? Are you surprised? Didn’t think this date was going badly… but if you think so-” She teased

“NO!” He practically leaped forward to hold her hand again. “No.”

She laughed and shoved his shoulder playfully again. “You’re cute.”

“I think this date is going great. Better than I thought. NOT THAT I THOUGHT IT WAS GONNA BE BAD JUST-” Bob stammered.

Her little teases had him completely flustered and off his game. And with her looking at him expectantly with a raised brow, he couldn’t help the nervous laughter that escaped him.

“I was scared that I was gonna mess everything up. If I’m not doing that right now.” He explained.

She took his hand and moved it to her waist, stepping closer.

“You’re doing just fine.” She reassured, looking up at him and putting her arms on his shoulders. “You should know that…” She leaned into his ear, “I was nervous, too.”

“No way.” He scoffed, naturally wrapping his arms around her waist now.

She nodded. “Uh huh! Phoenix showed me your photo, and I thought you were so cute.”

He looked away, unbelieving. A perfect girl like her being nervous around… Bob Floyd? That felt simply impossible. But when he turned back to face her, she was looking up at him in a way that was almost… antsy. She took a deep breath, and her eyes had an anxious glint in them.

Her hair blew in her face, but before she could fix it herself, Bob took his hand off her waist and gently brushed her hair behind her ear. Now he could properly see her pretty face, and he didn’t want to stop.

“Phoenix didn’t even show me a photo…” He admitted, “I think she thought that if I saw how… beautiful you are, I’d be too scared to do this.”

“Still scared?” She asked, coming a little closer.

He chuckled breathlessly, “Terrified.”

They both laughed, and it just happened naturally. Their faces leaned in closer to each other. She moved one of her hands from his neck to cup his cheek and pressed her lips to his. He sighed, completely relieved. It felt like if he didn’t keep himself in check, his legs would give out. He deeply inhaled her vanilla perfume, and she tasted like the Coca-Cola from earlier. The kiss deepened, and he pulled her as close as he could without completely squeezing her. When he felt her nails travel up the back of his head, he was done for.

She pulled back softly, and he looked down at her.

“Jesus Christ-” He murmured breathlessly.

Now that made her laugh. She leaned in again, and right before his lips, she said

“You’re telling me.”

They kissed again, and Bob wished he could do this forever.

They stayed out much later than they should’ve. Just walking, looking at the beach, talking, and of course, kissing each other every chance they got. A little past midnight, Bob walked her to her car. A small white sedan that was still parked at The Hard Deck.

“You okay to drive? It’s late.” He offered, standing by her door.

She nodded. “I’ll be okay. I know you gotta get up soon.”

There was a small silence, then she added.

“I’d love to do this again.” She said softly. A tilt of hope in her voice.

Bob smiled. “Me too… Phoenix gave me your number. We can schedule a day to play Frogger.” He had never found it so easy to talk to someone before.

“That’d be great. I’ll see you then.” She said.

He opened the driver's door for her, and that brought a smile to her face. She walked up to him and kissed his cheek before getting in.

Smack happy, he shut the door for her and waved her goodbye. As she drove off, he slowly trailed his way to his truck. He flipped the keys in his hand with a goofy smile on his face. It was like a high he’d never experienced before. The most beautiful, smart, and fun girl he’d ever met… wanted to do this again sometime.

He couldn’t help but punch the air with a dorky ‘Yes!’ once her car disappeared. He quickly grabbed his phone from his pocket to see a notification from Phoenix.

PHOENIX: So how’d it go?

Unlocking his truck, he texted back.

BOB: Holy. Shit. I owe you for life.

PHOENIX: I told you, dumbass.

Once he got in the truck and shut the door, he opened his phone again. He found the number that Phoenix had sent him earlier and sent a text.

BOB: This is Bob Floyd- Text me when you get home safe. Had a great time tonight.

He was practically vibrating in his seat as he turned his phone off and started to drive home. His thigh bounced in his seat again. But instead of anxiety, it was out of sheer adrenaline.

His phone burned in his pocket. But he’d later see the message

Y/N: Home safe. Thanks for the best date I’ve ever been on.

And he’d be too wired to go to sleep.

#top gun maverick #top gun maverick fic #top gun #lewis pullman #lewis pullman fic #bob floyd #robert floyd fic #robert floyd #bob floyd fic #bob floyd x female reader #bob floyd fanfiction #bob floyd x reader #robert bob floyd #robert bob floyd fanfic #top gun x reader #top gun fanfic #top gun fanfiction #robert bob floyd x reader #bob floyd x you

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ridingreeves · 2 days ago

Text

𝖮𝗅𝖽 𝗆𝖺𝗇

𝖯𝖺𝗂𝗋𝗂𝗇𝗀��𝖽𝖺𝖽𝖻𝖿𝗌𝗆𝗈𝗄𝖾 𝗑 𝖻𝗅𝖺𝖼𝗄 𝗋𝖾𝖺𝖽𝖾𝗋

⚠︎︎ 𝖶𝖺𝗋𝗇𝗂𝗇𝗀𝗌－explicit smut, car sex, unprotected sex, creampie, weed use, fingering, choking (light), rough then tender, praise kink, age gap, daddy kink, possessive behavior, pet names,

𝖠／𝖭－𝗂 𝗌𝖾𝖾 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝗋𝖾𝗊𝗎𝖾𝗌𝗍 𝖿𝗈𝗋 𝗉𝖺𝗋𝗍 𝗍𝗐𝗈 𝗈𝖿 “𝗐𝗁𝖺𝗍 𝗁𝖾 𝗀𝗈𝗇 𝖽𝗈,”𝖺𝗇𝖽 𝗂 𝗉𝗋𝗈𝗆𝗂𝗌𝖾 𝗂𝗍𝗌 𝗀𝗈𝗇𝗇𝖺 𝖻𝖾 out. A𝗅𝗌𝗈, 𝖿𝗂𝗋𝗌𝗍 𝗍𝗂𝗆𝖾 𝗐𝗋𝗂𝗍𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝗌mut, 𝗌𝗈 𝖻𝖺𝗋𝖾 𝗐𝗂𝗍𝗁 𝗆𝖾. A𝗅𝗌𝗈 𝗅𝗂𝗍𝗍𝗅𝖾 𝗏𝗂𝖽𝖾𝗈 𝗈𝖿 𝗐𝗁𝖺𝗍 𝗂 𝗐𝖺𝗌 𝗀𝗈𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝖿or😉

𝖵𝗂𝖽𝖾𝗈

You swore it was just a pickup.

Quick text from Smoke:

“Pull up. Got some shit for you. Strong. Like me.”

Always so full of himself.

You threw on something quick—black shorts that barely covered anything and a white ribbed tank you weren’t wearing a bra under. Not to impress him. Just because it was hot out. That’s what you told yourself.

It was close to midnight when you pulled into the back lot of the old mechanic shop he ran his business out of. The lot was mostly empty, except for one car tucked in the far corner—a black Dodge Charger Hellcat with dark tint, chrome rims catching the moonlight.

You walked up slow, your slides hitting the pavement softly, heart thudding just a little too fast for a “casual” visit.

Driver’s window slid down.

Smoke looked at you from the shadows, leaning back in the seat like he hadn’t a care in the world. Low eyes, chain resting on his chest, blunt between his fingers.

When you walked up to Smoke’s car, he already had your blunt lit and seat reclined, like he’d been waiting for you all night. And maybe he had. That look in his eyes when you opened the passenger door said it all.

Low. Dark. Hungry.

“‘Bout time,” he muttered. “I was startin’ to think you ain’t want me no more.”

You smirked. “I came for the weed, old man. Not you.”

That gold-tooth grin of his flashed. “Mmhm. That why your nipples pokin’ through your lil’ shirt like that?”

You rolled your eyes—but still tugged the door open and climbed in.

Inside, it smelled like weed and leather, and cologne that cost more than your rent.

He passed you the blunt, and you took a long pull. The hit was smooth, but strong. Your lungs burned, head floating almost immediately.

“Shit,” you coughed, handing it back. “You weren’t lying.”

“‘Course I wasn’t.” He looked you over again, this time slower. “Now lemme see what else you came for.”

you passed him back the blunt. He took a long drag, settled back into the seat, and stared out the windshield.

You told yourself you weren’t gonna let it happen again. Not in the car. Not when you knew he could make you come just by talking.

But then his hand slid onto your thigh.

Not rushed. Just resting there. Warm and heavy like it belonged.

“You gone sit over there and act cute all night?” he murmured.

You turned in your seat, one leg folding up under you as you faced him, the leather creaking slightly under your movement. You reached over, hand sliding slow up his thigh.

“You always talkin’ like you got somethin’ to prove.”

Smoke didn’t flinch, didn’t blink. Just raised an eyebrow.

“I do got somethin’ to prove. And you touchin’ on it.”

You didn’t respond. Just slid your hand over his. Guided it higher. Past your bare thigh, up the curve of your hip, and right beneath the hem of your tiny shorts.

No panties.

You felt him tense, then exhale deep through his nose.

“Lil’ nasty,” he said, voice low. “You came outside like that?”

You turned your head, voice syrup-sweet. “You told me to come quick.”

The second you said it, he grabbed the back of your neck and pulled you into a kiss—hard, wet, deep enough to make you dizzy. He kissed like he owned you. Tongue licking into your mouth, hand gripping your ass, pulling you closer until you were straddling him in the front seat.

“Fuck,” he muttered against your lips. “I missed this pussy.”

You settled on his lap, the denim of his jeans rough against the inside of your thighs. You could feel him—already thick, already hard.

His hand slid between your legs again, fingers teasing you open. He groaned when he felt how wet you already were.

“Damn. She always ready for me, huh?”

He chuckled low in his throat.

Your eyes fluttered shut when his middle finger pushed inside you, slow and thick. He curled it just right, like he knew your body. Like it was muscle memory.

“Keep takin’ that shit,” he said, watching you grind into his hand. “Look at you, fuckin’ yourself on my fingers like a good girl.”

You whimpered, hips rolling faster.

“Shh,” he hushed you. “I got you.”

His voice. His voice made your body obey. Made you fall apart for him in that seat with just his hand buried inside you and his teeth grazing your throat. You clenched around his fingers, back arching as you came fast and hard.

“Mm. Look at you. You was missin’ me.”

You grind your hips against him, slow and deliberate. “Shut up.”

“Make me.”

You did.

Your mouth crashed into his, and it wasn’t soft. It was teeth, and heat, and him grabbing your ass with both hands, squeezing so tight you moaned into his mouth. His tongue slid past your lips, deep and messy, while your hips rolled against him.

When he broke the kiss, his voice was rough.

“Climb on, mama. Ride me like you mean it.”

You blinked, dazed. “Right here?”

He grabbed your jaw, made you look at him.

“You come to me damn near naked at midnight, sittin’ on my dick in the back of a dark-ass lot, and you got the nerve to be shy now?”

Your pussy clenched, and he felt it. Smirked. That knowing, cocky grin that made you wanna slap him and let him ruin your life.

“Come on,” he said again. “I wanna watch you while you fuck me.”

You didn’t hesitate this time. You were on your knees, braced one hand on his chest, the other on the seat. You watched as he unzipped his pants, the heavy sound of his belt loosening making your stomach flip.

He pulled your panties to the side, ran two fingers down your slick folds, and groaned.

“Damn, baby… You drippin’. You need it that bad?”

“Smoke—please—”

He didn’t tease.

He pushed inside you in one deep stroke, and your head dropped forward with a loud moan. He was thick, stretching you open so slow it nearly hurt—but you loved it.

“So deep—” you moaned.

“I know. You takin’ it, though. You always do.”

He didn’t move at first. Just sat there, deep inside you, palm on your lower back, watching your pussy pulse around him.

“You feel that?” he whispered. “That’s mine. Every fuckin’ inch.”

“Fuck.” His hands gripped your hips hard. “Pussy still perfect. Grippin’ me like it missed me.”

You tried to respond, but all you could do was ride him. The car rocked with you, windows fogging as your thighs clapped against his. You reached one hand back to brace on his knee, trying to take all of him.

“That’s it, mama,” he groaned. “Take all this dick. You built for it.”

He leaned forward, palm sliding up your back, around your neck, fingers curling lightly at your throat.

“Who’s this pussy belong to?”

“You,” you gasped.

He tugged your head back against his shoulder, slowing his thrusts to grind deep. “Say it again.”

“You, Smoke—fuck, it’s yours—”

That earned you a slap to the ass, then another. You cried out, and he kissed your neck between spanks.

You were shaking. High, cock-drunk, toes curled, tears slipping from the corners of your eyes as he reached down and rubbed your clit in rough little circles.

Your body started to tremble.

“There she go,” he cooed. “Go ‘head, make a mess. Cream on this dick.”

“You gone let daddy come in this pretty pussy?”

“Yes—yes, Smoke, please—”

“Beg for it.”

“Please,” you cried. “Please fill me up—I want it—need it—”

He groaned. His pace turned mean, messy, punishing. You came again without warning, clenching around him, and he didn’t last long after that—burying himself deep and spilling inside you with a growl against your shoulder.

The car went still. His forehead pressed to your back. His hand rested heavy on your hip.

The car was silent except for the ticking of the engine and the sound of both of you trying to catch your breath.

Smoke leaned back, hands still on your hips, thumbs rubbing slow circles on your skin.

“…Damn,” he muttered. “That wasn’t what I planned.”

You were still face in his shoulder, giggling softly.

“You always say that.”

He pulled you back gently into his lap, kissed your shoulder. “Only ‘cause you got a way of throwin’ me off.”

“Uh huh.” You shifted, a little whimper leaving your mouth as he slid out of you.

He grabbed a hoodie from the back seat, putting it on you. Then lit another blunt, passed it to you with a look so soft it made your chest ache.

“You hungry?” he asked.

You nodded.

“Good. Let’s go get you fed before I take you to the house and fuck you right.”

@cremeful

@enchanthings

#smoke x black reader #smoke moore #elijah x reader #elijah smoke moore #micheal b jordan sinners #micheal b jordan #sinners smut #sinners x reader #micheal b jordan x reader #sinners x black reader #black reader

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inlovewithquestionablecharacters · 3 days ago

Text

Bob Floyd X F!Reader: Crash and Burn

a/n: I love writing near-death experiences that lead to confessions and smut. It’s a guilty pleasure 😉

Warnings: smut, angst (very tame), cursing, fighting (nothing too bad) near-death experience, emotional conflict, sexual content, explicit smut, mutual pinning, f!reader, no use of y/n, penetration (p in v), semi-public sex (i mean anyone could have walked in), possible me remembering stuff wrong from the movie ( i haven't seen it in awhile okay 🙃)

Word count: 3.4K

Maverick had made it his personal mission to push every pilot past the point of comfort. He was determined to test your limits. You were more than eager to prove you could take the heat.

The sun beat down on the cockpit canopy as you adjusted your helmet, eyes locked on the radar screen. Somewhere out there, Maverick was hunting, pushing you to fly faster, think sharper, and stay alive.

Failure was not an option.

The sky in front of you was clear. It was a beautiful day for a flight. If Maverick hadn’t been hunting you, you were sure you would have enjoyed the scenery a lot more. Unfortunately, your heart was racing with the thought of somehow losing. It wasn’t a real possibility, not in your mind anyway. You were a good pilot and Fanboy was an excellent WSO, so you didn’t have much to worry about.

But then again, you were flying against Maverick. He had proved to you and the rest of the crew that he wasn’t just a legend. He knew his craft, and he wasn’t going to let any of you stop him from doing what he did best, which currently meant beating you.

“Anybody got eyes on him?” Hangman’s voice crackled through the comms, sharp and steady.

You scanned the horizon, muscles tense. “Not yet. But I’m pushing the limits. I’ll call it if I see him.”

Fanboy’s calm voice came over your headset. “Radar’s clear for now, but he’s tricky. Don’t lose focus.”

Your grip tightened on the controls as you adjusted your heading, heart pounding. Maverick was out there somewhere, and this chase was far from over.

And then, almost as if he’d heard you, Maverick appeared out of nowhere. You couldn’t see him yet, but you knew he was there because of the curse Hangman had just let out, followed by the clear sound of the older pilot saying, “Hangman, you’re dead.”

The comms crackled with frantic voices as pilots scrambled to react. You tightened your grip on the controls, eyes darting between your instruments and the horizon. Fanboy’s calm voice came through your headset.

“I see a blip on the radar. Twelve o’clock, fast approaching.”

Your eyes darted to where he was talking about, immediately catching sight of the two jets. You watched as Phoenix and Bob tried to outmaneuver Maverick, zigzagging low, trying to shake the older pilot off their tail. You spotted the ridge up ahead, your heart suddenly clenching as you realized just how close the other two pilots were flying to it.

“They’re too close to the ridge,” you said, voice tight. “Fanboy, tell me if they’re not pulling up.”

“Roger that. They’re pushing it.”

You should probably have been thinking about how to win this game. If Bob and Phoenix got eliminated, that only meant you had a bigger chance of winning. But you couldn’t get your mind to think like that, not as you watched their jet come closer and closer to the ridge.

Your heart was pounding, and it wasn’t because Maverick was hunting you. The jets dipped low, causing your breath to catch.

“Phoenix, Bob, pull up now! You’re gonna hit the ridge!”

Static buzzed, then Phoenix’s voice came through, strained but steady. “We’re fine.”

You knew Phoenix was a good pilot–you trusted her instincts–but you could see where she was going, and it seemed like she was too focused on Maverick to realize just how close she was to the ridge. The way she said it, so calm, so certain, made your blood boil all of a sudden. You were warning her because you cared, and she wasn’t even trying to listen.

“Phoenix, you’re too fucking close. Pull up now!”

There was no response. You fought the urge to shut your eyes, unable to look away even though your mind screamed it was coming. Then, just as you were about to call out again, their jets jolted upward, barely clearing the jagged rocks by inches.

You exhaled sharply, your breath shaky.

“Jesus,” Fanboy muttered in your ear, echoing exactly what you were thinking.

You didn’t answer him. Your eyes were still locked on Phoenix and Bob’s jet, watching it level out.

A second slower and they would’ve been gone.

The rest of the game had gone by in a blur. All around you, pilots were getting eliminated left and right. Maverick was absolutely destroying all of you. But you kept fighting like you had a chance—because maybe, if you believed you would win, you could.

Yeah, right.

Even you knew that beating Maverick wasn’t something you were going to achieve today. Still, your chest swelled with pride when you found out that you and Fanboy were the last ones to get eliminated. Not quite a victory, but still a win in your book.

Unfortunately, you couldn’t even appreciate it the way you wanted to. Your brain kept replaying the sight of Phoenix and Bob’s jet almost crashing into the ridge. The happiness you felt over your small victory was short-lived, immediately replaced by a sudden anger that bubbled up inside you and filled your chest like fire.

The sun was high by the time you all hit the tarmac. Sweat clung to your skin, your body already aching from the endless drills, but it didn’t matter. Maverick had ruled the sky again, and now everyone was paying the price.

“One hundred push-ups,” he’d said flatly. “Rules are rules.”

So you dropped to the ground with the others, hands pressed to the hot concrete, heart still pounding from more than just the exercise.

You were seething.

Each push-up only made the rage worse. You tried to breathe through it, focus on form, on rhythm, on anything else. But your mind was stuck. Stuck on how close they’d come to slamming into that damn ridge.

Phoenix was beside you, gritting her teeth, her form sharp. Bob, quiet as ever, kept his head down and his pace steady.

You didn’t look at either of them.

Once you finished your one hundred push-ups, you were all exhausted. You were equally drained and angry, and you were sure it showed in your facial expressions and body language. That thought was confirmed when Hangman so helpfully quipped, “What's with the face? You suck on a lime or something?”

You gave him your most meaningful glance. He raised his hands in mock surrender.

“Whoa, hit a nerve,” he said with a coy smile.

“Fuck off, Hangman.”

That surprised him because, despite all his teasing, you were always someone he never managed to get under the skin.

He wasn’t the only one who noticed, of course. All eyes had turned to you as you said those words. You could feel Bob’s gaze on your shoulder and Phoenix’s smoldering eyes watching you. You made brief eye contact with Bob, then with Phoenix. Without a word, you exited the room.

You didn’t expect them to come after you—maybe today was a day for unexpected things.

