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motorsportbarbie13 · 2 months ago

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Post It - LN4

when lando stumbles upon a random tiktok of a pretty american influencer, he can't stop himself from sliding into her DMs. what happens next is more than both of them ever bargained for.

warnings: THIS WAS SUPPOSED TO BE A ONE SHOT. (spoiler alert, it's not) (i blame @lestapiastrisgirl. She’s a bad influence 🤭) no warnings really, i just needed to have some soft boyfriend coded lando in my life again after how dirty i did him in 'aftermath'. ENJOY THE NEW SERIES MY BABIES! 🫶🏻 pairing: lando norris x influencer!reader word count: 3.7k words (plus SMAU posts)

Lando should have been paying attention. He should have been paying attention to Jack Whitehall standing up on stage, making jokes at Max and George’s expense. He absolutely should not have been using the down time between livery reveals to stalk your social media profiles but here he was. It wasn’t his fault trying to figure you out was way more interesting than anything the FIA and this stupidly awkward night had to offer.

He had been scrolling his FYP earlier in the day while McLaren comms staff had bustled around the Hilton conference room, his attention pulled away from the boring media briefing Zak and Andrea were trying to get him to care about, when you had popped up on his screen. It was an innocent video, one that he usually would have flipped right on by but something had his thumb pausing, hovering over the screen instead of swiping away.

You were in well lit hallway, lip syncing to that new Gracie Abrams song that was all over the place looking like you didn’t have a care in the world. Your smile was infectious as you held eye contact with the camera, arms thrown to your sides as you sang your heart out. It looked like you were about to go somewhere, a gray woolen overcoat tugged over your shoulders as a pink and white knit jumper peaked out from underneath.

It was only when Oscar had asked him how many times he was going to listen to that thirty seconds of song that Lando realized he’d been watching your video for an embarrassing length of time. Turning crimson, Lando had quickly favorited the video to come back to later and closed out the app.

He’d been caught up in preparations for this stupid F1 75 event for the rest of the evening but the moment he’d had a break, he was back stalking your socials. Your Instagram was conveniently linked to your TikTok account so it wasn't hard and the moment Lando started scrolling, he was hooked.

yourusername posted

909,102 likes liked by lando, yourbff, hannahstjohn, and others yourusername lots to catch up on... user0298 body is teeeeeea user1112 that gray dress tho! where is it from??? >>>yourusername @/aritzia!!! lando 🔥🔥🔥 (liked by author) >>>user0200 landooooo what are you doing here??? >>>user555 first in the likes too. he was QUICK

The Monegasque sun was blindingly bright, reflecting off the pristine white of Lando’s apartment balcony. He was trying to enjoy a rare moment of peace, something that he’d miss when the season started up in two weeks. Right now though, he had been back from testing in Bahrain for a few days and was leaving for Australia sometime next week. This was the last weekend of peace and quiet he’d have until summer break.

An insistent buzz shatters the quiet calm that he’d cocooned himself in, his phone blinking to life. He glanced at the screen. Rich. His personal PR manager that he’d hired after his last messy breakup to help with his image.

“What is it, Rich?” Lando sighs.

“Lando, we need to talk about this weekend.” Rich’s voice was sharp, a glaring contrast to the relaxed atmosphere of Lando’s apartment.

“What about this weekend?” He asks, a knot forming in his stomach. Lando knew where this was going.

“Allegra.” Rich says, his voice bright with faux enthusiasm. “She’s coming to Monaco this weekend. We need some content before the start of the season. Really amp up the exposure before you get too busy.”

Allegra. Or Allie as she insisted Lando call her in private, but always Allegra in public. She was also managed by Rich, who was the one that had introduced them last year with the sole purpose of having them hit it off and start dating. When that hadn’t materialized, Rich had started meddling, sending her to events that he knew Lando would be at, having her come to Monaco and follow him around like a lost puppy.

It had worked though. The rumors started swirling and before he knew it, Lando and Allie were rumored to be dating. He had never confirmed the relationship, always insisting that he was single and Allie had followed suit, coyly grinning in interviews when the model had been asked specifically about him. He hadn’t fought it though. Maybe he was a coward or maybe he just liked the attention, but it had certainly brought a certain degree of recognition to his name in the months that he had been linked to her. He never confirmed it but he never denied it either.

And then he had met you.

“No.” Lando says flatly, cutting him off. “Nope. I’m done with this.”

“Done?” On the other end of the line, Rich sputters. “What do you mean, ‘done’? Think of your brand, your image! You have a merch drop happening in a few weeks and a rebrand with Quadrant! You need this attention.”

“I don’t need her to bring me attention.” Lando scoffs. “I’m tired of playing this game. I’m tired of Allie. She’s…she’s weird, Rich. And this whole thing is a joke. I know you’ve seen the gossip pages laughing at me. Laughing at her. I’ve had enough.”

“Lando.” Rich tuts, his tone taking on that of someone scolding a small child. The heat rises in Lando’s cheeks as he stands, pacing the balcony. “She’s a social media powerhouse. She brings in millions of impressions. People love talking about her, speculating about if she’s with you or not. This is a business.”

“Business?” Lando laughs, cold and bitter. “This is a manufactured relationship, Rich. It’s fake and it’s draining. I don’t want her here. I don’t want her anywhere near me anymore. Either you tell her I’m done or I will, you choose.”

“You’re being irrational. This is a PR strategy and it’s working! We’re getting the numbers, the attention! It’s everything you hired me to do!”

Lando drags his hand over his face, scrubbing at the migraine that he feels forming behind his eyes. “I don’t care about the numbers.” He says tightly, his mind flickering to you and the way you’ve been a bit distant this week. “I care about my sanity. I care about being genuine and this? This thing with her? That is the opposite of genuine.”

“You’re throwing away a huge opportunity.” Rich warns, frustration sneaking into his voice. “This is so unprofessional.”

“Unprofessional?” Lando shouts, his anger getting the better of him. “You’re the one being unprofessional. You’re treating me like a product, not a person. The only thing you care about is your fucking paycheck, nothing else.” Lando’s chest heaves, his breath coming in short spurts.

“Lando, calm down -”

“No.” Lando spits. “No, I won’t calm down. I’m done with this. I’m done with you and I’m done with Allie. This whole charade is over.” He pauses, taking a deep breath, trying to control his rage. “You’re fired, Rich.”

He slams the phone down, not even giving Rich the opportunity to respond. The abrupt silence amplifies the sound of his pounding heart as he sits down again. He stares out at the glittering expanse of the Mediterranean, the anger still simmering within him. He feels a strange mix of relief and anxiety. He had just burned a big bridge but it was a bridge he had never wanted to cross in the first place. He knew there would be consequences but for the first time in a long time, Lando felt like he was in control.

Now, if only he could get you to return his calls.

You thought you’d been prepared for the activity of the paddock. Hannah had spent enough time during the flight over telling you what to expect but the crowds in Shanghai were nothing short of overwhelming. The smell of engine oil and popcorn permeated the air, a strange mixture that tickled your nose in a slightly unpleasant way. You tried to calm the anxiety that was settling deep in your chest, the tight constricting feeling pulling at your ribs in a way that had you desperately wanting to go back to the hotel room.

You knew it was strange, someone with as much anxiety and issues with crowds being an influencer like you were but most of the time you had control over it. You had asked Hannah so many questions about what to expect but nothing could have prepared you for the way the crowds crushed in on you even in the paddock.

Liam had come to the track early to meet with his engineers before the practice and sprint qualifying. and Hannah had been left to your own devices. The crowds were one thing, you knew you’d get used to them eventually and that you just had to work your way through the panic but there was something else causing your shoulders to hitch up tightly towards your ears and your jaw tighten with every flash of orange you saw: Lando.

It had been a few months since he slid into your DMs and at first is had been fun. He was charming, texting you nearly all day with all sorts of questions and banter, FaceTiming you while you were curled up in bed in your Boston apartment, talking about the fast lives you both lived. It was intoxicating getting attention from someone like Lando. His attention felt like the sun, all warm and welcoming. You knew there was chemistry there but you lived in Boston and he split is time between London and Monaco. You had expected him to invite you out to see him soon or at least bring up meeting somewhere half way.

But then the pictures had surfaced online.

Lando walking around the busiest part of Monaco with his best friend Max, Max’s girlfriend Pietra and a blonde model named Allegra. It was so painfully clear he was with her from the shots of him driving her around in one of his many cars three weekends in a row.

You felt so stupid. Getting with a guy that was clearly comfortable being publicly seen on a double date was a hard no, you had more respect for yourself and Allegra to even touch that kind of drama. Of course, there was an endless debate on if they were even together or not, it didn’t take much to find the online gossip pages that spent a lot of time trying to figure out if they were an item. Lando had never publicly confirmed the relationship and neither had Allegra, both insisting they were just friend and Lando was single.

But the pictures were hard to deny.

So you had ghosted him.

You didn’t want to be drug into the drama that seemed to surround the model, not with how well your content was doing lately. You had a huge following in the states and were starting to get attention internationally. You knew the last thing your PR manager would want to see was stories about you plastered all over the gossip pages. You had worked too hard to cultivate a wholesome reputation to be drug into a love triangle controversy, even if it ended up being manufactured by the press. You walked a fine line between wanting to be talked about and wanting to avoid being laughed at.

So when Hannah, one of your best friends from the influencer world, had invited you to tag along with her to the Chinese Grand Prix in April, you had hesitated. No one knew about you and Lando talking, not even your best friends. Sure, Lando had followed you and commented on a few of your posts but everyone chalked that up to you being friends with Hannah and Lando’s reputation to hit on pretty girls whenever he was active on social media. It hadn’t gained a ton of attention so you were able to pretty much ignore it.

But you couldn’t turn down Hannah’s invitation without raising some sort of suspicion. China had been on your bucket list of places to visit since you were little and you had enough miles saved up this year to be able make the long flight in a lie-flat first class seat with to your group of friends. You really had no excuse, so in the end you had agreed.

But now that you were here, the possibility of running into Lando in the flesh after you had ghosted him hanging heavy over your head and the crowds pressing in, you were totally regretting your life choices.

“You okay?” Hannah’s voice breaks through your racing thoughts, pulling you back to the present.

“What?” You stutter, trying to bring your focus back to where you were in the moment.

“Are you okay?” Your friend asks softly, eyeing you like she knows something is going on but can’t figure out what. “You just seem a little…tense.”

You reach up to pull your hair off your neck, suddenly feeling like your skin is just a little too tight for the rest of your body. “I’m fine, just a little overwhelmed. This place is a lot.”

Hannah’s eyes soften. She’s well aware of your anxiety and how you sometimes struggle with crowds. While she doesn’t struggle with the same issues, if there’s one thing you appreciate about your friend its that she has an uncanny ability to read your moods and empathize with you when it matters most.

“I know, but you get used to it quick. Liam has some engineering meetings before practice so he’s busy for another hour or so. Do you want to go hang out in hospitality? Get cooled down before practice?”

You adjust your sunglasses on your nose before nodding, “Yeah, that sounds good. I’m sorry, you don’t have to stick around with me all day, I know you want to be with Liam.”

Hannah waves a hand, dismissing your concern with one movement, “Stop that. That man gets so locked in before he gets into the car, he probably forgets I exist. I told him I’d be in the garage for practice but we’re free until then. Come on, we can get some content for TikTok. Didn’t you say you wanted to do a Chinese travel vlog?”

Suddenly, a blur of green and yellow catches your attention from on your left. A scooter, driven by a distracted man in a green racing suit, was flying down the sidewalk at breakneck speed headed straight for you. He was going so fast you didn’t have enough time to react once you registered what was about to happen.

You shut your eyes, bracing for impact, as a startled gasp tumbles off your lips. But the impact doesn’t come when you expect it as a strong set of hands pulls you out of the path of the scooter. The man on the scooter continues on, zipping down the sidewalk without so much as an apology as you stumble back, straight into the arms of the person that just saved you from being paddock road kill. The body is warm, muscled and the set of hands go straight to your hips, steadying you when you fight to maintain your balance.

“Oh my god!” Hannah shrieks as you struggle out of the person’s embrace, spinning around to see who you had just collapsed into.

“Jesus Christ, thank…” The words die in the back of your throat when you see the papaya and black race suit of your savior.

“You.” The British accent that you’d spent the last few weeks trying to forget sends shivers down your spine.

Shit.

“Oh. Hi, Lando.” You say sheepishly, lifting your sunglasses off your face so you can make eye contact with the driver.

“Oh hi Lando?” Hannah sputters, clearly confused. “Do you two know each other?”

“No.” You reply at the same time Lando says “Yes.”

You narrow your eyes at him, trying to figure out if it would be bad for your reputation if you punched him. Hannah’s eyes bounce back and forth between you and Lando, who is standing there looking just as confused as she is. If you’re not mistaken, there’s also a touch of hurt that flickers in his eyes as he looks you up and down.

“Are you okay?” Lando asks, breaking the tension.

Your eyes dip to your waist, where Lando’s hand still rests heavily on your hip. When he notices he’s still holding you, he pulls his arm back quickly, running it through his curls trying to look casual while his brows dip together, confusion still clearly settled on his handsome features.

“Um. Yeah, I am. Thank you, I was almost roadkill.” You laugh, but it comes out too shaky to be taken seriously.

Hannah crosses her arms over her chest, eyes narrowed as she tries to figure out the weird tension that has settled over the two of you.

“So, ‘yes' you two know each other but ‘no’ you don’t?” Hannah raises an eyebrow, clearly not willing to let this go.

You shoot Lando a look that could curdle milk. “It’s…complicated.” You mumble, avoiding Hannah’s gaze.

“Complicated how?” Hanna presses, her curiosity piqued.

Lando shits his weight, a nervous energy radiating off of him. “We were talking for a bit.”

“Talking? Like, flirting talking?” Hannah turns to you and you swear you see a bit of hurt in her eyes. “And you didn’t tell me?”

Guilt washes over you. You hadn’t really meant not to tell your friend, it just had never come up. “It was nothing.” You say quickly. Out of the corner of your eye you see Lando wince and your heart catches. “Just some DMs, it fizzled out after a while.”

“Fizzled out?” Lando scoffs, his frown deepening. “You ghosted me.”

“I’m sure you had your hands full with that other blonde to miss me that much, Lan.” You bite back, voice sharp.

Lando’s brows furrow, “Other bl…" He pauses, the dots seemingly connecting in hsi mind suddenly. "You mean Allie? What does she have to do with you and me?”

“Oh, I don’t know.” You say with a shrug. “You looked pretty busy with her in Monaco before the season started. I just assumed you didn’t have time for me.” You try your best to sound as nonchalant as possible but you can’t keep the anger from slipping into your voice. The fact that he has a cute little nickname for her burrows under your skin more than it should.

Deep down you know you had zero claim over him, so being this angry feels over the top. You know you’re overreacting. You had never even met Lando in person before this moment, so why was the jealousy burning through your bloodstream so intense?

Hannah’s eyes dart between you and Lando, her expression a mix of confusion something else you couldn’t place. “Okay, so this is a bit more intense than I expected.” She raises her hands in surrender. “You know what? I think I’m going to go check on Liam. He’s probably wondering where I am.”

She gives you a knowing look, a look that says ‘I’ll let you sort this out but I expect a full rundown of what the fuck just happened here later tonight.’.

“Maybe you two should talk, alone. Just try not to kill each other.”

With that, Hannah turns on her heel and disappears towards the Red Bull garages, leaving you and Lando standing awkwardly in the middle of the bustling paddock. The noise of the crowd presses in on you, amping up your already high anxiety and filling the silence that stretches between you.

Lando looks at you, his expression a mixture of confusion and frustration. He digs his hands deep into his pockets, unsure of where to go from here. The absolute last person he’d expected to see here today was you. Finding out you were mad at him just when he had made the decision that you wanted nothing to do with him and he needed to move on was a little overwhelming. He’d been hurt when you’d stopped returning his messages and answering his calls. Frustrated that you hadn’t given him an answer when he asked you what was wrong. And then the season had started and he couldn't handle it all. It still ate at him at night, the fact that he had allowed you to slip out of his fingers, especially since firing Rich and ending things with Allie.

So maybe this was the universe giving him a second chance.

“So,” He starts, voice low. “We’re just going to pretend like nothing happened?”

You throw your arms out to your side, exasperated sigh falling from your lips. “What was I supposed to think, Lando? I open up my Instagram one morning to see a shit ton of pap photos of you and her, the day after you and I spent almost five hours on FaceTime together!”

Lando cards his fingers through his curls, “I can explain that.”

You scoff, rolling your eyes. “I’m sure you can.”

Deep in Lando’s pocket, his phone chimes. Reluctantly he pulls it out, checking the new text message from Sophie, his press officer. “Fuck. I’ve got to go get in the car.” He sighs, scrubbing his large hand over his face. “Listen, can you please give me a chance to explain?”

You cross your arms over your chest, mirroring Hannah’s stance from just minutes before. Your first instinct is to tell him to fuck all the way off, you’ve been too careful with your reputation to be drug into any sort of drama that that girl seems to bring. Lando gives you a look though, his green blue eyes pleading with you and you’re all but powerless against it.

“Come on.” He coaxes, reaching out to brush his fingertips against your bare arm. You ignore the riot of goosebumps he leaves in his wake. “You’re going to look at me and tell me you didn’t come all the way to China, to a place where you knew I would absolutely be, not hoping to at least run into me?”

“Bold of you to assume that you even cross my mind anymore, Norris.” You snip back but your words hold no bite to them and you both know it.

Now it’s Lando’s turn to roll his eyes. “Come on, baby.” Your traitorous heart stammers but you mange an indignant look as a reaction to the nickname. “I’m done with race stuff around dinner time, let me take you out somewhere nice and we can talk. Please?”

Again with the puppy eyes. This was going to be a problem.

“Fine.” You huff after a moment. “But don’t make me regret this, Lan.”

The biggest smile you’ve ever seen crosses Lando’s face at your agreement. He reaches out, catching your waist in his hands, pulling you in for a hug. Neither of you notice the cameras pointed in your direction.

“You won’t. I promise.” He murmurs in your ear before dropping a chaste kiss on your cheek.

You don’t wipe if off.

Grinning like a fool, Lando spins on his heel before bustling off towards the McLaren garages. He’s about 30 feet away when his head swivels back, his gaze instantly finding yours. He grins again, liking that you’d been watching him go.

yourusername posted

602,928 likes liked by lando, hannahstjohn, redbullracing, and others yourusername Boston >>> Shanghai LETS GO hannahstjohn pretty girl! so glad you made the trip with meeeee user0029 my fave influencer and my fave sport?! YES PLEASE user928 i wish these brands would stop inviting random influencers to races and get some REAL FANS there instead >>>user9299 she's there with hannah, liam's girlfriend. just say you're jealous next time. user0299 ok but i need to know...is she a mclaren girlie or red bull??? >>>user454 she gives me ferrari vibes user223 lando in the likes again, huhhhhhh

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nadvs · 24 days ago

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the power play (part three)

pairing hockeyplayer! rafe cameron x tutor! reader

rating mature 18+

summary rafe is your complete opposite. the only thing you have in common with the hockey player you tutor is that he’s also recently had his heart broken. in a last-ditch effort to make the people who hurt you regret it, you agree to pretend to date.

< prev

Rafe is waiting for you in front of your building, this time to take you to a frat party.

“Hi,” you say cheerfully, settling into his passenger seat, “for the third day in a row.”

Apparently, Emma always goes to these parties, and since Beck is friends with a lot of the frat’s members, you’re almost certain he’ll go, too.

You’re also meeting Lyla there. She’s been open-minded about Rafe. You hope he doesn’t make her regret it.

“You’re going to have to be nice tonight,” you say, then shut the door with a hard thud.

“Why?”

“Because my best friend will be there and I want her to like you.”

Rafe stares ahead, his mood plummeting. He doesn’t want to deal with this.

He didn’t care what Emma’s friends thought about him, until she started bringing up how much they don’t like him. You’re not even his real girlfriend, and the thought of being subject to that sort of judgement again makes his blood run hot.

He drives out onto the road. You wait for him to speak, but he doesn’t.

“Don’t tell me you’re already mad about something,” you say with a quiet laugh. “What’s up?”

You haven’t even been in his car for half a minute and you’re already trying to open up his wounds again, clueless to the fact that you’re reminding him of the things he wants to forget.

“What am I supposed to say to her?” Rafe murmurs.

“Just be polite,” you reply. “And act like you like me.”

He tensley rakes a hand through his hair. Something’s off with him. He’s never had to ask you how to navigate this.

“Are you nervous?” you ask.

“Nah.”

“What are you then?”

“I’m fine,” he says tersely.

You roll your eyes. You thought you’d gotten past feeling uneasy about pulling this off, but right now, you have no idea if this is going to work when you and Rafe are so out of sync.

You already aren’t in the mood to go to a party. He’s not doing anything to change that.

“I guess I should take back what I said about us being friends,” you tease.

He doesn’t say anything. You gaze up at the starry night sky through the window, letting out a sigh.

“I’m okay to cancel if you don’t feel like doing this,” you offer. “I’m in the middle of a great book that I’d like to get back to anyway.”

Rafe doesn’t know what to do with the things you say sometimes. It’d be easier if you snipped back or iced him out like everyone else does, because then, he wouldn’t feel shitty like he does now.

It’s annoying how much you unknowingly push these touchy, complicated topics. Even though you’re giving him an out, it’s hard to ignore how rotten he feels when he shuts down your innocent chit-chat.

So, he relents.

“I don’t want to – to have to think about impressing someone,” he admits with a stammer you haven’t heard before.

You look at him again, somewhat stunned. You almost make a joke about how this whole ruse, which he thought up, sort of hinges on impressing people. But the tension is too thick.

“You don’t have to impress her,” you reply, your eyes drifting over the outlines of his profile. “I just want her to believe you like me because she might mention it to her brother. But it’s not like… a test. If it were, I’d make you study. That’s kind of my whole thing.”

You find relief when he cracks a small smile, his eyes still on the road. You smile back, wishing he thought of you as someone he could trust, and wondering why he’s stressed about his fake girlfriend’s best friend's opinion, when he doesn’t seem like the type to worry about what anybody thinks of him.

“I’m surprised you care what she thinks,” you say, your tone lighthearted.

Rafe chews on his lip.

“I know this isn’t…” He motions between you, aware of how ridiculous it is to be tense about this when you’re not even really dating. He exhales, giving in. “Emma’s friends didn’t like me. She always brought it up.”

His words hit you, sadness twisting your heart. His ex did badmouth him minutes after she met you; you wouldn’t be surprised if she complained about him to her friends, handing them reasons to dislike him, using it against him.

That’s what’s bothering him. This is a bad reminder.

“All you have to do is what you did last night,” you tell him. “You don’t even have to talk much. I honestly think Lyla expects to see me with a guy who lets me do all the talking.”

You continue to stare at him. He’s stiff. On edge. It’s another crack in the facade, another peek into the things he hides.

“Why would she… always bring it up?” you ask quietly.

Rafe turns the car onto a narrow street, the steering wheel sliding underneath his hands.

“We said shit just to hurt each other all the time,” he mutters.

You gaze forward, your chest tight. At this point, you’re sure that what they had was toxic. His ex said he had red flags, but it sounds like she was the same way. You still don’t know why he liked her so much.

He’s obviously worked up. You shouldn’t push. You decide to put yourself in the spotlight to even the score.

“I never told you how Beck rejected me,” you say. “He hugged me, then said I’m a better friend than his sister.”

“Shit,” he winces.

“Yeah,” you chuckle. “You know when you can’t fall asleep and you think about all of your most embarrassing moments? That’s one of mine.”

Rafe breathes a quiet laugh. He grips the wheel when he reaches a stop sign, frustrated that he’s so curt with you, and even more frustrated that he cares. You’re slowly claiming a soft spot he didn’t know he had, whether he likes it or not.

“I’m… still pissed off,” he explains, his syllables sharp. “At her. Not you.”

It’s something that you didn’t expect about Rafe when you first met – that he can tell when he’s being too harsh and then tensely backpedals. You have a feeling he’s not really mad. He’s hurt. But he’d rather hide behind anger.

“I would be, too,” you say.

He offers an appreciative nod, avoiding eye contact.

════════

Lyla greets you with a big hug once you find her in the crowded frat house.

“I haven’t seen you in forever,” she says, then looks up at Rafe. “You stole my best friend.”

“Can you blame me?” Rafe replies, putting his arm around your shoulders. You smile up at him, the uneasiness you’d felt dissolving. He can put on a good show when he wants to.

You quickly catch up with Lyla while Rafe quietly stands next to you. When there’s a gap in conversation, you turn to him and motion for him to come closer. He leans down.

“You can go hang out with your friends now,” you whisper. “Or should we stay together? What do couples do?”

Your words echo in his head. He didn’t think about if you’ve actually been part of a real couple before. He gazes at you, wondering why you never said anything about it.

“They should see us together first,” he finally says.

“Good point,” you say. “Let’s do a lap.”

Lyla finds a friend in the crowd and you take the opportunity to get a drink with Rafe. You walk to the kitchen, nudging past people together, your fingers interlaced with his.

Behind the worn laminate kitchen island, a lively game of beer pong is taking place. Emma is standing by the far end of the table, playing next to a guy who’s standing close to her.

You look up to see if Rafe notices. He does. His jaw tenses as he stares at her.

When you step up to the stack of empty solo cups, you catch Beck on the other side of the living room, leaning against a wall and chatting with a couple of his friends. You hate that your stomach still goes numb at his smile.

“They’re both here,” you tell Rafe.

He turns to face you, your hands still joined. You know what he looks like when he’s concentrating. You’ve seen it through your tutoring sessions, the way his eyes narrow and his dimples cave in as he flattens his lips together.

“You have your thinking face on,” you laugh.

“On the counter,” he says.

“Excuse me?” you nearly shout, eyes widened.

He nudges your hips with firm hands. The edge of the counter is hard against your lower back. He steps forward to push the clutter behind you aside.

Rafe’s brows lift in expectation.

“Sit on the counter,” he explains, “so they can’t miss us.”

You let him take the lead and feel for the counter with your palms. With Rafe’s grasp on your hips and your own force, you settle on the hard countertop. He guides your knees apart and shifts to stand between your thighs.

Your throat goes dry.

He’s smooth, experienced, clearly having done stuff like this before. The thought of it, of him, makes your skin burn and you force yourself not to picture it.

You’ve been close to Rafe before – you sat on his lap just last night – but this is the most suggestive position you’ve been in together, and it’s sending your thoughts into an uncontrollable frenzy.

Just a second ago, you were standing a few feet away from him, and now he’s between your legs, his frame big and dominating, his palms hot on your thighs.

“Hands on me,” he instructs.

You stiffly rest your forearms on his shoulders, the crisp smell of his cologne dancing over you. Your eyes dart to Beck, who hasn’t noticed you, and you tell yourself to do with Rafe what you always imagined doing with him.

You cradle the back of his neck, gently lacing his soft hair between your fingers. The conversations and music fade away as you and Rafe settle in a moment that looks private, but is really just for show.

Your mind slows down as you remind yourself that this isn’t real and there’s no reason to be shy.

Rafe is eye-level to you now. It’s still bothering him – why wouldn’t a girl who never stops talking tell him that she hasn’t been in a relationship?

“You haven’t dated before?” he asks.

“What?”

“Why are you asking me what couples do?”

“Oh.” You laugh and shrug, as if it’s apparent. “When you’re in love with someone for, like four years, you don’t really pay attention to other guys.”

“You didn’t tell me,” Rafe murmurs.

“Is it important?”

“A lot of things you say aren’t, but you still say them.”

You laugh, lips parting in shock.

“Jerk,” you mutter under your breath.

“You’re name-calling now?” he says, amused at the way that calling him that, even as a joke, seemed like it made you a little uncomfortable.

“Sure am,” you retort. “I’m kidding, though.”

He scoffs, amused again. Of course you had to clarify that you didn’t mean it.

“That’s why you’ve been so freaked out about this?” he realizes, cluing in that all your nerves have been because this, all of this, is entirely new to you.

“Paired with the fact that this is a ridiculous thing to be doing,” you say. “I thought it was obvious. So much for being easy to read, huh?”

Rafe’s brows furrow. It makes no sense. You two couldn’t be more different, but he can imagine what other guys would see in you now that he’s used to your unrestrained cheerfulness. You have a rare sincerity to you. It’s absurd how many years you wasted on Beck.

“What the hell do you see in him?” he asks, an unexpected sense of protectiveness pricking at him.

You look up to the ceiling in thought. Your fingers continue to lace through his hair, and he ignores the goosebumps that are blossoming on his skin.

When you look back down again, you notice Beck’s gaze on you from across the room.

“This is a first. I’m telling my pretend boyfriend why I like a guy that’s looking right at me,” you say. “I had fun with him. He’s hardworking and he’s nice to everybody and I respect that in a person. And when I talked to him, he cared about what I was saying. He remembered little things about me. He’s kind.”

“He led you on, though,” he remembers.

“Maybe. I do wonder if he knew I liked him and kept me around because he enjoyed the flattery or the help with school,” you say. “But I don’t know. He could’ve hoped I’d get over it and wanted to spare me the embarrassment. Or maybe I read into things and imagined he was flirting with me when he never was. I could’ve built all this stuff up in my head.”

Rafe takes in all the words you just threw at him, bringing out a touch of amusement from you.

“I fell for him because he made me feel special,” you conclude. “Isn’t that a big part of loving someone? You like the person you are when you’re with them?”

He looks at you silently, reminding you of when you met him and all he would offer you is a blank stare. Then, his face drops in melancholy.

While he’s usually drowning in his overwhelming thoughts, with his ex, life was simple. He could forget about the shit he didn’t want to think about because she never pushed.

Before they started fighting so much, he could do his best impression of who he always wanted to be. A man who’s steady. Who’s strong.

“Yeah,” Rafe says.

“How’d you feel with her?” you ask. “When things were good, I mean.”

You hope he meets your eyes again. He does.

“Everything was easy,” he says. “It’s like I wasn’t as…”

“As?”

“Fucked up,” he admits.

Your shoulders drop. For the first time, you see a piece of why he was with Emma. She made him feel uncomplicated.

You wonder what Rafe has been through to make him think of himself that way, but you’re treading carefully, avoiding any risk of embarrassing him. No matter how rude he can be, you’re almost certain it comes from a place of sensitivity, and of wishing it didn’t.

“Isn’t it kind of funny?” you say, trying to lighten the mood. “He made me feel special and you make me feel annoying. She made things easy for you and I literally nag you to do your homework. And we’re supposedly dating.”

Rafe’s lips curl into a smile. You mirror it.

Just past his shoulder, you spot Emma’s gaze on you. She’s still playing beer pong, laughing with the guy she’s standing next to, but her eyes land on you and Rafe every few seconds.

“She keeps looking over,” you say. You think of their shared history, of how many memories they must have made together. Maybe Emma just needs to see him with someone else long enough to realize she wants him back. “What will you do if she wants to get back together?”

Rafe squints. He kept trying to make things work after she broke up with him because he just wanted the peace he’d once had with her back.

But when someone fucks him over, he’s done. The way she’s been dragging his name to anyone who’ll listen, to you the very day she met you, leaves a bitter taste in his mouth. She may have broken his heart, but she doesn’t own it anymore.

“I’m done with her,” he tells you. “What if Beck asks you out?”

You’re not sure how to answer him, because you’d written off Beck being interested in you as a possibility. You hate that your heart skips thinking about it.

You shouldn’t want a man who could only want you once he thinks he can’t have you. But it’s easier said than done. The years of infatuation have a hold on you.

“I don’t know,” you confess. “But no matter what happens, we should have an easy-out clause. No hard feelings when one of us is done with this. Cool?”

“Yeah,” he says. “Cool.”

“Beck’s looking, too,” you say. “I think they’re buying it. Can I…?”

You bring your hands forward to gently rest on Rafe’s jaw, thumbs stroking over his cheekbones.

“You don’t have to ask,” he says with a subtly irritated shake of his head.

His hands are splayed over your thighs and your knees are pressed against his hips. It might be a good thing to get some practice with a guy you’re not really with. Affection won’t be as intimidating if you’ve already done it in a controlled setting.

Rafe waits for you to say something, to do something. Maybe you’ll break your ‘no kissing’ rule, even though now he’s pretty sure it’d be your first kiss.

“You know what?” you say gently.

He takes in the way your eyes travel over his face, and for a split second, it’s like you can see just how much he hides below the surface, like you’re going to keep digging until you find out what it is.

He nods once, silently beckoning you to continue.

“The next book on the syllabus is one of my favorites,” you say.

He smirks, relieved you’re joking instead of prying.

“This really is the type of shit you’d talk about with your boyfriend,” he realizes. He thought you were just nervously rambling the other night because you had nothing else to talk about, but he was wrong.

You purse your lips in thought, memories trickling in.

“Yeah,” you say, sadness clouding your features. “It’s one of the reasons I thought Beck liked me back. He liked to listen to me ramble about whatever I was reading. And he was interested. Or he acted like it. I really… I wish I could get over him.”

Rafe’s face falls again, confused over why a guy who did shit like that for years, who stared at you the way he did last night, pushed you away.

“I know,” is all he can offer, because he really does understand the desperation of wanting to feel whole again after somebody breaks you.

“Sorry to interrupt,” you hear.

You glance up to see Lyla, her eyes darting to where Rafe is standing between your legs. You almost want to pull away, explain that it’s not what it looks like, nearly forgetting that you’re supposed to be fooling her, too.

“Hey,” you say.

“You want to do a shot with me?” she asks.

“Sure.”

You grip Rafe’s shoulders and shift forward. His hands tighten on your hips and you gently drop to the ground, pressed against his body.

“I’ll find you later?” you ask him.

He leans down low again, his temple brushing against yours.

“Take it easy, lightweight,” he replies.

You look up at him with a big grin.

“What?” he mutters.

“You’re worrying about me,” you whisper. “We are friends.”

“Get out of here,” he sighs.

You laugh and squeeze his hand before you step aside.

════════

You meant to keep count of your drinks. You really did. But every drink was like a temporary antidote against the heartbreak that’s been haunting you, and before you knew it, you were drunker than you’ve ever been before.

The night slips in and out of focus. You’re laughing with Lyla, then you’re playing beer pong, then you’re looking for Rafe.

You find him in a pocket of the crowd standing with a few other hockey players, your mind and body dizzy and hot. You cover his hand with yours, gently tugging him closer.

“I came here to ask you something,” you mumble into his ear when he leans down, his cologne hitting you again. “And… I don’t remember what it was.”

He shakes his head disapprovingly. You were stone cold sober earlier in the kitchen, and now you’re plastered.

“I told you to take it easy,” he says.

“I thought I was. I’m usually very responsible.” You shift to meet his eyes. “You smell great, by the way.”

“Okay?” he replies stiffly.

“Are you always this bad at accepting compliments?” you ask.

He is, and he hates how quickly you figure this kind of stuff out about him.

“What do you want?”

You squint, looking out at the crowd as you attempt to put your fragmented thoughts together. You spot Lyla.

“Oh! Could you give me and Lyla a ride home?” you ask.

“Yeah,” he breathes. “I’m done here anyway.”

Just a few minutes ago, Rafe watched Emma leave the house with the same guy she was playing beer pong with. It screwed a hole into his chest and he’s been wanting to get the fuck out of here since.

════════

You crack open the window as Rafe drives away from the frat house. Lyla’s in the backseat, tapping on her phone.

He glares at the road. Who was that guy Emma left with? And how the hell does he stop giving a shit? Is he doomed to spend the rest of his life wishing he didn’t care about things as much as he does?

Thinking of her with him doesn’t bring up jealousy. It’s anger. Disappointment. Because he’s losing this game.

“Did you have a good time tonight?” you ask Rafe, the cool spring breeze pressing against your face.

He glances at you. Even though you hardly ever see eye-to-eye, you genuinely want to be kind to him, consoling him on the way to the party, paying him compliments when drunkenness took away your filter.

Despite how irritating it can be when you pry, you don’t do it out of malice. And you even cracked him up a few times tonight.

He decides to answer you honestly, to be nice like you told him to be, ignoring the discomfort.

“When I was with you, yeah,” he replies.

“Aww,” Lyla coos from behind you.

You smile, discreetly giving him a thumbs up for his performance. He means it, but he’ll let you believe he said it just because your friend’s listening.

════════

Lyla directs Rafe to the front doors of her dorm, and when she tries to say goodbye to you, she laughs once she realizes you dozed off.

“Thanks for the ride. I still don’t really get this,” she says to Rafe, pointing between you two, “but I can tell it works.”

He knows why it looks like that. It’s because, as much as Rafe didn’t expect it, you’re right. You two genuinely became friends at some point over the last three weeks.

The sound of Lyla shutting her door snaps you awake. You quickly gauge your surroundings, realizing you’re on the opposite end of campus by Lyla’s building. The athletes’ dorm is practically a ten second drive away and the route to your building will be a long detour for Rafe.

“Isn’t your dorm like, right next door?” you murmur.

“Yeah.”

“I’ll just sleep over,” you say in an exhausted daze. “So you don’t have to drive all the way to the other side of campus and back.”

It’s nearing two in the morning. Rafe just wants to be in his bed. So, he goes along with your idea.

════════

Your eyelids flutter open. You stare ahead to see a broad, bare back sitting at a desk. Then, you recognize the unkept dark hair you ran your fingers through last night, as well as your tabbed copy of Lost Horizon sitting on the dresser.

You’re in Rafe’s dorm room. In his bed. Your face buried in his pillow.

Last night flashes through your mind. You’d thoughtlessly suggested a sleepover. Rafe helped you out of the car and let you lean on him in the elevator and complained that you weren’t making enough space for him in his bed.

“I am so sorry,” you murmur.

Rafe turns around, taking out an earbud with an eyebrow raised.

“Finally awake?” he says.

Your chest stings and your stomach turns as you slowly sit up. You put your hand on your forehead, tangled up in his duvet, last night’s clothes tight and uncomfortable as you think back to how much you drank.

“I should’ve listened to you,” you murmur. “That was not taking it easy. I was stupid.”

“Thought that was a bad word.”

“It is,” you say with a pointed finger. “Thank you. It is.”

You finally look at him again. He’s in sweats, gray boxers peeking out the band, his muscular body curled over the chair. It’s unusual to see him like this; in his downtime, sitting at his desk, using his laptop, shirtless.

You’d felt his body against yours, felt the firmness of his muscles, but seeing him like this in broad daylight raises your pulse.

Rafe notices your gaze linger on his chest before you meet his eyes again. If he really is flustering you, it’s a good dose of payback, considering how he felt when you sat on his lap and played with his hair.

“What the hell did I drink last night?” you mumble.

“You tell me.”

He gazes at you as you try to remember. Even though it was snug sleeping next to you in his tiny single bed, it was nice to not spend a night on his own. He already knew he was lonely, but feeling you next to him, hearing your breath as he dozed off, showed him just how much.

“Shots? Beer? Something really sweet?”

“You mixed,” he realizes. “Bad move.”

“I feel like death,” you groan. “I’m going home now.”

You shuffle forward, your legs hanging over the edge of his bed. You slide off, briefly losing your balance before your feet touch the carpet.

You catch yourself, gripping his shoulder. He cups your wrist as you wobble. You pull your hand back and readjust your clothes, a wrinkled mess now, then pick your bag up off the floor, which you’re glad you thought to bring in your stupor.

“I’m sorry again. Thanks for… dealing with me,” you say quickly, smoothing back your hair. Rafe only smirks, entertained by how embarrassed you are. “I’m walking home because I might throw up and I don’t think we’re at the point where I can do that in front of you yet.”

“You already did.”

Your lips part in shock and he laughs.

“You’re kidding,” you realize. “I didn’t expect you to be a morning person.”

“I’m not.” He looks over at his laptop for the time. “It’s half past noon.”

You sigh in shame and make your way to the door.

“Hold on,” he says. You turn and almost miss the ball of fabric he throws towards you. When you hold it up and realize it’s one of his extra jerseys, you laugh.

“Wear it to the next game,” Rafe tells you.

“Good idea,” you say, imagining the way Emma, and hopefully Beck, will fume at the sight of you with Cameron across your back. “See you.”

You rush down the hallway, thrown out of your thoughts when you hear a loud click. Beck is unlocking his door a few feet ahead of you.

You internally groan. You feel awful and you’re sure you look it, too.

His eyes search your face, as if he doesn’t recognize you. On top of the embarrassment and anxiety you’re already feeling, the sight of him bombards you with the familiar pain of rejection.

“Hey,” you say with an awkward laugh. You need to act casual. You figure if you can pretend to like Rafe, you can pretend to not like Beck. “How’s it going?”

He looks past you, no doubt cluing in that you’re leaving Rafe’s dorm in last night’s clothes. You know what he’s going to think – you spent the night doing more than just sleeping. Suddenly, you’re glad you ran into him.

“Good,” he says absentmindedly. “You?”

“Good,” you reply, continuing to walk past him. Beck looks down, seemingly thrown off.

“I have to say…” He lets out a humorless chuckle. You stop and turn to look at him. “It’s kind of crazy that you’re hanging out with him.”

“Crazy?”

“He’s not really your type.”

Your heart hammers in your chest.

“What is my type?” you challenge.

Beck’s forehead crinkles in what you’d have to guess is disappointment. You swallow nervously. He could say so many things that would break your heart even more. And you hate that he has that much power over you.

“I just think he’s… intense,” he replies.

“I like intense,” you say.

Beck seems out of words. And as much as you want to stay, to ask what he’s thinking, you’re done waiting on bated breath for him, hoping he feels how you do when you share a private moment.

If you act like you’re not in love with him, your heart will eventually catch up. It has to.

“Nice to see you,” you say, carrying on towards the elevator. And walking away from him instead of the other way around for once gives you a newfound feeling of victory that you realize you really needed.

next >

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#rafe cameron x reader #rafe cameron x y/n #rafe cameron x you #rafe cameron and you #rafe cameron and reader #rafe cameron and y/n #rafe x you #rafe cameron fic #rafe cameron fanfic

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no-144444 · 6 months ago

Text

2 hands-l.norris

summary: your stunt-driver pulled out the day before the shoot, good thing you're dating an f1 driver.

pairing: lando norris x fem! singer! reader

a/n: I, like everyone else, was convinced he'd be in the music video, but alas, no. so here's this to hopefully make up for that :)

kind of smut so 18+

୨ৎ⋅୨ৎ⋅୨ৎ⋅୨ৎ⋅୨ৎ⋅

“Fuck,” you groaned, flinging yourself onto your bed.

“You alright baby?” Lando asked, putting his phone down and looking at you. He very much appreciated the sight in front of him, his girlfriend in nothing but tiny sleep shorts and an old quadrant hoodie. He smiled as you crawled into bed with him.

“The stunt driver for the shoot tomorrow just cancelled,” you frowned, cuddling up to his side. “We’ll have to reschedule, so then the release date of the song will be pushed back, and the release of the tour dates, and-”

“I can do it,” he offered.

You snapped your head to look at him. “Seriously?”

“Yeah,” he shrugged. “What kind of car is it?”

“A McLaren,” you nodded and he smiled. “This is genius, and we don’t even have to show your face so it won’t reveal anything-”

“We could show my face and just tell people we’re together,” he shrugged, pulling you onto his lap so that you were straddling him. “It has been 2 years, and this song is about me,” he smirked.

You rolled your eyes but nodded all the same. “I have an idea! Let me call the director!” you smiled, jumping off his lap as he frowned at the loss of contact. You quickly ran into your office to start making plans for the next day, excited at your new idea.

୨ৎ⋅୨ৎ⋅

You had entirely rewritten the script for the video, but everyone was much more into the new version, so no one was that upset. Also, everyone was ecstatic that you’d finally decided to include Lando in a video, finally showing the public that you two were together.

The first scene you two had to film was in the car dealership where you were buying a McLaren. You were wearing a simple but pretty dress with a black leather racing jacket. You caught Lando’s eye as he was reading over the script and he smirked, smacking your ass as you went by. You chuckled and hit his hand back, effectively shooing him away so you could get to your spot.

When you got to your spot, the cameras rolled and the director shouted action, and off you went.

“So what’re you looking for?” Max F, the ‘actor’ playing the car salesman, smirked. Yes, you’d gotten Max in on it too.

“Something fast.”

The camera flashed between the two of you, then to the orange McLaren behind you.

“I’ll need a test drive,” you smirked, and the camera panned to Lando, clad in a beautiful purple and orange racing suit tied around his waist, a shirt with the car dealerships logo on it, and a smirk on his face. He jingled the keys and the intro to the song started playing, then they cut.

“Perfect!” Kyle, the director, shouted. “We’ll get it from a few more angles, then move on.”

Next was a shot of the two of you in the car, Lando wearing sunglasses as he drove through the LA streets as you lip synced to the first verse of the song, the angles changing every few words. After shooting that a couple of times, you two got a break.

୨ৎ⋅୨ৎ⋅

“You look fucking incredible,” he muttered, pressing kiss after kiss along your next as you two sat in your trailer. “So fucking sexy.”

You chuckled,slightly pushing him off of you. “Calm down, Megan will kill me if I have any more ‘accidents’ to cover up.”

He shook his head, watching you as you got up. “You’re so beautiful,” he smiled. “So smart too.”

“Well, thank you baby,” you smiled. “Ready to take your shirt off?”

He chuckled. “Oh yeah.”

୨ৎ⋅୨ৎ⋅

The next scene was pretty risque, it was the two of you in a motel bed ‘making out’ as you sang the chorus, his ‘2 hands’ all over you. On top of that, his hands were covered in lipstick kisses as well as the majority of his neck and chest, which you happily did. You’d both gone through a costume change, now you were wearing a black lacy bra and he was wearing no shirt, the both of you looking stunning (and slightly funny considering the fact that you were both just wearing sweats under the covers).

“T-5 to action,” Kyle shouted, counting you two in.

He pressed open mouthed kisses to your neck as you lip-synced the song to the camera over his shoulder, a sultry look in your eyes as you embodied the lyrics, grinding down on him slightly. After shooting it from a few different angles, you and the team called it a day, ready to come back tomorrow and finish it up.

୨ৎ⋅୨ৎ⋅

Lando all but threw you on the bed when you got home that night, insatiable after a day of being teased.

You giggled as he pulled your pants off, pressing kisses up your legs as he unclothed himself, muttering the whole way up to your lips. “So fuckin’ perfect baby,” he grunted. “Teasin’ me all day,” he bit into your shoulder and you moaned, making him smirk. “Such a bad girl.”

“You love it,” you smirked, wrapping your hands around his forearms and flipping the position so that you were straddling him, holding his arms to the bed. “You fucking loved it today.”

“Damn right I did,” he smirked. You let go of his hands to pull off your final item of clothing (your shirt) and his hands immediately went to caressing your thighs. His eyes grew wide as he watched you pull your shirt off, and you knew it would be a long night, but you weren’t complaining.

୨ৎ⋅୨ৎ⋅

When you got to set the next day, you had an apologetic look on your face as Megan frowned, seeing the next hickeys on your neck.

“Is he a fucking vampire or something?” she scoffed, getting to work on covering them up.

“Y’know what, don’t cover them,” Kyle interjected. “It makes sense with the video for her to have them.”

“Thanks Kyle,” Lando smiled, feeling like he was on his side. You laughed when Kyle rolled his eyes at him.

୨ৎ⋅୨ৎ⋅

The next scene was just shots of the car driving through the LA streets, which Lando perfectly executed. He seemed to really be enjoying himself and the shots of the car were perfect, so you moved on to the next scene, which was you two at a gas station, dancing to the song as you lip-synced. It wasn’t difficult choreography by any means (Or else Lando wouldn’t have been able to do it), but it was a bit raunchy. Mostly just you dancing on his as he smirked or you pulling him closer and almost kissing him, but then just turning back to the camera and singing the next lyric. You were wearing the car dealership shirt with tiny shorts, and he was wearing a new collection quadrant hoodie and a pair of black jeans.

You watched as he looked you up and down while everyone else was resetting the shot to film again because Lando ended up laughing.

“Like what you see?” you smirked.

“More than you know,” he smiled, grabbing a handful of your ass and pulling you in for a kiss. The kiss was hot and heavy with a promise of something more beneath, it made you excited for the rest of the day.

After refilming that a couple of times, you moved onto one of the last shots of the video, you just lip-syncing the words as you sat on top of the car, Lando in various different positions. One of him pumping the gas, one of him opening the door for you, one of him in the driver's seat, one of him beside you on the hood of the car, another of the two of you making out against the door. Moving on from that, Lando went off to film some more of the car scene while you stayed back and filmed the dance break of the song. Those were the last things that needed filming, so you all wrapped up and thanked the crew, going back home after a gruelling day to get fucked by your hot boyfriend.

୨ৎ⋅୨ৎ⋅

The video came out and fans went wild. They edited it, they started fanpages, they stalked your socials, and everything in between. You both decided to make a post.

୨ৎ⋅୨ৎ⋅

yourusername and landonorris

liked by pierregasly, landonorris, yourusername and 8,029,238 others

yourusername: 2 hands out now.

comments

landonorris: y r u so hot??? -> yourusername: idk come cool me down -> landonorris: RUNNING

mclaren: stream 2 hands for win in LV🧡🧡🧡

user83: BI PANIC WTF

user29: THE BED SCENE HELLO????

carlossainz: lando is no longer a little boy? -> yourusername: bro was never 'little' -> user21: WTF WTF WTF WTF

user6: MY OTP

user33: My ship is alive!!!!!!!

user74: ewww a vroom vroom guy??

user46: no way lando no- rizz bagged THE Y/N Y/L/N -> yourusername: it's a sad truth... -> oscarpiastri: @.landonorris you're going to take that? -> landonorris: yes. look at her. -> landonorris: actually don't. don't look at her. she's mine

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navigation for my blog :) (masterlist)

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delusional-day-dreamer · 4 months ago

Text

Sleepy Girl - p.b.

‣ paige bueckers x gf reader!

‣ wc: 2k of smut 😛

‣‣ synopsis: waking up in the morning horny and ur girlfriend is right there tbh (ending is kinda rushed and the fic is not yet edited so please bear with me)

‣‣‣ a/n: hey guys... i know i completely ghosted this app for a good while but thank you for all the support even while i was MIA. this idea came to me at 11pm on vacation and i figured i should grind it out and make a return. i have a lot of drafts and ideas i came up with but no idea if i'll be able to write them all. in the meantime enjoy and happy holidays!