“Can we talk?”

You paused at Phoenix’s voice, then turned around to face her. Your eyes flicked to Bob behind her. He wasn’t cowering, but he did seem to be slightly hiding from you, allowing Phoenix’s body to shield him from your rage.

It made you feel bad for a moment, but then the moment was gone, and you were back to seeing red.

“I don’t know. Are you going to listen to me?”

Phoenix rolled her eyes at you. She would have expected this from someone else. She wouldn’t have expected it from you. But here you were.

“Look, I’m sorry for not listening to you.”

You didn’t hesitate. “Yeah. You should be.”

Her eyes flicked up, sharp. “Look, I said I was sorry.”

You crossed your arms, jaw clenched. “You nearly clipped a ridge trying to show off. That’s not just something you shrug off, Phoenix.”

Behind her, you saw Bob glance over from his locker, brows furrowed like he was debating whether or not to step in.

He didn’t.

Phoenix held your stare for a beat, then scoffed.

“I had it under control.”

You laughed, but there was no humor in it.

“You didn’t. That’s the problem.”

Fanboy stepped between you and Phoenix just as the tension reached a breaking point. His voice was calm, almost tired.

“Everyone’s exhausted. Maybe we should just call it for today—get some rest.”

Phoenix’s eyes flicked toward him, then back to you. You clenched your jaw but didn’t argue.

“Fine,” you muttered.

Without another word, you turned and pushed your way through the hangar doors, needing space. Needing to breathe.

You’d gotten cleaned up and found a space where no one was around, which was kind of a miracle, considering how many people were constantly coming and going. You weren’t hiding exactly, but you weren’t exactly inviting company either.

You didn’t think anyone would be looking for you. You and Phoenix would work it out eventually. She knew better than to come to you when you were angry. And Bob was just as quiet as ever.

So yeah, you hadn’t expected him to come.

Yet there he was, just outside the door, eyes fixed on you.

You only noticed his presence when he let out a soft knock, causing your eyes to shift from the window you’d been staring out of to the other side of the room. He opened the door gently, peeking his head through the opening.

You studied him for a moment. Maybe there was a problem. Maybe Maverick had called an unexpected meeting and sent Bob to find you.

But you were surprised when he let out a soft, “Is it okay if I come in?”

“I don’t own the room, Bob. You can do whatever you want.”

You sounded like a dick—you knew that—and you saw it in the way Bob’s expression shifted, but he shrugged it off and stepped inside.

He took in the way you were standing, posture rigid as you leaned against the window. The anger from before still radiated off you. He’d do what he could to avoid igniting the fire, but he couldn’t keep “fighting” with you without talking it over.

He hated not being able to talk to you. He hated seeing you angry. It had only been a couple of hours, and he was already missing your smile. He wanted to see it again. He’d do anything in his power to make that happen.

“Did you warn her?”

Bob had barely taken a couple of steps when your voice cut through the room. You shifted your gaze to him, silently telling him you were waiting for an answer.

You were sure that, as Phoenix’s WSO, he would have warned her about how close they were getting to the ridge. You knew Fanboy would have been screaming in your ear if it had been you.

“Is that what happened? Did you warn her and she just ignored you?”

Bob hesitated, running a hand through his hair.

“She’s a good pilot. I trust her,” he said quietly. “I knew she had it.”

You shook your head, frustration bubbling up again.

“But she almost didn’t, Bob.”

You strode across the room toward him as you spoke.

“She almost crashed. And if she had, it wouldn’t have just been her life—it would’ve been yours too.”

Bob didn’t move. He let you keep coming closer, each angry step echoing in the quiet room.

“You could have died. Do you get that? You could’ve been up in smoke right now because you didn’t speak up.”

You poked at his chest as you spoke. Bob barely flinched.

“Floyd, are you listening to me?! I could’ve fucking lost you!”

The words hung in the air, heavier than you expected. You blinked, suddenly aware of what you’d just said.

Not “we.”

“I.”

Not “both of you.” Just “you.”

Bob’s eyes widened, just a fraction, catching the change like a spark.

Your hand was still pressed to his chest—no longer sharp like a knife but soft, your palm resting there as if you were leaning on him for support. As if, if you let go at that moment, you would crumble to the ground.

Your breathing shifted. Your lip quivered. Before you knew it, you were crying.

You tried to pull away, tried to hide the tears, but he didn’t let you. He tugged you into him, strong arms wrapping around your frame. His arms tightened around you, steady and grounding, as if to hold not just your body but the storm inside you.

You leaned into him, the tension in your muscles slowly melting away. Your breath hitched when his lips brushed softly against your temple. The feeling seemed to awaken something inside you.

You lifted your head slightly, meeting his gaze.

Bob watched you with a pained expression. He hadn’t meant to hurt you. He would never do that. Knowing that the tears wetting your cheeks were because of him—and from the thought of losing him—made his heart tighten.

You shifted your face softly, mouth opening with slightly sped-up breaths. You brushed your nose against Bob’s, your eyes catching his furrowed brows.

He called your name just before you claimed his mouth.

His lips met yours with a gentle insistence, soft and searching, as if trying to convey everything he couldn’t say with words. Your hands slid up to his shoulders, fingers curling into the fabric of his shirt as the kiss deepened, becoming more urgent.

Bob’s hands gripped your waist as he gently guided you to the nearest wall. Your back hit it with a soft thud as he pressed in closer, crowding into your space but never overpowering. His lips moved with yours in a slow, deliberate rhythm, like he wanted to memorize the shape of your mouth.

You had started this, but you hadn’t expected Bob to mirror your desire so clearly. He was always so quiet. Always kept to himself, averting anyone’s gaze if they stared at him too long. You knew he could be confident—you’d seen it before—but it was rare, and you weren’t prepared for the kind of need that was seeping out of him now.

Your hands slipped under the edge of his shirt, fingers splaying against the warmth of his skin. His breath caught at your touch, the sound vibrating softly against your lips. He pulled back just slightly, his eyes scanning your face, asking a silent question.

You nodded before he could even get the words out.

“Bob,” you breathed, fingers curling around his wrist as you guided his hand to your waist. “Touch me. Show me you’re real. That I’m not imagining this.”

Your words caught him off guard. You thought you were dreaming? Then what did that mean for him? Had he somehow died and gone to heaven? No. He could feel your warm palms pressed to his chest. Real. Alive. Waiting.

He surged forward, kissing you like he’d been holding back for far too long. His hands slipped beneath your shirt, and when they found bare skin, he let out a quiet groan into your mouth. You helped him peel the fabric from your body, your breath hitching as cool air met overheated skin. He stared at you shamelessly, drinking in the sight of your barely clothed chest. You couldn’t help but smile at the awe on his face.

“You’re beautiful,” he whispered, almost like he wasn’t sure he should say it out loud.

But he meant it. You could feel the truth of it in the way his gaze lingered, in the slight tremble of his fingers as they traced the edge of your bra. You could tell he wanted to take it off but was hesitating to ask.

You didn’t make him beg—your hands moved to unclip the bra.

Bob’s breath hitched as your breasts bounced free, nipples hardening at the sudden chill. You pulled him closer, guiding his mouth to the side of your neck, tilting your head as his lips explored the sensitive skin there. You felt the drag of his teeth, the wet heat of his tongue, the gentle suction that made your stomach tighten and your knees threaten to give out.

Your hands found the waistband of his pants, undoing the button with practiced ease. He hissed at the contact, burying his face in the valley of your breasts as you slid your hand inside, stroking him through the thin fabric of his boxers.His breath hitched.

“Fuck…”

It came out as a soft whine. Your eyes nearly rolled back at the sound. God, he sounded pathetic, and you fucking loved it.

You stroked him a little harder, feeling the twitch of his cock against your palm, the way his hips instinctively pushed forward. Then you heard a noise outside. Both of you froze for a moment, suddenly reminded of where you were.

You didn’t have much time. As much as you wanted to drag this out as long as possible, you knew you were on an invisible timer. And with how hard Bob was pressing against your hand, and how wet you were feeling between your thighs, you knew leaving without cumming was not a possibility.

“I need you,” you whispered, voice breaking on the words. “Please.”

His gaze softened even as his jaw tightened. “Yeah. Okay. I got you.”

He lifted you like you weighed nothing, your legs wrapping around his waist as he pressed you back into the wall. One hand steadied you, the other guided himself to your entrance.

The moment he pushed into you, slow and fucking delicious, you both gasped. You clung to him, forehead resting against his, your breath mingling in the small space between you.

He started to move, each thrust slow and deliberate, dragging pleasure through your core like waves. The wall at your back grounded you, but it was him—his arms, his steady breath, the way he whispered how good you felt in broken fragments—that made you feel steady. Safe. Present.

You weren’t sure when it happened, but you were crying again. Only this time from the overwhelming ache of it. The kind that came from being seen. From being held like this.

Your hands traced the line of his jaw, tilting his face up so you could look into his eyes—dark, searching, full of everything you’d been holding back. You swallowed hard, your pulse hammering in your ears.

“Almost there,” he murmured, voice wrecked. “Just… stay with me.”

There was nowhere else you’d rather be.

You clawed at his shoulder, nodding as he quickened his pace. You were both hanging off the edge, bodies full of adrenaline and the intense feeling of each other. He drove deeper, every movement raw and urgent, as if trying to bury himself inside you and never let go.

And then his lips found yours again, and something snapped inside you. He swallowed the moan you let out as he came. You felt him tense beneath you, arms tightening around you as his orgasm washed over him.

When it was over, he didn’t let go. Not even for a second.

He held you there, face buried in your neck, your bodies still tangled. He only pulled back when he felt your breath start to steady.

“I’m not going anywhere,” he whispered.

And you believed him.

After a while, both of you got dressed again, laughing as you searched the room for different pieces of clothing. You helped Bob neaten up his hair and clean the smudges off his glasses. He smiled at you as he put his glasses back on, leaning to place a soft kiss to your cheek. You grinned up at him, grabbing onto his hand.

“I’ll talk with Phoenix.”

Your brows furrowed.

“About being reckless. And about listening.”

“Oh. For a second, I thought you were talking about what happened here.”

Bob flushed at the mere thought of Phoenix—or anyone else on the team—finding out just how desperate he had been for you a few seconds ago. Not because he was embarrassed by you, but because he was embarrassed by his lack of control. He should have at least taken you out to dinner.

“Don’t worry about it.”

Bob’s eyes snapped up to look at you. Had he spoken the last part out loud?

“I’ll patch things up with her. I promise.”

Bob smiled.

“Good. Can’t have my favorite girls fighting.”

You raised your eyebrows again.

“I’m one of your favorite girls? I would have never guessed.”

Bob laughed at your mock surprise. Your face spread into a grin. There it was—the smile he loved so much.

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vampmira · 3 days ago

Text

put up your hands if you're my bff!

after their new global blow up in popularity, huntr/x get a call from bobby, announcing their new "co-manager in training". you're overly awkward with each other until he finds the ultimate solution – a sleepover.

pairing: platonic!huntrix & gn!manager!reader

warnings: movie spoilers

a/n: there's sprinkled korean in here — in hangeul, romanized, and translated — if that matters. lowk it's so i can practice my korean again 😭 also this one's longg i got excited to write again

a quiet penthouse in the center of seoul doesn't stay quiet for long; not when huntrix, one of the bigger girl groups of their current generation, just finished another perfect concert. their fans disburse through the streets, traffic picking up faster than the speed of light. there are groups of lightsticks along the sidewalks lighting their way home and the girls are doe-eyed as they look out the window at what's bloomed below them.

"they're so cute when you think about it." rumi leans against the window, voice soft and arms crossed in her tanktop and train pants. "getting with their friends, coming out to see us?"

"IT'S SO PRECIOUS!!" zoey's eyes are swallowed in tears as she wildly wipes them away with her arms. their lavender leader pets their youngest's head, demon marks sparkling in the moonlight.

mira looks on at the groups of fans, smiling against each other, protected under the golden honmoon, and nearly cries herself before her phone vibrates — a video call coming in, unfiltered by her activated do not disturb setting. she slides it between the three of them, answering immediately.

"hi bobby!" they respond unanimously to their manager.

"my girls!! you three were INCREDIBLE tonight, as always!" streetlights flash across his face, illuminating his proud smile. "listen! i know it's been a crazy night but i have a liiiiittle favor to ask– SO SMALL, you'll barely even notice it!"

the girls gather on their couch. bobby never asked them for much – maybe for them to stop playfully kicking each other in their makeup chairs or to drink water after concerts or to lean on him if they ever need anything – but never big favors. regardless, huntrix knew they'd do just about anything for him. he's always taken care of them on their best and worst days. their number one behind the scenes, from the stressful rush of comeback season to the grueling nights of unending practice when he waits for them in the car outside until 2 in the morning. so when they gathered the screen and told him to "hit them" with his favor, they knew one thing.

nothing would be too much for bobby.

then they met you.

not you as in you yourself, but you as in their new manager.

"a junior co-manager to even out some of the work around here!" bobby exclaimed when he entered the room. the girls tried not to stiffen when meeting you, this brand new stranger in their home, but their introduction was clunkier than it is on tv.

mira came in too early, rumi came in too loud, zoey came in too late.

"hello-" "hello, we are- are huntrix!" "hun.. huntrix...?"

they physically cringe at the memory.

there were bumps in the road getting you comfortable with each other

you'd get caught off guard by mira's intense stare

rumi would speak so formally with you, it'd make her stutter over her pronunciation

zoey would bow and apologize to you, which you would return with a deeper bow, and she would return deeper

... let's just say you got more flexible as time went on

until bobby had enough of the over politeness.

until the destined sleepover.

"okay!" bobby placed a mountain of chips, sandwiches, and popcorn on the penthouse table, enough to cover it like a river. "welcome to your manager and huntrix girls night! or uh... friendship night!"

"what's this all about?" rumi questions, her members far to excitedly staring at the popcorn to fully listen.

"i know i'm your amazing manager and all but we have a new member on the team!" he gestures over to you, sitting a few visible feet away from the very huddled up idols. "and, for them to do their job, you need to be closer! so, take tonight! have fun, play games, learn secrets- whatever!"

he walks out, waving at the mess of young adults he left behind — you all. it was quiet, unspoken small glances being shared between the four of you before the scary rapper cutely smiled behind her hands, cheeks stuffed with popcorn and eyes sparkling with mischief.

"you guys wanna play 딸기 (ddalgi / strawberry)?"

that game became a staple in your friendship

zoey's amazing rap skills kept her winning but you? oh she was THRILLED she FINALLY had good competition!!

when she, the undefeated champion of 딸기, wore her crown against you for the 3rd round in a row – that's when it got serious

the mario kart was pulled out.

before you knew it, you were leaning against rumi's demon markings, watching her take 1st place again.

"you're rigging the game! totally rigging!" their youngest in fourth place accused their leader, shaking her by her shoulders as she drifts across toad's turnpike seamlessly.

you hung behind her at second until that destined mystery box gave you the one thing you were looking for – a miraculous blue shell. its release was cinematic as it hit her biker princess daisy persona, allowing you to surpass her at the last second mid drift – akira drift style. it was slow motion, that switch of the neck and neck rivalry to a historic soar in the rankings, before the girls lost in fourth and twelfth jumped around you in triumph at the decrowning of their beloved leader.

all lighthearted of course !

rumi called for an immediate rematch but her smile told you it wasn't serious

the rest of the night barely called for icebreakers

no, the ice was thoroughly broken

in fact, the ice was broken, chopped, grinded, melted, refrozen into ice spheres, and plopped into the glasses of 화채 (hwachae) that you all prepared at 2 in the morning

if you asked the girls, there'd be small argument over which part of the sleepover you definitely became friends

zoey would say during 딸기

rumi would claim it was the mario kart

mira would put it on the time she accidentally smeared mascara on your face a week after you met for the first time and didn't tell you until you got in the van post-inkigayo win

...very embarrassing that day.

but for you? the 2am 화채 was it.

you sat against the penthouse's tall windows in your own pajamas, watching your idols excitedly scramble things together on the floor of their living room. chilled watermelon, blueberries, honeydew and kiwi cubes, lemon-lime soda, honey, and sugar are tossed in front of you with wild excitement.

"i can't. believe. you've never. had. HWACHAE." the huntrix maknae leans into you. she was just falling asleep on your shoulder during their 7th rewatch of extraordinary attorney woo a few minutes ago before their deep voiced compadre brought up her craving.

"you're gonna love it." her intense stare is softer now, a stark difference to how she is during rehersal or morning makeup. she looks at you the way she looks at hwachae. she looks at hwachae the way she looks at their fans.

you sat around the combination of fruit and sodas and cups as they start putting it together, the kdrama going on in the background. zoey makes a comment about the love interest being a green forest before absent mindedly pouring in soda, you being the one to stop her before it overflowed.

seoul was bright outside their tall windows, buildings shining with lights and cars passing by here and there, but it was quiet. the sky was clear enough to let the moonlight shine on the girls in front of you, as if they were the chosen ones, and when they looked at you for your first opinion of the sweet treat, you weren't just a manager with the rockstars they "had to babysit". you were a couple of teenagers having a sleepover. the epidemie of youthfulness, humanity, and friendship.

hwachae, k-dramas, and friends.

friends.

the next morning, you were surprised to see that your once fully scheduled phone calender was cleared

instead,, an email sent to you from [email protected], titled "enjoyyyy the day offffff" in your notifications

you never shared this email with the girls, allowing them to sleep in until they groggly arose around noon, but the attatched photo of them laying around you, looking like a pile of emotionally attached puppies in your sleep, went framed in your apartment later that week

when the four of you showed up at work later that week, coffees in hand, engaged in a casual conversation of a show he couldn't recognize, he couldn't help but pat himself on the back, finally free from the collective awkwardness.

#dividers by enchanthings #kpop demon hunters x reader #kpdh x reader #rumi x reader #mira x reader #zoey x reader #huntrix x reader #x gender neutral reader #x gn reader #gender neutral reader #gn reader

473 notes · View notes

cheftsunoda · 9 hours ago

Note

hiii!

I love your writing sooo much and I just had an idea for a story with Lando (if you write for him)

The idea came to me when I was watching one of his interviews in which he gets asked if he likes cats or dogs and he says that he's DEFINITELY a dog person and hates cats (which should be a crime imo)

Anyway I was wondering if you could write a story in which the reader LOVEEEES cats and Lando likes reader a lot but they tell him that they refuse to date someone who doesn’t like cats so Lando tries to charm/befriend their cat/cats

nine lives — ln4

lando norris x !cat lover reader

smau + blurbs

You’ve always said you could forgive many things in a relationship—bad taste in music, questionable cooking, even the occasional forgotten anniversary. But not liking cats? Unforgivable. Which is why, when a clip of Lando—your boyfriend of almost a year—where he boldly declares “I just don’t trust cats. They stare at you like they’re plotting your death.”, your phone practically explodes with notifications. And right in the middle of your peaceful Sunday morning, curled up in bed with four purring furballs and one very smug grey baby sprawled on your chest, Lando walks into the room holding his phone like it’s ticking.

“They’re all sending me this video,” he says, deadpan. “And now half the internet thinks we’re about to break up because I disrespected Mister Whiskers the Third.”

You blink at him. “You did. And you disrespected me.”

And that’s when he sighs—loudly, dramatically—and looks your cats in the eye like he’s facing his greatest challenge yet.

“I guess I’m gonna have to win them over, huh?”

fc : random pinterest girlies

(a/n) : hi babyyyyyy. thanks for the love:) i am a huge cat person so this was very fun for me to write. my cat was stepping on my keyboard keys as i was literally trying to type it out. LMAOOO

ALSO NOT MY DUMBASS HAVING THIS EDITED AND READY FOR TWO DAYS AND NOT REALIZING. IM SO SORRY.