The warm sunlight spilling in to your bedroom and directly onto your face from the small gap in your curtains seemed to have it out against you.

It was one of the incredibly rare weekends of the season, where your girlfriend, Paige, didn’t have morning practice, lifting, or any PT sessions for residual pain after coming back home late from a basketball game (UConn won, obviously) and the two of you planned to make the most of it.

Having been in a relationship for almost a year now, the two of you had gotten to know each other pretty well over time. From working with the basketball team as a photographer to sharing a class with Paige, to running into each other literally everywhere every single day, metaphorically and physically, the universe seemed to have an intricate plan to bring the two of you together. And with such insistent force, who were the two of you to rebel?

The past ten months dating Paige had been a small roller coaster, the days spent together blissfully were obviously accompanied by the occasional argument of time management or messy rooms or even slight jealousy, but it was nothing the two of you couldn’t work through.

And of course, it was all accompanied by the mind blowing sex you couldn’t stop having. Bent over the kitchen counter, in the shower, in the living room, standing up, from the back, you name it.

But, there was one thing you and Paige had discussed exploring, but never gotten the chance to pursue, and it seemed like this morning was the perfect chance to test it out.

Depending on who woke up first, the two of you often liked to wake the other up with gentle kisses, roaming hands, and sweet nothings. But your synced ovulation cycles brought on a new possibility: morning head.

Although the concept of fucking your girlfriend while she was asleep seemed… well, odd to say the least, the two of you had discussed consent extremely thoroughly, and you weren’t going to sit (or lay in this instance) here and pretend that the sight of Paige laying in your bed right now wasn’t actively turning you on.

She had come to your off campus apartment immediately after her game at XL center and crashed pretty fast, only stopping to shower change into an old, oversized yet cropped off the shoulder sweatshirt of yours and a pair of boxers she left in your drawers.

Currently, she was conveniently splayed out on her back, her left arm stretched above her head raised the hem of your sweatshirt upwards, exposing the curve of her chest and the slightest glimpse of her pink nipples, which were already slightly peaked from the cold air radiating from your fan.

It didn’t take long for you to make up your mind, softly crawling over to rest in between her legs as you leaned over her sleeping figure, using your left hand to gently lift the fabric over her perky tits, exposing her creamy skin to you. You slowly peppered kisses on her boobs, not wanting to create too much stimulation that would wake her before you got to the more exciting part. Although, you weren’t sure you would have to worry about that. Paige could sleep through a hurricane if she was tired enough.

You nipped and sucked at her chest, making sure to pay special attention to her nipples before beginning your descent down her toned abs, bringing your hands to rub at her thighs simultaneously.

Paige groaned softly in her sleep, unconsciously spreading her legs out wider as your fingers danced over the waistband of her boxers.

Deciding that there was no reason to be a tease, especially with the growing ache in between your own legs, you hooked your fingers in her boxers and pulled them downwards, being extremely careful when taking them off her body fully and throwing them off into a corner of your room.

You shift lower, aligning your face with Paige’s already wet cunt as you grip her thighs and blow into her folds lightly, gently arousing her.

You start softly, small kisses and hickeys leading inwards before you finally allow your tongue to lick a long stripe from her entrance up to the sensitive bundle of nerves that made her breath slightly hitch.

Even in her sleep, Paige’s body was actively reacting to the growing pleasure as you circled her clit with your tongue and hummed into her, sending shockwaves running through her body, legs spreading, mouth dropping open with low moans, and back arching.

And yet, she was still asleep. You had no interest in waking her up forcefully, it would defeat the whole purpose of morning head. So, you dutifully detached your lips from her clit, opting to replace it with your thumb as you run your fingers through the slick she had accumulated before inserting your middle finger into her, curling it upwards in the way you knew she loved, which seemed to do the trick.

Her eyes began to flutter open the moment you added in your ring finger, mouth dropping with a groan as her right hand reaches out to cup the side of your face.

"Good morning," you rasp out, your breath hot against her sensitive cunt as you smirk at the already fucked out expression on her face.

"Fuck baby, God I didn’t think it would be this good when we talked about-”

Her sleepy whines were cut off with another loud moan as you reattached your lips to her clit, pressing into her g-spot with your fingers while simultaneously sucking her clit, small laughs vibrating through her core as you watched her body shudder at your actions. Her hand immediately moved up to your scalp, placing a firm grip in your head as she secured your spot deep between her legs, anchoring you in place.

"Aw shit ma, fuck you're so good at that, right there just like that, such a good fucking girl for me, don't stop mama you're gonna make me cum," her breathless rambles were endless as she used her left hand to play with her already exposed nipples.

The added stimulation pushed her closer to the edge, and it wasn't long before her muscular thighs began to shake around your head, closing around the sides of your face as she began to grind her hips into your mouth, chasing every second of her orgasm as her mouth hung open with cries.

She eventually let up after you finished licking her clean, even making a show of pulling your fingers out of her and sucking her juices off of them. Her gaze darkens as she pulls you up and over her body once again, capturing your lips in a deep kiss.

She nips at your bottom lip before pulling away, feigning annoyance in her tone. "As much as I loved the little stunt you pulled just now, shit pissed me off too. Brought this up in the first place cause I wanted to surprise you."

"Actin' like it's that big of a deal P, you can just do it a different morning," you teased, hand running up and down her side.

"Mm, whatever. All I care about right now is gettin' you right ma," she mumbles against your lips, reconnecting your lips as she slips her tongue into your mouth, grabbing your ass and rolling your hips into her at the same time.

"Nuh uh, it's your day to pillow princess. Lemme spoil you a little bit. You're still tired and sore from your game yeah? Besides, I have a better idea," you insisted, rising up and straddling her waist.

You shoved your sweater off her body before Paige's large hands pulled your grey tank top up and over your head, tossing it somewhere either of you couldn't be bothered to check. Her hand pressed into your mid back, forcing you to arch over her, conveniently placing your perky tits right over her mouth.

Her teeth scraped against your stiff peaks as her other hand, which had quickly returned to its place resting on your ass, began rocking your hips back and forth over her abs, drawing out deep sighs of pleasure from the multiple sources of friction and stimulation.

"Fuck Paige," you whined out, "why you gotta make it so hard for me to take care of you sometimes," you half-heartedly reprimanded, pinching her nipple roughly as you tore yourself away from her, shimmying your basically non-existent thong off as you resettled yourself in between her legs.

"Crawl up to the headboard," you demanded, raising your eyebrow at her inquisitive expression.

"Please," you added in with a soft pout, satisfied when she complied with your request. You eagerly followed her body, stationing your hands on her shoulders as you draped your right leg over her left, maneuvering her right in order to rest over your own left before gently lowering yourself down, hissing the moment your cores met.

You rolled your hips forward tentatively, moving your left hand down to Paige's right thigh while you sank forward, circling your other arm around her neck as you moaned against her lips.

The kiss was a needy, open mouthed mess of saliva and moans as you continued to roll your hips into Paige's with the help of her guiding hands, shocks of pleasure licking your spine every time your clits aligned.

As you approached closer to your orgasm, your head tipped back, mouth hung open with desperate, borderline pornographic whines constantly spilling out, impairing your ability to kiss Paige back. Though, she would never complain and simply kept her mouth busy by sucking hickeys along your neck and chest, whispering filthy words of encouragement into your skin.

"My girl's such a slut for me, huh? Riding me so good, pussy so wet she's dripping all over me, 's basically crying for me ma. You like that?"

Her gravely voice added to the fuzzy feeling that had taken over your brain, driven only by the tight coil threatening to snap any second in your belly. From the feeling of yours and Paige's warm slickness coating your entire cunt, to the deep throbbing you clit was experiencing.

You moved your left hand from Paige's thigh up to the headboard, using it to grind down harder against Paige's center, and the pressure on your clits had moans ringing out from both of you.

"God, Paige. So close baby, fuck I'm so close," you whined near incoherently, eyes screwed shut from the way your entire body was on fire, on the edge of immense pleasure.

She moved her mouth to the sweet spot behind your ear, nipping at the skin as she her fingers deftly began tweaking your nipples. "Cum for baby, give it to me. Please need it so bad."

You cry out as a freight train of an orgasm hits you, Paige's words and hands sending you over the edge, and the sight of you coming undone, not to mention the sounds you were letting out, left Paige no choice but to follow your lead.

Your body shuddered against hers, the pleasure slowly washing over you, leaving you breathless and extremely sensitive. You untangled your legs from Paige, collapsing on the bed next to her and pulling her down with you.

You kissed her sweetly, intimately, a far cry from the sex you were just having.

"I love you so much you know that?" You muttered against Paige's lips, cracking your eyes open to see the lazy smile set on her face.

"I love you too, even though I'm pissed you stole my surprise," she whispered defiantly.

"What you don't think those two orgasms made up for it? We can go for round two if you really insist," you smirked, knowing that there was no way your body could handle another orgasm immediately.

Before she can even answer, your stomach growled loudly, inciting loud laughter from both of you.

"How about we take care of that first yeah? We can go for round two in the shower after breakfast," she responded slyly, pulling you up and out of bed with her to get dressed and have breakfast together. To you, nothing in the world could beat mornings like these with Paige.

1K notes · View notes

societyfolklore · 17 days ago

Text

Open Up Baby

Title: Open Up Baby Pairing: Tony Stark x Female Reader

Summary: Tony Stark straps you into a StarkTech-compatible bench for a private demonstration of his newest toys- complete with biometric feedback,

Word Count: 3.6k

Warnings: / Explicit Content /18+, Minors DNI, SMUT… BDSM/Restraints/Bondage, custom tech ball gag, toys (Egg vibe, anal beads, dildo) Overstimulation, Toy fucking/Machine-assisted thrusting, Filthy talk (Tony can't shut up), AI assists with data tracking, clinical observation, forced openness, Sensory overload

A/N: my entry for @avengers-assemble-bingo for April Kinky Bingo… Well this one turned into a whole thing.. Square: B2- Open Up Baby Card Number: KB003

You were already strapped to the bench- back arched, thighs spread wide in glossy chrome stirrups, wrists bound snug in Stark-grade cuffs that didn’t budge an inch. The synthetic leather beneath you was cool against your skin, but your body was already starting to heat with anticipation. The bench itself shifted slightly with every movement, like it was reading your tension, calibrating every twitch of your muscles into data Tony could access later.

You could hear the soft hum of the room’s ambient systems, the low mechanical whirrs, the faint electric pulse of tech running in standby, and underneath it all, Tony’s voice. He hummed absently as he moved around you, flicking through translucent holoscreens that floated in the air, readable only to him. Light glinted off his arc reactor through the thin black shirt he wore, sleeves rolled up to his elbows, veins flexing with every subtle flick of his fingers.

He looked like a scientist. Or a surgeon. No, a goddamn artist.

“You look tense,” he murmured, stepping in close, his fingers grazing your jaw with a feather-light touch. “That won’t do. We need to get a clean read. No clenched teeth, no locked jaws. Just you- open and…relaxed.”

He held up a sleek piece of tech. A mix of leather and metal. To you it looked like a ball gag. That wasn’t just a gag. It was his gag. Something custom. Personal. Laced with Stark Industry Tech.

“Open up, baby. Gotta install the biometric reader. It’s not science without a baseline.”

You hesitated, lips twitching. Just for a second. But he didn’t push. He just waited you out, smirk deepening, one brow arched like he had all the time in the world. That cocky, knowing gaze made you squirm even before anything touched you. Your breath hitched. And then you parted your lips.

“There we go,” he said, tone thick with approval as he slid the gag into place. It clicked against your teeth, snug and firm. A soft vibration flickered across your tongue as it locked in pushing the muscle down.

Friday’s voice chimed in overhead, calm and clinical.

“Gag calibration complete. Biometric sync active. Tracking vocal response, saliva levels, and tongue pressure.”

Tony leaned down, brushing his lips across your cheek in a whisper of a kiss. “Good girl. Now let’s get to work.”

He started with the egg.

Sleek. Silver. Pulsing faintly in his hand like it had a heartbeat of its own. The metal shimmered under the clinical lights, smooth and polished, shaped with the kind of precision that only Stark could deliver. He turned it over once, twice, like he was admiring a prized gadget- one that he was particularly proud of.

He showed it to you like a doctor unveiling a revolutionary new tool- calm, confident, deeply amused. Except this wasn’t a sterile exam room, and the look in his eyes wasn’t professional. His smirk told you he already knew what kind of mess this thing would reduce you to.

"This is your warm-up," he said, voice low and playful. "Phase One. Internal warming protocol. Testing receptivity. Calibration through heat and pulse response."

You whimpered into the gag. Of course you were excited- he’d been teasing you with this little 'demonstration' all week. Whispering promises in your ear, tapping out reminders on your thigh, dropping technical jargon laced with filth that left your core throbbing before he’d even touched you. Now that it was finally happening, your whole body was buzzing with need.

He didn't wait. He moved closer, one gloved hand parting your thighs a little further, the other settling between them. The bench adjusted beneath you, lifting your hips another inch to meet his touch perfectly. His fingers dipped between your folds- testing your wetness, teasing you just enough to make your body jerk in its bonds.

"Already responsive," he muttered, half to himself, half to Friday. "She’s going to be a dream to log."

He slid the egg in with two fingers, slow and deliberate. The cool metal kissed your entrance, making you flinch slightly- it was colder than you expected, stark contrast against your heated skin. Your walls instinctively tried to resist, clenching down, but his fingers were patient, coaxing you open, parting you around the sleek, unyielding toy.

The egg slid upward, heavy and smooth. As it moved deeper, your body yielded to it, the slow stretch making your breath catch. Its contours were designed to press into every sensitive spot, and you could feel your muscles fluttering around it, trying to accommodate the sudden fullness. As he pushed it deeper, you could feel every inch of it being swallowed by your body, your slick muscles tightening, fluttering around the intrusion.

He pushed the egg up high inside you, then paused, his finger still inside you too. "Squeeze for me," he ordered. You did, instinctively, your walls closing down as you used your pelvic floor, and Tony gave the platic string attached a soft tug.

The stretch, the resistance- it was delicious. The egg stayed locked in place. You couldn’t push it out if you tried. He smiled, clearly pleased.

"Perfect. Secure fit," he murmured. "Wouldn’t want it popping out mid-test."

It settled deep inside you, a sinful throb blooming in your core. Then it pulsed- just once, a quick flutter that made you jolt.

"There we go," he breathed, watching the screen light up with new data. "Didn’t even turn it on yet and she’s already going. Fuck, I love this job."

You were barely processing the first toy when he reached for the second.

Beads. Tapered, growing in size, each one gleamed under the soft blue lighting like tiny pieces of futuristic art. You squirmed, thighs pressing together, but it was no use- Stark had seen your reaction.

Tony laughed- low and delighted.

"Didn’t know we were going there, huh?" He nudged your knees apart again, voice dipping to a darker octave. "Come on, baby. I want you to open up for me. Let’s see what this one does..."

You shook your head slightly. Whimpered into the gag. Wide eyes watching him as you tried to protest around the ball gag in your mouth.

Tony turned to the tray beside him, selecting a small, frost-blue tube of gel. "Wouldn't be very considerate to skip prep," he muttered, more to himself than to you. He uncapped the tube and squeezed a slow, deliberate line of the slick, glistening substance along the length of the beads. The gel shimmered faintly under the light, warming as it reacted with the ambient temperature.

He coated each bead carefully, fingers moving with methodical ease, making sure the entire string was evenly slicked. "Lubricated. Body-safe. Custom formula," he said with a wink. "Slippery enough to slide in smooth- sticky enough to stay in place until I say otherwise."

Then he held the beads up for you to see, the string dangling between his fingers. You tensed instinctively.

"Oh no. You’re freezing up. Can’t test properly if you don’t behave. Legs. Open."

You didn’t.

Tony tsked, clicking his tongue in mock disappointment. Then he grabbed your chin, firm and steady, tilting your head so your eyes locked with his.

"Don't think so much. That’s not what good test subjects do."

Click.

The bench tilted beneath you without warning. Your hips rolled upward, knees falling further apart as the restraints auto-adjusted. You were fully exposed now- helpless. Wide open.

"You know I can override those restraints, right? I built them. Now be a good girl and show me everything."

He dipped his finger back into the gel and brought it to your ass, pressing a cool dollop directly to your tight, puckered entrance. The sudden chill made you flinch, but it was followed by the warm glide of his fingertip as he gently teased the gel in slow circles.

"You tense here, too," he said, amused. "Don't worry. This formula warms up just like you do."

He rubbed it in carefully, working the gel into your rim with delicate, coaxing pressure. The sensation tingled- both from the temperature shift and the way his finger circled and pressed until your body finally began to relent.

Then he lowered the beads between your cheeks and began to press them in- one at a time. The first slid in easily, the gel working its magic, cool and slick. The second made your breath stutter. The third had your whole body tensing as your hole stretched just enough to accommodate the new pressure.

Each one pulled a different, desperate noise from you- somewhere between a gasp and a whimper, caught in the back of your throat and forced through the gag in broken fragments.

By the time the third bead settled inside you, you felt full. Stretched in ways that left you panting, your back arching hard off the bench. Everything was working together- the deep pressure of the egg nestled high in your core, the hum beginning to buzz through your clit like a phantom, and now the slow, firm intrusion of the beads pressing against nerves that had you seeing stars. You struggled to catch your breath, the gag forcing each inhale to be short and choppy. Air hissed through your nose while your mouth flooded with saliva, spit slipping from the corners of your lips in thick strands that slid down your neck and onto your chest. The overwhelming heat of arousal and frustration tangled in your gut, building like steam with nowhere to escape. The restraint of it made the fire inside you burn hotter.

Your muscles clenched involuntarily, your hips rocking against the air, chasing friction that didn’t come. You couldn’t speak, couldn’t beg. Just drool, tremble, and take everything he gave you.

"Mmm. That moan? That was bead three. She likes that one, Friday."

"Confirmed," the AI replied. "Pelvic floor tension rising. Heart rate increasing."

"Good. Means it’s working."

The egg began to heat. The beads hummed in sync, and you felt everything shift- internally and externally- as pleasure bled into pressure, and pressure into overload. You were trembling now, thighs twitching again, trying to close- but the bench held you wide, utterly exposed.

"Heart rate’s spiking..." Tony’s voice was pure, filthy glee. "Oh, she’s gonna break soon. Look at her squirm."

You rutted against the air, clit untouched and screaming for attention. Your walls fluttered around the egg, your ass clenching down against the beads as the different pulses overlapped and collided. It was all too much and somehow not enough. You needed more and needed it to stop, all at once.

You tried to breathe, but the gag made it impossible to take anything but shallow, panting gasps. Each exhale was laced with a moan. Drool spilled freely down your chin, dripping warm across your face and neck. You were flushed, messy, wrecked- and he hadn’t even touched your clit.

Your back arched violently off the bench, cords of heat coiling through your belly and thighs. It felt like your body was unraveling, muscles tight and desperate, nerve endings screaming with pleasure.

Tony leaned in again, voice dark and syrup-smooth. "We’ve got her plugged, egged, and ready to combust. Think she can handle the next phase?"

Friday answered, "Orgasm build-up at 87%."

"Perfect." He tapped a command into the air. "Now let’s push her."

The egg pulsed deeper. The beads vibrated sharper. You cried out- moaning, writhing, the gag muffling it into raw, incoherent noise. You couldn’t form words. Couldn’t beg. Just sob through the pressure building to a breaking point.

"Baby, this is science. Filthy, beautiful science."

It hit you like a wave- white-hot and all-consuming. Your legs shook violently in the stirrups, muscles spasming as your body locked around the egg and beads pulsing inside you. Every nerve ending fired in chaotic pleasure, overwhelming your senses. You tried to scream, to sob, but the gag reduced it to a shattered, strangled cry that vibrated through the tech, each desperate noise dutifully logged.

Drool spilled in long, wet strands down your chin as your back bowed hard off the bench, your whole body trembling under the assault of pleasure. Your cunt clenched tight around the egg, milking it involuntarily, while your ass throbbed with each hum of the vibrating beads. Everything inside you was pulsing, moving, grinding you down into submission.

Tony watched, transfixed, his gaze locked on your ruined, shaking form. “There she goes - God, I should patent that moan.”

Your eyes rolled back. You could barely breathe. You could only tremble and leak and convulse as the orgasm tore through you. The bench beneath you vibrated subtly with your body’s response.

Friday: "Orgasm confirmed."

Tony waited until you were trembling, your breathing uneven, your thighs still twitching with aftershocks that rippled through your overstimulated body. Sweat slicked your skin in a thin, glistening sheen, catching the light as your chest heaved with broken gasps around the gag. Your limbs strained weakly against the restraints.

Then- slowly, methodically- he reached between your cheeks and took hold of the first bead. He didn’t rush. He eased it out one at a time, each slick orb dragging along your inner walls with a sticky, stretching glide. You shuddered at the sensation- the unbearable emptiness that bloomed in the wake of each removal. Your ass clenched reflexively around the loss, trying to hold onto what had filled you so completely. But he kept going.

The final bead popped free with a slick, obscene sound. Your hips jolted involuntarily, your back arching once more as your body spasmed again, clinging to the ghost of sensation.

Friday's voice crackled overhead. "Anal pressure reduced. Sphincter still contracting. She’s experiencing post-orgasmic muscle spasms."

Then came the egg.

He curled his fingers inside you, tugging the retrieval loop with a firm, practiced motion. The egg slipped free, wet and shiny, your cunt fluttering uselessly around the sudden void. The stretch, the drag, the warmth- it all left you aching. You cried into the gag, overwhelmed by the emptiness and the continued tremors in your muscles. Your thighs kicked slightly, your knees drawing in as far as the restraints would allow.

"Vaginal walls contracting. Core temperature still elevated. She's not done trembling yet," Friday observed, calm as ever.

Tony held both toys in one hand now- wet, warm, shining. He looked down at you with naked satisfaction.

"That’s some damn good tech," he said. "But we’re not done."

From the tray, he lifted his final piece.

A dildo- sleek, deep grey, Stark-stamped at the base. Modeled after him, and you knew it. Maybe a little bigger. Slightly wider at the base, with delicate ridges along the underside that hinted at something extra. Your breath caught just looking at it.

“This one’s special, baby. Built it from memory- well, from yours,” Tony said, rolling it in his hand. “Temperature regulated, pressure-sensitive, and the best part? The internal sensors sync to your contractions. It responds to you. The more you clench, the deeper it drives. A perfect loop.”

You whimpered around the gag, heart fluttering.

He moved between your spread legs and lined it up against your soaked, fluttering entrance. You were already sensitive- still trembling from the last orgasm- and when the wide tip pressed in, you nearly cried. It stretched you slowly, steadily, a little more than you were used to. Your slick walls resisted at first, clenching down instinctively, but Tony was patient, guiding it with precise control.

“There you go,” he coaxed, voice smooth but sharp-edged with amusement. “That’s it. Take all of it. Come on, baby- I know you can..”

His tone dipped into a purr. “There you go. Taking it like you need it. Bet you love being filled up with Stark-grade tech, huh?”

Your back bowed off the bench as he pushed it in, inch by inch, your pussy yielding to every contour, forced to accommodate the full shape of it. The fullness was delious, your body stretched taut around it. Your eyes rolled back as the final ridge slipped inside, the toy settling deep.

“There,” he said, watching your reactions with fascination. “Fills you out just right. And now... we see what she can really do.”

The base clicked into a pulse pattern, and the toy began to move inside you- slow at first, deliberate, like it was learning your shape. You could feel every textured ridge of the shaft as it rubbed against your inner walls, dragging across oversensitive flesh, sparking little detonations of pleasure with every pass.

Then it pulsed- long and low, a rhythmic thrum that radiated from base to tip, sending heat spiraling through your belly. With every thrust, the toy seemed to stretch you deeper, nudging a spot that made your toes curl and your thighs twitch against the restraints. Your pussy clenched around it reflexively, triggering the internal sensors Tony had mentioned. And just like that, the toy responded- pressing harder, thrusting deeper, faster.

It wasn’t just fucking you- it was reading you, syncing to the wild flutter of your muscles, pulsing in tandem with your arousal.

“Look at her,” Tony murmured, grinning as he watched the toy disappear again and again between your legs. “Every little squeeze makes it work harder. You’re doing this to yourself, baby. And I haven’t even touched your clit yet.”

You’d been so consumed by the thrusting inside you, by the stretch and pulse of the toy, that you hadn’t even noticed Tony move. But suddenly, he was there- looming over you, and the egg was pressed directly to your clit.

The sensation was immediate and brutal.

Your entire body jolted. The contact felt almost painful, your nerves raw and exposed, the stimulation electric. You tried to buck away, hips arching, thighs trembling, but you had nowhere to go.

Tony caught you effortlessly. One hand shoved the egg against your swollen clit, refusing to relent, while the other pressed down on your thigh to keep your knees from closing.

“Uh uh. None of that,” he said smoothly. “You don’t get to hide from this, baby. You earned it.”

You sobbed into the gag, thrashing your hips side to side, but the bench and Tony’s hands made escape impossible. Every attempt to squirm just sent the dildo thrusting deeper inside you, and the egg grinding cruelly over your clit.

“You’re not gonna break,” he whispered, teasing. “You’re gonna burn for me.”

"Don’t you dare run from it. look at me."

He was holding you still- one hand clamped over your thigh to keep your legs spread, the other pressing the egg mercilessly to your clit. You were trembling in his grasp, utterly helpless against the merciless pairing of his tech and his control.