ฅ^•ﻌ•^ฅฅ^•ﻌ•^ฅฅ^•ﻌ•^ฅฅ^•ﻌ•^ฅฅ^•ﻌ•^ฅฅ^•ﻌ•^ฅฅ^•ﻌ•^ฅฅ^•ﻌ•^ฅ

lando’s ‘undercover’ GQ interview — 6/23/2025

ฅ^•ﻌ•^ฅฅ^•ﻌ•^ฅฅ^•ﻌ•^ฅฅ^•ﻌ•^ฅฅ^•ﻌ•^ฅฅ^•ﻌ•^ฅฅ^•ﻌ•^ฅฅ^•ﻌ•^ฅ

It starts innocently enough. You’re lounging on the couch in your sunlit living room, a tabby curled against your hip, a calico stretched across your feet, and your ancient, grumpy Persian—Count Meowcula—curled up like a loaf of bread on the coffee table. Lando is still asleep upstairs, likely tangled in the duvet with his mouth slightly open and hair sticking up like a dandelion. You’re scrolling through your phone when the first tag pops up.

@/username000 : NOT LANDO SAYING HE HATES CATS 💀💀💀 @/yourusername come get your man pls

You furrow your brows and click the link.

It’s a recent clip, from the GQ interview he just did the other day. The interviewer shows him an old clip of himself.

And the younger Lando on the video, without missing a beat, replies with boyish arrogance, “Dogs, obviously. Cats are evil. I don’t trust them. They just sit there and judge you.”

Your jaw drops a little. “Excuse me?”

He goes on—oh, he goes on.

“They’re always knocking things off tables. Like, why? For what reason? I could never live with a cat. I’d be on edge all the time.”

You blink at the screen, stunned. A moment later, your mentions erupt like fireworks.

@/username00 : so like… yn owns FIVE cats and lando said THIS?????

@/username0 : the betrayal. the slander. does Count Meowcula know??

@/username1 : if my man ever said this about cats i’d simply let them scratch his eyes out 😭

You let out a little laugh—half horrified, half amused—and glance around the room. As if sensing drama, your youngest cat, a tiny grey kitten named Pickles, climbs onto your lap and stares directly into your phone screen like she’s reading the replies.

“I know,” you murmur to her. “He’s got some explaining to do.”

Almost on cue, heavy footsteps pad down the stairs. You hear a yawn, then a groggy voice.

“Morning…” Lando steps into the room, rubbing sleep from his eyes. He’s in one of your hoodies and a pair of mismatched socks, hair a complete mess.

You swivel your phone toward him, the video paused on the exact moment he says, “Cats are evil.”

He squints. “Oh no.”

“Oh yes.”

Lando flops face first onto the couch beside you, groaning into a throw pillow. “I was, like, twenty! I didn’t know better!”

“The internet disagrees.” You smirk, holding your phone up as notifications keep pouring in. “You’ve got approximately two million cat lovers and a grumpy Count Meowcula very disappointed in you.”

Lando turns his head, eyes squinting at the Persian cat who is, indeed, staring at him with an expression of utter betrayal.

“I told him it was an old interview,” you say solemnly. “He doesn’t care.”

“I’ll never earn his forgiveness, will I?”

“Not unless you make amends.”

He sits up dramatically, pressing a hand to his chest. “Then I have no choice. I must… bond with the cats.”

“Oh?” you tease. “The same cats who are evil? The ones you can’t trust?”

“I was young! I was foolish!” He throws himself at your feet in mock agony. “Please, my love, allow me to prove myself to you—and to Pickles. And to Mr. Whiskers. And… Count Meowcula.” He pauses.

“God, why do they all sound like retired supervillains?”

“Because they are.”

Pickles meows at him, unimpressed. Lando slowly sits back up, adjusting his hoodie and patting his lap. “Alright. I’m ready. Send me your softest warrior.”

You raise an eyebrow. “You’re serious?”

“I’m ready to face the consequences of my words,” he says solemnly. “Bring me the cats.”

One by one, like some ceremonial trial, the cats are introduced. Pickles curls up beside him without protest. Mr. Whiskers claws his leg once, just for good measure, and then lays on his foot. Count Meowcula eyes him for a solid three minutes before climbing onto his lap and promptly falling asleep.

You grab your phone and take a picture of the scene—Lando sitting stiff as a board, surrounded by cats, one paw resting over his knee like a warning.

Moments later, the tweet goes viral. The top reply?

@/alex_albon : petition for Lando to do a cat photoshoot in apology form.

You grin and show it to him.

“Absolutely not,” Lando mutters as Mr. Whiskers licks his hand. “Okay. Maybe. Only if I get to wear the little ears too.”

ฅ^•ﻌ•^ฅฅ^•ﻌ•^ฅฅ^•ﻌ•^ฅฅ^•ﻌ•^ฅฅ^•ﻌ•^ฅฅ^•ﻌ•^ฅฅ^•ﻌ•^ฅฅ^•ﻌ•^ฅ

yourusername

liked by lando, oscarpiastri, alex_albon and 1,201,005 others.

yourusername : should i leave this muppet because he doesn’t like my babies?

tagged : lando

—

view 72,075 other comments.

alex_albon : yes. absolutely. dump him. lily and i will take you and your cats in.

liked by yourusername and lilymhe

↳ yourusername : omw to the albon farm where me and my 5 children will be APPRECIATED.

liked by alex_albon and lilymhe

↳ lando : HEY HEY WE DO NOT HAVE TO GO THIS FAR

liked by yourusername

↳ lando : i am like the cat whisperer now. ask pickles.

liked by yourusername

↳ yourusername : you screamed when mr whiskers jumped up on the couch behind you. mans was just existing.

liked by alex_albon

↳ lando : HE STARTLED ME.

liked by yourusername

maxverstappen1 : leave him. now. i want to see him walking down the road with one of those hobo sacks.

liked by yourusername

↳ lando : OH MY GOD. YOU ARE ALL SO OVERDRAMATIC. I WAS YOUNG.

↳ maxverstappen1 : do not care. you still said it.

liked by yourusername

username00 : i take it he is still in alot of trouble yn

↳ yourusername : oh yes. very much so. sleeping on the couch currently.

liked by maxverstappen1 and alex_albon

↳ maxverstappen1 : make him sleep on the sidewalk.

liked by yourusername and username00

lando : I AM SORRY BABYYYYY DO NOT LEAVE ME. I NEED YOU AND YOUR 5 CHILDREN.

liked by yourusername

alexandrasaintmleux : leave lando. not bc of the cat thing but just so you can date me😻

liked by yourusername

↳ lando : ALEX. OUT. DO NOT TRY TO WIN OUT ON MY MISFORTUNE.

liked by yourusername and alexandrasaintmleux

oscarpiastri : I, for one, stand for feline rights. #teampickles

liked by yourusername

charles_leclerc: just wait til she has a conversation with zhou about this…

liked by alex_albon, oscarpiastri, maxverstappen1, yourusername and zhouguanyu24

↳ zhouguanyu24 : oh i already know and sweetcorn and i are offended deeply

↳ lando : BROOOOOOOO

ฅ^•ﻌ•^ฅฅ^•ﻌ•^ฅฅ^•ﻌ•^ฅฅ^•ﻌ•^ฅฅ^•ﻌ•^ฅฅ^•ﻌ•^ฅฅ^•ﻌ•^ฅฅ^•ﻌ•^ฅ

f1gossipgirls

liked by yourusername and 1,100,100 others.

f1gossipgirls : Lando on live tonight with YN’s kitten Pickles!

tagged : lando and yourusername

—

view 175,007 other comments.

username000 : pickles pawing him in the head killed me #teampickles

liked by yourusername

username00 : @/yourusername you are so powerful. he went from hating cats to calling pickles his son in a matter of a week

liked by yourusername

↳ yourusername : that’s what good pussy does…bad joke?

liked by lando and username00

username0 : pickles had more screen time than max 😭

liked by yourusername and maxfewtrell

username1 : HE DID THE BABY VOICE AWWWWW

liked by yourusername

ฅ^•ﻌ•^ฅฅ^•ﻌ•^ฅฅ^•ﻌ•^ฅฅ^•ﻌ•^ฅฅ^•ﻌ•^ฅฅ^•ﻌ•^ฅฅ^•ﻌ•^ฅฅ^•ﻌ•^ฅ

The stream wasn’t even supposed to happen. It started because Max texted Lando “go live you coward I miss your face”, and then fifteen minutes later Lando was setting up his webcam while you sat cross legged on the couch, cradling Pickles in your lap like royalty. You had no intention of being on camera—until Pickles decided to launch himself from your arms and climb straight up Lando’s hoodie mid-intro.

“AH—oh my god—HE’S IN MY SHIRT,” Lando yelps, half-laughing, half-panicking, while you scramble into frame trying to extract the tiny menace from his hood. The comments explode instantly.

@/username0000 : IS THAT PICKLES??

@/username000: this is already the best stream of the year

You finally wrestle the kitten free and sit down beside Lando, both of you breathless from laughing. Pickles, smug as ever, curls into a perfect ball on Lando’s shoulder like he owns the place.

“He’s… decided to stay,” Lando mutters, eyes wide. “I’m not moving for the rest of the stream.”

“That’s called growth,” you tease. “You used to call him a demon.”

“I still think he is,” Lando says. “He’s just my demon now.”

Then Max joins the call. And everything goes downhill.

“Oi,” Max says, grinning into his camera. “Am I interrupting domestic bliss?”

“Pickles almost crawled into my ribcage five minutes ago,” Lando replies. “So yes, but it’s fine.”

You wave at Max. “Hi Max. I saved your best friend from a feline induced death.”

“Legend,” Max says with a wink. “Though if Pickles had finished the job, I’d finally win our Fantasy league.”

Lando flips him off. The chat goes wild. Over the next half hour, it descends into total chaos. Lando’s trying to game, Max is throwing shade, and you’re in the background trying to keep Pickles from knocking over an open can of Monster with the energy of a feral toddler. At one point a conversation sparks.

Max started. “So YN, how many cats is too many cats?”

You thought for a moment. ”Hypothetically?”

“Yeah.”

“Ten.”

Lando spits out his drink, “TEN?”

You shrugged, “I’m just saying. We have the space.”

Max laughed. “This is how it starts. First it’s one kitten, next thing you know, you’re on a reality show called My Strange Addiction..’”

You laughed, “I’d watch my episode.”

Lando sighed heavily, “Don’t give her ideas, she’s already been measuring out a catio for the balcony.”

The chat is unhinged at this point.

@/username11: lando is literally becoming the cat dad he swore he’d never be and I love it

Then Pickles decides to crawl back onto Lando’s lap mid game, and instead of pushing him off, Lando just says, “Okay okay buddy, you can sit there, just don’t touch the mouse—”

Immediately, Pickles touches the mouse. Lando loses the round. Max howls laughing.

“I’ve been sabotaged,” Lando groans. “By my own child.”

You hand him a tiny sweater. “He earned this.”

Lando holds up the sweater to the camera—soft knit, neon orange, a little lightning bolt stitched across the back.

“It’s giving superhero sidekick,” Max says. “He needs a cape.”

“Don’t tempt me,” you say, already pulling out your phone to text your Etsy supplier.

By the end of the stream, Pickles is asleep on Lando’s chest, purring, and Lando’s stroking his tiny head absentmindedly while bickering with Max about who cheated in karting back in 2015.

“He’s so gone,” Max mouths into the camera, pointing at Lando, who doesn’t even notice because he’s too busy whispering, “You’re my best mate, but if you ever touch my mouse again, I swear—” to a literal sleeping kitten.

The final shot before the stream ends? Lando kissing the top of Pickles’ head without even realizing he’s doing it. The comments explode. And the clip goes viral.

ฅ^•ﻌ•^ฅฅ^•ﻌ•^ฅฅ^•ﻌ•^ฅฅ^•ﻌ•^ฅฅ^•ﻌ•^ฅฅ^•ﻌ•^ฅฅ^•ﻌ•^ฅฅ^•ﻌ•^ฅ

You come home expecting the usual—a trail of cat toys on the stairs, a half consumed cup of Lando’s coffee on the kitchen counter, and Pickles dramatically lounging in your spot on the couch. What you don’t expect is Lando standing in the hallway with his hands behind his back and the guiltiest grin on his face.

“What did you do?” you ask instantly.

“Why do you assume I did something?” he replies, rocking on his heels.

“You only smile like that when you’ve either crashed a scooter or spent a suspicious amount of money.”

“I prefer the term invested.”

You narrow your eyes. “Lando…”

He takes your hand. “Okay. Just… come with me.”

He leads you to the balcony, practically vibrating with excitement. The sliding doors are already open, and the cats are pacing back and forth like they know something’s up. And then you see it. A catio.

Not just any catio. A custom, multi-level, architectural wonderland that stretches across half the balcony. There’s a tunnel system, clear bubble pods for sunbathing, platforms shaped like trophies, and tiny nameplates engraved for each cat. At the top—of course—is Count Meowcula, looking down on his kingdom like he’s about to demand taxes.

You blink. “Lando. What the hell is this?”

“It’s a Catio 2.0,” he says proudly. “Designed it with a guy from Reddit. Don’t ask how much it cost.”

You turn to him, stunned.

“And this?” you say, gesturing to the racing stripe hammock that literally says “PICKLES’ PAD.”

He scratches the back of his neck. “Okay that part was my idea. And the tiny pit wall.”

There is a tiny pit wall. You burst out laughing, hand over your mouth. “I can’t believe you did this.”

He shrugs, pulling you into a hug. “You said they deserved fresh air and enrichment. And I figured… if I’m gonna be a cat dad, I might as well go all in.”

You lean up and kiss him, dizzy with love. “You’re ridiculous.”

“I know,” he grins. “But you love me anyway.”

ฅ^•ﻌ•^ฅฅ^•ﻌ•^ฅฅ^•ﻌ•^ฅฅ^•ﻌ•^ฅฅ^•ﻌ•^ฅฅ^•ﻌ•^ฅฅ^•ﻌ•^ฅฅ^•ﻌ•^ฅ

It started as a joke. You were scrolling through Instagram with Lando one night, curled up on the couch while Pickles aggressively kneaded his thigh. Zhou had just posted yet another selfie with Sweetcorn, his fluffy, spoiled cat, perched on his shoulder like a queen.

Lando squinted at the screen. “I’m starting to think Zhou loves that cat more than he loves people.”

You smirked. “I respect it. Honestly, I love sweetcorn too.”

“Okay, weird. But what if we got him, like… a Sweetcorn pillow?” Lando said, half joking, half serious.

You stared at him. “Wait. That’s actually genius.”

Two weeks later, the package arrives.

A two foot long plush pillow—an eerily accurate, almost too realistic version of Sweetcorn, down to the slightly tilted ears and smug expression. You nearly cry laughing when you pull it out of the box. Lando holds it up like he’s presenting Simba.

“We’ve peaked,” he declares. “This is our legacy.”

You’re both waiting outside the Ferrari hospitality unit when Zhou walks up, sunglasses on, coffee in hand, completely unprepared.

Lando grins. “Got you a present.”

Zhou raises a brow. “What’d you do?”

Then you pull the pillow out from behind your back and hold it up proudly.

Zhou stops. Blinks. Takes off his sunglasses in slow motion.

“You did not.”

“Oh, we did,” you laugh. “Meet… travel-sized Sweetcorn.”

Zhou stares at the pillow, mouth open, completely speechless. Then, without a word, he drops his coffee and takes the pillow in his arms like a long lost child.

“I’m never sleeping alone again,” he says.

Lando bursts out laughing. “We made it extra squishy so you’d get maximum cuddle support.”

Zhou is still cradling the pillow, already doing voices— “‘Who needs anyone when I’ve got you, Sweetcorn 2.0.’”

You snap a picture of him holding the pillow like a baby, and before long it’s all over social media.

ฅ^•ﻌ•^ฅฅ^•ﻌ•^ฅฅ^•ﻌ•^ฅฅ^•ﻌ•^ฅฅ^•ﻌ•^ฅฅ^•ﻌ•^ฅฅ^•ﻌ•^ฅฅ^•ﻌ•^ฅ

lando

liked by yourusername, oscarpiastri, alex_albon and 4,001,008 others.

lando : i have made amends with all the cat people in my life. built a catio, traveled to the albon farm and got zhou a mini sweetcorn. and i can say i finally understand why max broke down the door for his cat children.

tagged : alex_albon, yourusername, maxverstappen1 and zhouguany24

—

view 175,001 other comments.

yourusername : this is the man i love. covered in cat hair.

liked by lando

lando : god i hate how i will do literally anything for you

liked by yourusername

yourusername : love you lannnnnnn

liked by lando

maxverstappen1 : and id break ten more doors.

liked by yourusername and lando

alex_albon : you still flinched when one of ours sneezed but we made progress so idc

liked by yourusername and lando

zhouguanyu24 : mini sweetcorn sleeps beside me every night. nothing will ever top this gift.

liked by yourusername and lando

yukitsunoda0511 : yn!! do you think we can get him to go to the cat cafe in tokyo??

liked by yourusername

lando : no

yourusername : if you love me you will

liked by yukitsunoda0511

lando : GOD damnit

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404 notes · View notes

izzih22 · 3 days ago

Text

All That Tension

Note: I saw someone ask their anons if they wanted it and well I wanted to try to write it so here y’all go.

Warning: Smutish

Azzi was shaking her leg again.

Not a little, nervous bounce. Full-on trembling like her muscles had been locked up too long and couldn’t handle the tension. Her shoulders were tight, hands clenched around a highlighter cap, and her jaw looked like she’d been grinding her teeth for an hour.

Paige watched quietly from the other end of the bed, cross-legged and still, letting Azzi spiral just enough to know this wasn’t going to pass on its own.

“You’re chewing through that cap like it owes you money,” Paige finally said, voice calm, low, just a little teasing.

Azzi didn’t look up from the textbook. “I’m fine.”

“You’ve read that page four times.”

“Because it doesn’t make sense.”

“You already know this. You’ve been working on it since last week.”

Azzi sighed, still not looking at her. “Doesn’t matter. If I freeze on the exam, knowing it now won’t help me then.”

Her voice cracked a little on that last word. Paige moved quiet, slow until she was next to her, their knees brushing.

“Az” she said softly. “Look at me.”

Azzi hesitated. But she did.

And Paige could see it now under the sharp edge of stress in her eyes, there was fear. Real fear. Not of failing the test, but of letting herself down. Letting others down.

“Come here,” Paige murmured, opening her arms.

Azzi hesitated again. “But we haven’t—”

“Azzi.” Paige’s voice dropped, not harsh, but firm. “You don’t need another flashcard. You need to breathe.”

Azzi let out a shuddering breath and let herself fall forward into Paige’s arms.

She melted the second Paige wrapped around her.

“I got you,” Paige whispered, kissing the side of her head. “You don’t have to be perfect for me. You never have to be perfect.”

Azzi clutched her hoodie like a lifeline, burying her face into Paige’s neck.

They stayed like that for a minute. Or maybe longer.

Then Paige tilted her head, lips brushing Azzi’s ear. “Let me take care of you tonight.”

Azzi’s breath hitched.

“I know what you need,” Paige said, lips brushing her cheek now. “You need to stop thinking. You need to feel.”

Azzi didn’t speak just nodded into her shoulder.

Paige leaned back just enough to look at her, fingers tucking a curl behind Azzi’s ear. “Say it.”

Azzi’s cheeks were flushed. Her voice came out soft, breathless: “Please.”

That was all Paige needed.

She kissed her slow, lips warm and deliberate, her hand cradling the side of Azzi’s face like she was something fragile and precious. And when Azzi gasped softly into her mouth, Paige deepened the kiss just a little just enough to make Azzi sigh.

Paige moved like she had time. Like there was nowhere else in the world she needed to be.

Her hands found Azzi’s waist, thumbs brushing the bare skin where her hoodie had ridden up. “Lift your arms for me,” she murmured.

Azzi did, wordless and eager, and Paige slipped the hoodie off, revealing the tank top beneath. Paige kissed down her shoulder, slow and reverent, and whispered, “You always carry everything right here.” She trailed her mouth across Azzi’s collarbone. “All your stress. All your pressure. Let me take it off you.”

Azzi’s chest rose in a shaky breath.

Paige gently lowered her onto the bed, mouth never leaving her skin. She kissed her stomach through the tank top, tugging it up inch by inch, exposing her skin like a gift. She didn’t rush. Just let Azzi feel every brush of her lips, every pass of her hand.

“You’re so beautiful,” Paige whispered, voice rough with emotion. “You know that?”

Azzi moaned, her hands trembling against Paige’s back. “Say it again.”

Paige smiled, cupping her jaw. “You’re the most beautiful girl I’ve ever seen.”

She kissed the words into her neck, into her chest, into every inch of skin she could reach.

By the time Paige eased Azzi’s leggings down, Azzi was panting, her body arching up into every touch.

Paige kissed the inside of her knee, trailing up her thigh. “Tell me what you need, baby.”

Azzi’s voice cracked. “You. Please, I—I just… I need to feel you. I need you so bad.”

Paige groaned low in her throat, like Azzi’s words undid her. “That’s my girl.”

She moved up to kiss her again, slow and deep, one hand holding Azzi’s cheek, the other slipping between her thighs, gentle and confident.

Azzi cried out, soft and desperate, clinging to her. “Please don’t stop. Paige, please—”

“I’m right here.” Paige whispered the words like a vow. “I’ve got you.”

She moved slow. Precise. Every touch was patient, every motion designed to unravel Azzi in the most loving way possible. And when Azzi started shaking body trembling from how much she needed the release Paige leaned down and pressed their foreheads together.

“Let go for me,” she whispered. “You’re safe. I’ve got you. Let go.”

Azzi did.

With a sob of relief, she came hard, whole body arching, breath catching as Paige held her through it still whispering to her, still kissing her skin.

“Good girl,” Paige breathed. “That’s it. Just like that.”

Azzi was wrecked in the best way. Tears clung to the corners of her lashes, but she was smiling, flushed and dazed, chest rising and falling like she’d just run five miles.

Paige kissed her nose. Her cheek. Her jaw.

“You still anxious?” she asked softly.

Azzi giggled weakly. “I don’t even remember what class we were studying for.”

Paige grinned. “Perfect.”

She pulled her into her arms, under the covers, pressing kisses to her forehead as Azzi curled into her chest.

Azzi whispered, barely audible: “Thank you.”

Paige kissed the top of her head. “Always.”

#pazzi fics #paige x azzi #pazzi #paige and azzi #paige bueckers #uconn wbb #azzi fudd

376 notes · View notes

andy-15-07 · 2 days ago

Note

May I ask for some mechanic Joel, old Joel, grumpy, pervert Joel haha, reader is trying to change a tire in the middle of the road, her skirt is so short that she is showing her bare pussy, no panties, and then Joel sees her and he doesn’t even hide his desire, maybe some rough sex, spanks, pussy spanks, pet names, Joel has a tummy, big age gap. Thank you

That Ain’t No Way To Ask for Help, Sweetheart

PAIRING:Mechanic!Joel Miller x Younger!Reader

WORD COUNT: 1213 | requests are open (send requests, I will gladly answer them all)

Pedro Pascal Masterlist | Pedro Pascal Masterlist II

Your hands were greasy, your nails chipped, and your patience was hanging by a single frayed thread. You didn’t know what possessed you to wear a skirt this short on a day you’d be driving on a dusty back road out of town , but here you were, crouched over your rear tire, sweat beading on your thighs, lips pursed in frustration. The damn tire iron wouldn’t budge.

And you were alone. Or… you thought you were.

The low purr of a truck engine came up behind you, slow and growling. You didn’t bother to turn , not until it stopped right beside you, and the creak of an old door opened behind the roar of cicadas and your annoyed breathing.

Then: a whistle.

Low. Appreciative. Dirty.

“Well I’ll be damned.”

You turned and met the eyes of a man leaning one hand on the truck door , tan skin, salt-and-pepper curls under a worn cap, lines carved into his face like he’d seen more than one war. He looked at you like he just walked in on a free show. His gaze went straight to your thighs.

Your heart skipped.

Joel Miller. The mechanic from down by the auto yard. You’d seen him a couple times , always covered in oil and sweat, thick hands and a grumble for a voice. Easily old enough to be your dad. Or… older.

“I-I got it,” you stammered, reaching for the iron again.

He didn’t answer. Just rounded the hood of his truck and came to crouch beside you, thick arms resting on his knees.

“Not wearin’ nothin’ under that pretty skirt, huh?” he asked, eyes glued to the spot between your thighs. “Jesus Christ, girl.”

Your breath hitched. You should’ve squeezed your legs shut , but you didn’t. Some twisted part of you liked how he looked at you. Like he could devour you whole.

“Didn’t think I’d be on my knees today,” you muttered.

Joel chuckled low, voice like smoke and whiskey. “Then you sure dressed for attention.”

You felt your skin heat. But you didn’t move.

“Flat tire?” he asked, glancing at the useless jack.

“Yeah. I tried. Can’t get the bolts off.”

Joel stood up with a grunt, his belly shifting under his stained t-shirt. He pulled a rag from his pocket, wiped his hands , and tossed it back with a nod toward your car.

“Get in the truck.”

“What?”

He licked his thumb, wiped a smear of grease from your cheek.

“You heard me. You look like you need a real man’s help.” Then, with a smirk, “And I ain’t changin’ no tire ‘til you’re sittin’ pretty for me, sweetheart.”

Your thighs clenched involuntarily.

You slipped into the passenger side of his truck. The seat was hot from the sun, the interior smelled like sweat, gasoline, and pine. Joel’s scent. He climbed in beside you after a moment, wiping his brow with the back of his hand.

“So what is this?” you asked, crossing your legs slowly, teasing. “You get off on rescuing dumb girls by the highway?”

He laughed once. “Not dumb. Just naughty.”

He reached over. One large, calloused hand ran up your thigh, rough from years of work. His palm was hot, greedy.

“No panties?” he asked again. “Walked outta the house wantin’ someone to see, didn’t ya?”

You bit your lip. “Maybe.”

Joel exhaled through his nose , like you’d tested the last of his patience.

His hand shot up and cupped your bare pussy, rough fingers dragging through your folds. You gasped, hips lifting.

“Slick already. You like bein’ caught like this, huh?” He leaned in, voice thick. “You’re just a needy little slut.”

You whined when he slapped it , not too hard, but enough to make your skin sting and your legs jerk.

“Ah, Joel.”

“‘Sir.’ That’s what you call me.”

You swallowed. “Y-Yes, sir.”

He did it again. A sharp slap right across your pussy lips. You twitched.

“Good girl.”

Joel leaned in, tongue licking a stripe up your neck. “Bet no boy your age knows how to treat a brat like you.”

You shook your head. He was right.

Joel yanked you across the bench seat. His belly pressed against your hip as he pulled your legs over his lap, his thick jeans rubbing your sensitive skin. He looked massive up close , broad arms, hands like leather, thick thighs, and a soft stomach that jiggled when he moved.

He hiked your skirt higher. You were already soaked.

“Need it rough, don’t you, baby?” he whispered. “Need an old man to knock the brat outta you.”

You didn’t answer. So he spanked your pussy again. Harder.

“Y-Yes!”

“Yeah you do.”

He pushed two fingers inside you , no warning, no teasing , and you cried out as your walls clamped around him.

“Fuck, you’re tight. This little cunt’s fuckin’ beggin’.”

His fingers curled just right, knuckles grinding your clit. You sobbed into his shoulder, clutching his shirt. The soft curve of his belly rocked against your leg with each thrust.

Joel kissed your jaw, then bit your earlobe.

“You gonna come just from my fingers, sweetheart?”

You nodded frantically.

He laughed darkly, pulling out.

“Too bad.”

You whined at the loss.

“Turn around,” he ordered. “Face down. Ass up on the seat.”

You obeyed.

The truck door slammed open for air as Joel dropped his jeans , and you barely caught a glimpse of his thick cock before he was pushing the head right between your folds.

“Gonna fuck you so dumb, you’ll forget what a jack looks like.”

And then he was inside , one long, slow thrust that had you arching, your hands scrambling against the vinyl seat for grip.

Joel groaned like a man starved. “Jesus Christ, this pussy.”

He set a brutal rhythm, thick hips slapping against your ass. Each thrust shoved you forward into the seat, making you whimper with every slap of skin. His hand tangled in your hair, yanking your head back.

“Who do you belong to now, baby?”

“You, sir!”

He spanked your ass , then your pussy again , then grabbed your hips tight enough to bruise.

“That’s right. Just an old man’s fucktoy now, huh?”

You couldn’t speak. You could barely think. The only thing that existed was his cock stretching you wide, the smack of his belly against your skin, and the heat building between your legs.

Joel grunted, pulling you flush against him.

“Come on this cock, baby. Let daddy feel it.”

You came with a scream , clenching around him, shaking, drooling onto the seat. Joel didn’t stop. He chased his own release with ruthless strokes.

“Fuck. Gonna fill this little pussy,” he growled.

He spilled inside you with a groan, thick spurts of cum painting your walls. You moaned as the heat spread inside.

For a second, neither of you moved.

Then Joel smacked your ass gently.

“Still think you don’t need help, darlin’?”

You giggled, voice wrecked. “Guess I should break down more often.”

Joel zipped up, smirked, and climbed out of the truck.

“Gimme five minutes. Tire’ll be fixed. And then I’m takin’ you home.”

“Why?”

He looked over his shoulder.

“So I can fuck you again. On somethin’ softer than a truck seat.”

295 notes · View notes

holyblonded · 2 days ago

Text

wartime | chasing sunshine

pairings: leah williamson x teen!reader, lionesses x teen!reader

summary: you and leah get into during camp leading to war

warnings: possible injuries

notes: this fic was in my drafts for so long, i forgot to post before nationals (got the dub btw) also this was inspired by the show baby daddy 😭

You had known Leah Williamson since you were nine years old. Back then, you were still the scrawny new kid at the Arsenal academy, tiny and wiry with oversized boots and a chip on your shoulder the size of London itself. You were a little loud, a little quiet, a little angry at the world—but even at that age, Leah saw something in you. Something sharp and fast and completely magnetic with a ball at your feet.

She took you under her wing almost immediately. Not in the showy, mentor-y way, but the quiet kind. She checked in on you between drills. Showed you how to hold your line tighter, how to time your tackles cleaner. Brought you extra protein bars when she noticed you skipped lunch too many times. Then, somewhere between weekend babysitting shifts and emergency school pickups, Leah went from being your big sister figure to your pseudo-mum, especially when your actual parents didn’t bother showing up.

So, naturally, you didn’t argue often—but when you did, it was apocalyptic. There had been yelling. Doors slamming. One time you drank the last of her favorite Earl Grey and didn’t say a word until after she came back from the shop with hopes of a perfect cup. Another time, you’d gotten into a fight at school and Leah had to come collect you early, again. By the time she got you home, her voice was gone from yelling and your pride was bruised from her disappointment.

Out of survival—and honestly, boredom—you created a system to keep the peace. A way to settle things.

The Williamson War.

It started out simple. Just you, Leah, and the rest of the Williamson clan. Jacob. David. Amanda acting as the designated referee. Challenges ranged from backyard obstacle courses to penalty shootouts to who could make the better beans on toast. But over time, the system caught on. Somehow, the Lionesses adopted it too, like it was part of the unspoken team constitution. If there was drama, or indecision, or just plain stubbornness between teammates—Williamson War it was.

So when you stormed into the St. George’s Park lounge after a light training session and heard raised voices—your voice and Leah’s—the team collectively groaned.

“Sunny,” Leah huffed, hands on her hips, “what aren’t you understanding about the situation?”

You rolled your eyes dramatically. “That you think you get to control my life because you taught me how to do a proper throw-in when I was ten.”

“Excuse me?”

“I’m not five, Leah. I can make my own decisions.”

“I’m your captain.”

“You’re not my captain when it’s about my life!”

“Oh, for the love of—don’t you dare—”

But it was already too late. You plucked your cochlear implants off and held them up in the air like a victory trophy. “Can’t hear you, sorry!” you said cheerfully before dropping them into her outstretched, infuriated hand.

Leah narrowed her eyes and started signing, her hands sharp and aggressive.

“Put them back in. Now.”

You grinned and signed back, “Bite me.” Then promptly closed your eyes and leaned back into the couch like a gremlin entering a power nap.

“Unbelievable!” Leah shouted as Keira and Georgia appeared out of nowhere to drag her away like riot control. Meanwhile, Alessia and Grace rushed to you, snatched your implants from Leah’s hands, and re-attached them to your ears.

“Right,” Alessia said, sighing as your implants clicked on and the world returned to full volume. “What’s going on?”

“Leah thinks she can captain my life,” you spat, gesturing violently in Leah’s direction. She was across the room, fuming in a fleece pullover, arms folded with that stiff jaw clench you recognized from when she was really, really trying not to explode.

“Oh, do not!” she yelled back.

“Do so!”

“Okay, enough,” Alessia said, pinching the bridge of her nose. “Let’s all take a deep breath.”

“I’ll breathe when she breathes,” you said flatly, still glaring at Leah like she’d set your boots on fire.

Leah’s eyes blazed. “You know what?” she said, standing up tall, cracking her neck once. “Fine.”

She raised one hand high. “One, two—”

“Leah, be careful now,” Lucy said from her beanbag throne in the corner, eyes wide.

“Three, four—”

“Leah, it doesn’t have to come to this!” Keira begged, half-laughing, half-exhausted.

“I declare a Williamson War!”

Beth Mead gasped so loudly it echoed off the lounge walls. Georgia threw a hand over her mouth like she was witnessing treason.

Alessia and Grace looked at each other, wide-eyed, clearly wondering what they had just signed up for.

You stood up so fast your water bottle fell over.

“Five, six, seven, eight—winner decides the loser’s fate!” you yelled, pointing directly at Leah like you were in the middle of a WWE promo.

A chorus of groans echoed around the room.

Niamh turned to Millie with a confused squint. “What… is happening?”

Millie, who had clearly seen it all before, sighed like she’d just aged ten years. “It’s a Williamson War. Leah and Sunny invented it when Sunny was still at the academy. It’s how they settle literally everything.”

“How serious does it get?”

Millie deadpanned, “Last time they did this, Leah broke Sunny’s wrist in an overzealous three-legged race. 2021. Never forget.”

“Oh my god.”

Grace looked nervously between you and Leah, who were both now stretching like you were about to play in a final. “Have either of you ever considered, I don’t know, talking it out like emotionally stable adults?” she asked hopefully.

You and Leah answered in perfect harmony:

“Too late for that.”

“This is war.”

The field was set. Bibs had been thrown on. Cones had been dramatically slammed into the grass. A whiteboard stood nearby, scrawled with WILLIAMSON WAR SCOREBOARD in messy pink Expo marker handwriting (courtesy of Ella).

Sarina— who agreed to ref the “team bonding”— stood at midfield in full tracksuit, arms crossed, her face unreadable. Like this was a World Cup Final. Not a civil war between the Lionesses.

“Challenge One,” Sarina announced. “Crossbar Chaos. Spin twenty-eight times, then hit the crossbar sixteen times.”

Grace turned to you, wide-eyed. “Wait, we have to hit the crossbar sixteen times?”

“That’s Sunny’s age!” Alessia said brightly.

“Yeah but I’m not built like her!” Grace hissed.

“None of us are,” muttered Aggie, cracking her knuckles.

Across the way, Beth Mead was bouncing on her toes, already holding a ball, already chewing invisible gum, already way too amped for what should’ve been a joke.

Leah smirked from the sideline, arms folded. “We got this. Beth was born for chaos. She thrives in nonsense.”

You snorted from the other side. “Perfect. This game’s made for us.”

Round One: Aggie (Team Sunny) vs. Beth (Team Leah)

Beth and Aggie stepped to the line like it was a duel at high noon. Ella had a paper towel roll she was pretending was a mic.

“Ladies and gents!” she announced in her best ring announcer voice. “In the red corner, we have the Pride of Whitby, the Destroyer of Defenses, Queen of the Rebound—Beth Mad Mead!”

Beth winked at the imaginary crowd and blew kisses.

“And in the blue corner, Team Chaos’s silent killer, the low-key powerhouse, the human missile—Aggie Grim Reaper Jones!”

Aggie gave an unimpressed shrug and mumbled, “Let’s just get this over with.”

“You’ll spin twenty-eight times,” Sarina declared. “Then you may proceed to the shooting zone. Crossbar hits only count if the ball bounces back in bounds. No wild rebounding into Scotland.”

“Scotland doesn’t want your balls anyway!” Ella heckled.

“On your marks,” Sarina said.

Beth dropped into a squatting stance like a gremlin about to do a backflip.

“Get set.”

Aggie muttered, “My breakfast is going to come back to haunt me.”

“GO!”

Both girls began spinning. The count was on. Ella and Alessia were chanting the numbers like a cult. You and Leah stood behind their teammates, yelling advice that no one was hearing.

“SPIN FASTER, AGGIE!” You shouted, cupping your hands like a coach on the sideline.

“MORE COMMITMENT, MEADY!” Leah yelled. “YOU SPIN LIKE A WEAK FAN!”

At spin number 12, Beth wobbled sideways and screamed, “THE EARTH IS MELTING!”

Aggie tripped over her own foot and collapsed to one knee before popping back up with pure rage. “I’M FINE!”

“Keep going! 18! 19!” Alessia yelled, giggling uncontrollably.

By spin 25, both were a mess. Beth’s hair was flying. Aggie’s arms were flailing like she was swimming midair.

“TWENTY-EIGHT!” screamed Ella, practically frothing at the mouth.

Beth stumbled to the shooting zone like a drunk baby deer and whiffed her first attempt so hard it rolled backwards. “I HATE PHYSICS!”

Aggie’s first shot actually hit the crossbar—but ricocheted directly into Georgia’s shin on the sideline.

“OW! WHY IS IT ALWAYS ME?!” Georgia yelped.

“GET IN BETH!” Lucy screamed. “THINK OF THE NORTHERN PRIDE!”

Beth attempted to stabilize, took a deep breath, then launched her second attempt… and hit the post.

“WRONG BAR!” You called out gleefully. “OPEN YOUR EYES, MEAD!”

Aggie scored again. Clink. One down. Fifteen to go.

Leah was now squatting like a football dad, muttering under her breath. “C’mon, Beth. Lock in. Visualize. Channel the Beth who scored against Chelsea. Channel the Beth who stole my last yogurt and lived.”

Beth finally hit one. Clink. She screamed like she’d just scored a penalty in the Euros.

Ella counted out loud, way too fast. “THAT’S TWO! OR SEVEN! I DON’T KNOW ANYMORE!”

Aggie was at four. Then five. Then fell to the ground, dramatically holding her temple. “I’m gonna vom.”

You leaned over her. “No, you’re gonna win. Vom after.”

Beth hit her third bar and went full sprint into a celebratory dance that wasted precious time. Leah tackled her back into place. “Keep. Going.”

Alessia looked like she was crying from laughter. Grace was on the ground.

“FIFTEEN!” Ella roared at the top of her lungs.

Aggie scored the sixteenth bar. Sarina blew the whistle.

Team Sunny exploded. Ella tackled Aggie to the ground. You leapt into the air, nearly pulled a hamstring, and started yelling “GET DUNKED ON” at Leah.

“ARE YOU KIDDING ME?!” Leah bellowed. “MEADY, I BELIEVED IN YOU.”

Beth flopped to the grass like she’d been assassinated. “My legs are noodles.”

Georgia sighed, still holding her shin. “This war is already a disaster.”

Sarina adjusted her stopwatch. “Team Sunny: 1. Team Leah: 0.”

Leah glared at you across the grass. “You got lucky.”

You gave her a two-finger salute. “I am lucky. I’m lucky you’re washed.”

Beth lifted her head from the grass. “Wow.”

You looked at her. “Love you, Beth.”

Beth muttered, “Rot.”

There was a certain energy to a nugget toss.

Maybe it was the smell—crispy, greasy, fresh out the team kitchen’s air fryer. Maybe it was the sheer absurdity of elite professional athletes standing ten feet apart with chicken nuggets in hand, trying to yeet them into each other’s mouths. Maybe it was the fact that you were taking it way too seriously.

Either way, the sideline was packed. Ella was filming like it was her full-time job. Alessia and Aggie were doing warm-ups with ketchup packets. Beth was shouting unsolicited tips from behind a cone, as if she was the Gordon Ramsay of projectile poultry.

You were bouncing slightly on your toes, eyes sharp, laser-focused. Grace stood across from you, giggling like a kid at a fair.

“Are we really doing this?” she asked, holding a nugget like it was radioactive.

“We’re winning this,” you replied, cracking your neck. “Open wide.”