"You’re gonna come again for me, sweetheart. Real data’s in the repeat response," he said, eyes locked on yours, voice both commanding and hungry.

The dildo thrust deep, the ridges grinding against your most sensitive spots as your walls clamped down. The egg buzzed brutally against your swollen clit, so overstimulated you couldn’t tell whether you were trying to run from it or chase it. Every jolt of pleasure lit your nerves like lightning- white-hot and impossible to hold back.

Your body jerked, hips spasming, thighs trembling violently as the sensations overloaded you. Your entire body was working against you- every clench, every twitch, every gasp just triggered the toy to go deeper, harder, faster. You weren’t riding it anymore- it was riding you, and Tony just watched with that devilish smirk, keeping you wide open.

“That's it. Shake for me. Scream into that gag. Show me what science can do.”

The climax tore through you without mercy- harder, deeper, a violent unraveling of every nerve as your body convulsed around the relentless rhythm of the tech inside you. You didn’t just come; you shattered, splintering open in a release so intense it blurred your vision, your mind, your ability to distinguish pleasure from pain. Your vision shattered into sparks, your scream muffled into a raw, hoarse noise behind the gag. Your body thrashed in the restraints, muscles locking as the orgasm ripped through you, longer and sharper than the last.

Friday: "Second orgasm confirmed. Neural spike significant. Subject approaching physical limit."

He slowed the toy, letting it ease to a stop deep inside you before withdrawing it carefully, letting you feel every last ridge dragging along your raw, overstimulated walls. Then, with a gentleness that almost contrasted the torment he’d just put you through, he removed the egg from your clit. The instant the contact broke, your whole body sagged in the restraints with relief and exhaustion. You were shaking, barely breathing- every inch of you buzzing, nerves fried and twitching from the overload.

You could taste salt on your lips- your own tears and spit, your jaw aching from clenching around the gag. You were drenched, body glistening with sweat, your skin flushed and hypersensitive to the air.

He removed the gag last. Your jaw fell slack with a wet, trembling gasp, strands of spit clinging to the corners of your mouth. You blinked up at him, vision hazy, lips wet and parted.

Tony gazed down at you, eyes gleaming with wicked satisfaction, his mouth tugging into a crooked grin that said told you so. He looked like a man admiring his finest creation- smug, yes, but also thoroughly entertained by the glorious, twitching mess sprawled out beneath him.

“You did good, baby. Fucking beautiful. But next time?”

He leaned close, brushing a kiss to your temple- slow, deliberate, his breath warm against your damp skin.

“Think I’ll need to design something that gets you to squirt. Can’t let a variable like that go untested. Wouldn’t be very Stark of me to stop now, would it?”

He turned with a little flourish, tapping the screen with a flick of his fingers, not bothering to look back.

“Friday, save this session. Label it: Successful. Prepare files for Phase Two.”

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vibeswithdivs · 5 months ago

Text

He’s more patient than he looks

pairing: Max Verstappen x reader

The hum of conversation filled the Red Bull Racing headquarters as employees bustled about with an energy that was almost infectious. Engineers huddled over laptops, mechanics leaned against tool racks with grease-streaked hands, and the faint smell of coffee lingered in the air. It was a world that thrummed with purpose, speed, and precision—qualities that the newcomer sitting at her desk felt slightly out of sync with.

You can do this, she told herself for the hundredth time that day.

Being a social media manager for one of the most prominent teams in Formula 1 was a dream job. Yet, as she stared at the screen, where a half-finished tweet about race day statistics blinked back at her, that dream felt a lot more like a free-fall. She wasn’t just crafting posts about breakfast specials or gym memberships anymore—she was managing the online presence of an entire racing empire.

And, truthfully, she was floundering.

“Morning!”

The cheerful voice made her jump, and she turned to see her colleague, Sophie, leaning over her cubicle wall with a grin. “How’s the newbie settling in?” Sophie asked, raising an eyebrow.

“Uh… good!” she replied quickly, pasting on a smile that she hoped masked her nerves.

Sophie tilted her head, unconvinced. “You’ve been staring at that screen for an hour, and the only thing you’ve posted today is a retweet from Pirelli. Do you need help?”

“No, I’m just—” She paused, biting her lip. “I don’t even know what half these terms mean. DRS, power unit, undercut… it’s like everyone here is speaking a different language.”

Sophie’s face softened. “It is a different language,” she said with a chuckle. “Give it time. It’s only your first week. You’ll get the hang of it. And if you’re still lost, you’ve got plenty of people to ask.”

“Like who?”

“Like me,” Sophie said with a wink. “Or, if you’re feeling brave, you could ask the drivers. Max and Checo are usually good sports about answering questions.”

“Right,” she said, laughing nervously. “Because it’s totally normal to walk up to Max Verstappen and ask him to explain tire degradation.”

“You’d be surprised,” Sophie replied with a grin. “He’s more patient than he looks.”

She didn’t expect to test Sophie’s theory quite so soon. Later that afternoon, while she was setting up her phone to record a behind-the-scenes video in the garage, she heard a familiar voice behind her.

“Need help?”

She turned, almost dropping her phone when she saw Max Verstappen standing there, dressed in his Red Bull team kit and holding a bottle of water. His blue eyes were bright with curiosity, and his expression was disarmingly friendly.

“Uh… no! I mean, yes. Maybe?” she stammered, fumbling with the tripod. “Sorry, I’m still figuring all this out.”

Max chuckled, setting his water down on a nearby workbench. “Don’t worry about it. What are you trying to do?”

“I’m supposed to get some footage of the engineers prepping your car, but I can’t get the angle right, and—” She broke off, feeling heat rise to her cheeks. “It’s my first week. I’m still getting the hang of everything.”

“You’re doing fine,” Max said, his tone reassuring as he stepped closer. “Here, let me see.”

She handed him the phone, watching as he adjusted the tripod with practiced ease. He crouched slightly, angling the camera until it perfectly captured the scene in the garage.

“Like this?” he asked, stepping back to let her check.

She stared at the screen in amazement. “That’s… perfect. How did you do that so quickly?”

“Years of media obligations,” he said with a shrug. “You pick up a thing or two.”

She smiled, feeling some of her nervousness ebb away. “Thanks, Max.”

“No problem,” he replied, picking up his water bottle. “And if you ever need help with anything else—questions, technical stuff, whatever—just ask. It’s better than guessing.”

Max wasn’t kidding. Over the next few weeks, she found herself turning to him more often than she expected, and he answered every question with surprising patience.

“What’s a DRS zone?” she asked one afternoon during a lunch break.

“It’s where we can open the rear wing to go faster,” Max explained, demonstrating with his hands. “But only in certain areas and under certain conditions. You know, to make overtaking easier.”

“And what’s an undercut?” she asked the next day while filming a promo video in the paddock.

Max smirked. “That’s when you pit earlier than the car ahead of you to get fresher tires and gain track position. But timing is everything. If you mess it up, it doesn’t work.”

“Right,” she said, nodding along even though she still felt a bit lost.

Max seemed to notice her confusion because he added, “It’s like beating someone to the front of the line at a concert by taking a shortcut. Make sense?”

“Ahh,” she said, grinning. “That actually helps.”

With Max’s encouragement, her confidence grew. She started experimenting with different content ideas, from quirky Instagram stories to polished YouTube vlogs. Her colleagues noticed the change, offering praise and feedback that bolstered her even further.

But it was Max’s quiet support that made the biggest difference. He never made her feel stupid for asking questions or stumbling over her words, and his humor often turned stressful moments into something lighter.

One evening, as she sat in the media center editing a race weekend highlight reel, Max walked by and paused to watch over her shoulder.

“Not bad,” he said, nodding at the screen.

“‘Not bad’?” she repeated, turning to him with a mock glare.

He grinned. “Okay, fine. It’s great. But you missed the part where I overtook Checo in Turn 3. That was the best move of the race.”

She rolled her eyes, laughing. “I’ll add it to the blooper reel.”

“Bloopers?” he said, pretending to look offended. “That was pure talent.”

She shook her head, unable to suppress her smile. “You’re impossible, Verstappen.”

“And you’re doing a great job,” he said, his tone softening. “Don’t let anyone tell you otherwise.”

By the time the season reached its midpoint, she felt like she’d finally found her footing. The fast-paced world of Formula 1 no longer felt overwhelming; instead, it felt exhilarating.

One evening, after a particularly successful social media campaign, she found herself standing on the balcony of the team’s hospitality unit, watching the sun set over the paddock. Max joined her a few minutes later, leaning against the railing with a relaxed smile.

“Long day?” he asked.

“Always,” she replied with a chuckle. “But I think I’m getting the hang of it.”

“I’d say you’re more than getting the hang of it,” Max said. “You’ve been killing it lately. Everyone’s noticed.”

She glanced at him, surprised by the sincerity in his voice. “Really?”

“Really,” he said, meeting her gaze. “And in case you haven’t noticed, you’ve made this job your own. You’ve brought something new to the team. It’s good.”

Her chest swelled with gratitude, and she looked down, trying to hide the blush creeping up her cheeks. “Thanks, Max. For everything. I don’t think I would’ve survived my first month without you.”

He chuckled, reaching out to nudge her shoulder playfully. “Anytime. You’re part of the team now, and we take care of our own. Even if you still ask a million questions.”

She laughed, the sound light and genuine. “Get used to it, Verstappen. I’ve got plenty more where those came from.”

Max smirked, his eyes twinkling with amusement. “Bring it on.”

#f1 #f1 x reader #f1 fanfic #f1 imagine #max verstappen #formula one #formula 1 #max verstappen x reader #formula one imagine #formula one x you #max verstappen x you #max verstappen drabble #max verstappen fluff #max verstappen imagine #fluff #imagine

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goldfades · 7 months ago

Text

WHO DID THIS TO YOU?──RAFE CAMERON

free palestine carrd 🇵🇸 decolonize palestine site 🇵🇸 how you can help palestine it's crucial that we stand in solidarity with those who need our support. right now, the people of palestine are facing unimaginable hardship, and it's up to all of us to do what we can to help. whether it's raising awareness, donating to relief organizations, or supporting calls for justice and peace, every action counts. we can amplify their voices, shed light on their struggles, and work towards a future where every individual can live with dignity and freedom. your support can make a difference! FREE PALESTINE!

for this request, for my lovely jo! @wanderlusturous

─ summary | you and rafe are consumed by an obsessive love, where their madness is fueled by each other. you find exhilaration in pushing boundaries, testing each other’s limits, and the deeper you fall into your shared insanity, the tighter your bond becomes. when rafe finds you crying in your bedroom one day, he loses his shit and is thrown into a silent rage, seeking revenge. and you don't mind, not one bit.

─ pairing | rafe cameron x fem!reader

─ warnings | oh my god, where do i even begin?? obsessive rafe, like insane but reader reciprocates it. a few kisses but mostly just insane stuff. mention of drugging (not to reader), hacking (?), idk what else but this is lowkey insane...

─ ev's notes | im gonna be honest, i don't know if i like this... but lmk if yall enjoyed it. it's a little too dark-themed for me and i got into it until i reread it and realized that it was lowkey insane but hey!!! whatever!!! anyway, pls lmk if this was too dark.. or if you enjoyed it. also, sorry to any becca's out there, it was just the first name that popped up. any feedback is always very appreciated!

ok love u bye!!! pls send me requests!!!!!!

⇨ missing out on updates? check out my masterlist!

The night is suffocating, thick with tension that mirrors the pulse racing in your veins. Every sound, every breath, seems amplified, as if the world knows what’s coming. You stand by the dock, your eyes on the dark water ahead, but your thoughts are elsewhere—on him.

Rafe.

You can already feel him, even when he’s not here. The way your skin hums when you think of him, the way your pulse skips in sync with his name. No one gets you like Rafe does. No one makes you feel like the world is spinning off its axis just by looking at you. He’s chaos, destruction wrapped in a pretty face, and you... you crave it.

The roar of an engine breaks through the night. You don’t turn, but a slow smile curls on your lips. You feel the heat of his presence before you even hear his footsteps.

“Couldn’t stay away, could you?” Rafe’s voice is a low drawl, but there’s something manic beneath it, something that sparks against the madness in you.

You turn your head slightly, just enough to catch his eyes. There’s that look again. That wild, possessive look that sets your blood on fire. He’s close now, so close you can feel the heat radiating off him, feel the tension in the air tighten like a noose around your neck.

“Neither could you,” you reply, your voice low, daring.

He grins, a sharp, dangerous thing. “You’re right. I can’t.”

His fingers brush your arm, just a ghost of a touch, but it’s enough to ignite something violent between you. This—this is what you live for. The thrill. The madness. The way Rafe looks at you like you’re the only thing keeping him sane, and maybe that’s what scares you the most.

Because you’re not sane.

Not anymore.

You can’t even remember why you broke up with him a few months ago, but all you know is that it got overwhelming. There was something suffocating about it—about him. The way he always knew where you were, who you were with, what you were thinking before you even said it. At first, it was intoxicating, the way he could read you like no one else ever could, like you were the only two people on earth and no one else mattered. But then… it was too much. His intensity felt like drowning in quicksand, slow but relentless. And for a moment, just a moment, you thought maybe you needed air.

But standing here now, with the salt stinging your nostrils and the wind howling like some kind of omen, you can’t remember why you ever thought you could leave him.

Because there he is—Rafe Cameron, walking toward you like the world is his and you’re his prize, eyes locked on you in a way that makes your chest tighten, your stomach coil in knots. He’s dangerous in all the ways that matter. Not just because he’s reckless and violent (though God knows he is), but because of how he makes you feel. Alive, in a way that hurts. Like the rush you get standing on the edge of a cliff, knowing one wrong step and it’s all over, but you can’t stop yourself from leaning forward, just to feel the thrill of almost falling.

He doesn’t stop walking until he’s so close you can smell the gasoline and smoke on his clothes, the wild energy pouring off him in waves. He looks at you like you’re the only thing that matters, like you’re the oxygen he’s been deprived of for too long, and suddenly it all makes sense again. The madness. The break-up. The inevitable pull back to him.

“Why’d you leave me?” His voice is low, rough like gravel. His eyes burn with something fierce, and you can feel it sinking into you, clawing its way under your skin. He’s not asking because he doesn’t know. He’s asking because he wants to hear you say it.

You stare at him, heart pounding, pulse thrumming in your ears like a warning. But instead of stepping back, you step forward, closing the small gap between you two. Your breath mingles with his, the night air thick with unsaid things, and you feel like you’re standing on the edge of something irreversible. Like if you take one more step, there’s no going back.

But isn’t that what you’ve always wanted? The danger. The thrill. The sick, twisted excitement of being so intertwined with him that you forget where he ends and you begin.

“I don’t know,” you whisper, even though that’s not the full truth. You do know. You left because you were scared. Scared of how much you wanted him, needed him, even when it hurt. Scared of the fact that the line between love and obsession blurred so fast with him that you couldn’t tell the difference anymore.

His jaw tightens, and his hands, those rough, calloused hands that have touched you in ways no one else ever has, reach out. He grips your chin, forcing you to meet his gaze, and for a moment, you swear you can see the wild, unhinged thing lurking just behind his eyes. It’s the same thing you see in yourself when you look in the mirror. The madness that ties you to him, binds you like a curse.

“You do know,” he says, voice dark and demanding. His thumb brushes your bottom lip, slow, like he’s testing how far he can push you before you break. “You just won’t say it.”

A shiver runs down your spine, but it’s not fear. It’s something else, something deeper. Something that feels like surrender and power all at once. You lean into his touch, letting his hand curl around the side of your face, the heat of him soaking into your skin like a drug.

“I couldn’t handle it,” you admit, the words thick and heavy in your throat. “You. Us. It was too much.”

Rafe’s lips curl into a smirk, but it’s not a kind one. It’s dark, possessive. “Too much? You know you liked it. You loved it.” His hand tightens slightly on your jaw, just enough for you to feel the edge of his control, like he’s reminding you who he is. What he is. “You loved me because of how fucked up we are. Don’t pretend otherwise.”

You swallow hard, heart thundering in your chest, because deep down, you know he’s right. You’ve never felt more alive than when you were with him, caught up in the madness of it all. The fights, the passion, the way you both pushed each other to the edge and then pulled each other back, only to do it all over again. It was twisted, dangerous, and wrong in every way, but that’s what made it irresistible.

“I did,” you confess, and it’s like a weight lifts off your chest, even as you feel yourself falling back into him, back into the chaos. “I do.”

The smirk fades, replaced by something darker, hungrier. His eyes search yours, looking for any sign of hesitation, any crack in your resolve. But there’s nothing. You’re not the same person who left him. Maybe you never really left at all.

Rafe’s hand slides from your chin to the back of your neck, pulling you closer until his lips hover just inches from yours, his breath hot against your skin. “That’s what I thought,” he murmurs, and before you can respond, his mouth crashes into yours, hard and demanding.

It’s not gentle. It’s never been gentle with Rafe. His kiss is all teeth and tongue, like he’s trying to devour you, claim you all over again. And you let him, because deep down, you crave it just as much as he does. The fire, the chaos, the way he makes you feel like you’re spinning out of control but somehow exactly where you’re supposed to be.

When he pulls back, you’re both breathing hard, your lips swollen, your pulse racing like you’ve just run a marathon. His hands grip your waist now, pulling you flush against him, and you can feel the heat of his body searing into yours.

“Tell me,” he says, voice low and dangerous, his eyes boring into yours. “Tell me you’re mine.”

Your heart hammers in your chest, but you don’t hesitate. “I’m yours.” And you are, completely, utterly, unashamedly his.

And just like that, you’re back where you started.

───MONTHS LATER . . .

“God fucking damn it, if you don't tell me right now, I'm gonna lose my shit!” Rafe shouts, his voice cracking like thunder in the small living room as he throws the beer bottle against the wall.

Glass shatters everywhere, scattering across the floor, but you don’t even flinch. You’ve seen this before. Hell, you’ve lived it. The rage, the temper, the chaos—it's like a script you’ve both memorized by heart.

You lean back against the kitchen counter, arms crossed, watching him like you would a caged animal—wild and unpredictable. He’s pacing now, his movements sharp and erratic, the muscles in his jaw clenched so tightly you wonder if they might snap. His eyes are wild, blue like ice but burning with something untamable, something dangerous. He’s teetering on the edge, that fine line between fury and desperation, and you know it won’t take much to push him over.

But you don’t care. Not right now.

“Rafe, calm the fuck down,” you say, your voice steady, almost bored. You know that’ll get to him. It always does. Nothing makes him crazier than when you don’t give him the reaction he’s fishing for.

His head snaps in your direction, eyes narrowing as he stalks toward you like a predator honing in on prey. He stops just inches away, towering over you, his chest heaving, breath coming in sharp, uneven bursts. He’s so close now that you can smell the alcohol on his breath, feel the heat radiating off his skin. But you don’t move. You stand your ground, looking up at him with a calm that borders on defiance.

“Don’t tell me to calm down!” he spits, voice laced with venom. His hands are balled into fists at his sides, knuckles white. “I’m sick of your bullshit! You think you can just stand there like you’re better than me, like you’re not a part of this, but guess what, baby? You are. You always have been.”

You tilt your head slightly, eyes narrowing as a slow smile creeps across your lips. “You’re being dramatic, Rafe,” you say, your voice dripping with sarcasm. “What, you gonna break something else? Or are you actually gonna say what’s bothering you for once?”

That does it.

He slams his hands down on the counter behind you, trapping you between his arms, his face just inches from yours. His eyes blaze with fury, but beneath it, you see something else—something raw, something that makes your stomach twist in knots.

“Don’t play games with me,” he growls, his voice low and dangerous. “I know what you’re doing. You think you can just push me around, mess with my head, and I’ll keep coming back like a fucking dog, huh?”

You meet his gaze, unblinking, heart racing in your chest but refusing to show it. You can feel the tension crackling between you like electricity, the air thick with it, suffocating. This is what it always comes down to with Rafe—this toxic push and pull, this need to break each other just to see what’s left after the pieces fall apart.

“You think I’m the one messing with your head?” you say, your voice low, challenging. “Maybe you should take a look in the mirror, Rafe. You’re not exactly innocent in this, are you?”

His jaw clenches, and for a moment, you think he’s going to explode. But instead, he just stares at you, eyes flickering with something dark, something primal. Then, slowly, he leans in closer, his breath hot against your skin.

“Innocent?” he whispers, his lips brushing your ear. “Baby, I’ve never claimed to be innocent. You knew exactly who I was when you got into this.”

You don’t flinch. You don’t pull back. Instead, you tilt your head slightly, your lips grazing the corner of his jaw as you whisper back, “Yeah, and that’s why I’m not scared of you.”

His breath hitches, just for a second, and you feel a surge of satisfaction. You’ve always known how to push his buttons, how to throw him off balance, even when he’s at his most dangerous. It’s a game you’ve played a thousand times before, and you both know how it ends—chaotic, messy, with both of you circling back to the same place.

But this time feels different.

There’s something darker in the way he’s looking at you, something that feels more like possession than anger. Like he’s not just mad because you’re fighting—he’s mad because he can’t stand the thought of you slipping away. Because he knows, deep down, that no matter how hard you push him, he’ll always want you. Need you.

“You don’t get to walk away from me,” Rafe says, his voice low, deadly. “Not this time.”

You feel his grip tighten on the counter behind you, his body pressing against yours as if he’s trying to fuse the two of you together, like if he holds on tight enough, you won’t be able to escape. But he doesn’t know, doesn’t understand that you’re already too far gone. That the very thing he’s holding on to is slipping through his fingers, and there’s nothing either of you can do about it.

“That’s where you’re wrong,” you say softly, a cold smile on your lips. “I can walk away whenever I want. I just choose not to.”

And with that, you duck under his arm, slipping out from between him and the counter. His eyes follow you, wide with disbelief, rage bubbling just beneath the surface. You know he’s about to lose it, to completely unravel. But you don’t turn back. Not yet.

Because this time, you want him to come after you.

And he always does.

Rafe’s eyes darken as you slip past him, and for a moment, the room goes deadly silent. The tension is thick, heavy like a storm cloud waiting to burst. You know exactly what’s coming, and it sends a thrill down your spine. You can almost feel it—the moment he snaps, the second his control shatters. It’s a twisted game, one you’ve played too many times before, and every time, you push him a little harder, a little further, just to see how far he’ll go for you.

You take slow, deliberate steps toward the door, your back turned to him, feeling the heat of his gaze sear into you. You don’t need to look back to know he’s watching, every muscle in his body tensed like a predator stalking its prey. The air feels electric, charged with a violence that’s always been just beneath the surface between you two.

“Where the fuck do you think you’re going?” His voice cuts through the silence like a knife, sharp and biting. You stop, but you don’t turn around. Not yet.

“Does it matter?” you ask, voice calm, almost teasing. “I thought I could walk away whenever I wanted, remember?”

The silence that follows is deafening. You know you’ve hit a nerve. He hates when you challenge him, hates when you act like you have the upper hand. But that’s what makes it so addictive—pushing him to his limit, watching him unravel in front of you, knowing that no matter how hard he fights it, he’ll always come back to you.

Because he can’t help it. Neither of you can.

Suddenly, you hear his footsteps behind you, fast and heavy, and before you can react, his hand grips your arm, yanking you back toward him with a force that nearly knocks the breath out of you. He spins you around, his face inches from yours, eyes blazing with fury.

“You’re not fucking going anywhere,” he growls, his voice low and dangerous. His grip tightens on your arm, fingers digging into your skin, but the pain only makes your pulse quicken, your breath hitch in your throat. There’s something about the way he looks at you—like he’s on the verge of losing control, like he’s barely holding himself together—that sends a thrill through you.

“Let go of me, Rafe,” you say, your voice daring him, even though you know you don’t really want him to.

He doesn’t. Instead, he pulls you closer, his other hand gripping the back of your neck, forcing you to look up at him. His chest is heaving, his eyes wild, but there’s something else there, too—something desperate, like he’s terrified of losing you, like he’s clinging to you with everything he has left.

“You think you can just walk away?” he snarls, his breath hot against your face. “After everything? After all the shit we’ve been through? You really think I’m just gonna let you go?”

You meet his gaze, unblinking, your heart racing, but there’s no fear. Not with him. There never is. Instead, you feel the pull again—the twisted, sick need to see how far you can push him, how deep his obsession goes.

“I think you don’t have a choice,” you say, your voice steady, even though your pulse is hammering in your ears.

His grip tightens, his jaw clenched so hard you can see the muscles twitching beneath his skin. For a second, you think he’s going to snap—really snap—but then, just as quickly, something shifts in his expression. The anger doesn’t fade, but it’s joined by something darker, something raw and consuming.

“You’re wrong,” he whispers, his voice barely audible but laced with danger. “You don’t get to decide when this ends. I do.”

Before you can react, his lips crash against yours, rough and demanding, as if he’s trying to prove a point. It’s not a kiss; it’s a claim, a reminder that you belong to him, whether you want to admit it or not. His hands tighten on you, pulling you impossibly closer, and you can feel the tension in his body, the barely restrained violence simmering just beneath the surface.

But instead of pulling away, you kiss him back with just as much fire, matching his intensity. It’s always been like this between you two—this chaotic, messy whirlwind of emotion that neither of you can control. You push, he pulls, and somewhere in the middle of it all, you find something that feels like love, even though you both know it’s something darker, something more dangerous.