Across the pitch, Leah already looked stressed.

“Lucy, please, I’m begging you,” she muttered, watching as Lucy popped another nugget into her mouth before the game even started.

“I’m hungry!” Lucy defended through a mouthful of food. “They’re warm! I’m not wasting good nuggets on throwing!”

“You’re supposed to throw them!”

Lucy shrugged. “That’s not who I am as a person.”

Sarina stepped between the teams with her clipboard and whistle. She looked like she was reconsidering every choice that led her to this moment.

“Okay,” she said, pinching the bridge of her nose. “Rules. Each team has one tosser and one catcher. You get one point per successful mouth catch. Thirty seconds. No stepping over the cone. No spitting nuggets at the referee.”

Everyone looked at Georgia.

Georgia held up her hands. “That happened once.”

“Teams ready?”

“Born ready!” you shouted.

Leah glared at you. “You’re gonna choke on a nugget and I’m not helping you.”

“Bold of you to assume you’re invited to my funeral.”

“BEGIN!”

You launched your first nugget with surgical precision. Grace, bless her sweet soul, actually caught it with a startled yelp.

“ONE POINT!” Sarina called out, looking shocked.

Across the way, Lucy hurled a nugget so wildly it hit the side of Leah’s head.

“LUCY!”

“Oops.”

You threw your second. Grace fumbled it, but caught it on the bounce with her mouth and a squeal.

“Two points!” Sarina called.

Leah was now holding her arms out like a crossbar, fully bracing herself. “Try again. Aim low.”

Lucy tossed underhand this time, and Leah caught it… with her eye.

“OW! LUCY, THAT WAS A MEAT MISSILE!”

Meanwhile, you were on fire. Every toss was perfect. Grace caught one mid-laugh. One with her hands behind her back. One while spinning for no reason.

“Team Sunny is on SEVEN!” Sarina shouted, now genuinely enjoying herself.

Leah had caught one. Lucy had eaten five.

“I don’t even care if we lose,” Lucy said, chewing blissfully. “These are amazing. Compliments to the chef.”

“YOU ARE THE WORST TEAMMATE,” Leah bellowed, snatching the nugget bucket out of Lucy’s hands and tossing it behind her.

“Did you just THROW OUR AMMO?!” Lucy gasped.

Ella screamed from the sidelines, “YOU DON’T TOSS THE NUGGETS UNTIL YOU’RE READY TO WIN, LUCY!”

You wiped a fake tear. “It’s like watching a breakup in real time.”

Grace nearly fell over laughing.

“TEN SECONDS!” Sarina yelled.

You locked eyes with Grace. “Let’s go out with a bang!”

You tossed. She caught. Boom. You tossed again. It bounced off her nose, but she caught it on the rebound. Screams from the sideline.

Final toss. It flew like an arc of golden-battered glory. Grace caught it clean.

“AND THAT’S TIME!” Sarina blew her whistle.

Team Sunny: 10

Team Leah: 1

Lucy: 7 nuggets in her stomach, zero regrets

You and Grace celebrated like you’d won the Champions League. You jumped into her arms. She almost dropped you. Ella threw ketchup packets like confetti. Alessia was doubled over laughing.

Across the way, Leah dropped to her knees. “I hate chicken nuggets.”

Lucy patted her shoulder. “Don’t be mad. I’m full and happy. That’s what matters.”

Leah stared at her. “This is war. And you’re a double agent.”

Lucy smirked. “War tastes like poultry.”

Sarina marked another tally on the board. “Team Sunny leads two to zero.”

You blew Leah a kiss. “Better luck next time, Captain.”

She flipped you off without a word.

You grinned. The war was going very well.

There were many things the FA training facility was known for. World-class pitches. Premier rehab rooms. Tactical planning spaces.

It was not known for roller sports.

So naturally, it became the perfect arena for the next round of Williamson War.

The hallway, long, echoey, with fluorescent lighting that made everyone look like they were in a 2002 crime drama, was quickly turned into a battleground.

Traffic cones marked the boundaries. The vending machines at the far end stood ominously. Staff had been cleared from the area after someone (Georgia) sent out a mass text that read: “Clear the hallway. Death on wheels incoming.”

Ella and Alessia, once again, had their filming setup in full effect.

“Welcome back to WarWatch,” Ella whispered into her fake mic. “This episode: bruises, betrayal, and a coach casualty.”

You stood in your borrowed roller skates (which may or may not have been two sizes too big), adjusting your knee pads like this was life or death. Grace stood behind you with a water bottle and nervous laughter.

“I don’t know how to skate,” Grace muttered.

“Just pretend you’re escaping your childhood,” you replied, eyes narrowed.

Meanwhile, Leah was tying her laces like she was about to compete in the Olympics. She had that scary focused look—the kind she got before important matches or when someone took the last Yorkshire Gold tea bag.

“She’s fully in her villain arc,” Beth said, munching on popcorn from the sidelines.

Lucy was skating in little circles and nearly took out Keira twice. Georgia had been banned from the warm-up lap after trying to shoulder-check Alessia “as a test.”

Sarina stood at the starting line, clipboard in hand. Somehow, she had agreed to referee this again. Maybe she liked the chaos. Maybe she wanted a raise.

“All right,” Sarina sighed. “First to complete three laps of the hallway wins. No biting. No dragging your teammate by the ponytail. No crashing into staff—”

She paused. Looked at you directly.

You looked away innocently. “I’m an angel.”

Sarina didn’t look convinced.

“Three!” Sarina shouted.

“Two!”

Lucy screamed, “I’M GONNA DIE!”

“One—GO!”

Everyone took off like a bunch of wild toddlers with no center of gravity. Grace immediately screamed as she wobbled to one side, took Ella out like a bowling pin, and somehow ended up riding on Alessia’s back.

You managed to stay upright and build speed. The hallway zoomed by in a blur of polished floors, motivational posters, and confused physios peeking out of doors.

Leah—competitive demon that she is—skated like she’d been born on wheels. She was elbows out, teeth gritted, muttering under her breath like, “I will NOT lose to that child.”

You rounded the second lap and noticed the vending machine looming like a steel trap of death.

“Grace, MOVE!” you shouted.

Too late.

Grace skidded and crashed straight into the vending machine, causing a loud CLUNK and a rain of individually packaged biscuits to fall inside.

“Ow!” she cried. “But also… snacks.”

“You’re doing amazing, sweetie!” Ella called out from behind the camera.

Meanwhile, Lucy was skating backwards for no reason and rambling, “This is so much harder than Ibiza roller disco.”

“Focus, Lucy!” Leah shouted, speeding past her.

“Don’t tell me how to live!”

You pushed forward, legs burning, determined to cut off Leah at the final turn.

But just as you were rounding the last lap, a shadow appeared in front of you.

“Sarina?!”

She had stepped slightly into the hallway, checking her clipboard—at exactly the wrong moment.

“OH NO—” you shouted.

WHAM.

You collided full-speed into her, both of you tumbling to the ground. Her whistle flew through the air like a tiny sad rocket.

Gasps. Screams. Laughter. The sound of a vending machine spitting out one last KitKat.

“ARE YOU OKAY?!” you yelled, untangling yourself from her legs.

Sarina, flat on her back, blinked at the ceiling. “I see God.”

“‘He impressed?” you wheezed.

“No.”

Yet, Leah did not stop skating. Even as her team called out, “Leah, the coach is down!” Even as you lay there dramatically flopped over Sarina’s legs like a Victorian ghost.

Leah zoomed through her final lap, arms pumping, a single focus in her eyes: victory.

She skidded to a stop at the finish line, fists in the air.

“YES! I WON!” she yelled, chest heaving.

Lucy rolled up behind her. “Wait. Didn’t Sunny take out Sarina?”

Everyone turned to the coach.

Sarina raised one weary hand from the floor and wheezed, “I call… disqualification… for vehicular assault.”

You face-planted into the hallway floor in shame.

Grace, still trapped behind the vending machine, yelled, “It was worth it!”

FINAL SCORE

Team Sunny: 2

Team Leah: 1

Lucy helped Sarina up, only to nearly trip again. Ella zoomed in on Sarina’s unimpressed face. Alessia whispered, “This is so going in the team slideshow.”

Leah glared at you. “This isn’t over.”

You wiped dust off your knee pad. “It’s okay. I hear concussing the coach is trendy now.”

Sarina looked at both of you. “Next person to touch me on wheels runs laps for a month.”

The hallway was silent. Then Lucy whispered, “…Can I keep the skates?”

The final challenge had the atmosphere of a World Cup final—if that final involved cones, handstands, and deeply questionable strategy.

The pitch was sectioned off with plastic cones in a zigzagging maze. The only way to make it through? One person walks while a partner signed directions in British Sign Language (BSL). Then the navigator tagged the last teammate, who had to walk in a handstand across the finish line. But to make things interesting navigators had to wear giant, vision-warping, gag-store glasses. Imagine Elton John meets funhouse mirror.

“They look like cartoon flies,” Beth snorted as you and Leah strapped on your ridiculous eyewear.

Ella zoomed in with her phone.

“This is the highest level of football camp. Professionals. International caps. And they’re dressed like Pixar side characters.”

This was the Williamson War Final Showdown, and nothing had ever been more unserious yet more important.

Alessia pressed record on her phone.

“Ladies and gentlefolk, we bring you the dramatic conclusion of the dumbest series of competitions this camp has ever seen.”

She panned to the cone maze. “Obstacle course built by chaos. Starring: slightly concussed athletes and a very exhausted Sarina.”

Sarina, wearing a visor and sipping black coffee like it was tequila, gave a long-suffering sigh. “On my whistle. First team to cross the finish wins. You all know the rules. I can’t believe I have to say them out loud.”

Tooney leaned toward the camera. “You just know she’s texting the FA board like, ‘pls send help.’”

Leah is blinded. Keira signs. Georgia is warming up by walking on her hands like it’s casual.

Leah stood at the starting line, hands on hips. “Keira, if I run into something—”

“You will,” Keira replied. “Let’s just accept it now.”

“Confidence boost: zero,” Leah muttered and adjusted her glasses, blinking hard.

“Everything looks… bendy.”

“That’s the point,” Keira replied, cracking her knuckles dramatically. “Follow my lead.”

“Just don’t sign ‘yeet yourself into a cone,’ okay?”

Georgia stood near the finish line, stretching out her wrists like she was about to perform at Cirque du Soleil.

Sarina raised her whistle. “Ready… go!”

Leah started off confidently. Then took one wobbly step, panicked, and immediately bumped into a cone.

“Oh my GOD, she’s down already,” Tooney cackled.

“No, no, I’ve got this,” Leah huffed, reorienting herself. “Keira, sign clearer!”

“You need to look with your eyes,” Keira signed dramatically.

“I’M TRYING BUT EVERYTHING LOOKS LIKE A MINECRAFT TEXTURE PACK.”

Despite it all, Leah somehow recovered. She started speed-walking through the cones like someone trying to power-walk away from a breakup.

Beth, eating crisps, muttered, “She’s terrifying when she’s determined.”

Keira was signing wildly now, turn, side step, forward, and Leah was locked in.

She tagged Georgia with flair.

Georgia popped up into a handstand like it was nothing. Everyone on the sidelines gasped. Someone (probably Grace) fainted.

She cartwheeled once, balanced perfectly, and began walking on her hands toward the line.

“She’s floating,” Aggie whispered, eyes wide.

Alessia said into the mic, “If you told me she was built in a lab, I’d believe it.”

Georgia crossed the line and flipped onto her feet, posing like an Olympic gymnast.

Sarina blew the whistle.

Team Leah: 1 minute, 50 seconds.

The girls cheered. Leah whipped off her glasses dramatically and threw them to the floor.

“Beat that, gremlin,” she said, pointing at you.

You stood at the start line with a tight jaw, arms crossed, bouncing on your toes.

From the sidelines, Alessia zoomed in. “Here we have Sunny, notoriously feral, about to trust someone else for once in her life.”

Tooney snorted. “Growth moment.”

You were bouncing on your toes in your own enormous bug-eyed glasses. “These make me feel like I’m in an aquarium.”

“You look like you live in one,” Leah muttered.

You ignored her and turned to Khiara. “Are you ready?”

“Born ready,” Khiara grinned. “Don’t get lost or I’m never letting you live it down.”

Michelle cracked her knuckles at the finish line. “I’ve been practicing this since Year 6 PE. Let’s go.”

Sarina blew her whistle. “Go!”

You squinted. The cones were blurry blobs. The maze looked like a video game from 2004.

But you trusted Khiara.

She started signing, “Right. Small step. Now straight. Side step.”

You nodded and followed her lead—carefully, precisely, only nearly tripping once.

Ella whispered to the camera, “She’s serious. This is prime goblin mode discipline.”

Then you stepped over a cone so smoothly that Keira clutched her chest like a proud mum.

Aggie yelled, “She’s doing the stanky leg, but like… on purpose!”

You reached Michelle and tagged her. “Your turn. Don’t mess this up!”

Michelle grinned. “Watch and learn.”

She flipped into a handstand like it was her natural form and walked forward with zero fear.

The crowd roared. Grace fanned herself. Lucy burst into spontaneous applause.

“Look at the control!” Aggie screamed.

Alessia screamed, “LOOK AT HER GO! SHE’S GRAVITY DEFYING! NASA’S JEALOUS!”

Michelle wobbled once, corrected, and then gracefully, crossed the finish line.

Tooney dropped her phone. “WE’VE BEEN SERVED.”

Sarina blew the whistle. “Team Sunny: 1 minute, 38 seconds. Team Sunny wins the Williamson War of 2025.”

You tore off your glasses and fist-pumped the air.

Leah dropped to her knees. “AGAIN?!”

“Victory is mine,” you whispered, grabbing the cone you tripped over and holding it like a trophy.

“Cone of destiny.”

Georgia clapped her on the back. “You were robbed.”

Lucy handed Leah a chicken nugget. “For your pain.”

Sarina walked off the field muttering, “I’m too old for this.”

Tooney wrapped things up. “That concludes the 2025 Williamson War. Final score—Team Sunny: 3, Team Leah: 1, Team Sarina: emotionally destroyed.”

Alessia added, “We now return to regularly scheduled Lioness programming… until next time.”

You looked at Leah, smug. “I already know your punishment.”

The punishment had been decided unanimously, quickly, and with diabolical precision. No polar plunges. No public serenades. No forfeiting dessert.

Leah had to call Amanda Williamson. Her mum. The original referee of the Williamson Wars. Also known as Sunny’s biggest fan and number one defender.

Amanda had banned Williamson Wars after the infamous 2021 incident, when Leah got over-competitive and broke 12-year-old Sunny’s wrist during a three-legged race on uneven grass.

Amanda had said, verbatim: “I see one more ‘War’ and you’ll be lucky if I let you lead a prayer circle, let alone a football team.”

So naturally, you freshly victorious and high on glory (and sugar), picked that as the punishment.

Back in your shared room, Leah sat at the edge of her bed, phone in hand, looking like she was waiting to be executed.

You were sprawled dramatically across your bed, slurping a Caprisun through a neon curly straw you’d brought “for the aesthetic.”

“Do I have to?” Leah groaned, already dialing.

“Yes,” you replied gleefully, leaning back against your pillow fortress. “Tell her everything. Start with, ‘Hi Mum, it’s your disappointment child.’”

Leah glared at you. “I should’ve made you eat peas as your punishment.”

“You tried. I won. Now call Mother Amanda, peasant.”

The phone rang. Once. Twice.

“Leah Cathrine Williamson.” Amanda didn’t even say hello. Her voice came through stern, crisp, and full of maternal judgment.

You snorted so hard you almost choked on your juice pouch.

“H-hi Mum,” Leah said, already wincing.

“Oh, don’t ‘hi Mum’ me. What did you do?”

Leah threw a hand in the air. “Why do you always assume I did something?!”

“Because whenever I get a call right after training, someone’s either injured, traumatized, or missing an eyebrow. Now speak.”

Leah groaned. “It was a Williamson War, okay? But like—low stakes. Mostly cones.”

Dead. Silence. Then Amanda exhaled. The kind of sigh that said ‘I carried you for nine months and this is how you repay me?’

“You what?”

“Technically Sunny participated too—”

You waved from your bed. “Hi Mum Amanda! I won!”

Amanda’s voice shifted instantly. “Oh, hi sweetheart! I’m so proud of you, my little champion! Did she feed you today?”

“Three times,” you said. “Plus a CapriSun.”

“Good girl. Now back to Leah—YOU STARTED ANOTHER WAR?!”

Leah groaned. “It was joint custody chaos! The kids needed entertainment!”

Amanda was not amused. “I banned Williamson Wars after you broke her wrist. BROKE. HER. WRIST.”

“It healed!” Leah said weakly. “Now it’s like a superhero wrist!”

“Leah Cathrine, I ought to fly there myself and drag you into retirement.”

You dramatically fake-gasped from the bed. “Tell her about the vending machine crash!”

“I will hit you,” Leah hissed.

Amanda did not miss a beat. “What vending machine crash?”

“She hit Sarina,” you whispered into the phone.

“WHAT?!”

“It was an accident!” Leah cried. “And Sarina lived! She walked it off!”

“You’re lucky she walked it off! I told you, no more Wars! And now you’re back at camp with the team acting like Wile E. Coyote on wheels!”

You collapsed in laughter. Leah had her face in her hands.

Amanda continued, not letting up for a second.

“I should call Sarina myself. Apologize on your behalf. And you”—she paused for dramatic effect—“are on punishment.”

Leah blinked. “I’m 28 years old.”

“You’re never too old for consequences. You are banned from leading anything, including lunch lines, until further notice.”

You applauded from your bed. “I’d like to submit a motion for a five-year ban on Williamson Wars.”

“Seconded,” Amanda said.

“Mum!” Leah whined.

“You’re lucky she’s not asking for a CPS case. Sunny is basically yours.”

You grinned. “Leah is my legal guardian.”

“I knew it,” Amanda muttered. “Should’ve tied her to a bench in 2020.”

Leah tossed her phone on the bed and fell back with a groan.

You picked it up sweetly. “Love you, Amanda!”

“Love you, darling. Keep her in line.”

“Always,” you replied with a salute, then ended the call.

Leah stared at the ceiling. “I should’ve just let you drink my tea back in 2017.”

You smiled, sipping the last of your juice. “I’m so glad you didn’t.”

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kaiasky · 2 days ago

Text

on the one hand. yeah.

on the other hand I remember when I was maybe 12 the topic of assassinations of Iranian nuclear scientists came up at dinner w/ some family friends. (these friends are staunch pacifists so the context was presumably "god dammit, iran/israel, do not start a war")

& i remember being incensed like. science=good, scientist=non-millitary, the scientists are the good guys whoever killed them is evil. simple. fucking solved.

& yknow I think the family friend could have easily said hey kaia. do u know ANY facts about the Iranian nuclear program? about Iran or Israel in general?? no? ok shut up adults are speaking.

but to his enormous and eternal credit he was like ok kaia that may be right. are there any kinds of science that hurt people? If there was a scientist that was making a really bad disease and wanted to release it, would you call the cops on them? Ok what if they were making the disease for the cops to use so the cops said it was ok?

& idk, just generally works through baby's first introduction to "sometimes scientists are embroiled in the defense industry. and so while you're right that they're civilians I don't think we need to say that the side with the scientists is the good side, sadly. (and if you grow up to be a scientist you might need to decide what is the right way to do science.)"

ig the point is like? the internet is always gonna be a mix of people of different ages at different placed. for most of us, "we don't bomb people just because the government is bad" is pretty obvious. but for each person there was a first time hearing somebody make that case. whether that was in 1970 or 2004. & idk, yeah there are people who are old enough they ought to have got the message by now. but maybe they're newly ready to actually understand, etc.

idk. the curse of being right about shit is being condemned to explain it over and over forever. but that's just life

i kind of feel like if you take "don't bomb iran" as an endorsement of the iranian government, you're not intellectually ready to engage in conversations about real-world politics. Go talk about steven's universe instead

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undyingdecay · 14 hours ago

Note

You see most see Bob as being inexperienced, but I'd like to think the opposite. I mean this mas was on hard drugs, this man was doing some shit. And when he couldn't pay, lets just say he had to "get a little strange for some change".

he’s definitely eaten some pussy in an alley before. not even in a fun, sexy way. like, drunk out of his mind, high as a kite, someone grabbing him by the hair, his knees on wet pavement, fingers bruising his scalp, and him not even minding ‘cause it meant he was getting paid or scoring after. probably came in his own pants once or twice doing it too. messy, sloppy, face shiny, lips puffy, eyes glassy. and he was good at it too, ‘cause when you don’t have much else to trade, you learn real fast how to make it worth their while.

and that followed him. even cleaned up, even halfway sober, he’s still got that in him. the memory of it sitting somewhere behind his eyes. it’s why he’s the way he is now, so desperate to be wanted but convinced it’s only worth something if it’s dirty. it’s why he mouths at your pussy like it’s the last thing keeping him alive, why he keeps going even when his jaw aches, why he doesn’t stop even when you tell him you’re too sensitive. because he remembers what it’s like, what it was like to have to earn it, to make it good enough so they’d throw a little extra his way or let him crash for the night.

BUTTTTTT, i do think he is generally inexperienced in the ways that matter

#.ᐟ.ᐟ #i dont mind hc of him being a virgin #adults can be virgins #robert reynolds #bob reynolds fanfic #bob thunderbolts #robert reynolds x reader #bob reynolds smut #bob reynolds x reader #robert reynolds smut #marvel #thunderbolts #⤷ robert reynolds #new avengers

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paxaz535 · 3 days ago

Text

SLOW SIMMER - FOUR

dallas!paige x privatechef!azzi

note : sorry it took so long , i needed to do a lot of thinking so i can keep this story interesting lol

—————————————

“so… how’d you feel about everyone?” paige asked as she and azzi cleaned up the kitchen.

it was around 11:20 when everyone left the bueckers household. the girls had stayed late, running extra games, and azzi ended up bonding with dijonai and maddy over leftovers and side conversations.

azzi smiled to herself, thinking about what they talked about. “i already love them. they’re funny—especially dijonai. she has no filter,” she laughed, the memory still fresh.

paige chuckled, rinsing out a bowl before putting it in the cabinet. “that’s good to hear,” she said, leaning on the counter. “i thought you were gonna hate them.”

azzi finished cleaning a cup, then mirrored paige’s stance, their eyes locking across the kitchen. “hate is a strong word. i don’t think i could ever hate anything.”

paige gave her a look. “trust me, you hate something.”

azzi played along, leaning in slightly, a small grin on her lips. “and you know this how?”

paige leaned in just an inch closer, her voice dropping. “i know a lot of things. don’t tempt me.”

azzi’s heart fluttered. paige’s tone was soft, low, but teasing. her eyes flickered to the blonde’s lips before returning to her eyes. “yeah?”

paige didn’t budge. “yeah.”

just as azzi opened her mouth to say something, paige’s phone dinged. the sharp sound broke whatever was building between them. both girls flinched back a little as paige sighed and checked her phone, her expression instantly shifting.

“what happened?” azzi asked with a soft chuckle, noticing the way paige’s whole vibe changed.

paige didn’t answer right away. she looked at azzi, then back at her screen. “it’s just… someone i used to talk to. she can’t take a hint that we don’t talk anymore.”

azzi hummed, her smile fading slightly. she didn’t know what that meant, didn’t know if she wanted to. still, it didn’t hurt.

not really.

not yet.

but it felt weird.

‘i don’t blame her,’ she thought, then immediately shook the thought away.

the phone rang again, and paige rolled her eyes before answering with a sharp, dry, “what’s up, bro?”

azzi nearly burst out laughing—she’d never heard paige sound so unbothered.

on the other end, a girl scoffed. “don’t answer the phone like that, i can’t call you no more?”

paige’s tone flattened. “no, you cannot, actually. what do you want?”

then came the bomb.

“girl, you know you miss this pussy. stop playing with me, paige.”

azzi’s eyes went wide, her hand flying to her mouth. she hadn’t expected that. not out loud. not now.

paige froze, clearly just as stunned. azzi made eye contact with her, silently mouthing, i’m gonna go. goodnight.

paige gave a tight nod, sighing heavily as she turned away to keep talking. “watch ya mouth, ‘cause you don’t even know what you talkin’ ‘bout.”

azzi slipped down the hall, quietly shutting her bedroom door behind her.

she didn’t know why hearing that girl bothered her so much.

but it did.

it left a weird twist in her stomach, a tightness in her chest.

because something about that call made her feel like…

whatever her and paige were building—

wasn’t just theirs.

not yet.

and azzi didn’t want to admit how much that bothered her.

she just got some clothes out to shower with, today was long.

she was about to go to the bathroom but when she opened the bedroom door, paige was standing there.

the blonde froze, clearly not expecting azzi to come out at the exact moment she planned on coming in.

azzi froze too, one hand still on the doorknob. “oh,” she mumbled, eyes locking with paige’s.

“hey,” paige said quietly, rubbing the back of her neck. her expression was softer now, different than it was a few minutes ago when she answered that call.

“hi,” azzi replied, stepping back slightly to let her pass. “did you need something?”

paige didn’t move right away. she looked at azzi, then glanced toward the floor before finally meeting her eyes again. “i wanted to say sorry… about earlier.”

“you don’t have to,” azzi said quickly. “it’s not my business.”

“maybe not,” paige nodded. “but it still felt… weird. and you didn’t deserve to hear that.”

azzi looked at her, unsure what to say. the hallway was quiet, a thick silence hanging between them.

“it’s not like i’m mad,” azzi finally said. “i just… wasn’t expecting it.”

paige stepped a little closer, her voice dropping again. “i’m not talking to her anymore. i haven’t for a while. that call? it wasn’t anything.”

azzi nodded, her voice softer. “okay.”

paige noticed the way azzi’s fingers curled slightly around the doorknob, like she didn’t know whether to stay or go.

“i didn’t mean for it to mess up the night,” paige added.

“you didn’t,” azzi said. “it was a good night.”

they stood there for a second longer, quiet again. then paige tilted her head slightly, her eyes gentle. “you were heading to the bathroom?”

azzi nodded.

paige stepped aside. “go ahead. i’ll be out here.”

azzi gave her a small smile, walking past her.

but even as she entered the bathroom, paige’s voice echoed in her mind.

that call wasn’t anything.

so why did it still feel like something?

next day, azzi woke up with the whole scene from last night still replaying in her mind.

the phone call.

the hallway conversation.

the way paige looked at her.

the way she felt.

it was fucking with her brain.

but she had to pull herself together.

this wasn’t supposed to be complicated.

she was here to cook. not to catch feelings.

so she got up, showered, and got dressed—something simple, something comfortable. her apron hung over her arm as she made her way out of the room, trying to clear her head.

what she didn’t expect to see was emma, paige, dijonai, lyss, and arike sitting in the front room. their faces were serious, low voices murmuring back and forth like they were mid-discussion about something important.

emma was the first to notice her. she looked azzi up and down with a soft smile, lifting a brow. “well if it isn’t the chef herself.”

all heads turned.

azzi suddenly felt warm under the pressure of so many eyes.

especially the blue ones.

she stood there for a beat, then forced a small smile. “hey, everyone.”

paige didn’t say anything right away, just looked at her. her gaze wasn’t cold—but it wasn’t easy to read either.

“hey, azzi,” dijonai greeted, patting the empty seat beside her. “come sit. we’re talking about something important.”

emma chuckled, shaking her head. “we’re not dragging her into it just yet. she just woke up.”

azzi glanced at paige again, her chest tightening a little.

“you okay?” lyss asked, catching the slight hesitation in her posture.

“yeah,” azzi nodded quickly. “just a little tired.”

emma stood up, brushing off her jeans. “i was just checking in before heading out. needed to talk to paige about a few things.”

azzi nodded, her hands tightening slightly around the fabric of her apron.

“you cooking this morning?” arike asked, eyes hopeful.

“i was planning to,” azzi answered, a little more gently. “what are we feeling?”

paige finally spoke then, voice soft. “surprise us.”

and for some reason, those two words carried more weight than they should have.

“paige, you love surprises don’t you?” lyss joked, her tone teasing as she threw an arm around dijonai’s shoulders.

paige glanced over at her, unimpressed. “don’t start.”

dijonai smirked, nudging lyss. “nah, she definitely do. remember that time at the team dinner—”

“nope,” paige cut in quickly, holding up a hand. “we are not doing story time right now.”

emma laughed as she grabbed her bag. “i’ll let y’all get back to embarrassing each other. azzi, i’ll text you later, alright?”

“okay,” azzi said softly, offering her a wave as emma made her way out the door.

as soon as it closed behind her, the room shifted a bit. still light, but quieter. azzi moved to the kitchen, her hands already reaching for the pan on instinct.

behind her, paige was watching—she always seemed to be watching lately. the girl who was once just her private chef had somehow started taking up more space.

not in a bad way.

just… noticeable.

“so what kinda surprise are we getting?” arike called from the couch, breaking the silence.

azzi smiled faintly as she opened the fridge. “a good one, hopefully.”

and somehow, she wasn’t just talking about the food.

she heard footsteps behind her and glanced to the side—paige had walked into the kitchen, leaning on the counter like she always did when she was trying to act casual.

“you sleep okay?” the blonde asked, her voice softer now that it was just the two of them.

“yeah,” azzi said, pulling out eggs and some fresh spinach. “woke up kind of in my head, but… i’m good.”

paige nodded slowly, then let a beat pass. “about last night…”

azzi kept her eyes on the cutting board as she cracked an egg, careful and calm. “you don’t have to explain again. it’s fine.”

“i know i don’t have to,” paige said, watching the way azzi moved, “but i want to.”

azzi finally glanced up at her. “okay. then talk.”

paige hesitated, like she was trying to find the right words. “i haven’t talked to that girl in months. it was just one of those people who pops back up for attention, you know? i shut it down as soon as i could. i didn’t want it to mess anything up.”

azzi’s eyes lingered on hers for a second. “why would it mess anything up?”

paige looked at her—really looked. “because… i don’t want you thinking you’re just another person in my space.”

azzi blinked, surprised by the honesty. her heart did that weird flutter again, the one she swore she wasn’t supposed to feel.

“…well,” she said after a moment, turning back to the stove, “if you keep talking like that, i’m gonna burn these eggs.”

paige laughed quietly. “can’t have that.”

azzi smirked, focused on the skillet. “exactly. i’ve got a reputation to uphold.”

the moment settled into something easier—something warm. and while the rest of the girls in the living room teased each other and scrolled their phones, in the kitchen, something quiet but real was beginning to take shape.

“hey— where’s maddy?” azzi asked, glancing toward the living room as she flipped the eggs.

paige turned her head to look too, only just realizing the absence. “yeah, where is maddy?” she called out to the three girls on the couch.

“oh, she’s with her boyfriend,” arike replied casually, not looking up from her phone.

“fiancé,” lyss corrected, grinning. “get it right, boo.”

“same difference,” arike mumbled, rolling her eyes as she leaned back deeper into the couch cushions.

lyss laughed, stealing the throw pillow beside her. “she said she’ll be here for dinner, though. told us not to eat without her.”

azzi raised an eyebrow from the stove. “dinner? we making plans already?”

paige shrugged, leaning her elbow on the counter, chin in hand. “only if you’re cooking.”

“of course i’m cooking.” azzi smirked, “what else am i here for?”

“your sparkling personality,” dijonai teased, sending her a playful wink.

azzi just laughed, shaking her head. “y’all are a mess.”

“and yet you love us,” dijonai grinned.

paige smiled to herself quietly, her gaze lingering on azzi longer than it should’ve.

yeah.

she really did.

“i’m a loveable person. i love everyone.” azzi said with a small shrug, turning back to the stove like it was just a casual statement.

“mmhm,” dijonai drawled from the couch, “but do you love paige?”

paige nearly choked on her water.

azzi froze for a split second—hands still, jaw tightening just slightly—before laughing it off. “i said everyone, didn’t i?”

arike hollered. “that’s a safe ass answer, chef. i see you.”

lyss grinned, nudging dijonai. “you tryna stir the pot before breakfast’s even done?”

“girl, i stir everything,” dijonai said proudly. “food, drama, tension. i’m well-rounded.”

azzi just shook her head, flipping the eggs with a smirk. “y’all are too much this early.”

“you love it,” paige said quietly, still smiling as she watched azzi from the side.

azzi didn’t look at her, but she heard it.

and she felt it.

“maybe,” she muttered under her breath, the tiniest grin tugging at the corner of her lips.

paige heard that maybe—soft, almost too low to catch—but it echoed loud in her chest.

she leaned a little closer across the counter, chin propped in her palm, blue eyes steady on the girl standing at her stove like she owned the whole damn place.

“what was that?” paige asked, teasing, even though she heard her just fine.

azzi didn’t turn around, just kept flipping the eggs and plating the rest of breakfast. “nothing,” she said casually, but her ears were a little pink.

“nah,” lyss called out. “that wasn’t ‘nothing,’ fudd. what you say?”

“yeah, come on now,” dijonai added, grinning. “we all heard something that wasn’t ‘i love everyone’ just now.”

azzi finally turned, setting a plate in front of paige and grabbing another for arike. “i said maybe,” she admitted, locking eyes with the blonde for a half-second. “now eat.”

“mmm. mysterious,” arike grinned as she took her food. “i like her.”

“i been said that,” dijonai muttered, already halfway through a bite.

paige, though, didn’t say anything.

she just stared at her plate for a moment—then up at azzi again.

“thanks,” she said softly.

azzi nodded once. “you’re welcome.”

but as she turned back to the kitchen, that grin wouldn’t leave her face.

and paige?

she was already thinking about dinner.

paige kept eating, but her mind wasn’t fully on the food anymore—even if it was damn near perfect. she was chewing slower, eyes following azzi as the chef moved around the kitchen like it was second nature now.

it wasn’t just the way azzi cooked.

it was the way she made the space feel… soft. warm.

like a home paige didn’t realize she’d been missing.

“yo.” arike’s voice broke through her thoughts. “you good?”

paige blinked. “huh?”

arike raised a brow, a fork mid-air. “you zoned out hella hard just now. you was over there chewing like it was a love song playing in your head.”

lyss and dijonai burst out laughing.

“she’s in deep thought,” lyss said dramatically. “probably imagining her last name on wedding invites.”

“shut up,” paige muttered, but her grin gave her away.

azzi glanced back, eyes flickering between the group and paige. “what’s going on over there?”

“nothing,” paige replied quickly. too quickly.

“mhm,” dijonai smirked. “nothing except our girl here making heart eyes at the chef.”

azzi blushed immediately, turning back to the sink. “y’all are exhausting.”

“you love it,” paige echoed softly.

azzi’s hand paused over a dish for half a second before she kept going.

the room filled with laughter and clinking forks, the smell of breakfast still hanging in the air.

but under it all, something new was brewing—

and it wasn’t just what was on the stove.

“so, azzi.” dijonai spoke, resting her elbow on the counter like she was about to start trouble.

azzi looked up, her brows raised. “yes?”

“you got any plans today?”

azzi thought for a second, sipping on her water. “not that i know of. why, what happened?”

paige’s head turned slightly, eyes narrowing in suspicion as she chewed slowly. she knew that tone in dijonai’s voice. it always meant something.

“good,” dijonai grinned. “because we’re taking you with us.”

azzi laughed softly, intrigued. “where are you taking me?”

“yeah,” paige chimed in, tilting her head, “where are you taking her, nai?”

“chill, p.” dijonai smirked. “you can come too. it’s nothing crazy. we’re just gonna hit the little vintage market downtown and maybe stop by that smoothie place arike’s obsessed with.”

“you didn’t even like that smoothie place last time,” arike said with her mouth full.

“shhh,” dijonai waved her off. “azzi hasn’t been yet. it’s a bonding trip now.”

azzi smiled, her interest piqued. “alright… i’m down. sounds fun.”

“great,” dijonai clapped her hands once. “we’ll leave in like an hour. wear something cute.”

paige leaned over, nudging azzi lightly with her shoulder. “you always wear something cute.”

azzi looked at her, surprised, lips parting to say something—but dijonai cut in.

“aht aht—none of that flirty stuff yet. we on a group trip.”

paige rolled her eyes while azzi just blushed and turned back to her water, smiling into the glass.

this was gonna be a long day.

but probably a good one.

azzi kept it simple—she didn’t want to look like she was trying too hard, but she still wanted to look good.

she pulled on a pair of green cargo jeans that sat just right on her hips, pairing it with a black tube top that hugged her figure in all the best ways. her goddess braids were pulled up into a bun, but a few curls had fallen out, framing her face in a way that felt effortless.

a soft makeup look—light blush, glossed lips, lashes just enough to bat—

and gold hoops to finish it off.

when she stepped out of her room, the conversation in the living room quieted a little too fast.

paige, who had been mid-scroll on her phone, looked up—then kept looking.

“okayyy,” lyss said, dragging the word out with a grin. “chef said outside today.”

“you look good, fudd,” dijonai added. “like, you trying to get chose good.”

azzi blushed, brushing them off with a laugh as she reached for her bag. “it’s just cargo pants.”

“mhm,” arike said, standing and grabbing her keys. “and i’m just 5’9”. let’s roll.”

as everyone headed to the door, paige lingered, walking beside azzi with a smile that felt soft—genuine.

“you really do look good,” she said under her breath.

azzi looked over, smiling back. “thanks. so do you.”

neither of them said anything else.

but they didn’t really need to.

they all piled into dijonai’s car, the group loud and already full of chaotic energy. dijonai slid into the driver’s seat, tossing her phone into the cupholder as she called out, “azzi, shotgun.”

azzi was about to politely decline, but before she could even say anything, she heard lyss behind her.

“wha—baby, i always sit in the front,” lyss said, dramatic as ever, watching azzi reach for the passenger door handle like her title was being stolen.

dijonai turned around with a deadpan expression. “it’s not gonna kill you to sit in the back for a day. calm down.”

lyss folded her arms as she pouted, mumbling under her breath, “this car ain’t even got real legroom in the back.”

“your legs short anyway,” arike teased, already buckled in behind dijonai.

“let azzi have her moment.” paige chimed in.

lyss gasped. “wow. okay. betrayal from all sides.”

azzi, laughing softly, finally got in and shut the door. “y’all are funny.”

dijonai looked over at her once they were settled in. “they do this every time. don’t take it personal.”

“oh i’m not,” azzi replied, smiling. “this is fun.”

dijonai grinned as she started the car. “good. you better get used to us.”

and just like that, they were off—windows down, music blasting, voices overlapping—azzi’s first real day out with the crew.

and so far, it felt right.

“so what’s up with this smoothie place? i love smoothies,” azzi asked, glancing over at dijonai as the car rolled through a yellow light.

the older girl had on black sunglasses, her jaw set like she was driving in a Fast & Furious sequel.

“first of all,” dijonai started, eyes not leaving the road, “this spot is it. fresh fruit, they don’t use that fake-ass syrup. and they put this granola crumble on top of the smoothies-in-a-bowl that’ll make you rethink your whole life.”

“they do be hittin’,” arike added from the back, chewing gum loudly. “i ain’t even like smoothies like that ‘til i came here.”

“same,” paige chimed in, turning to look at azzi. “i get the dragonfruit one. fire.”

lyss leaned forward from the backseat, her arm hanging between the front seats. “azzi, don’t listen to them—get the pineapple mango one with the extra honey. that’s the best.”

“see? already starting,” dijonai muttered, smirking. “you’re gonna have to make your own decision, fudd.”

azzi laughed, her gold hoops catching the sunlight as she shook her head. “this sounds like serious business.”

“it is,” paige said, tapping her phone like she was preparing a whole review. “smoothie politics in this car are intense.”

“y’all lucky i like y’all,” azzi teased, looking out the window as they turned into the lot. the spot was small but cute—plants in the windows, people sitting outside with bright bowls and even brighter drinks.

“welcome to the jungle,” dijonai grinned as she parked.

“don’t say we didn’t warn you.”

they all piled out of the car, the sun warm against their skin as they headed toward the shop. the smell of fresh fruit, honey, and something faintly tropical hit azzi immediately.

“this place smells good already,” she muttered, taking it in.