When he finally pulls back, both of you are breathing hard, your lips swollen and bruised. His hand stays on the back of your neck, his thumb brushing against your skin in a way that’s both possessive and tender, like he’s reminding himself that you’re still here, still his.

“You’re mine,” he says, his voice rough, eyes blazing as he stares down at you. “You’ve always been mine.”

You swallow hard, your heart pounding in your chest. There’s a part of you that wants to fight it, to push him away and run as far as you can. But there’s a bigger part of you, a darker part, that knows he’s right.

You’re his. You always have been.

“Yeah,” you breathe, your voice barely a whisper. “I’m yours.”

The words hang in the air between you, thick and heavy, and for a moment, everything else falls away. The anger, the tension, the broken glass on the floor—it’s all background noise now. All that matters is the two of you, standing here in this twisted, fucked-up mess of a relationship, knowing that no matter how many times you try to break free, you’ll always end up right back here.

With him.

Rafe’s grip on you softens, just slightly, and for the first time in what feels like hours, the intensity in his eyes eases. But it’s still there, simmering beneath the surface, waiting for the next time one of you decides to test the limits again. Because there will be a next time. There always is.

“You’re not leaving me again,” he says, his voice softer now, but no less serious. “Not ever.”

You nod, not trusting yourself to speak. Because deep down, you know that no matter how much you might want to, no matter how many times you tell yourself you can walk away, you won’t.

You never could.

And Rafe knows it, too.

───

You don’t usually cry. Not ever. Tears are something you’ve learned to bury deep down, hidden under layers of indifference and biting sarcasm. But tonight, they come, hot and angry, streaming down your face as you sit curled up on the edge of the bed, hands trembling in your lap. The weight of the evening presses down on you, your mind reeling from everything that happened.

It wasn’t supposed to be like this. Not tonight.

Your phone buzzes again on the nightstand, but you ignore it. You can’t deal with it right now. You don’t want to see the messages or hear the apologies. You don’t want to relive what just went down.

You wipe at your face roughly, trying to pull yourself together, but it’s no use. The shaky breath you let out only betrays you further, and you feel the tears well up again. You bite your lip to keep from making a sound, not wanting him to hear you.

But, of course, Rafe hears everything.

The door swings open, and Rafe steps inside, his broad frame filling the doorway. He looks at you, really looks at you, and in an instant, his expression darkens. His blue eyes narrow as they sweep over you, taking in the tear-streaked face, the hunched shoulders, the way your body is wound tight like a coiled spring, ready to snap. His jaw tightens, and you can practically feel the shift in the air around him.

“What happened?” His voice is low, dangerous, barely restrained. It’s not a question—it’s a demand.

You shake your head, trying to brush it off. “It’s nothing, Rafe. Just forget it.”

But you know better than to think he’ll let it go. The second you met him, you realized Rafe Cameron isn’t the kind of guy who “forgets” anything.

He moves closer, the tension in his body palpable. He’s not pacing like he usually does when he’s angry. This is different. Controlled. Focused. Like he’s honing in on the source of your pain, ready to eliminate it. He crouches down in front of you, one hand gripping your chin, forcing you to look at him. His touch is firm, possessive, but not rough—not yet.

“Tell me what happened,” he says again, his eyes boring into yours. “Who did this to you?”

You hesitate for a moment, unsure if you should even bring it up. You know how Rafe gets—how he reacts when someone hurts you. And this time, it wasn’t just anyone. It was someone close. Someone you thought was your friend.

“It’s—” You start, but your voice cracks, and you quickly bite down, trying to steady yourself. “It was…Becca.”

“Becca?” The name drops like a lead weight between you two, and you can see the recognition flare in his eyes. Becca, your friend for years, the one person outside of him you’ve always trusted. The one person he’s always been wary of.

Rafe’s grip tightens slightly, his thumb brushing over your jaw in a way that makes your pulse race. His voice drops to a low, dangerous whisper. “What did she do?”

You hesitate, but the words spill out before you can stop them. “She—she said some things. At the party tonight. She called me out in front of everyone, said I was using you, that I only stuck around for the money, the attention. She tried to turn everyone against me, Rafe. She made me look… weak.”

His face hardens instantly, and for a split second, you see something flash in his eyes—something dark and lethal. The kind of rage that makes your breath catch in your throat, even though you know it’s not directed at you.

“She said what?” His voice is so low now, it’s almost a growl.

You nod, swallowing hard, feeling the burn of humiliation all over again. “I don’t know why she did it. I thought she was my friend.”

Rafe lets out a slow breath, and the air around him feels like it’s vibrating with the intensity of his anger. He stands up abruptly, pacing the room, running a hand through his hair as if trying to keep himself from completely losing it. But you know it’s too late for that.

“I’ll fucking kill her,” he mutters under his breath, but you hear every word. “I’ll ruin her life.”

“Rafe—” You start to protest, but he cuts you off with a sharp look.

“No. No one talks to you like that. Not her, not anyone.” His voice is clipped, sharp, like he’s barely holding back the full force of what he’s feeling. “You don’t deserve this shit. Not from her, not from anyone.”

His protectiveness borders on obsession, but you can’t help but feel a strange comfort in it. It’s twisted, but there’s something about the way Rafe reacts to these things—like the whole world can burn as long as you’re safe—that makes you feel… seen. Important.

“I’m going to fix this,” he says, more to himself than to you, his hands curling into fists at his sides. “She thinks she can talk shit about you? In front of everyone? Humiliate you? Nah. She’s going to regret it. I’ll make sure of that.”

“Rafe,” you say softly, trying to reach for him, but he’s too far gone. You can see it in the way his eyes have glazed over, already plotting, already deciding exactly how he’s going to destroy Becca.

And part of you wants to stop him. Part of you knows that this isn’t the answer, that maybe you should handle it differently, like a normal person would.

But you’re not normal. Not anymore.

“I’m serious,” he says, turning to face you again, his expression deadly serious. “No one fucks with you. Ever.”

His intensity washes over you, and for a second, you feel like you can’t breathe. But at the same time, it fills you with a sense of power, knowing that he’s willing to go to these lengths for you. That he’ll protect you at all costs, no matter how destructive it gets.

You stand up slowly, crossing the room until you’re in front of him, your hand resting on his chest. “Just… don’t do anything stupid, okay?”

Rafe’s eyes flicker down to you, and for a brief moment, you see a softness there, a flicker of the boy beneath all the rage and chaos. “I won’t. But I’m not letting this go.”

You nod, knowing there’s no point in arguing with him. This is who he is—who you both are. Twisted, obsessive, reckless. But it works. Somehow, it works. And deep down, you don’t really want him to let it go.

A few months later, and somehow everything goes to shit for Becca.

It starts small—things that could almost pass as bad luck. First, her new car gets keyed, deep scratches across the side that no amount of buffing can fix. Then her social media accounts get hacked, posts disappearing, weird comments being left on other people’s pages, like someone is deliberately screwing with her life piece by piece. She brushes it off at first, because Becca’s tough. She’s the type of girl who bounces back quickly, who doesn’t let things get under her skin.

But then things escalate. Quickly.

She gets benched during a big volleyball game when her coach suddenly pulls her aside and questions her attitude. The team captain claims Becca’s been talking shit about the coach behind her back, stirring up drama with teammates. The problem is, Becca never said any of it. But now, she’s got a reputation, and people are starting to look at her differently.

Still, she fights through it, determined not to let it get to her. Becca’s always had her eye on the prize: her full ride to UC Berkeley, where she’s set to play volleyball at the college level. That’s her future. Her escape. Nothing can touch that.

Until it does.

The call comes one morning, out of nowhere. Becca’s shaking as she listens to the voice on the other end of the line, her heart plummeting as her coach tells her the news.

“We’ve received the results of your recent drug test, Becca,” the coach says, his voice stern but somehow apologetic. “I’m sorry, but you’ve tested positive for a banned substance.”

Becca’s head spins, her mouth going dry. “That’s impossible,” she blurts out, panic rising in her chest. “I don’t do drugs. I don’t—”

“I know this is hard to hear,” the coach cuts her off, his voice firm. “But the results are what they are. This disqualifies you from the scholarship and the team. UC Berkeley has revoked your offer.”

The words hit her like a sledgehammer. She feels the ground tilt beneath her, everything she’s worked for slipping through her fingers in an instant. She argues, pleads, tries to explain, but the decision is final. There’s nothing she can do.

And that’s when she starts to see it, to feel the weight of something much bigger pressing down on her. This isn’t just bad luck. It’s not a coincidence that her life is unraveling at the seams. No, this feels orchestrated, like someone’s been pulling the strings behind the scenes, watching her fall apart.

That someone is Rafe Cameron.

Rafe can be physical—he wouldn’t hesitate to swing on anyone he deems a threat. But Rafe isn’t a dumbass. He knows that not everything should be dealt with by violence. Some things are better handled with precision, with patience, with slow, deliberate destruction. He knew that punching Becca in the face wouldn’t satisfy him, wouldn’t give him the kind of control he wanted over the situation.

So instead, he used his connections, his money, his influence, all of the tools at his disposal to dismantle her life bit by bit. A hacked account here, a few whispers to the right people there. He didn’t need to lay a finger on her to destroy her. He just needed to plant the seeds of doubt, to set off a chain reaction, and then watch it all come crumbling down.

The drug test? Easy. A little slip of something into her drink at a party when she wasn’t paying attention, followed by a tip-off to the testing agency. The rumors about her trash-talking her coach? Carefully spread by a few well-placed texts to her teammates, pretending to be her. Her social media? That was just for fun, a way to throw her off balance and make her feel like her world was spiraling.

And it worked.

You know all of this, of course. Rafe never bothers to hide things from you. In fact, he’s proud of it, proud of the way he’s dismantled Becca’s life without so much as breaking a sweat. He tells you about it one night while you’re lying together, his arm draped lazily over your waist as he whispers in your ear.

“She thought she could fuck with you,” he murmurs, his voice dark, satisfied. “But now she knows. No one touches what’s mine.”

You should feel guilty. You should feel something for Becca, after all those years of friendship, of thinking she had your back. But all you can feel is a sick sense of satisfaction, like the universe has finally corrected itself. Becca messed with the wrong person, and now she’s paying the price. And as twisted as it is, you can’t help but feel a little thrill at how far Rafe was willing to go for you, how meticulously he destroyed her without you even asking him to.

“You really did all that?” you ask, your voice low, a smirk tugging at your lips.

Rafe shifts beside you, leaning in closer, his breath warm against your neck. “I told you, baby. No one fucks with you and gets away with it.”

You turn your head to meet his gaze, and there’s something dangerous in the way he looks at you, something possessive and wild. It should scare you, but it doesn’t. Not anymore.

Because the truth is, you like it. You like how far he’s willing to go for you, how far he’s willing to take it. There’s something intoxicating about the way he loves you—twisted, obsessive, and all-consuming. It’s not healthy, not normal, but it’s yours. And that’s enough.

You press your lips to his, kissing him fiercely, feeling the heat between you two ignite once again. Rafe kisses you back just as hard, his hands gripping you tightly, like he’s reminding you that you’re his and no one else’s.

As you pull back, your breath ragged, you glance at him, your voice barely above a whisper.

“She won’t come near me again.”

“No,” Rafe says, his eyes gleaming with a dark satisfaction. “She won’t.”

And in that moment, you both know it’s true. Becca’s done.

↳ make sure to check out my navigation or masterlist if you enjoyed! any interaction is greatly appreciated !

↳ thank you for reading all the way through, as always ♡

#rafe cameron #rafe cameron x reader #rafe x reader #rafe cameron smut #obx smut #rafe cameron fanfiction #rafe cameron imagine #rafe cameron x you #obx 4 #outer banks 4

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abswhore · 8 months ago

Text

Just a friend.

Summary: You both had agreed to see each other as just friends, but your feelings developed into something deeper.

Pairing: college!fwb!abby Anderson x reader

A/N: hello thank you for taking time to read ! , this is my first post I’m really excited so please give me feedback, also like and comment! They is just a test run sort of thing to see how it goes it’ll be maybe 3 parts to this !

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“I’ll be fine here, go!�� You assumed Dina and Nora as you stood at the bar, they had dragged you out of your dorm for a night out but you wasn’t quite feeling it tonight.

You watched as your friends made their way through the pool of people, smiling at them as they danced with each other. You sipped on your drink as you watch not bothering to join them.

A voice from beside you caught your attention, prompting you to look over. And There stood Abby Anderson, the university's star soccer player. "You don’t dance?" she asked.

“No, I’m a horrible dancer.” When you turned to her, you noticed she was leaning in closer, allowing you to take in every detail of her face. She was captivating.

"I'm Abby," she said as she introduced herself. You chuckled softly and nodded, replying, "I know.”

"You know me, but I don't think I know you," she remarked, leaving you wishing you hadn't mentioned that you were familiar with her. "Just joking," she added.

“ I hope I didn’t come off as a stalker I think we share friends.” You added “im y/n.”

"I'm not opposed to having a stalker, especially if they look you," she said, her tone playful and soft. You could feel your cheeks burning as you went quiet, letting the loud music fill the space around you.

Abby sensed the sudden quietness and quickly found a way to redirect the conversation. “So these mutual friends with share, who are they?”

You mentioned the names of several people, and she instantly recognized the group when you said the first name, Ellie Williams.

“Why don't you ever come us when we hang out?" she asked, sipping her drink while keeping her gaze fixed on you.

"I'm usually tied up with work or school," you replied.

"That's too bad; I'd love to see you more often," she teased. "How about we study together sometime?"

"What do you think?" she asked, her voice dipping into a flirtatious tone as your eyes locked. You nodded in response.

"That sounds great," you murmured, just loud enough for her to catch over the booming music, your gaze drifting to her lips.

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*

Abby pushed you against the icy metal of the car door, and as your lips moved perfectly in sync with hers, you realized you had left Dina and Nora behind without a word. Your thoughts were a jumbled mess; one moment you were exchanging flirtatious glances with Abby, and the next, she was pulling you out of the club, almost dragging you along.

The drive to Abby's, which should have taken just ten minutes, seemed to stretch on endlessly as you exchanged messy kisses at every red light. When you finally reached her apartment complex, you both rushed to get inside. You pressed kisses along her neck while she clumsily fumbled with her keys, eager to let you into her home.

You moaned, "Where's your room?" as she finally opened the door, nudging you inside and pressing her hips against your back.

"no room, I wanna fuck you right here on this counter." She murmured in your ear while her hands moved around you, quickly unbuttoning your jeans pulling them down from behind as she moved towards the counter lifting you up placing you on top.

Abby whispered, "pretty," as she slid your panties aside. You gasped loudly when she traced her tongue over your clit, then gently pulled it into her mouth. Your back arched off the counter, and you found yourself gripping a handful of her hair.

The sound of your moans echoed throughout the room as you sensed your hips starting to tense, signaling that your climax was near. “Not yet,” Abby said, rising up and pressing her lips against yours in a messy kiss, allowing you to taste yourself.

You spread your legs wider, feeling her fingers at your entrance as you lock eyes with her. Abby thrusts into you, her two fingers stretching you, and you can't help but cry out, your nails digging into her shoulders.

Abby urged you, her breath warm against your lips, "look at me while I fuck you." As she quickened her rhythm, you matched her movements with your own. "Please, don’t stop," you pleaded, your voice filled with urgency and longing.

The moans grew louder as you reached your peak, your back lifted off the counter. Grasping Abby’s arm feeling your walls tighten around her fingers. Not holding back Abby thruster fasted into you as your body shook, your hand flying to cover your mouth as your chest moved up and down heavily.

Abby smirked as she brought her fingers, coated in your juices , up to your lips, gently tapping your jaw to signal you to open your mouth. As you complied, she slid her fingers inside, slowly pulling them while you savored your own taste.

Abby let out a soft moan as you pulled her into a kiss, and you swiftly hopped down from the counter, shifting your attention to the other woman above you, tugging at her pants. "it's your turn," you whispered, biting your lip in anticipation.

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*

#abby anderson #abby anderson x reader #wlw smut #the last of us #wlw #lesbian #abby anderson x you #abby anderson fanfic #tlou2 #abby anderson smut #dina tlou #ellie williams

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manmuncher777 · 3 months ago

Text

UNDER THEIR WATCH

・❥・ Satoru Gojo x reader x Suguru Geto

・❥・ In which the reader gets assigned with the most obnoxious first years for a mission, tensions rise. And of course… theres only one bed.

・❥・ warnings! SMUT 18+ p in v, unprotected sex, spanking, pet names, threesome, oral f and m, mild facefucking, fingering.

・❥・A/N - Holy shit thank you guys so so much for 6k likes on one of my fics, im so amazed. So in thanks I decided to extend the idea. I am so greatful to all 750 of my beautiful followers. PLEASE LIKE, COMMET, AND REBLOG THIS FIC

ALSO MY REQUESTS ARE FUCKING OPEN, PLEASE SEND ME SUMMMMM ❤️

You’d always prided yourself on being unshakable, but Gojo Satoru and Geto Suguru tested that resolve at every turn.

They were a pair of opposites that somehow operated in perfect harmony, balancing one another so seamlessly that it felt almost unnatural. Gojo, all sharp edges and searing brightness, was impossible to miss. He carried himself like the world existed for his amusement, his white hair and perpetually cocky grin making him stand out no matter the setting. His teasing was relentless, and he had a knack for getting under your skin with just a few words.

Then there was Geto. Where Gojo was loud and brash, Geto was calm and collected. He moved through the world with a quiet confidence that was almost more dangerous than Gojo’s in-your-face arrogance. His rich voice always seemed to carry just enough amusement to leave you second-guessing yourself, as if every interaction was a game he was playing and you were the unwitting opponent.

As a second-year at Jujutsu High, you were well aware of your reputation as the strongest in your year. It wasn’t something you flaunted, but it was a title you’d earned, and you wore it with quiet pride. That pride, however, took a hit whenever you found yourself in the presence of the school’s infamous third-year duo.

Satoru made a point of reminding you of your place whenever he could.

“Don’t feel bad, Shortstack,” he’d say, slinging an arm around your shoulders like you were old friends. The sheer size of him made you bristle, his tall frame utterly dwarfing yours. “Not everyone can be me”

You’d shove his arm off, scowling. “Thank God for that.”

Suguru, ever the smoother of tensions, would chuckle at the exchange, his deep voice somehow managing to be both warm and teasing. “She’s got a point, Satoru. The world can only handle one of you.”

Then he’d meet your gaze, his dark eyes crinkling with a smile that could almost be called kind if it weren’t for the faint glint of mischief in them. “But you have to admit, you’re lucky to have us around. We’re setting the bar for you, after all.”

They were infuriating. And yet, there was no denying the strange pull they had, not just on you, but on everyone around them. Satoru’s raw power and Suguru’s measured confidence made them a force to be reckoned with, and standing next to them often felt like being caught in the eye of a storm.

But you weren’t one to be overshadowed. You’d earned your place at Jujutsu High, and you weren’t about to let their larger-than-life presence make you doubt your own strength.

Still, as much as you hated to admit it, their friendship fascinated you. The way they moved in sync, their banter so effortless it was like they shared the same brain—it was a connection you couldn’t quite wrap your head around. And when they turned that attention on you, teasing and pushing and prodding, it was hard not to feel like a mouse caught between two very large cats.

Every interaction with them was a battle, and while you hated to lose, there was something about the way they pushed you, challenged you, that made you want to keep fighting.

You just wished they weren’t so damn tall. Towering over you like some kind of gods

You leaned against the doorframe of the small conference room, arms crossed as you surveyed the chaos inside. Gojo Satoru was sprawled out across a chair, his legs stretched impossibly far and his blindfold pushed up just enough for his piercing blue eyes to peek through. He was tossing a pen into the air and catching it lazily, his grin wide enough to reveal just how much he was enjoying Yaga’s barely-contained irritation.

Suguru Geto, on the other hand, sat beside him, deceptively poised as he tapped his fingers against the table. The small smirk tugging at the corner of his lips betrayed his role in their synchronized mischief.

Yaga sighed deeply, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Could you two pretend to act like professionals for five minutes?”

“I am being professional,” Gojo said, spinning his pen between his fingers with maddening ease. “You haven’t even told us the mission yet. I’m conserving energy.”

Suguru chuckled, tilting his head in mock consideration. “You can’t fault him for being efficient, Yaga-sensei.”

You bit back a snort, earning Suguru’s attention. He raised a brow, his gaze flicking to you with an amused gleam. “And here I thought you’d be the voice of reason.”

“Don’t lump me in with you two,” you shot back, stepping fully into the room. “I actually respect Yaga-sensei enough to listen.”

Gojo’s grin widened as he leaned back in his chair, balancing it precariously on two legs. “Respect, huh? Sounds like someone’s trying to score extra credit.”

“Or maybe,” Suguru mused, “she just wants us to think she’s better behaved than she really is.”

You rolled your eyes, but the slight warmth in your cheeks didn’t go unnoticed.

“Enough,” Yaga said, cutting through their teasing with a sharp tone. He motioned for you to sit, and you took the chair furthest from Gojo, only for Suguru to shift closer with a casual ease that made your pulse quicken.

“The three of you will be heading to Tokyo for this mission,” Yaga began, his voice all business now. “There have been reports of curse activity in multiple locations across the city. It’s unusual in both volume and concentration, which is why I’m sending the three of you together.”

“Tokyo, huh?” Gojo perked up, letting his chair fall back onto all four legs. “Sounds fun. Maybe we’ll grab some ramen while we’re there. You like ramen, don’t you, Shortstack?”

“Don’t call me that.”

Suguru chuckled, resting his chin on his hand as he glanced at you. “She’s right, Satoru. We should be more respectful. After all, she is the strongest second year.”

The words were polite, but his tone was teasing, and the way his dark eyes lingered on you made you squirm.

“I can see why you two are best friends,” you muttered, crossing your arms.

“Best friends?” Gojo repeated with mock offense, pressing a hand to his chest. “We’re more like soulmates.”

“Twin flames,” Suguru added dryly, earning a laugh from Gojo.

Yaga ignored their antics, handing out the mission details before delivering the news that made your stomach drop.

“You’ll be staying in Tokyo for at least three days,” he said, flipping through the file. “We’ve arranged accommodations for you at a nearby inn.”

The silence that followed was unnerving, especially coming from Gojo and Suguru. You narrowed your eyes, suspicious as the two exchanged a glance.

“Something wrong?” you asked.

Gojo’s grin returned, wider and sharper than before. “Oh, nothing’s wrong. It’s just—”

“We’re sharing a room,” Suguru finished, his voice calm but no less smug.

Your jaw dropped. “What?”

“It’s standard for missions,” Yaga said, clearly unaware of the tension now thrumming through the room. “And with Tokyo’s prices, it’s the most practical option.”

“Practical,” you echoed weakly, your mind racing at the thought of spending three days—nights included—with the most infuriating duo at Jujutsu High.

“It’ll be fun,” Gojo said, leaning back again with that irritatingly easygoing grin. “Like a sleepover. You can braid our hair, Shortstack.”

Suguru chuckled, his dark eyes glinting with amusement. “Or we can braid yours.”

“Enough,” Yaga snapped, cutting off whatever retort you were about to make. “Focus on the mission. You leave first thing tomorrow.”

The meeting ended quickly after that, but the smirks on Gojo and Suguru’s faces lingered, following you out of the room like shadows.

“You nervous?” Gojo teased as you walked toward the dorms, his voice lilting with fake concern.

“Nervous you’ll snore,” you shot back.

Suguru hummed thoughtfully. “I don’t know, Satoru. She seems more worried about us getting too close.”

You glared at him, ignoring the warmth in your cheeks. “I’m worried about my sanity.”

The two of them laughed, their voices blending in a way that made your chest tighten. This mission was going to be hell.

And yet, despite yourself, you couldn’t deny the faint flicker of excitement beneath your frustration.

The Tokyo streets were bustling with their usual chaotic energy, but as you and the boys walked through the dimly lit alley leading to the inn, a strange, almost suffocating quiet seemed to settle around the three of you. The mission had gone smoothly enough for the day—surveillance was tedious, but necessary, and you were all more than capable of handling it. Still, the weight of the day lingered, and the air was thick with something else now.

You were too aware of the proximity between you and the boys, even as you tried to focus on the mundane task of finding the inn. Gojo had, unsurprisingly, been goading you with teasing remarks about your “seriousness” during the mission. Suguru, ever the cool and composed one, had offered little more than a few knowing glances, his dark eyes always glinting with something that sent your pulse racing.

By the time you reached the inn, you were more than ready to retreat into the safety of your room—except for one small problem.

The front desk clerk had handed Suguru the key, and as he walked over to the room, you followed him with a feeling of dread creeping up your spine. You’d known something was off when you’d seen Gojo’s smug little grin, and now you couldn’t help but feel that you were walking right into some kind of trap.

Suguru unlocked the door with a casual flick of his wrist, pushing the door open to reveal the inside. You froze in the doorway, blinking at what you saw.

There, in the center of the room, was a single large bed—big enough for two, but a bed nonetheless.

You stared at it in disbelief. “There’s only one bed?”

Gojo, who had been hovering at your shoulder, grinned ear to ear. “One bed, huh? I guess we’ll just have to make do.”

Suguru’s lips twitched upward, his eyes never leaving your face as he leaned casually against the doorframe. “Don’t worry, princess, we’re more than capable of sharing.”