“just wait,” arike said, holding the door open with a little bow. “ladies first.”

azzi chuckled, stepping inside with the others. it was cozy but vibrant—plants hanging from the ceiling, a chalkboard menu with colorful writing, and a few shelves of granola and pressed juices off to the side. the energy felt local, personal… kind of like the food azzi liked to make.

“i’m telling you,” lyss whispered as they walked up to the counter, “one bite and you’re gonna understand why i almost fought arike last time over the last açai bowl.”

“she’s not lying,” arike added, arms folded. “i didn’t get the last one. and that still hurt.”

paige stood beside azzi, glancing up at the menu. “you want me to help you pick?”

azzi looked over at her, their shoulders nearly touching. “nah, i think i wanna try that pineapple mango one lyss was raving about.”

lyss pointed at her from the back of the line, “you will not regret that.”

they all placed their orders, laughing through it as arike fumbled her card and dijonai made a big deal out of getting two bowls “just in case one doesn’t hit.” while they waited, they found a spot outside at a corner table under a shaded umbrella.

azzi sat between paige and lyss, and for a moment, it felt like she’d been part of the group forever.

“so,” lyss started, poking at her straw, “now that we’ve all officially adopted you, what are your weekend plans lookin’ like?”

azzi looked around the table, everyone waiting, playful curiosity in their eyes. she smiled softly, realizing she didn’t mind being asked.

“honestly?” she said, pulling her hair back into place. “no plans yet.”

“good,” dijonai nodded. “you do now.”

“good,” dijonai nodded, popping the top off her smoothie bowl. “you do now.”

“oh, word?” azzi laughed, raising a brow. “y’all just assign plans to me now?”

“absolutely,” lyss said, already halfway through her drink. “you’re one of us now. no escape.”

arike leaned across the table, spoon in hand. “we’re thinking a beach day. well… more like a lake day, technically. there’s this spot about 30 minutes out. not too many people, chill vibes, good scenery.”

“and snacks,” dijonai added, pointing her spoon at azzi. “which is where you come in.”

“i had a feeling this was food-related,” azzi muttered, shaking her head with a smile.

“i mean,” paige said, leaning back in her chair and turning her cup in her hand, “if we’re all gonna be outside for hours, wouldn’t it make sense to have, like… gourmet sandwiches?”

“gourmet sandwiches?” arike snorted. “you bougie now?”

paige gave her a dry look. “have you had azzi’s sandwiches?”

arike raised her hands in surrender. “point taken.”

azzi laughed, covering her mouth. “fine. i’ll make something. but y’all better bring the drinks and entertainment.”

“done,” dijonai nodded. “you focus on the food, we got the rest.”

they all clinked their cups together like it was some kind of unspoken contract. and just like that, azzi had weekend plans. not because she asked for them—but because this group had a way of pulling you in.

paige leaned close again, voice low just for her.

“sorry in advance if they get too loud or competitive.”

azzi turned her head slightly, their faces just a little too close.

“i think i’ll be okay,” she whispered back.

“they feel kinda like family already.”

paige’s lips curved into something soft—real—not the camera-ready kind of smile azzi had seen on tv or in press photos. this one was for her.

“that’s good,” paige said, still holding her gaze. “they can be a lot, but… they’re solid people.”

azzi nodded, her eyes flicking down to her smoothie for a second, then back up. “i can tell.”

their moment was broken when lyss let out a dramatic groan from across the table.

“can y’all stop whispering and start planning the vibes? like… what kind of music are we bringing? cause if y’all think i’m listening to country the whole ride—”

“girl, no one listens to country,” dijonai deadpanned.

“you’d be surprised,” arike chimed in.

“uh huh, and you be the main one knowing the lyrics when it come on,” lyss shot back, pointing at her with a plastic spoon.

“okay but let’s not act like azzi don’t give off r&b picnic playlist energy,” maddy added as she rejoined the group with her drink in hand, having finally arrived.

“mads! i thought you weren’t coming back until later on?” dijonai asks as she sipped her drink.

maddy shook her head, “something told me to check arike’s location so i came here.”

azzi laughed, leaning back in her seat. “wait- r&b picnic?what does that even mean?”

“it means you got the vibe,” maddy said, sliding into the last empty chair. “like, the soft vocals, sunset lighting, wine-in-a-jar aesthetic. that’s you.”

paige, now clearly enjoying this, raised a brow. “wine-in-a-jar?”

“you know exactly what i’m talking about,” maddy smirked.

azzi shook her head with a grin, letting their banter wash over her. she wasn’t used to being so naturally folded into a friend group—let alone one that felt this easy. this seamless.

it was like they’d known her longer than just a few days.

paige must’ve sensed something in her silence because she bumped her knee against azzi’s gently under the table.

“you good?”

azzi glanced at her, then nodded. “yeah. i’m really good.”

and for the first time in a while, she actually meant it.

they stayed out there for a while—long after the smoothies were finished and the bowls were scraped clean. the conversation drifted from music and weekend plans to random “would you rather” questions, embarrassing college stories, and heated debates over which disney channel original movie was the best.

azzi didn’t speak all the time, but when she did, the girls listened. laughed. pulled her in even tighter.

it wasn’t just paige making her feel welcome—it was all of them.

eventually, the sun dipped lower in the sky, casting a soft golden light over the patio. arike stretched her arms dramatically. “alright, i need to get back before i pass out.”

“same,” lyss yawned, tossing her empty cup in the trash. “we still on for the lake?”

“yes,” dijonai confirmed. “saturday morning. we meet at mine.”

“i’ll bring the speaker,” maddy added, already typing something into her phone.

“i’ll bring towels and extra sunscreen,” lyss said.

“i’ll… bring myself,” arike shrugged, earning a few laughs.

paige turned to azzi as everyone stood and started filing toward the car. “you need anything for it? i can pick up ice or coolers if you don’t have enough.”

azzi smiled, pulling her braids back into place. “nah, i think i got it covered. i’ve done a few beach picnics before.”

“of course you have,” paige smirked, nudging her playfully.

“chef life,” azzi shrugged, then paused. “but… thanks. really. this was fun.”

“you don’t gotta thank me,” paige said, holding the car door open for her this time. “you’re stuck with us now.”

as they drove back, azzi looked out the window, her face lit by the warm pinkish light of the sunset.

she couldn’t explain it, but something about today shifted things inside her.

she didn’t know what it meant yet. but it felt… right.

like she was exactly where she was supposed to be.

#paige bueckers #azzi fudd #pazzi

231 notes · View notes

mcrdvcks · 18 hours ago

Text

i hate it here

chapter summary: You meet Bucky at therapy where Dr. Raynor shares a small office with Dr. Cole. You two slowly connect over mystery books and coffee outings. Until one day you don't show up. word count: 3.4k+ pairing: Bucky Barnes x fem!reader notes: i've mentioned a few times offhandedly that i have depression (and anxiety) and i that i have attempted - i don't want pity or anything, just stating a fact. i started therapy like 4 months ago and have been doing much better! anyways, i got to thinking about how one of the only characters who has been in therapy (in the mcu) is bucky. i guess you could kinda count tony, but he was talking to bruce so idk. anyways, that's how this came along. it was kinda my version of journaling, since i suck at it. please read the warnings/tags! warnings/tags: post tfatws, therapy, allusions to depression, alpine mention!, reader has a dog, mentions/allusions to a suicide attempt, some fluff, two people finding each other through trauma, insomnia, nightmares, slight angst, depressive spiral

The Brooklyn office is small—four hardback chairs, a scuffed laminate floor, and walls the color of old oatmeal. You’re already there when Bucky shuffles in, early as usual, hood pulled low despite the July heat.

You’re curled over a paperback, thumb smoothing the crease in the spine. He recognizes the look: concentration hiding nerves. He clears his throat, drops into the chair opposite you.

Silence stretches. Tick-tick-tick from the receptionist’s keyboard. Bucky counts each tap like gunshots until— “Chapter’s not great,” you mutter, not looking up. “It’s supposed to be a detective story, but the villain is obvious by page three.”

Bucky blinks. Small talk, right. He hunts for something non-awkward to say. “Maybe the detective’s just slow,” he offers.

That earns a tiny huff of laughter. You glance up, eyes warm but tired. “You ever read mysteries?”

“Not since… a long time.” He swallows. “But I used to like Agatha Christie.”

“Classic.” You close the book, mark your place with a Metro receipt. “I’m Y/N.”

He opens his mouth—hesitates—then sticks out a flesh-and-blood hand. “Bucky.” The metal one stays shoved under his sleeve.

The receptionist calls your name first. You stand, shoot him a quick, encouraging smile. Something inside his rib cage gives a startled twitch.

---

“Still having trouble sleeping?” Dr. Cole asked. She shared an office with Dr. Raynor, you were just lucky to find a therapist close to your place.

You shrugged, “yeah. It’s just insomnia. I did a sleep test, had to put the mask on and sleep with it for 2 nights. Doctor found nothing, so...”

"Let's talk about what happens when you try to sleep," Dr. Cole said, pen poised.

"I stare at the ceiling," you answered. "Count cracks in the paint, listen to Sparky snore, think about—stuff."

"Stuff?"

"Classes, rent, whether my brother’s eating decent food at school—everything that isn't restful."

Dr. Cole nodded. "Nightmares?"

"More like reruns. Same memories on loop." You rubbed your eyes. "They don't even change; they're just… loud."

She clicked her pen. "Medication helping?"

“I guess. Not with the sleep part though. But nothing helps with sleep.”

Dr. Cole tilted her head. “What do you do between the moment you turn off the light and the moment you give up?”

“Phone. Crossword. Sometimes I Google ‘why can’t I sleep’ like it’s gonna give a brand-new answer.”

“Ever try talking instead of scrolling? Out loud, I mean—narrate the day, get it out of your head.”

You snort. “My dog’ll think I’m confessing state secrets.”

“Sparky might surprise you.” Dr. Cole’s smile is small but real. “Okay, homework: pick one night this week, no screens after ten, narrate the day to Sparky, then lights out. Deal?”

“Fine. If she tattles, that’s on you.”

“Noted.” She scribbles, caps the pen. “Same time next week?”

“Wouldn’t miss it.” You stand, tugging your bag onto your shoulder. The chair legs squeak; the sound feels louder than it is.

---

Bucky’s still in the waiting area, elbows on knees, staring at the floor like it owes him money. He glances up when the door clicks shut behind you.

“How’d it go?” he asks, voice low.

“About as fun as a dentist with feelings.” You fish the Metro receipt-bookmark from your book, wave it. “But I got homework.”

“Therapists love homework.” He shifts, pats the chair beside him that you’re about to vacate. “Good luck.”

“You, too.” You nod toward the closed door. “Raynor doesn’t bite, right?”

“She’s thinking about it.” His mouth twitches. “You really hate that book?”

“Detective’s got two brain cells, both fighting for custody. I’m gonna finish it just to spite him.”

“Want a recommendation when you’re done?”

“Only if it’s Christie.” You step backward toward the lobby doors. “I like the classics.”

He lifts two fingers in a mock salute. “Deal.”

The receptionist calls, “Mr. Barnes?”

Bucky pushes up, metal hand still hidden in the sleeve. As he passes, he murmurs, “see you next week, Y/N.”

Your pulse trips over itself. “Next week.”

---

Raynor doesn’t wait for him to sit. “Early again. You practicing small talk in the hallway?”

He drops into the chair. “Maybe.”

“How’s the loneliness doing?”

He thinks of a paperback clutched between your hands and the way your eyes lit when he said Christie. “Less loud.”

“That’s new.” Raynor flips her notepad open. “Let’s talk about it.”

---

A week later you’re back, five minutes early for once. Bucky’s already there—of course—thumb tapping a silent rhythm on his thigh.

“You beat me again,” you say.

“I’m competitive.” He nods to the paperback in your grip. “Finished?”

“Killer was the dog walker. I want my money back.”

He chuckles—actually chuckles. “Brought you this.” From his jacket pocket he produces a scuffed copy of The Murder of Roger Ackroyd.

You take it, thumb the brittle spine. “Vintage.”

“So am I.”

You sit—this time in the chair beside him, not across. Your shoulders almost touch.

Receptionist looks up. “Y/N?”

You rise, clutching the book. “Hold my spot?”

“Always.” He watches you disappear behind the door, heart beating a little less like a war drum. Raynor will call it progress. He’ll call it something quieter: hope.

---

July heat’s worse a week later—New York humidity that sticks to your lungs. You and Bucky leave your sessions at the same time for once, shoulders brushing as the door swings shut.

“Raynor let you out early?” you ask.

“She thinks negative five minutes counts as progress.” He eyes the battered copy of Roger Ackroyd in your hand. “Any good?”

“Ten times smarter than last week’s disaster. Thanks for the rec.” You nudge his elbow. “Coffee? There’s a cart across the street.”

He squints at the sky. “Gonna melt anyway. Sure.”

---

The cart umbrella rattles in the breeze. You order an iced latte and Bucky sticks to plain drip, black.

“Old-man coffee,” you tease.

“Watch it, I’m sensitive.” He sips, winces. “So—you do the Sparky homework?”

“Yeah. She stared at me like I’d grown a second head, then fell asleep halfway through my monologue about rent.”

“Did you sleep any better?”

“Hour, maybe two.” You shrug. “But hey, progress.”

He nods, knocks a knuckle on the paper cup. “Nightmares kept me up. Raynor wants me journaling.”

“Journaling, narrating—therapists love verbs.” You dig in your tote, pull out a slim notebook. “Take mine. Blank pages intimidate me anyway.”

He turns it over. “Purple glitter stars?”

“Judge and I take it back.”

He clutches it to his chest. “No, no—precious now.”

Your laugh bubbles out before you can stop it. A beat passes; his smile lingers. Something warm hangs between you—comfortable, tentative.

“Thanks, Y/N,” he says, tapping the notebook. “For the… sparkly lifeline.”

“Anytime, Barnes.”

You check your phone. “Gotta run—class in fifteen. Same time next week?”

He hesitates, then, “Actually—Raynor’s moving my slot. Thursday, four?”

You scroll your calendar. “I can swing that.” Smile. “I’ll bring a better bookmark.”

He salutes with his coffee. “Deal.”

---

The waiting-room AC’s broken. You fan yourself with your Metro receipt as Bucky strides in, hair damp from a shower that didn’t stick.

“Hey,” you say.

“Hey.” He holds up the notebook—half the pages now filled. “Turns out journaling’s just talking on paper.”

“Therapists everywhere rejoice.”

The receptionist calls his name first this time. He freezes. “Switch with me?”

You shrug. “Fair’s fair. Go.”

He exhales, heads in. As the door shuts, you spot the corner of a page sticking out of the notebook—your name scrawled at the top. Your heart skips and you look away fast.

---

Bucky’s session is short—fifteen minutes. He steps out, cheeks pink.

“You okay?”

“Yeah.” He clears his throat. “Raynor… uh, suggested social exposure therapy.”

“Meaning?”

“Coffee that isn’t from a cart.” He scratches the back of his neck. “With a friend.”

You grin. “I know a place that sells donuts bigger than your hand.”

“Sound dangerous.”

“Live a little, Barnes.”

He offers an arm—the flesh-and-blood one. You loop yours through without overthinking.

“Hope they have purple-glitter donuts,” he mutters.

You snort. “Don’t tempt me.”

Street noise swallows the rest, but the silence between you feels easy, not heavy. Two insomniacs, two notebooks, one slow, stumbling orbit.

And maybe—just maybe—sleep won’t feel so impossible tonight.

---

You push the shop door open, tiny bell chiming. The smell of fried sugar and espresso hits like a hug. Bucky’s already at a corner table, sunglasses perched on his head, studying the menu like it’s classified.

“Morning,” you say, sliding into the seat across.

He looks up, relief softening his shoulders. “Saved you the last maple-bacon monstrosity.”

“You get a medal for that.”

“Working on it.” He nods at your iced coffee. “Still cold-brew loyal?”

“Ride or die.” You sip. “How’s the notebook?”

He pulls the purple-star journal from his jacket, thumb tapping the cover. “Halfway through. Raynor says I’m oversharing—‘but in a good way.’”

“Therapist code for ‘keep going.’”

“Yeah.” He hesitates. “I wrote about… the bridge dream. First time on paper.”

You lean in. “Any lighter?”

“Maybe a gram.” He flicks his gaze to the donut display. “Your turn—sleep narration working?”

“Managed four hours straight on Wednesday.” You raise the coffee in salute. “Progress.”

He grins. “Therapists everywhere rejoice.”

A server comes by to hand off the plates: his chocolate-glazed, your maple-bacon slab.

You rip off a chunk, point it at him. “So—social exposure therapy. How exposed are we aiming?”

“Raynor suggested a museum. Crowds, but no one expects small talk.”

“I’m free Sunday afternoon. Think you can handle the Met?”

He pretends to weigh it. “If they still allow grumpy ex-assassins.”

“Only if they don’t touch the art.”

“No promises.”

---

You both pause at a sarcophagus. Tourists swirl around, soundtrack of camera shutters. Bucky leans close. “Mummies have it figured out. Eternal rest.”

“Jealous?”

“A little.”

You smirk. “Try counting cracks in the ceiling. Works great.”

“Smart-mouth.” He nudges your shoulder. Metal—the sleeve’s rolled up. First time he hasn’t hidden it.

You glance at the vibranium, then meet his eyes. “Cool arm.”

He exhales—some tension you didn’t know was there. “Thanks.”

A kid nearby gasps, whispers to her dad. Bucky stiffens. You step slightly in front of him, blocking the view. “Ignore them. They’re staring at the arm, not you.”

“Same thing.”

You tilt your head. “To me it’s just… part of the package.”

He blinks. “Package, huh?”

“Don’t get cocky, Barnes.”

He chuckles, shoulders loosening. You wander onward, conversation dipping from art to worst cafeteria food, back to sleep tactics.

---

Apartment’s dark except for phone glow. Sparky snores at your feet.

Your screen lights: Bucky Barnes – New Text

“Tried narrating to Alpine. She walked off mid-monologue. Rude cat.” “You asleep?”

You smile, thumbs flying.

“Wide awake, obviously.” “Want to test a theory? Phone call, five minutes max. Talking’s supposed to tire the brain.”

Three dots… then your phone rings.

“Hey,” you whisper.

His voice is low, scratchy. “If this puts you to sleep I’ll be offended.”

“Then be interesting.”

He snorts. “No pressure.”

Minute one: weather complaints. Minute two: misheard song lyrics. Minute three: you yawn.

“Tired?” he asks, softer.

“Keep talking.”

He does—about the Met gift shop, how the snow-globe pyramids looked fake, how he bought one anyway.

“Why?” you mumble.

“For you,” he says. “Figured you could narrate to it when Sparky’s bored.”

Warmth floods your chest. “That’s… weirdly sweet.” There was silence for a few seconds, except his breathing. You blink, heavy-lidded. “Still there?”

“Mm-hmm.”

“Don’t hang up yet.”

“Not planning to.” He pauses. “Sleep, Y/N.”

“Night, Bucky.”

Phone still against your ear, you drift. First dreamless night in months.

Bucky listens to your steady breaths, eyes finally closing. Tomorrow’s problems can wait. Tonight, two insomniacs found quiet on the same line.

---

Dr. Cole taps her pen lightly on the pad. "You seem brighter today."

You shift slightly, feeling oddly caught out. "Actually slept last night. Whole five hours."

She raises an eyebrow, gently amused. "And what changed?"

You consider the phone call, the quiet voice on the other end, and shrug. "I think talking helps more than I realized."

Dr. Cole nods knowingly. "Having someone listen tends to do that."

"Yeah." You pick at your thumbnail. "I might be figuring that out."

"Good," she says simply. "Keep figuring."

---

Bucky’s waiting outside when you finish, leaning against the brick wall in sunglasses and a worn ball cap. He pushes off as soon as you step into the sunlight.

"Stalking now?" you joke, nudging his shoulder.

"Just passing by." He falls into step beside you. "Coffee? I need advice."

"Advice?"

He grimaces. "Raynor wants me attending a group session next week. Apparently, that's my next exposure step."

You glance at him. "Sounds terrifying."

"It is. Hence the advice request."

You smile softly. "I don't do groups, but… you handled crowds at the Met fine."

"That was because of you." He shrugs one shoulder, eyes ahead. "You distract me."

Warmth blooms in your chest. "In a good way?"

"In the best way."

Silence lingers, comfortable this time. The coffee cart is in sight, heat shimmering off pavement.

"Maybe… I could wait outside the group room," you offer quietly. "Just for moral support."

He stops, turns to you, eyes bright behind the lenses. "You'd do that?"

You tilt your head, fighting a smile. "I’d even bring a bad detective book."

"Deal."

---

The hallway smells faintly like industrial cleaner. You’re on a metal folding chair, feet kicked up against the wall, paperback open in your lap, Sparky dozing at your feet.

The group-room door opens. Voices murmur, shoes shuffle. Bucky emerges last, eyes slightly wide, tension in his shoulders. He spots you immediately, relief clear.

You shut the book. "You survived."

"Barely."

"Anyone bite?"

"Only verbally." He nods at Sparky. "She allowed?"

"Emotional support dog," you deadpan. "Completely legit."

He crouches slowly, metal fingers gentle against Sparky’s fur. She yawns, entirely unconcerned. Bucky straightens, a genuine smile tugging at his mouth. "Thanks for waiting."

"Always."

You start walking toward the exit together, his pace matching yours easily. "Was it worth it?" you ask.

He exhales deeply. "Yeah. Sort of. I talked. Once. About nightmares."

"That’s huge."

"Didn’t feel huge."

"It will tomorrow."

He looks sideways at you, hesitant. "Can I… call tonight?"

Your heart thuds softly. "Every night if it helps."

"It does," he says quietly. "It helps a lot."

The sunlight fades gold over the city as you step outside. Bucky pauses, hands in his pockets.

"You know," he says carefully, "I started therapy because the government made me. I stayed because… I thought it was the right thing to do. But now—"

"Now?" you prompt softly.

"Now I'm staying because it led me to you."

You swallow, suddenly shy. "That’s… nice."

He chuckles gently, shaking his head. "Yeah. Nice."

You bump his shoulder. "Don't mock my vocabulary."

"Never." He smiles. "Call you later?"

"Better."

He watches you walk away, heart steadier than it’s been in months.

---

Your phone buzzes on the bathroom counter, vibrating against your toothbrush holder. You squint at the caller ID, toothbrush in your mouth.

Dad.

You spit toothpaste, rinse quickly, and swipe to answer. "Hey, Dad."

"Y/N," he starts, tone already tense. "Got a minute?"

You sigh quietly, gripping the sink. "I have therapy soon. Everything okay?"

He pauses. You hear him clear his throat—never a good sign. "Look, I just got your mail. Bill from the hospital came again."

"Yeah, they keep sending it even though I set up payments—"

"I read it," he interrupts, voice clipped. "You know how it feels to read 'psychiatric hold' on a bill addressed to my kid?"

You close your eyes, jaw tightening. "I didn't ask you to open it."

"You're my kid. Of course I opened it. Y/N, we never talked about it. You just went silent, moved on like nothing happened—"

"I didn't move on."

"Then explain it," he says sharply. "Explain why you'd do something like that. Was it us? Your mom? Me? You never gave us a chance—"

"Dad, please stop."

He doesn’t. "We raised you to be stronger than this, Y/N. What happened to you?"

Your chest aches. Tears sting your eyes, hot and furious. "I have to go."

"Y/N—"

You hang up, tossing the phone onto your bed. You sit down hard, head in your hands, breathing jaggedly until your lungs ache. "Fuck," you whisper, wiping at tears you don't want to fall. "Fuck."

Your phone buzzes again. You don't pick it up.

---

Bucky checks his phone again—fourth time in ten minutes. The receptionist taps at her keyboard, and the clock above ticks louder than usual. Still nothing.

He types out another quick message:

"You close? Saving you a seat."

Five minutes pass as his knee bounces. Another text:

"You okay?"

Raynor opens her office door. "Barnes?"

He stares at your empty chair, then back at her. "Can we reschedule?"

She frowns slightly. "Is something wrong?"

"I gotta check on something." He stands abruptly. "I'll call."

Raynor just nods slowly. "Alright. Call if you need anything."

He’s already out the door.

---

He knocks gently at your apartment door, listening closely. "Y/N?"

No answer.

Bucky knocks again. "Y/N, it's me. You missed therapy. Just checking in."

Silence. Anxiety creeps up his spine, icy and familiar. He tries the handle. Locked.

He pulls out his phone again, sends a text:

"Outside your door. Please open."

Nothing. He leans his forehead against the wood, closing his eyes briefly. "Please," he murmurs.

Then, faintly, your voice comes through: "It's unlocked now."

---

Your apartment’s dark, curtains drawn tight. Sparky is curled on the couch, lifting her head as Bucky steps inside. You’re sitting cross-legged in the corner of the couch, eyes swollen, a blanket draped over your shoulders.

"Hey," he says softly, approaching slowly. "Mind if I sit?"

You shake your head silently, eyes fixed on your hands.

Bucky sits carefully beside you, keeping a cautious distance. "You wanna talk about it?"

You don’t answer. He waits, watching your profile, noticing the tightness in your jaw, the subtle trembling in your hands.

"My dad called," you say finally, voice thick. "He got a bill from the hospital. From… a while ago."

Bucky nods slightly. "Didn’t go well?"

A shaky laugh escapes your throat. "He blamed me. Said… said they raised me stronger. Like I chose to be weak."

Your voice cracks on the last word. Tears spill over, quiet and unstoppable. "I didn’t choose this."

Bucky’s throat tightens. "I know."

"He asked what happened to me," you whisper, voice breaking. "I don't know how to answer that."

He moves closer, gentle and slow. "You don’t have to know right now."

You swallow hard. "I keep trying to be better. Therapy, homework, all the fucking talking—but it’s never enough." You bury your face in your hands, shoulders shaking. "I'm sorry. You shouldn't have to—"

"Hey," he interrupts gently. "Stop apologizing."

You cry harder, trying to hold back sobs that spill through your fingers. He doesn't say anything more—just reaches out slowly, carefully pulling you against him. You tense at first, then melt against his chest. His arms circle you gently but firmly, his hand stroking your back as you tremble.

"You don't have to do this alone," he says softly, his voice steady in your ear. "I promise."

You nod, unable to speak. Sparky whines softly, shifting closer, pressing warmth into your side.

Bucky holds you until the tears slow, until your breathing evens slightly, his grip never loosening.

"You don't have to explain anything," he whispers finally. "Not to him, not to me—not until you're ready."

You sit up slowly, wiping your eyes, embarrassed. "Sorry," you whisper again.

He squeezes your shoulder gently, shaking his head. "No more apologies."

You sniff softly, leaning your head back against the couch. "I missed therapy."

"Cole'll forgive you. I skipped too."

You glance at him, eyes tired but softer. "They’ll kill us both."

"They’ll deal." He smiles gently, brushing a stray tear from your cheek. "You hungry?"

You shake your head slowly. "Not yet."

"Then we'll wait." He leans back beside you, Sparky settling between you both. "We have time."

You let out a breath, lighter now. The ache still lingers in your chest, but it’s quieter, bearable. "Thank you," you whisper.

He looks at you, steady and calm. "Anytime, Y/N."

sparky is actually the name of my one of my dogs, so you can tell i'm super creative, lol. to lighten things up, here's a picture of her:

we've had her since i was in elementary, so like 12-14 years? she's also around the same age. we think she's have golden retriever, half chihuahua. i know that sounds insane but google that and look at the pictures - a few of them look exactly like her. she's a rescue, so we aren't sure about age, etc. anyways, thank you for reading!

#bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes x fem!reader #bucky barnes fluff #bucky x reader #bucky barnes x you #bucky barnes fanfiction #james bucky barnes #james bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes angst #abby's works ☾ ⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ

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dailyreverie · 2 days ago

Text

Washed away

A/N: You know that moment when you realize "being in the shower with Bucky would solve all my problems"? Yeah... that's what prompted this. I think I've had this idea in my head for around a year and then like two days ago my brain literally started writing it all and I finally got around to it. This was proofread by my dog, if there are any mistakes... ignore them I guess. Enjoy xx

Pairing: Tunderbolts Bucky Barnes x Thunderbolts f!reader

Word count: 2.7k

CW: MNI / 18+ Mentions of canon-related danger and being close to death (no one dies), and angsty feelings over that, anxious Bucky, mentions of blood and injuries, established situationship (i guess?), nudity, unprotected shower sex, oral (f receiving), p in v, reader and Bucky comforting each other, aftercare, Bucky being the sweetest.

Also available to read on AO3

The whole team had looked at you with worry, but you didn’t look back at them. You entered to your assigned room, rushing to the bathroom before anyone could see you breaking, or see how scared you still were. You heard Bucky far away, asking if you were okay from the entrance of your room. “Yes, I am,” was all you replied, and shut the door of the bathroom behind you.

You welcomed the warm water when it hit against your skin, soothing your tense muscles as it traveled down your body. The mission had been rough, intense; you couldn’t remember one that had ended with your body screaming at you to stop as this one had. But being ambushed does that, you suppose, it pushes you over the limit. And maybe a cramped motel shower was not the best place to wind down and recover, but it was what you had for now, and at least you had warm water.

Bucky and you had taken most of the attack, being caught in the middle and covering each other’s backs. He was as battered as you were; super serum healing and all, you could see his hurt in the way he held himself after, in how his hand held onto his ribs and the bright red wound on his forearm. But, yet again, he had the serum running through his veins to help him recover faster. He wouldn’t mind if you took the shower first.

The water turned brown under your feet as you scrubbed your aching body, feeling some relief as your fingers massaged the sore spots until there was no more grime on your skin, standing under the warm water and finally, taking a deep breath, begging your body to calm down the shakiness it still carried. You were alive, you had made it out, and Bucky had too, even when it started to seem that you wouldn’t.

You had been so caught up in your own thoughts that you didn’t hear Bucky knocking - twice, he had done it, and not once had you replied. You only heard him as the door creaked open. “You all right?” He asked, his voice careful and quiet.

“I’m fine,” Your voice almost said otherwise, as it cracked against the words. “I’ll be out in a minute.” You had been in the shower for a while, you realized. And he deserved hot water too. You wondered, then, if anyone had seen him walk inside after you, if anyone else knew you were sharing a room, or if you even cared if they found out.

John would be an ass about it, and Yelena would tease you endlessly. Still, you didn’t care, not right now.

Bucky’s tall frame still lingered on the other side of the shower screen, his silhouette fidgety, moving inside the small bathroom. You didn’t mind, as long as you could stay in the warm water, he could do whatever he needed out there.

And you didn’t mind, either, when the door slid open to reveal him standing there. His shirt had already been discarded, as well as his shoes, letting you look at him properly, at his already-healing bruises and hits, painting his middle and his arms with dried blood and swollen scars.

His skin was ashen as he looked at your beaten body, his features remained neutral as you met his eyes again. He was still shaken, too, but not for himself, you realized, when a sharp breath came out of his nose and his eyes softened for barely a second. Bucky stared at you with something more than just lust, with something that looked like worry behind his eyes as if he wanted to see, with his own eyes, that you were as fine as you claimed to be; as if he couldn’t wait until you got out of the shower to confirm; as if he were still scared too, still on edge after the mission.

His body being so close to yours wasn’t new, but the way he was looking at you was. Bucky’s eyes roamed across your body and parked on your ribcage, where a set of fresh bruises coloured your skin purple and red. His eyes were not intrusive, they never were. You stood under the stream of water, letting it crash against your elbows and chest while keeping your eyes clear so you could see him.

“Buck,” You whispered his name, just realizing then how quickly you could’ve lost each other back then.

There were no labels to what you two were, it had started way too casually, when the tension of training under each other had finally snapped. You wished it was just that, tension, but with every encounter, with every moment his body had found yours for the past few months, it was clear to you there was so much more. But you knew Bucky wasn’t ready - or you assumed so, at least - so you would remain like that. Casual encounters on lonely nights, shared rooms during missions, hidden kisses before heading into danger, and before saying goodnight, too. But no formalities, no labels, just sex - just closeness.

Which is why the look in his eyes sent your heart into a frantic beating, the longing in them that wanted to make sure you were okay, almost making your head spin.

Without a word, he removed the rest of his clothes and stepped into the shower. Soft fingertips made their way to the bruises on your body, caressing them softly as if that would make them go away. “Does it hurt?” his gravely voice asked, his eyes not leaving that spot.

You shook your head with a soft “no”, which seemed to be enough for him. Bucky closed the distance, standing impossibly closer to you, and hovered his lips against yours. He did it slowly, at first, his mouth slightly open and chest heaving, almost waiting for any confirmation, until he couldn’t hold himself any longer. Bucky’s lips crashed against yours hungry, impatiently, ravenous for your taste and the feeling of your skin against his. There, you were there with him. His hands remained soft, thumbs holding your sides as if you would slip away with the soap if he let you go.

“Never do that again,” He said against your skin, with feather-like kisses against every scar, every scrape, and every bruise, old and new.

“Don’t do what?” Your fingers pushed his hair back, as the water had pushed it over his face, and you rested your hands behind his neck. Bucky’s half smile was barely visible when he turned to kiss your palm, in his lifted eyebrow a knowing look that said you know what you did. “Oh… you mean saving your life?”

“I mean, putting yourself in front of danger,”

“Bucky, I swear I’m alright-”

“You got hurt.” He cut you off, giving you a long kiss afterwards. “You got hurt because of me.” His voice shook as his eyes went back to the bruises on your skin, the ones he felt so guilty for, even though he had nothing to do with them. You froze under his stare, his eyes pining you to the cold tiles behind you, not knowing how to calm his anxious mind down.

“Bucky,” You whispered his name again, hoping that would make him look up at you. And he did, for a brief second, looking up at you from under his eyelashes, before he dived to your neck and kissed you there.

His kisses were soft as they traveled from your neck, to your collarbone, to your breasts, taking one of your nipples in his lips and sucking on it lightly. You couldn’t help but arch towards him with a gasp of pleasure, letting him kiss the places that needed to be healed, the softness of his touch a contrast against the aching spots. He needed to feel you, to taste you, to make sure his mind was not playing any games with him and that you had made it out with him.

Bucky kept going down, down, down… kissing every inch he could until he reached your hips. He trailed kisses down your belly as he placed your leg on his shoulder, his kisses mixing with the warm water and heating you more than it. His eyes never left yours as his mouth found your center, tasting you and sending waves of growing pleasure all over your body with his expert tongue. You held onto his hair as you rode against his mouth, soft moans escaping your lips and his name like a prayer on your lips.

“Come on,” Bucky murmured against your clit. “I want to taste you.” He never stopped. Not for a second. Stars blurred your vision when a metal finger pushed inside you and curled against the spot he expertly found every time.

“Bucky,” You moaned, your head thrown back as a whimper left the back of your throat.

Another finger went inside you, his own moans from your arousal against his lips making your legs shake. It was enough to bring you over the edge, his mouth and fingers guiding you through it.

You only knew Bucky stood up when his lips found yours again, whimpers still leaving your lips as his tongue tangled with yours. Bucky still held onto your lifted leg as he pushed you further back to the tiles, his metal hand grasping your waist softly as he looked into your eyes. The water splashed against his broad back as it towered over you.

Never, in the months in which you had become closer in whatever agreement you both had, had you ever looked at each other like that, with such a softness that made your knees weak in a completely different way in which his mouth had just done.

He wrapped your leg around his waist, grinding his hips against yours and letting you feel how hard he was. You both moaned at the touch, your hands flying to his shoulders to keep you on your feet. Your eyes never left each other, letting the fear of almost losing this, almost losing him, sink in and wash away at the same time.

Bucky smirked at the feeling of your hand traveling down his chest and the hard lines of his body until it reached in between the two of you, aligning him to your entrance as you stroked him, his groan a delicious sound against your lips.

You sank onto him at the same time he thrusted into you, the sound of your combined pleasure echoing in the shower. His metal fingers held your waist in place carefully as he pushed against you; his touch, usually hard and hungry, was softer than ever, as if not wanting to give your skin any more bruises to deal with.

“I got you,” Bucky said against your jaw, his breathing getting more laboured. “I got you, and I’m never gonna let you go.” He found your lips as he said that, at the same time his fingers found your clit and began rubbing it. He claimed the little whimpers of pleasure you were letting out, almost bouncing on him as his hips began moving faster. “I got you, you hear that?”

You knew where his words were coming from, the need to make himself sure that he had you as much as you had him. As much as you could hear him, you couldn’t remember your own name, as it was only his that clouded your every thought, let alone any other words. “Yes, Buck,” You finally replied to his pleading. “I’m yours.”

“Fuck, say that again, doll,” His breath sent goosebumps around your neck before he kissed the skin softly.

“I’m yours,” His head was buried in your neck when you spoke it into the foggy bathroom, the warmth of the pooling pleasure and from his body pressed against yours almost too much for you to be able to form coherent words.

Bucky let out a noise, something between a fuck and a grunt. His thrust became sloppy, but he never once stopped rubbing your swollen clit. You whimpered his name, meeting him halfway as you chased both of your climaxes.

“Cum, baby. Cum with me.” He grunted, his lips crashing on you again. “Wanna feel you all over me.”

When he lifted your leg higher over his waist, reaching a spot further inside, you were sure you were going to die in his arms. You didn’t know what you were saying, what noises were coming out of your mouth, you only knew you were urging him to never stop, a new kind of death clouding your sight as you finally let it explode.

He reached it as soon as you did, sounds of pleasure mixing and reverberating in the cramped bathroom. His body all but melted under your fingertips, still clinging to each other as you came back from whatever paradise Bucky had just made you see. Because he always did, always made sure you felt like you never had before.

“You are always so good, always take me so good.” He kissed your shoulder, then your neck, and your jaw, before looking for your eyes and staying there for a few seconds, looking at each other and taking you both in “You good?” He confirmed, pushing a strand of hair behind your ear.

Your head was still spinning, but your smile and nod were enough for him to smile back with a soft laugh, and kiss your lips with so much love. Because that’s what it was, love, even if neither of you were brave enough to risk it all to admit it.

He let you go then, only to grab the cheap-smelling soap and rub it all over your body, even if you were already clean. Even with the lukewarm water, you stood there and let yourself be washed up again. It was your turn after, you took the soap from his hands and rubbed it all over his body, focusing on the swollen places, on the ones that were still burning red. You kissed every spot you could reach: the bruises on his back, the cuts on his arms, the soft skin in between shoulder and metal. All yours to have and to hold, to kiss and mend.

Bucky was quick to wrap you in a towel once he turned off the water, his hands moving up and down your arms to dry you off and to keep you warm. Ever so gently, he rubbed lotion on your ribs and back with a soft massage. You leaned against his touch, your back to his chest as his hands moved up and down your body.

He guided you to the bedroom, found the softest Henley for you to wear, and made you sit on the bed, putting every pillow and cushion against the headboard so you could be comfortable. You didn’t need all that, since the moment he sat next to you, you collapsed into his shoulder.

Bucky held you there, with an arm around your waist to keep you close. “I’m glad you are okay,” He whispered against your neck, placing a kiss there.

Your hand reached back to his jaw, holding him close to you. When you looked back at him, you saw that same look in his eyes from before, the one that caught you by surprise in the shower, for there were words that had never been said between you, words that you could see in his eyes as clearly as the blue in them.

“I’m alright, I promise.” You reassured him, since a speck of worry kept looming over his face as he looked you up and down again.

“I just- I don´t like seeing you hurt.”

“Well then, you better be more careful on the next mission.” You smiled at him, sleepily now, but hoping he could see in your gaze what you found in his. “Because I don’t like seeing you hurt, either.”

His jaw clenched, but he smiled nonetheless when your eyes found each other. He knew better than to get into the I-care-about-you-more argument, he had learned the hard way. So he simply did what he was best at: Bucky pulled you into his arms and tucked you both into the covers, holding you close to his chest, as it was the place he knew he could keep you safe.

🦾✨🦾✨🦾✨🦾✨🦾✨🦾✨🦾✨🦾✨

Thanks for reading! Please reblog and comment if you enjoyed it.

#bucky barnes x reader #bucky x reader #bucky x you #bucky barnes fanfiction #bucky barnes #bucky barnes fluff #james buchanan barnes #bucky barnes smut

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