You narrowed your eyes. “I’m not sleeping with you two.”

“Well, you’ll have to take the couch then,” Gojo said, his voice nonchalant as he shrugged out of his jacket. He was already taking the liberty of unbuckling his belt, clearly unbothered by the situation. “I mean, it's only fair. You’re the third wheel here, after all.”

You shot him a look, but your irritation only seemed to amuse him more. Suguru, ever the calculated one, just took a few steps into the room, his voice a low murmur.

“Is that what you really want, though?”

You hesitated, the weight of his gaze settling heavy on your skin. For a split second, you considered the thought—taking the couch, being left to your own space. But then you remembered the absurdity of the situation.

“Fine, you two share the bed,” you said, trying to maintain an air of calm that you definitely didn’t feel. “I’ll just make do.”

Gojo’s grin grew wider, and Suguru, still leaning against the doorframe, eyed you thoughtfully. His voice, now laced with something darker and more teasing, was just the right mix of sweet and dangerous.

“You sure you don’t want to be closer to us?” Suguru asked, his smile slow, deliberate. “You can always join us.”

You rolled your eyes, trying your hardest to ignore the blush creeping up your neck. “No thanks. I’m good.”

Gojo, of course, wasn’t about to let you get away that easily. “C’mon, don’t be shy. We won’t bite. Well, I won’t bite,” he added, giving Suguru a quick side-eye. “Suguru might.”

Suguru let out a soft chuckle, eyes twinkling in amusement as he slowly pulled the cover back on the bed, clearly making himself at home. You shot him a look of pure disbelief.

“Are you two seriously acting like this right now?”

Suguru ignored you, unbothered as ever, and Gojo wasn’t even trying to hide the fact that he was enjoying this. He flopped back on the bed, bouncing slightly before throwing one arm behind his head. “You know, if you wanted to snuggle up, all you had to do was ask.”

You refused to dignify that with a response. Instead, you turned on your heel and walked over to the couch, crossing your arms in the most nonchalant way you could manage—though, in truth, your heartbeat was racing in your chest.

Gojo’s voice carried over to you as you settled yourself uncomfortably on the couch. “You sure you’re okay out there, Shortstack? The couch isn’t the most comfortable place for someone like you.”

You smirked, resisting the urge to glance back at him. “I’ll be fine. Just make sure you don’t fall off the bed, ‘cause you’re the one who wanted to share.”

Suguru’s low chuckle rumbled from the bed. “And here I thought you were the one with no sense of humor. You’re not as stiff as you look, huh?”

You couldn’t help but roll your eyes. “This is the worst.”

Gojo’s grin, the same one that never quite seemed to fade, only grew. “Oh, don’t worry, it’ll be fun. We’ll all make it work. I mean, we’re gonna be stuck together for the next few days, might as well enjoy it, right?”

You shifted on the couch, still trying your best to ignore the way their voices seemed to surround you. The tension in the room was palpable, thick with unspoken things you couldn’t name. It wasn’t just the mission anymore. It was the way their teasing comments lingered, the way they towered over you, the way their presence filled every corner of the room.

You bit your lip, trying to fight off the flush creeping across your cheeks. They might be frustrating, but damn if they weren’t also impossible to ignore.

And that was exactly what made this situation the worst—and also, maybe, the most exciting.

The evening had fallen quickly over the city, painting the sky with hues of dark blue and orange. The tension from earlier in the room hadn’t fully dissipated, but it had been replaced by the warm exhaustion of the mission being over. You had stretched out on the couch, closing your eyes for just a moment—just long enough to take a breather, to let your mind wander.

But the moment you drifted into sleep, you were awoken by the unmistakable sound of Gojo’s voice.

"Princess, wake up," he said, a little too cheerfully. "We’ve got places to be."

You squinted against the blinding light that filled the room from the open window. There they were: both Gojo and Suguru standing in front of you, already dressed in their clothes, their presence too commanding for someone still recovering from a nap.

“What time is it?” you muttered, rubbing at your eyes. Your head felt a little too heavy, still clouded by the remnants of sleep.

“Time to stop napping and start living,” Gojo teased, walking over to you with an almost mischievous grin. “We’re going to hit a bar in Tokyo—mission’s done, and we still have time to kill before heading back. Come on, don’t leave us hanging.”

You groaned, still half-dazed. “A bar? I don’t even have any clothes to—"

“That’s the part we’ve got covered,” Suguru interrupted smoothly, holding up a bag that had been carefully placed beside the bed. He set it down in front of you. “We packed a little something for you.”

You stared at the bag, suspicion flooding your system as you hesitated. “You packed clothes for me?”

Gojo’s grin was wide and almost taunting. “Of course! How could we let our lovely second-year go out looking like she’s just woken up from a nap?”

Suguru, on the other hand, gave you that same quiet, knowing look, his lips curling ever so slightly. “Besides, I’m sure you’ll look great in whatever we chose.”

Your eyes narrowed, still unwilling to fully believe them. “You didn’t pack anything ridiculous, did you?”

“Oh, we did,” Gojo answered with a wink. “You’ll see.”

You looked from one boy to the other, your heart already racing for reasons you couldn’t quite place. But you were too tired to argue at this point—and besides, the prospect of a bar in Tokyo seemed to offer the perfect escape from the stress of the mission and the strange dynamics of your current situation.

“I’ll be quick,” you muttered, reluctantly standing up from the couch and walking over to the bag. You unzipped it slowly, not sure what to expect.

The idea of a night out with Gojo and Suguru was tempting, no doubt. But the prospect of navigating your... complicated relationship with the two boys while surrounded by Tokyo’s night-life made your stomach twist with nervous energy. You didn’t know why the idea of them watching you—teasing you—felt so different tonight. But the playful looks they exchanged earlier only made your pulse race a little faster, and now, here you were, left with a bag of clothes they so thoughtfully packed for you.

You hadn’t really expected much when you’d opened it, but you were definitely surprised by the black dress. It was simple but undeniably flattering, clinging to all the right places. It was a little out of your usual comfort zone, but the moment you slid it on, you couldn’t deny the effect it had on you. It fit like a glove, accentuating your curves, and as you caught a glimpse of yourself in the mirror, your breath hitched.

You hadn’t heard them at first—Gojo and Suguru were already dressed and ready, standing by the door, but the sound of their voices brought you back to the present.

"Princess, are you ready yet?" Gojo’s voice came from the other side of the door, playful, almost mocking. "We can’t leave without you. You’ve gotta hurry."

A faint blush crept up your neck at the sound of his teasing. You were still working on your makeup, your hand trembling slightly as you tried to concentrate on your eyeliner. You hadn’t realized how much their presence had affected you until now, and the attention you were already getting—just from their casual glances and playful comments—was enough to make your heart race.

You finished your makeup quickly, but as you adjusted your hair in the mirror, you couldn’t help but notice the way Gojo and Suguru both leaned against the door frame, watching you. They weren’t hiding it—both of them were staring, their eyes gliding over you like they were savoring the moment.

And gods, they looked good.

Gojo’s dress shirt was a crisp white, sleeves rolled up to his elbows, showing off the muscles in his forearms. His usual carefree grin tugged at the corner of his lips, his messy white hair falling perfectly around his face. He always looked like he’d just stepped out of a magazine, effortlessly perfect. But tonight, he looked even better somehow. His scent—clean, fresh, with just a hint of something that made your stomach flutter—drifted over to you as he leaned closer.

Suguru was just as handsome, but his approach was different. His black shirt fit snugly over his chest, the fabric stretching over his broad shoulders, his dark eyes gleaming with an intensity that made your breath hitch. He didn’t have to speak to command attention; it was in the quiet way he held himself. And the way he smelled—earthy and warm, like a soft cologne mixed with the slight scent of tobacco—was enough to make you feel all sorts of things you weren’t sure how to name.

You swallowed hard, trying to regain some composure.

“Are you ready, Shortstack?” Gojo’s voice was light, teasing, but there was an edge to it. His eyes lingered a little longer than necessary, and you felt the heat rise in your cheeks once again.

You took a deep breath and turned to gather your things. But as you did, Gojo’s playful voice followed you. “Hurry up, or I might just have to carry you out of here.”

Suguru raised an eyebrow. “Well, well. Look at you.”

Gojo smirked. “I told you, Suguru. She cleans up nice.”

You quickly tried to look away, but you could feel Suguru’s gaze settle on you. “You look stunning,” he murmured, his tone more serious than Gojo’s, but no less intense. “Definitely glad we packed that for you.”

You shot him a glare over your shoulder, but it was hard to stay mad when the air between the three of you was thick with something unspoken. Something that felt like it was just waiting to spill over. You grabbed your things, took one last look in the mirror, and stepped out to face the boys once again.

You gave them both a quick, self-conscious smile. “Thanks.” The word came out softer than you intended, but their constant attention was making it hard to focus on anything else.

You rolled your eyes, trying to hide the way your heart was hammering in your chest. “Alright, enough with the compliments. Let’s just get this over with.”

Suguru chuckled softly, that low sound sending a shiver down your spine. “That’s the spirit.”

They were both so close now, practically crowding you, and you couldn’t help but feel the way their presence loomed over you. They had always been bigger—taller, more imposing—but tonight, the tension was palpable, thick in the air.

You tried to ignore it, focusing instead on the idea of getting out of this hotel room and into the bustling streets of Tokyo. But as you all stepped toward the door, Gojo’s hand brushed lightly against your back, sending a jolt of electricity through you.

Satoru glanced at you again, his lips curling into an almost imperceptible smile. “You look good enough to cause trouble.”

The way he said it, low and smooth, only made you feel that much more exposed, like the night was just beginning, and you had no idea where it would take you—or what might happen between the three of you.

But one thing was for sure. It was going to be a night to remember.

The bar buzzed with the low hum of conversation, the faint clink of glasses, and the soft thrum of music filling the air. You sat between Gojo and Suguru, the two of them practically towering over you as they leaned in, their attention entirely on you. The dark interior of the bar, lit only by neon signs and dim pendant lights, seemed to accentuate the heat between the three of you. You couldn’t remember the last time you’d felt so… exposed.

Gojo had already ordered you your first drink—a bright pink cocktail that looked as sweet as it tasted. Suguru had followed suit, making sure your glass was never too empty. They kept a close eye on you all night, their eyes wandering over you with that familiar mischievous glint. And though their presence was more than enough to keep you on edge, there was something about tonight that felt different. Maybe it was the drinks, the way they’d kept fending off advances from other men, or maybe it was simply the atmosphere—the one where things that had once been so casual were beginning to feel more… intimate.

You could hardly focus on the conversation as both of them leaned in every now and then, their voices low and teasing, keeping the flirtation between you alive. Gojo had a habit of making the smallest comments, his voice light and mocking, but the way he looked at you spoke volumes. Suguru, on the other hand, was quieter, his glances more deliberate, his words slower, as if savoring every moment. Every time he’d catch your eye, his lips would curl up just slightly, like he was enjoying the power he had over you.

"How are you holding up, Shortstack?" Gojo’s voice broke through your thoughts. You could feel his body pressing close as his arm slid over the back of your chair, almost touching your shoulders. "You look like you might need another drink," he teased, his fingers brushing against the back of your neck lightly.

You could feel the heat of your face rising, your heartbeat speeding up as he leaned in a little closer. "I’m fine," you murmured, trying to sound unaffected by his proximity. But it was hard to ignore the weight of his presence.

“Fine? Nah, I don’t think so,” Gojo chuckled, pouring you another drink. The sound of the liquid filling the glass was almost too loud, the slight tilt of his head making you acutely aware of his gaze. “You’ve gotta have a good time tonight, y’know. You’re our guest.”

Suguru watched you, his eyes soft but knowing, almost predatory. “I think she’s enjoying herself, Gojo,” he commented, a playful edge to his tone. “You’re just distracting her, like always.” His hand brushed against yours as he reached for his own drink, and you could have sworn you felt a spark at the touch.

You tried to ignore the heat rising in your chest, but it was hard when the two of them were so effortlessly close. Suguru leaned in, his breath brushing your ear as he whispered, “Besides, it’s hard not to enjoy yourself when you’re surrounded by two handsome men like us.”

Your blush deepened. “I—stop it.” You stammered, trying to focus on your drink but completely aware of how the space between the three of you seemed to shrink with every passing second.

But just as you were about to try and regain some semblance of composure, a man from across the bar sauntered over, his gaze lingering on you in a way that made you immediately uncomfortable. He flashed a smile, completely unaware of the two towering figures beside you. “Hey there,” he said, leaning a little too close for comfort. “You look like you could use some company.”

Before you could even react, Gojo’s arm shot out, effortlessly blocking the man’s path. “You’re a little too close, pal,” Gojo said, his voice low and dangerous despite the lazy smirk on his face. “She’s already taken care of, so why don’t you get lost?”

The guy stumbled back, clearly intimidated by Gojo’s imposing presence, but he wasn’t ready to give up just yet. He turned to Suguru, giving him a look of challenge. “What, you two think she belongs to you? You can’t just claim her”

Gojo's smile didn't reach his eyes anymore; instead, it was cold, the kind of smile that promised nothing but danger. "I don't think I can. I already have, so why dont you fuck off?." His posture remained loose, but the tension in his shoulders was palpable.

Suguru didn’t even flinch, his gaze steady and calm. “One thing is for sure ” he replied smoothly, his voice a silky whisper. “She certainly doesn’t belong to you, so I’d suggest you step off before we make you.”

The man hesitated, then seemed to reconsider. With a glare at the three of you, he backed off, retreating into the crowd of the bar. You were left with a sense of relief, but also—surprisingly—something else. A feeling of possession, of being protected by them in a way that was... unexpected.

You let out a breath you hadn’t realized you were holding, and Gojo leaned in close again, his lips brushing against your ear as he chuckled. “Don’t worry, Shortstack. We’ve got you covered.” His voice was so casual, yet there was a hint of something darker beneath it.

Gojo casually swirled the drink in his hand, flashing you a look of reassurance, though the amusement still danced in his eyes. "You don’t have to worry about guys like that." He raised his glass to you, the playful glint in his eyes returning. "Not when you’ve got us around.”

Suguru didn’t say anything, but his fingers grazed the back of your hand, and the look he gave you spoke volumes. He wasn’t angry, just... satisfied. And the way his fingers lingered there, just for a second too long, sent another wave of heat through your body.

The atmosphere between the three of you had shifted once more, the protective nature of the boys now taking center stage. The tension was still there, palpable, but there was a subtle, deeper understanding that lingered in the air—a silent acknowledgment that tonight, you weren’t just a guest in their presence. You were theirs to look after, and no one would dare come between that.

Geto’s voice broke the silence as he grinned mischievously, that familiar carefree energy returning. "Now, how about we forget about that loser and have a little fun, huh?"

But even as he said it, Suguru's gaze lingered on you for a moment longer, something darker and more intent flashing in his eyes before he looked away with a quiet smile. There was no more teasing in his voice now. It was just the quiet certainty of a man who knew exactly what he wanted—and that tonight, you were a part of it.

You couldn’t help but laugh, though the tension still simmered in the air. It was like everything was slowly starting to shift—the jokes, the teasing, all of it suddenly carrying more weight. The night was just beginning, and as the boys took their seats back beside you, the reality of the situation slowly began to sink in.

It wasn’t just a night out anymore. It was a night with them—and somehow, you weren’t sure how much more of this teasing you could take before you gave in to the attraction you were trying so hard to ignore.

The night seems to stretch on, the air between the three of you thick with an intoxicating mixture of alcohol and unspoken intentions. The bar has started to quiet down a little, leaving you, Gojo, and Suguru in a cozy, dimly lit corner booth. The buzz of the crowd and the clinking of glasses fades as the attention in the room becomes drawn solely to the three of you.

Gojo’s gaze hasn’t left you since the awkward interaction with the other guy. It’s almost unsettling how intense it is, that smile of his never fading—yet it’s darker now, more calculating. His eyes flicker between your lips and your eyes, a knowing glint dancing in them.

“So, You gonna flirt back?” he asks, his voice teasing, his finger tracing the rim of his glass idly. "Or are you letting us do all the work tonight?” He’s giving you that playful challenge, and the way he says it feels like a dare.

Before you can even answer, Suguru’s voice slides in from your other side, smooth and almost coaxing. “She doesn’t need to answer that,” he says with a smirk, leaning in just a little, the scent of his cologne—warm, woodsy, and faintly spicy—invading your senses. "The question is, what would you do if we decided to spoil you a little more tonight?” His voice dips lower as he lets the words linger, making it clear he’s not just talking about drinks anymore.

Your stomach flutters, your pulse quickening despite your best efforts to stay calm. They’re practically taking turns pulling you in, weaving their words like a careful trap. And you’re in it, stuck between them in a way you don’t quite know how to escape. Or maybe you don’t want to.

You shift uncomfortably in your seat, suddenly hyper-aware of how close they’re both sitting. Gojo, as always, is close enough to brush against your side with the slightest movement, his long legs stretching across the booth like he owns the entire space. Suguru, on the other hand, remains a little more composed but no less overwhelming. His hand rests on the edge of the table, close enough that his fingers are mere inches from your own.

You try to focus on the conversation, but it’s impossible. They’re both watching you, waiting for your reaction, and the constant pull between them is starting to feel like an endless game. A game you never agreed to play but are somehow already losing.

Suguru leans in a little further, his breath warm against your ear as he whispers, “Don’t act like you’re not enjoying this. We’re here for you, after all.” His words are teasing, but there’s an edge to them—an underlying current of something darker.

You feel a shiver run down your spine as your face flushes. "I—" you start to speak, but the words catch in your throat.

Gojo cuts in before you can finish, leaning over, his lips just a little too close to your ear as he adds, “You’re cute when you get flustered. But you’ve been doing this all night—trying to act like you’re not interested.” He chuckles softly, the sound rich with amusement. “We both know better, don’t we?”

Suguru grins, clearly enjoying the way your face turns even redder. “It’s funny,” he says casually, his voice rich with playful arrogance. “You think you can hide it from us, but we know exactly what you’re feeling.”

It’s suffocating, the way they speak to you—so confident, so sure. And yet, you can’t bring yourself to pull away. You can’t even look away. The way they hover over you, leaning in just enough to make you feel small and breathless, it’s like they’ve wrapped you up in a web of their own making.

Gojo, noticing your silence, tilts his head, his eyes gleaming with mischief. “What’s the matter, princess? Too shy to admit you like the attention? Come on, we won’t bite,” he teases, but his voice holds that knowing lilt, like he knows exactly how you feel.

Suguru leans back in his seat, but his gaze is still laser-focused on you, watching your every move. “We can take it slow,” he offers with a raised brow. “But we both know it’s not really about that. You want this—just as much as we do.” His smile is almost predatory, but there’s still that warmth, that care that lingers in his tone.

Your breath hitches, caught between their words and the heat building in your chest. You wish you could escape the intensity of it all, but there’s no way to. They’ve drawn you in, and now you’re at their mercy, just as much a part of this as they are.

Gojo’s finger taps lightly on the edge of his glass, drawing your attention once again. “You still haven’t told us what you want,” he teases, his voice a soft, persistent tug on your nerves. “So, let’s make this easy. Do you want us to keep the night going, or are you too shy to keep up?”

Suguru doesn’t even wait for an answer, leaning in once more and catching your lips with his eyes. “You don’t have to answer right away,” he murmurs, his voice calm yet daring. “But we’re both getting impatient.”

It’s too much, too close, and the teasing undercurrent between them is almost palpable. And now you’re stuck, caught in the web of their attention, unable to say anything but let yourself be swept along by their ever-increasing energy.

You’re trapped—and it feels so good.

The door clicks shut behind you as the three of you enter the hotel room. The air is thick with anticipation, the weight of the night’s flirtations following you inside. It’s a quiet room, but the tension is palpable, humming in the space between you.

Before you can even take a breath, both of them are there. Gojo’s hand finds your back, pressing you gently but firmly toward him, while Suguru is right beside you, his fingers brushing against your arm like a whisper of heat. Their proximity is overwhelming, and the alcohol still courses through your veins, making everything feel just a little more intense, a little more exciting.

“Had enough of the crowds?” Gojo murmurs, his voice low, eyes glittering behind those dark shades he hasn’t bothered to take off yet. It’s a teasing question, but his smirk says he already knows the answer.

Suguru’s gaze is steady, but there’s something there, something that makes your stomach flip. “Think you’re ready for some quiet time?” he asks, his voice so smooth it feels like velvet on your skin. His hand brushes across your hip, sending a shiver up your spine.

You feel like you’re caught between them—enticed, but unsure. It’s all so overwhelming, yet thrilling.

Before you can gather your bearings, Gojo steps closer, tipping your chin up with his finger. The heat from his body radiates off him, his lips barely a breath away. “You’ve been a good girl tonight, haven’t you?” His voice drops lower, a hint of challenge in it.

Suguru, always in tune with Gojo, leans in, his lips brushing against your ear as he whispers, “He’s right, you’ve been so good, letting us treat you like this.” His breath is warm against your skin, and you feel that same flutter in your chest that’s become all too familiar.

The room is thick with desire, and for a moment, the world outside of this hotel room feels miles away. There’s no more playful banter now, just an unspoken understanding between the three of you that tonight is something different.

Gojo moves first, the gentle touch of his hand on your neck sending a spark through your entire body. Slowly, deliberately, he presses his lips against yours, soft at first, as though testing the waters. The kiss deepens, and you feel his hand slide to the back of your neck, anchoring you against him. You can’t help but melt into it, the tension of the night finally snapping, leaving only the heat between the three of you.

Suguru’s hand moves to your waist, pulling you in closer as he places his lips against your temple, his warm breath a soft contrast to the intensity of Gojo’s kiss. You’re surrounded, engulfed in warmth and longing, and for a brief moment, it feels like nothing else matters.

When Gojo pulls back, his lips leaving yours with a faint trace of a smile, Suguru is there, his eyes dark, a satisfied glint dancing in them. “Told you, didn’t we?” he murmurs softly, brushing your cheek with his thumb.

It’s not just a kiss. It’s a promise of something more, something unspoken but undeniable.

“Knew you were going to end up like this for us” Suguru murmurs into you skin, he lips kissing gently across your cheeks until he reaches your lips, snatching them up in a kiss. His kiss is different to Gojo’s, gentler. Still with the bubbling undertone of want that flowed through the air.

You were hot, and definitely drunk, but you weren’t so sure it was from the alcohol anymore. Their kisses addictive.

Slowly the men managed to shift you through the room, never removing themselves from your body. Small steps guiding you towards the bed as they set you down, sitting either side of you, kissing their way down your neck. It was overwhelming in the best way possible, it was like all your senses where hyper focused on Gojo and Geto. Goosebumps prickled over you skin as they made their way down your neck. Still in sync, but each of their movement carry characteristics of each men. Gojo moved quicker, more eager. Not leaving a single patch of skin on your neck un-kissed. Nipping and biting at the skin as he went. Geto was slower, taking him time to litter kisses all over, stopping momentarily to suck on certain spots on your neck. Settling on the sweet spot right near your pulse point that had you moaning breathily.

Geto’s hand was the first to touch you, his hand resting on your knee, caressing your thigh, Gojo was next, his hand travelling further and further up your leg teasingly. Both of the men listening intently to your reactions to their touches.

Your head tipping back allowing them more access to ravage you skin with marks, Gojo’s kissing travelling further down towards your breasts, kissing the skin that poked out the neckline of your dress. His hand dancing daringly close to where you needed it. Further and further up your thigh until it ghosted over your panties. His hand gathering the material of your dress.

The sharp gasp you let out telling all the men they needed to know as they pulled away from your neck. You were speechless. Both of them unbuttoning the shirts they had on, and as fucking amazing they looked with them on, they looked even better with them off.

The air in the room is thick with the remnants of the kiss, your heartbeat still racing in your chest as you try to steady yourself. Gojo and Suguru are standing there, shirtless, their broad chests and toned muscles on full display. They move with such confidence, it feels almost like they’re daring you to react. And you do—because, despite yourself, you can’t look away. It’s like you can still feel them on your skin, its burning from their touch.

Gojo, ever the cocky one, leans against the doorframe, arms crossed over his chest. His eyes are locked on yours, a lazy grin curling on his lips as he surveys you from head to toe. “Still catching your breath, huh?” he teases, voice dripping with amusement. “Take all the time you need, sweetheart. It’s cute when you’re flustered.”

Suguru sits on the bed, his posture relaxed, but his eyes burn with an intensity that makes your stomach flip. He’s got that knowing look on his face, the one that says he’s completely in control of the situation, and the fact that you can’t help but notice only fuels his confidence. He leans forward, resting his elbows on his knees. “You’ve been staring at us, sweets,” he says, his voice low and purposeful. “It’s okay. You’re allowed to look. Just don’t forget, we’re used to being the center of attention.”

Gojo chuckles at Suguru’s words, his grin widening as he takes a step closer. “That’s right. But don’t worry, we don’t mind sharing,” he adds, his voice light but with that edge of something darker, something more calculated. “After all, you’ve been a little shy tonight, haven’t you? Hiding behind your cool exterior, pretending like you’re not into us.”

Suguru stands up, moving toward you with the same fluid, predatory grace that’s become second nature to him. His eyes never leave you, his smile never faltering. “But we see through that act, princess,” he says softly, stepping into your personal space. “We know what you really want. You can stop pretending now.”

Gojo follows, closing the gap between you with his signature cocky swagger. He leans in just enough that you can feel the heat radiating from him, his presence overwhelming. “You’ve been teasing us all night, haven’t you?” he murmurs, his voice dropping low. “You know what you’re doing. Playing hard to get. But we’re not the type to let you get away with it for long.”

Suguru’s fingers graze the side of your arm, sending a shiver down your spine as his eyes flicker to your lips before meeting your gaze again. “You’re not the only one with patience,” he says, a smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. “But even we have limits.”

Gojo laughs, the sound rich and low, a teasing note laced through it. “It’s alright, sweetheart. We get it. You’re just waiting for us to make the first move, right?” His finger lightly brushes your chin, lifting your face so you have no choice but to meet his gaze. “Well, you don’t have to wait anymore.”

Suguru steps closer, his breath warm on your neck as he leans in just enough for you to feel his presence. “You’ve been looking at us all night,” he murmurs, his tone full of heat. “And now, you’re going to get exactly what you want.”

Their words hang in the air, heavy with meaning, their proximity making it harder and harder to think straight. Your breath catches in your throat as they tower over you, teasing you with their words, their bodies, and their shared understanding of the game you’re all playing.

It’s almost as if they’ve been waiting for this moment, for you to crack, to let go of the wall you’ve built around yourself. And with every passing second, it’s becoming harder to resist the pull they’re creating.

You know what they’re doing, but somehow, it only makes the tension more unbearable.

They are the first to move, Satoru sitting on the bed, pulling you so you sat in his lap, your back pressed against his muscular chest. You went to protest, confusion on your features but Suguru is beating you to it

“Shhh sweets, just relax for us” Us. As much as you didnt want it to, that turned you on. You allowed Satoru to manhandle you into his lap as Geto positioned himself between your legs on the bed. Holy fuck, this was way to erotic for your mind to handle.

Satoru’s long fingers swiped their way down to your breasts, kneading the soft flash over the material of your dress. Your pink lips being brought between your teeth, you couldnt help but bite on the flesh, trying to stifle your moans. That didn’t’ t last for much longer however, when you glanced down to see Suguru peeling your panties down your thighs, his eyes glued onto your dripping entrance. You had never felt so vulnerable before, but it wasn;t uncomfortable. You just couldnt believe you were revealing yourselves to them like this. Your mind was cut shirt, not given the chance to over think and Gojo slips your tits out of your dress. Pulling the material down and allowing them to spill out. A light moan leaving his mouth as he plays with the skin.

“Damn baby, can’t believe you were hiding all this from us for so long, you’re so pretty.” He whispers, his lips tickling your ear as he spoke. His words resonating deep within you, prickling your skin as his touch never ceased.

“Fucking perfect” Suguru echos, agreeing with his friend. He sounds a lot more… feral however, his mouth hovering so close to where you needed him, but he wasn’t going to just dive in. He had to savour this moment. His fingers pulling at your skin gently, admiring your already slick folds, shining in the dim light of the room. Quietly groaning to himself as your writhed under his touch. It was so light, bordering on teasing.

He couldn’t stop himself from running a finger through your folds, gathering your slick on the tip, before bringing the digit up to his lips, and sucking slowly. All while never breaking eyecontact with you, teasing fuck.

You whines pathetically, you were sure why, maybe to beg for more, maybe because of satoru’s fingers rolling your nipples so cruelly. Or maybe that fucking look Geto was giving you as he sucked his fingers clean.

“You even taste perfect sweets.” He groaned out, almost like he was expecting this. He wasted not a second more, large hands gripping your hips, pushing the material of your skirt over your hips before diving in. He tried to start of slow - he really did. Taking little kitten licks, that then turned into thick stripes. But that wasnt enough, he wanted you to suffocate him, he didn’t want to be able to think about anything else but that sweet little cunt you had been hiding from him.

You couldn’t help but cry out in shock, your hand trying to grasp at his hair. Geto did the best he could to hold you still, recieving no help from Gojo who was too busy playing with your tits and chuckling at the noises you were making.

“F-Fuck! Suguru” You yelp, his tongue never slowing in its movements. He was devouring you, using his hands to push your further down onto his face.

He was already covered. Your slick dripping down his face as he moved messily. He didnt even care, he wanted it so bad. His nose bumping against you clit with each sloppy kiss he left against you cunt. Sucking on your pussy so happily. Groaning as you tugged on his hair so sweetly trying to get him to slow down. That was never going to happen

“Relax sweetheart, jus’ let him make you feel good, hmm?” Gojo whispered to you, pressing a sweet kiss to your head as you moaned out. God it was good, it was too good. The way you were the centre of attention was making your head spin. Satoru trailing hot kisses down your neck as he squeezed your nipple, loving the way you cried out from overstimulation. “Fucking love these tits”

You coul do nothing but just lie there and take what they were giving to you. Just accepting the way they were sharing you between them. Gojo was trying to calm you, cooing in your ear so sweetly, like he wasnt part of the reason tears of pleasure were brewing in your eyes. You must have looked a mess you thought, but to Satoru, you had never looked more perfect. Glossy eyes, puffy lips and his marks all over you. And god your tits, they were teasing him all night, poking out of the top of your dress like they were begging to be released. He moaned as he fondled them, his hands cupping them with a hunger. The way your nipples perked as soon as he got his hands on them, he never wanted to forget this sight.

You could already feel your orgasm building, you had never cum this quick before. That delicious sensation building in your abdomen as both them men continued their attacks on you. Suguru had been pretty silent in comparison to Gojo’s constant rambling. The only noises you could hear was crude slurps and groans. You wriggled in his grip as your orgasm approached, the pleasure increasing with each swipe of his tongue.

“Satoru - ahh - sugu-“ You were trying so hard to form a sentence, not sure who you were trying to talk to.

“Awh you close already baby. Didn’t take long.” Gojo’s syrupy voice rang out in your ear once again, and you could swear the sound was pushing you even closer “You hear that Suguru, she’s close. Should we let her cum?”

Panic flies through you, they wouldn’t stop you right? You’re so close! Oh god please, they couldn’t

For the first time Suguru poked his head up, his fingers replacing his tongue, swirling over your puffy clit.

“M’ not sure. She’s been teasing us all night, don’t think she deserves it.” He grinning at you, smug. His face glistening with your slick as he speaks. That image you wanted to live in your head forever. Stray strands of hair floating in his face, gos he looked fucking angelic.

“True, she’s not been a very good girl for us” Gojo responds, and you can hear the shit eating grin in his voice. It was like they couldn’t hear your desperate whines. Discussing you as if you weren’t being destroyed by them both in that very moment, Gojo’s hands still massaging you tits as he shared a grin with Geto

“Not sure if I can keep away from her sweet little pussy though, she’s calling me back already.” The squelching of your soaked cunt floating through the room.

“No no no- Please!” Yo couldnt stop yourself from begging. They couldn’t leave you teetering on the edge like this, you needed to cum. Needed them to make you cum. “Please! D-Don’t stop!”

“What was that sweets? Please what?” Geto glances at you, that stupid smirk still gracing his features. He wanted you to beg, it was written all over him.

All the previous fight in you had gone, you didn’t have it in you to resist them anymore. “Please- make me cum! Fuck- need it”

“She even used her manners” Gojo chimes in once more, you’d slap the sarcastic bastard if he wasn’t making you shiver right now “You need it huh? How bad?”

“So bad ‘Toru! Please” Hoping the white haired man would show you some mercy.

“Oh yeah? What about me?” Suguru’s fingers dropped from your begging cunt, and your eyes snapped to him in a silent plea

“You too sugu, need you both.”

“There we go” And that smug grin between your legs was the last thing you saw before your eyes screwed shut. They were keeping you on the edge. But now, nothing could stop your orgasm from hitting you, hard.

You weren’t even sure what you were saying, screaming out both their names in a broken symphony, mixed in with a string of curses as your came. Your legs fucking shaking around Geto ‘s head, but that didn’t stop him. He was riding out your high along with Gojo, who was talking you through it so sweetly.

“Oh good girl, feels good huh?”

Whining was the only thing he got in response as the pleasure wracked your body. Practically quivering as your soaked Geto’s face.

Stupidly, you thought they might give you a second to recover, you were wrong. You were still laying there panting as Gojo was manhandling you once more. It was like you weighed nothing to him. He was careful with you as you mewled. Turning you over, picking you up and helping you onto all fours, facing the end of the bed.

“You ready for round 2?” Geto ‘s face appeared in front of yours as he asked you softly, stroking your slightly damp hair. Your legs were still quivering as you tried to catch your breath. Your fucked out eyes lifting to meet his. You nodded quickly, not trusting your voice. He couldn’t help but chuckle

The men had swapped sides now, Gojo now placing himself between your legs as Geto was at your front. When you saw the dark haired man towering over you, you understood your current position. The kind and gentle look in his eyes moment ago, now replaced with something darker, hungrier.

You stared shamelessly as he unzipped his trousers, hearing Gojo do the same from behind you on the bed.

It was a good view you couldnt deny, his muscles defined by the low lighting, you stared at the vines in his arms popping as he rid himself of his trousers. His v-line teasing you as he pulled down his boxers. But nothing beat the sight of what came next. His cock sprung free, his hand stoking it slowly as his eyes never left you face. He was big, you had no idea how you were going to fit that in your mouth, and if Gojo was anything similar, you were in serious trouble

“Don’t look so nervous baby, we’ll be gentle” Suguru soothes, but the look in his eyes tells you the opposite.

“I don’t know Suguru, I want to break this pretty pussy in half” Gojo drawls, mesmerised by the sight before him. Your puffy pussy glistening, inviting him in. His hands tracing over the skin of your ass, squeezing the flesh. Before giving it a slap, watching as red splotches grace the skin.

“Be nice Satoru” Geto warns him, but you can hear the smile in his voice

“I always am…” That was a lie. You knew he was mean, just by the way he was rubbing his weeping tip through your folds.

You whined at the sensation, still overly sensitive from your orgasm just seconds ago. Suguru’s hand rested on top of your head, drawing your attention to him

“You ready?” He asked once more, making sure they weren’t pushing you too far. But to you, it wasnt enough. “Yes” your voice rang out, hoarsely

“Good, now open.” The command was simple, and you followed it eagerly. Your tongue lolling out as you waited for him.

Slowly he lined himself up with your mouth, resting his heavy tip on your tongue as he slid in, inch by inch into you. That gentle hand on your head now gripping your hair as he fucked your mouth, his hips slowly rocking back and forth as he was kind enough to give you some time to adjust.

“No fair, we should’ve started at the same time” Gojo complained from beind you but Geto was far to occupied to care about Hi childish complaints

He laughed out dryly “shut up Satoru”

Satoru didnt even bother to respond, too busy sinking his cock inside of you, he was less slow that Geto . Eager to be wrapped inside of your welcoming walls. The groan that left him was sinful as he fully sheathed himself inside you. He paused like that for a moment, breathing deeply, before his hips snapped into you again, and again, and again.

You moaned around Geto’s cock, being cut off each time he hit that back of your throat. Both the men still in sync as per usual, their thrusts following the same pace as they destroyed you. Your dress still scrunched around your middle, your ass completely out, along with your tits.

Gojo’s hands on your hips, using them to pull you back into each thrust, ensuring he was hitting as deep as he could each time. His shakey breaths could be heard over your shoulder, broken up by shuddering groans

“Shit- you weren’t lying sugu, this pussy-“ Gojo was struggling to keep himself together, struggling not to get lost in your body as he rambled on. He was watching himself, watching as he entered you pussy with such ease, watching as yout tried to suck him back in each time he pulled out. He was in heaven.

“Told you- s’fuckin’ perfect.” He gritted out. He was trying not to bully himself into the back of your throat, but god. You were taking him so well. Your eyes watering, stray tears falling down your face as he moved. Doing you best to suck his soul. Every now and your voice vibrating against his cock as you moaned. You while body shaking as your arms tried to support yourself.

Veins popping all over his flawless skin, poking through his hands as his grip on your hair never faulters, using you as an anchor to ground himself, trying to hold back. Veins bulging in his neck as he strains, doing everything he can to not cum early, he wants to enjoy this for as long as he can. But with how hard he’s been all evening, he doesnt know how he is going to last like this. The way your tongue glides up and down his shaft, tracing over the jagged veins that run up his base. The noises you make every time he hits the back of your throat. Those hollowed cheeks, wrapped around him so perfectly.

He couldn’t quite believe his luck, having you beneath him so sweetly while you allowed yourself to be shared between him and his best friend. Him and Satoru had always spoken about this, on nights where it was just them, sharing a beer. When they were discussing their classmates and the conversation would fall onto you. At first they would joke about you, how you could be a bit of a brat. Always whining at their jokes, nagging them. Then Satoru made a comment about your body, and the conversation took a turn. Discussing how they would share you, how tight you would be for them, how you would sound when they got their hands on you, what you would let them do to you. To say it was better than they imagined would be an understatement. Both men going home after that evening with an achingly hard cock, that conversation putting an imagine in their mind that they couldn’t escape.

Satoru was doing no better than Suguru in trying to keep himself in control. In fact he was finding it incredibly difficult. His hands never stopping, grabbing, caressing and stoking any part of you that he could get his hands on. The skin of your ass prickled with red and pink marks from where his large hands had been getting rough with you. Hand shaped prints on both your hips from where he had been gripping you so tightly. This was better than he had imagined, all those nights spent with his hand around his cock could not compare to how you felt right now. How natural it felt to be inside you. He never wanted to leave. You didnt want him to either. His cock repeatedly hitting that sweet spot inside of you, you could hardly control the noises you were making, despite them being muffled by Suguru’s cock.

Finally Satoru ‘s hand found your clit. Gentle ghosting over the puffy bundle of nerves at first, fingertips getting coated in you juices. You jolted forwards at the sensation, every part of you feeling so sensitive to his touch. Geto choked out a moan, you sudden movement causing you to take him deep, your nose brushing against the skin on his stomach. Gojo did it again, a smile on his face. One more you let out a muffled yelp, moving away from his hands, trying to escape the stimulation.

“F-fucking hell- think she liked that.” Suguru chokes out. He’s getting too close now, and your sudden movements forward aren’t helping him

“Oh y-yeah? That feel good sweets?” One again his cruel fingers roll over your clit, applying more pressure this time. If you weren’t getting some of the best dick of your life you would make fun on the stuttering men, but you weren’t exactly keeping your composure either. This time however, gojos other hand was wrapped tightly around your waist, stopping any escape plan you had, forcing you to seat there and take what his was giving to you as you screamed out pathetically around Geto’s cock.

“Nuh-uh, don’t run from it. Just take it baby.” He’s cooing at you, and you obey. Succumbing to the pleasure. His fingers moving in fast circles around the bundle of nerves and you feel like youre going to explode. Your legs shaking, your hips trying to buck away from his movements, but your stuck there as he impales you on his cock. Once again you can feel an orgasm building, quickly and sharply in your stomach. Hot tears continuing to roll down your cheeks, dragging your makeup of the night with them.

“That’s it, let it out baby.” Geto spots the tears, stroking them gently from your face, his actions contrasting the harsh thrusting of his cock in your mouth

And there not much you can do to stop your orgasm as it crashed over you. Fucking wrecking you.

Eyes squeezing shut tightly as you convulse, unable to still yourself as you clench tightly around gojos cock. You cum hard, juices flowing around Gojo’s cock, overspilling around the edges and coating his abdomen as his thrusts never stop. Both of the men moaning as they watched you, you looked absolutely stunning like this, completely falling apart beneath them.

Your loud moans vibrating down Geto ‘s shaft, and he cant stop himself. He cums down your throat, his hips pushing as deep as they can into your mouth as thick ropes of cum trickle onto your tongue, you swallow it down greedily without a second thought, still sucking when he’s done. His harsh breathing and cut off moans letting you know he’s finished

“Fuck-“ he curses with a groan as he pulls out from your mouth. Watching you gasp for air now.

Gojo still hadn’t stopped, his hips punishing you even after your second orgasm. Your arms couldnt take it anymore, buckling underneath you leaving your face planted into the mattress as you scream out. The overstimulation so good it almost hurt.

“Easy Gojo, be gentle.” Geto pants out, watching his best friend basically fuck the life out of you. Satoru had gone silent now, purely focused on chasing his release that was ever nearing.

“A-almost done baby.” He gasps out as you squeeze him “hafta cum in this sweet pussy”

And cum he did.

His hips stuttering as he fucks his cum deep inside you. Hot spurts of white coating you walls as he fucks himself deeper and deeper. Releasing with a broken groan. His legs almost shaking just like yours

Pulling out and staring in awe as his cum drips out of you, trailing down your puffy folds in elegant drops.

You didn’t end up needing to sleep on the couch that evening, the bed fit all three of you perfectly fine, especially when you were wrapped up in their arms for the whole night. You werent sure what this meant for you from now on, but you couldn’t find it in yourself to care after tonight

Principal Yaga’s office was dimly lit as usual, the soft glow of the desk lamp casting shadows on the piles of documents and mission reports. You stood before his desk, flanked by Satoru and Suguru. The air in the room felt heavier than usual, though you suspected it had less to do with the mission and more to do with the recent... developments between you and the boys. You were here to go over the end of mission report

Yaga leaned back in his chair, his fingers steepled together as he looked over the three of you. “Well, I’ve got to say, you handled that mission well. Minimal collateral damage, objectives met, and no major injuries.” His tone was gruff but approving.

“Of course we did,” Satoru said, his signature grin plastered on his face. “You’re looking at the dream team here.”

Suguru chuckled beside you, his voice smooth as always. “It helps when you’ve got the strongest second-year on your side.” He shot you a look, the corner of his mouth quirking up just enough to make your pulse quicken.

You fought to keep your face neutral, your fingers tightening slightly at your sides. The tension was suffocating.

Yaga narrowed his eyes, clearly picking up on the strange energy in the room. “Something’s different,” he muttered, his gaze flicking between the three of you. “Usually, you two can’t stop bickering. And now you’re practically glowing with camaraderie. What gives?”

“Oh, you know…” Satoru began, his voice dripping with mischief. He stretched his arms behind his head, his casual posture doing nothing to hide the smug glint in his eyes. “We just… found some things to bond over on the trip.” His eyes flitting over to your with a knowing wink.

Suguru hummed in agreement, crossing his arms as he leaned against the desk. “Yeah, turns out, spending a few nights together can really bring people closer.” His voice was calm, but his smirk was anything but innocent.

Your stomach flipped as Yaga’s eyes narrowed further, suspicion practically radiating off him. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Oh, nothing, nothing!” Satoru waved a hand dismissively, though the grin splitting his face betrayed him. “We’re just saying, you throw three people in a high-pressure situation, and sometimes… sparks fly.”

Suguru let out a low laugh, the sound sending a shiver down your spine. “It’s teamwork, Yaga. Pure, unadulterated teamwork.”

You cleared your throat, desperate to regain some semblance of normalcy. “Right. We just worked really well together, is all. Nothing to… overthink.”

All you could do was think, think about what happened, their hands on you. You could feel your face flushing, clearing your throat as you tried to regain composure

Yaga stared at you for a long moment, his brows furrowed, before letting out a heavy sigh. “Whatever. As long as the job’s done, I don’t care how you got along.” He rubbed his temples as though already regretting his decision. “Dismissed.”

The three of you turned to leave, but not before you caught the shared glance between Satoru and Suguru, their eyes gleaming with unspoken amusement.

As the office door closed behind you, Satoru leaned down, his voice low and teasing in your ear. “See? Told you we’d sell it.”

Suguru smirked, his hand brushing against yours as you walked. “Though I think Yaga might still have questions.”

Your face burned as you quickened your pace, ignoring the way your heart betrayed you with every beat. What on earth had you gotten yourself into?

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crystalelemental · 2 years ago

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Colress is actually the greatest sync pair of all time. I know my Lodge Rosa is EX now but holy shit. Carried to off type clear. The first is with permanent effects, including the reflect that keeps us well alive (Colress died to Earthquake), but even without that we could win. The accuracy drops let us evade tank a bit with H!Caitlin, who is already bonkers. I am just…so proud.

#sync pair testing #lodge rosa #Colress

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pomelace · 15 days ago

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a piece of sweetness

pairing: frank langdon x afab!intern reader

content warnings: no physical desciptors used for reader, reader is an intern, doesn't take place during the shows timeline, emotional distress and grief, guilt, vulnerability, little bit of angst, patient death, let me know if I missed anything!

magui speaks! : this is dedicated to anon who asked for more langdon fics. thank you for the request! this is part 2 of mouse and the redbull, part 3 will be out soon. I wrote this rather than study for my chem exam, so call me dedicated. as always, I hope you enjoy, and requests are always open.

word count: 2436

It's been weeks since the Red Bull. Weeks of long shifts and caffeine-stained charts, of you silently handing him pen lights and IV kits before he even asks. You're still the same—quiet, precise, invisible to most—but not to Frank.

He notices everything.

The way you tuck your pen behind your ear when you're focused.

The way you always triple-check every patient's med list.

The way you look up at him when you're unsure—but never ask.

He doesn’t say anything. He never does.

Words were never necessary with him.

Which is why it catches you off guard when Dr. Robby corners you before rounds, his voice too casual to mean nothing.

“You’re with me today,” he says, hands tucked into the pockets of his worn sweater.

You blink. “I’m usually with Dr. Langdon.”

“I know,” he replies, eyes already scanning his notes. “But you’ve been glued to him for weeks. Time to mix it up. Get to know the rest of us. Frank’s overdue to teach someone else anyway.”

You nod—because that’s what you do. But something settles heavy in your chest as you take your place among the others.

Frank doesn’t say anything when you fall in next to him. Just glances over—quick, unreadable—and then turns back to Dr. Robby as he launches into the morning briefing.

Maybe words were never necessary.

But this silence feels different. Louder. Sharper around the edges.

You half expect him to lean in, to say something under his breath—I’ll talk to Robby, or You’ll be back tomorrow—but he doesn’t.

He just lets the space stretch between you, like it means nothing at all.

𐔌 ﹒ ⋆ ꩜ ⋆ 𓂃 ₊ ⊹

Robby is patient.

He moves like he’s got fire in his lungs—sharp, deliberate, always ten steps ahead. He commands a room with a single glance, and somehow still finds time to teach you between traumas.

“Now I see why Frank kept you all to himself,” he said, showing you how to crack a chest like he’d done it a hundred times in his sleep

You learn a lot with him. He makes sure of it. But still—you’re always a half-second behind. Reacting instead of anticipating. You miss the rhythm you had with Frank, the silent sync only the two of you seemed to share.

You don’t realize how deeply you’ve adapted to him until you have to unlearn it.

When Robby asks for a kit, your hands stall. You hesitate—just long enough to feel it.

You’re not sure which one he means.

Frank wouldn’t have had to ask.

Robby doesn’t notice the pause—or if he does, he doesn’t say anything. He just points and keeps going, his voice calm but clipped, already three steps ahead again.

You hand him the right kit. Eventually. But the moment sticks with you.

With Frank, it was different. There were no words, just glances and gestures, and somehow you always knew what came next. He never needed to explain. You were in sync.

Now, every command feels like a test. Every silence feels like something you’re supposed to fill. You push through it. Robby is kind, in his own brisk way. He teaches well. He even smiles sometimes.

But at the end of the shift, when your scrubs are soaked through and your hands smell like antiseptic, it isn’t him you’re thinking about.

It was Frank.

And how, for the first time in weeks, he hadn’t even looked at you in the hallway.

You passed him again and again during shifts, but he didn’t flinch. Didn’t blink. Even when you were forced onto the same case, he moved around you like you weren’t there—focused solely on guiding his new intern, never sparing you so much as a glance.

You tried to ignore it—the tight pull in your stomach, the quiet ache that settled behind your ribs.

But it was there. Growing. Whispering.

Maybe you’d done something wrong.

You never asked. You couldn’t. Every time you stood near him—tried to spark even the smallest conversation—he found a reason to walk away. A clipped excuse, a sudden task, always without looking at you.

Eventually, you stopped trying.

And with time, you began to accept the quiet truth: maybe you’d never work with him again. The thought settled in your chest like something heavy, something final.

Days blurred into weeks. Weeks where your schedule bounced between Dr. Robby and Dr. Collins—never Langdon.

Not once.

You stopped expecting to see him during rounds. Stopped looking for him across the nurses’ station or listening for his voice during consults. You forced yourself to focus on the work—on Robby’s fast-paced cases and Collins’ long-winded lectures about doing the best thing for a patient.

But some habits die harder than others.

You still felt it—his absence. Not just the lack of words, but the missing weight of him at your side. The way you used to anticipate each other without speaking.

It was like losing a limb and learning how to walk again.

And you were having a hard time keeping yourself upright.

You haven’t been yourself today.

It starts with the wrong dosage on a chart—caught just in time, but still. Then a missed page. Then a patient, mid-thirties, chest pain, eyes wide with fear—and you swear you’re doing everything right.

You double-check vitals, repeat the ECG, call for backup, but nothing you do is enough. Minutes later, they code. And you can’t get them back.

It’s not your first loss. But for some reason, this one sits differently in your chest. Low. Heavy. Like wet concrete.

Dr. Robby assures you that there wasn't anything anyone could've done, that the patient was as good as dead the moment they were wheeled into the ER, but no words could help you forget the sound of the flatline.

The rest of the shift spirals after that.

Minor mistakes. Snapped words. You keep moving, but nothing feels like it lands right. It’s like you’re watching yourself from a few feet away, trying to climb back into your own skin and failing.

No one says anything, but you know they notice.

And Frank notices the most.

From the moment you lose your patient, you can feel his eyes on you, though he never approaches. He doesn’t say a word, doesn’t offer the usual reassuring confidence or distractions. Instead, he just watches—quietly, from a distance. And in that silence, you realize he sees it.

The cracks in your composure, the raw edges of your mind starting to fray. It’s a subtle thing, but you feel it all the same. He sees you breaking, even when you wish he wouldn’t.

You catch a nurse stealing a glance your way after you mutter a curse under your breath, watching as your coffee turns cold and bitter in your hands.

A resident steps in, offering to take over a case you were already halfway through, his voice too bright, too eager.

You shake your head, brushing him off, but the tension in your shoulders is too tight. You finish it anyway, fingers unsteady as you sign the discharge papers, the ink smearing slightly across the form.

The weight of it lingers in your hands, like a reminder of everything that’s slipping through your fingers.

By the time 9 p.m. rolls around, you've disappeared—found a forgotten stairwell tucked between ICU and radiology, where silence is the only company you’re willing to keep.

You sit on the cold concrete steps, elbows braced on your knees, head cradled in your hands. You're not crying. Not yet. Just still. Just quiet. Just trying to feel something that isn't the hollow static in your skull.

The door creaks open behind you, the sound scraping through the silence.

You don’t move.

The footsteps are slow, deliberate—familiar. You know them without having to look.

“Mouse?”

You don’t lift your head. You don’t even flinch.

He steps closer, hesitant, careful.

“Everyone’s looking for you. Robby thought you left.”

You shake your head, slow and deliberate, keeping your chin tucked low.

“I just needed... a second.”

A long beat of silence. Frank doesn’t answer immediately, and for a moment, you think maybe he’ll leave, or maybe he’ll keep pretending he’s been too busy to notice.

Instead, he lowers himself onto the step beside you. The space between you both is filled with nothing but the distant hum of the hallway, the pounding of your own heart.

“You’ve been off today,” he says quietly. Not a question. Not an accusation. Just a simple observation.

“Rough shift?” he adds, his voice laced with something too close to pity.

It almost sounds absurd—the way he asks, knowing full well the answer. He was there, he saw it all. Watched as you fought, as you tried to save a life only to lose it in the end.

You nod, the movement stiff, like your neck can’t bear the weight of the day. Your breath is shaky, fighting the edge of something sharp and brittle that threatens to break free.

He sits beside you, close enough for you to feel his presence but not so close as to invade. He doesn’t ask you anything else, doesn’t offer words you don’t want.

He just sits. Silent. Watching.

You hate how easy it is for him to be there, like nothing’s wrong, like you’re just two people passing through the same space, when all you want to do is scream.

“I heard about your patient,” he says quietly.

Your throat tightens like a fist around your windpipe.

“You heard about it, or you saw it?” you whisper, your voice frayed. It’s not really a question. You already know the answer.

He doesn’t respond right away. Just sits there, the silence stretching until it almost snaps. When he finally speaks, his voice is low, almost hoarse.

“I should’ve said something. Back then.”

He hesitates, then adds, “It’s hard… losing a patient. I should’ve—”

“It doesn’t matter anymore,” you cut in, sharper than you mean to be.

He flinches like he expected it—but it still hits.

The stairwell is cold. Quiet again, except for the hum of a vending machine two floors down and your own heartbeat in your ears.

Frank breathes out slowly. You don’t look at him, but you feel the shift in the air, the way his body curls forward, like he’s trying to close the space between you without touching it.

“I know it doesn’t change anything,” Frank says after a moment, voice low, like he's afraid to disrupt the fragile stillness you've wrapped around yourself.

“But I wanted you to hear it from me.”

You don’t answer. The silence feels safer—less brittle than any words you might try to force past the knot in your throat.

“You did everything you could.”

His voice is soft, careful—like he’s reaching for you with it, like he thinks if he says it gently enough, you might believe him.

Like he wants to cradle the sharp edges of your grief with something that won’t cut.

You shake your head, still staring down at your hands, at the scuffs on your shoes, at the floor that hasn’t moved but somehow still feels like it’s tilting.

“It wasn’t enough.”

He lets out a long, slow breath, his hands clasped loosely between his knees, the pads of his fingers pressing into each other like he needs the grounding.

“Sometimes it isn’t,” he murmurs.

“Even when it should be.”

You nearly flinch at that—almost say, but it still happened. You almost tell him that your hands haven’t stopped shaking since you called time of death, that your brain feels stuffed with cotton, thick and useless, and you can't think clearly enough to even cry.

But nothing comes out.

You just shake your head again, smaller this time.

Frank turns slightly toward you, glancing out of the corner of his eye.

“You have to be kinder to yourself,” he says, and it’s so quietly earnest it almost stings.

You nod, though it’s automatic.

Eventually, you glance at him. He’s not looking at you—just staring straight ahead, his jaw tight, his eyes unfocused like he’s watching something only he can see.

“You’ve lost patients before,” you say, your voice hoarse.

“How do you not let it break you?”

He lets out a breath of a laugh—low, bitter, hollow.

“Who said it doesn’t?”

That silences you. Again.

A minute ticks by. Then he shifts slightly, reaching into the pocket of his jacket. He pulls out a crumpled paper bag and, without a word, sets it gently in your lap.

You blink at it, confused, your fingers hesitating on the edge.

“It’s a cinnamon roll,” he says, like it’s obvious. “From that place you like. Still warm.”

You stare down at it, stunned.

“I didn’t even know you—”

“You mentioned it once,” he says, cutting you off, almost sheepish.

“Weeks ago. Said they don’t dry them out like the cafeteria does.”

Your throat tightens, but it’s different this time—not grief. Something softer, warmer, tugging at your chest.

“I figured… if you weren’t gonna eat or sleep tonight, you should at least have sugar.”

You let out a faint, broken laugh. It doesn’t quite reach your eyes, but it’s real. He nudges your knee gently with his own.

“You’re allowed to be human, mouse. Even the best interns have days like this.”

“Not like this,” you murmur, still staring at the bag in your lap.

He tilts his head, finally meeting your eyes.

“Especially like this.”

You tear open the bag, the scent hitting you instantly—cinnamon, vanilla, that warm yeasty sweetness. You break off a piece and hand it to him wordlessly.

He takes it without hesitation and eats in silence, like this is routine, like sharing a cinnamon roll in a stairwell at the end of the worst day isn’t the most intimate thing you’ve done in weeks.

You sit together for a while like that. Just two tired, wrung-out people in the quiet hollow of a hospital, letting the sugar and the silence do what they can.

Eventually, your voice returns. “Thanks.”

He glances at you, chewing. Swallows.

“For the cinnamon roll?”

You shake your head.

“For finding me.”

He looks at you then. Really looks at you. For a moment longer than necessary.

“You’re my favorite, remember?” he says, voice gentler than you’ve ever heard it.

“I keep track of the things I care about.”

And for a moment, you forget. Forget the coldness he kept between you for weeks, the silence that hung like a heavy curtain.

All you feel is the warmth of the cinnamon roll in your hands, and the quiet tenderness in his voice when he says he cares—about the small things, about you.

©pomelace 2025

#the pitt hbo #the pitt #the pitt x reader #frank langdon #frank langdon x reader #dr langdon x reader #michael robinavitch #patrick ball #I LOVE THIS SERIES SO MUCH ALREADY

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divinelyparkjimin · 4 months ago

Text

— sweet and spicy [m] | ksj.

◦ summary ↠ studying with your tutor should be simple, but distractions can lead to unexpected lessons. who knew cramming for exams could get this... heated? (requested by anon)

◦ pairing ↠ seokjin x reader

◦ word count ↠ 5.9k

◦ genre ↠ fluff, smut

◦ content warning(s) ↠ tutor!seokjin, student!reader, suggestive/explicit content, dirty talk, penetrative sex, ejaculation, f. and m. orgasm, oral sex, a lot of making out, unprotected sex, handjob, tit sucking

a/n: this is for the anon that requested a oneshot with seokjin and his lovely lips <3 ik you said kinda spicy but i accidentally made it very spicy lol, hope you don't mind!

masterlist

The clock on the library wall ticked in perfect sync with your growing anxiety. You had been staring at the same problem for ten minutes, the numbers on the page blurring together into a mess of indecipherable hieroglyphics.

“I’m going to fail,” you muttered under your breath, slumping further into your seat.

Your professor’s voice from last week echoed in your head: “You should really consider a tutor. It might help clear up some of the confusion.”

And now, here you were, waiting for your supposed savior to arrive and pull you from the depths of statistical despair.

The door creaked open, and you glanced up just in time to see him step inside.

“Sorry I’m late,” the newcomer said, setting his bag on the table with a soft thud. “The café line was longer than I thought.”

He was tall, dressed in a cozy gray sweater that looked as soft as a cloud, and his black-rimmed glasses perched perfectly on the bridge of his nose. But what truly caught your attention—against your better judgment—were his lips. They looked… soft. Pink. Kissable, even.

“I’m Seokjin,” he said, his voice warm and smooth. He offered a smile, and oh, that just made it worse. His lips curved in the kind of way that could make angels weep.

You snapped out of it, suddenly realizing he was waiting for you to introduce yourself. “Oh! Uh, hi. I’m—um—Y/N.”

He nodded, pulling out a notebook and pen. “Alright, so what’s giving you trouble?”

“Everything,” you admitted, gesturing dramatically at your textbook.

Seokjin laughed, the sound light and easy, but your eyes betrayed you and flicked to his mouth. The way his lips moved when he laughed—it was almost hypnotic. You mentally slapped yourself. Focus. You’re here to pass this class, not ogle your tutor.

“Okay, let’s start simple,” he said, flipping through your textbook until he found a page filled with diagrams and formulas. “Here’s a problem. Walk me through how you’d solve it.”

You nodded, trying to focus on the numbers. But Seokjin leaned closer to point something out on the page, and suddenly, your brain short-circuited. His lips were so close you could see the faintest shine of lip balm.

“So, what do you think?” he asked, looking at you expectantly.

You blinked. “Huh?”

He tilted his head. “The problem?”

“Oh, uh…” You scrambled to come up with something that didn’t sound ridiculous. “Yeah, I… totally get it now. Thanks!”

His brows furrowed, but the corners of his mouth twitched like he was trying not to laugh. “Really? Because you just wrote the wrong formula entirely.”

Your face flushed. “Oh. Right. I was just… testing you?”

Seokjin laughed again, the sound sending your heart racing. “Sure you were. Don’t worry, I’ll explain it again.”

By the third time Seokjin explained the problem, you had made some progress. But honestly? Your brain was running on fumes.

"See? It's not that bad," he said, leaning back in his chair with a satisfied grin. "You’re getting the hang of it.”

You managed a weak smile, still hyper-aware of the way his lips moved with every word. How was it possible to explain statistics and look that good doing it? It should’ve been illegal.

"Yeah, sure," you replied, tapping your pen against your notebook to distract yourself. "I mean, I still hate it, but at least it makes… slightly more sense now."

Seokjin chuckled, his shoulders shaking just enough to make his sweater shift in the most distracting way. You were about to tell yourself to get it together when he suddenly leaned forward again, his elbow propped on the table and his chin resting on his hand.

"So," he said casually, "why did you really sign up for tutoring? You don't seem like the type to give up easily."

You froze. Was he teasing you? His tone was light, but his eyes held genuine curiosity.

"Um," you stalled, trying to come up with a reasonable answer that didn’t involve your professor practically begging you to get help. "I guess I just… wanted to make sure I didn’t fail? You know, for my GPA."

He nodded thoughtfully, and for a moment, you thought you’d gotten away with it.

"Fair enough," he said. But then his lips quirked into a smirk. "But you might want to stop zoning out so much during our sessions if you really want that GPA to survive."

Your face burned. "I don’t—" You cut yourself off, realizing how defensive you sounded. "I’m not zoning out."

"Really?" he said, tilting his head. "Because every time I look up, you’re staring at me like I just said something in Greek."

"Maybe it’s because statistics is Greek," you shot back, desperate to steer the conversation away from your very obvious distraction.

He laughed again, and this time, it was louder, filling the quiet library room. His laughter wasn’t polished or quiet; it was unfiltered, almost boyish, and far too contagious.

“Well, maybe I should start explaining in actual Greek,” he teased, closing your textbook with a soft thud. “Or we could call it a day. You’re making progress, but your brain looks like it’s about to overheat.”

You opened your mouth to protest but realized he wasn’t wrong. “Fine,” you said, leaning back in your chair. “But next time, you’re bringing snacks. Brain fuel and all that.”

Seokjin raised an eyebrow, his lips quirking into a smirk. “You’re really bold for someone who just admitted to hating this entire subject.”

“And yet,” you shot back, gathering your things, “you’re still tutoring me. So, who’s the real fool here?”

His laughter bubbled up again, softer this time, and you felt a small swell of pride at having made him laugh. It was quickly replaced by a flutter of nerves when he reached over to tap the corner of your notebook.

“Same time next week?” he asked, his voice a little quieter.

“Yeah,” you said, suddenly feeling warm under his gaze. “Thanks, Seokjin.”

He smiled, a soft, almost shy thing, and nodded. “Anytime.”

The following week, you found yourself looking forward to tutoring. Not because of the subject (God, no), but because of him. Every time you walked into the library and saw him waiting there, his glasses perched on his nose and a soft smile playing on his lips, it was like a little jolt of electricity.

This time, Seokjin greeted you with a coffee cup and a small bag of pastries.

“Fuel,” he said, holding them out. “For the overworked student who claims to hate stats but keeps showing up anyway.”

You blinked at him, surprised. “You actually brought snacks? You know I was just kidding.”

He shrugged, but there was a faint blush dusting his cheeks. “I thought it might help. Plus, bribery works wonders for focus.”

You couldn’t help but laugh. “You’re dangerous, you know that?”

“Only when I have pastries,” he replied, sliding one toward you.

For the next hour, you worked through problems, your frustration ebbing slightly thanks to the sugar and Seokjin’s patient explanations. Still, your focus wavered every now and then—especially when he leaned closer to check your work, his glasses slipping down his nose just enough to make your heart race.

“You’re doing better,” he said, his tone genuinely impressed. “See? I told you it wasn’t hopeless.”

“Maybe it’s your teaching,” you replied without thinking, and then froze when his ears turned pink.

“Maybe,” he said softly, his gaze flicking to yours for just a moment before he cleared his throat. “Okay, let’s try this one.”

But as the session went on, you noticed it wasn’t just you who seemed distracted. Seokjin kept fiddling with his pen, his eyes lingering on you a little longer than usual. When he leaned closer to point something out, you thought you caught him glance at your lips before quickly looking back at the page.

By the time the session ended, your heart was pounding, and you weren’t sure if it was from the stats or something else entirely.

The next morning, an email from Seokjin had come in.

Hey, just a heads-up—I’m not going to campus today, but if you still want to meet, we can do the session at my place. Let me know if that works.

It had taken you all of five seconds to reply.

That’s fine, I really need this session. Text me the address.

And now here you were, standing outside Seokjin’s apartment with your notebook clutched to your chest and a slight flutter of nerves in your stomach.

You knocked twice, and within seconds, the door swung open.

“Hey,” Seokjin said, his usual soft smile in place. He was dressed in a simple hoodie and sweatpants, and somehow he looked even better like this—comfortable and casual, with his hair slightly tousled as if he’d just run his hands through it.

“Come in,” he said, stepping aside to let you in.

His apartment was small but cozy, with warm lighting, a neatly arranged bookshelf, and a faint scent of coffee lingering in the air. There was a laptop open on the coffee table and a few notebooks stacked beside it.

“You didn’t have to bring all your stuff,” he said, eyeing the books tucked under your arm.

“I didn’t know what to expect,” you admitted, setting your things down on the table. “But I’m not taking any chances with finals week coming up in a couple weeks.”

He chuckled, gesturing toward the couch. “Well, you’re in luck. I even made coffee. Or tea, if that’s more your thing.”

You sat down, trying not to notice how close he was when he joined you. The couch wasn’t exactly huge, and the way his knee brushed against yours when he shifted sent a jolt through you.

“Okay,” he said, pulling a notebook onto his lap. “Let’s start with the practice problems I sent you last week.”

At first, it was just like any other session—him explaining concepts, you trying to keep up. But the proximity was impossible to ignore. Every time he leaned over to point at your notebook or correct something, his voice seemed lower, softer, and his presence far too distracting.

“Almost,” Seokjin murmured, his hand brushing yours as he reached for your pencil. “You just forgot to divide by the total here.”

You froze, watching the way his fingers wrapped around the pencil. They were long and elegant, and when he looked up, his face was only inches from yours.

“Oh,” you said, your voice barely above a whisper.

His eyes flicked to yours, and for a moment, the air between you felt heavier. You could see the faint pink on his ears again, the way his lashes fluttered just slightly when he blinked.

“Here,” he said, pulling back and clearing his throat. “Try it again.”

You nodded, forcing yourself to focus on the problem. But as the session went on, the tension only grew.

At one point, you leaned over to grab your eraser from the table, and when you straightened up, your shoulder brushed against his. It was such a small thing, but the warmth of his skin through the thin fabric of his hoodie lingered.

“Sorry,” you muttered, though you weren’t sure why.

“No, it’s fine,” he said quickly, his voice a little tighter than usual.

By the end of the session, you were both more relaxed—or at least pretending to be. The stack of practice problems had dwindled, and Seokjin leaned back against the couch, stretching his arms over his head with a groan.

“You’re actually getting good at this,” he said, his voice teasing but genuine. “See? Told you stats wasn’t impossible.”

“Only because you’re a good tutor,” you replied, surprising yourself with how easily the words came out.

Seokjin paused mid-stretch, his eyes meeting yours. There was something unreadable in his expression, but it disappeared quickly as he smiled.

“Thanks,” he said, sitting up again.

The conversation might’ve ended there, but then you noticed a small smudge of ink beside his cushiony lips—probably from when he’d been jotting down notes earlier.

“You’ve got…” You hesitated, gesturing vaguely at your own face. “Ink. Right there.”

“Where?” he asked, frowning as he touched his cheek, missing the spot entirely.

“Here,” you said, leaning forward without thinking. Your hand brushed against his jaw as you wiped at the smudge with your thumb, and you felt him go completely still under your touch.

When you realized what you were doing, you froze too, your eyes locking with his. His gaze flicked to your lips, and for a second, you thought he might close the distance between you.

“Got it,” you said quickly, pulling back and trying to ignore the way your heart was pounding.

“Thanks,” he murmured, his voice lower than before.

The rest of the session ended in a flurry of awkward goodbyes and hurried packing, but as you left his apartment, you couldn’t shake the memory of how close you’d been—or the way his lips had looked in that moment, soft and impossibly inviting.

After the first session at Seokjin’s apartment, the two of you fell into a new rhythm. Instead of meeting at the library, you started alternating between your places. It was more convenient, and though neither of you said it out loud, it felt… comfortable. Familiar. Like a natural evolution of whatever this was between you.

For your next session, Seokjin arrived a few minutes early, balancing a bag of takeout in one hand and his ever-present notebook in the other.

“You didn’t have to bring food,” you said, stepping aside to let him in.

He shrugged, setting the bag on your coffee table. “Consider it payment for making me leave the house on a Saturday.”

You rolled your eyes but smiled, sitting beside him on the couch. As the session began, you noticed how different it felt having him here, in your space. The way he looked so at ease, leaning back against your cushions, his long legs stretching out in front of him.

At one point, you got up to grab your water bottle, and when you came back, Seokjin had a mischievous grin on his face.

“Do you always study with a giant stuffed bear on your couch?” he teased, holding up the plushie you’d forgotten to hide.

Your face burned. “It’s comfortable, okay?”

“I’m not judging,” he said, his grin widening. “I’m just saying, you could’ve warned me I’d have competition.”

You groaned, grabbing the bear from him and tossing it aside. But the playful banter eased the tension, making the session feel more like hanging out than studying.

By the time you’d finished the practice problems, Seokjin stretched his arms over his head and let out a dramatic sigh.

“Okay, enough stats for one day. My brain is fried,” he declared.

“Yeah same,” you sighed before raising an eyebrow. “Is this how you treat all your students?”

“Only the ones who threaten to fail without me,” he shot back, smirking.

Your next session was set to be at your apartment again, with Seokjin arriving at your apartment looking as put-together as ever. You were already flustered—having barely managed to shove your laundry into a basket to make the place look semi-presentable.

"Don’t judge," you warned as he stepped in, glancing around your living room.

“I’m not,” he replied, amused. “I’ve seen worse.”

The session went smoothly enough, but at some point, Seokjin needed a pen.

"Do you have another one?" he asked, looking up from his notebook.

"Yeah, let me grab one!" you said, heading toward your desk.

Before you could, though, Seokjin leaned over the arm of the couch to grab your backpack—and froze, pulling out an article of clothing instead.

"Uh…" His voice trailed off as he held it up—a lacy, bright-colored bra that you’d obviously forgotten to hide.

You whipped around, horrified. “Oh my God, Seokjin, put that down!”

But instead of being embarrassed, he smirked, dangling the bra by one strap.

“Well,” he said, his tone teasing but his ears betraying him with a hint of redness, “I didn’t know tutoring came with such… unexpected discoveries.”

“Stop!” you yelped, lunging forward to snatch it from him.

He laughed, holding it just out of reach. “Is this what you’ve been distracted by during our sessions? Should I start dressing fancier to compete?”

“Seokjin, I swear—”

“I’m kidding, I’m kidding!” he relented, handing it back to you with a grin. But the way his eyes lingered on your flustered expression made your heart pound.

“Next time, I’m hiring a professional tutor,” you muttered, stuffing the bra into your laundry basket.

He chuckled, shaking his head. “Sure you will.”

A couple days later, Seokjin had invited you over again, this time for a movie. Although, if you were being honest with yourself, the movie was probably the last thing on either of your minds.

"Okay, so you’re telling me you’ve never seen this movie?" Seokjin asked, holding up the DVD case like it was a sacred relic.

“Not everyone’s a walking encyclopedia of rom-coms,” you shot back, leaning back against the armrest of his couch.

“It’s not just a rom-com,” he argued, waving the case in front of you like it was the most important thing on the planet. “It’s a classic. You’ll thank me later.”

With a dramatic sigh, you gave in, letting him pop the DVD into the player. Soon enough, you were both nestled comfortably on his couch, a bowl of popcorn between you.

The movie started off fine enough, but as it went on, your attention started to wander. Seokjin’s proximity—the feeling of his body so close to yours, the way his arm rested casually along the back of the couch, his knee brushing against yours whenever he shifted—was far more distracting than the plot.

The soft glow of the TV illuminated his face, casting gentle shadows across his features, making him look even more attractive. His lips, soft and slightly parted as he laughed at some of the jokes, became the sole object of your focus.

"You’re quiet," he murmured during a lull in the movie, glancing at you sideways with a teasing look.

"Just… paying attention," you mumbled, not daring to look at him.

"Are you, though?" he teased, shifting slightly to face you. "Because you’ve been staring at me for the past ten minutes."

Your face immediately heated up. “I have not!”

“Hmm,” he hummed, clearly enjoying your reaction. His smirk widened as he leaned in just a little closer, his face filling your vision. “You sure about that? I wouldn’t mind.”

Your breath caught in your throat as you couldn’t help but look at his lips. His voice had dropped a few notches, and his gaze softened, no longer playful but searching—waiting for something unspoken. The noise of the movie faded as the tension in the air between you two thickened, heavy and palpable.

“Seokjin,” you whispered, your voice barely above a breath.

“Yeah?” His voice was soft, but the way he looked at you—intent and steady—sent a shiver down your spine.

Your eyes darted to his lips for just a moment, and that was all it took. His playful smirk faded, and his expression shifted to something far more sincere, far more urgent. Slowly, his hand lifted, brushing a stray lock of hair from your face before lingering near your cheek, his touch light but warm.

Then, without a word, he closed the distance. His lips met yours in a kiss that started gentle, tentative, almost like a question. You froze for a split second, heart racing, but your body moved on instinct. Your hands gripped the front of his sweater, tugging him closer as the kiss deepened.

The movie continued in the background, but neither of you were paying attention anymore. Seokjin's hand slid to the back of your neck, fingers threading through your hair as he pulled you closer, his lips moving against yours with more urgency. You kissed him back, eager, your body instinctively pressing against his.

His thumb traced the curve of your jaw, then moved to your lips, caressing them softly before slipping back into the kiss. The sensation was intoxicating—electric. You could feel his heart racing against yours as his lips grew more demanding, his kisses coming faster, deeper.

The soft glow from the TV flickered across his features, making everything feel dreamlike, surreal, as if this moment wasn’t really happening. His hand slipped to your waist, pulling you toward him until your bodies were flush against each other. The heat of his chest, the firmness of his body, left you breathless as you melted into him.

Then, just as the kiss grew more heated, a dramatic swell of music from the movie blasted through the speakers, breaking the spell.

Seokjin pulled back slightly, his lips barely an inch from yours, eyes dark with desire. He glanced toward the screen, looking a little amused before turning back to you.

“We won’t be needing this anymore,” he murmured, his voice low as he reached for the remote, never breaking eye contact. The click of the TV turning off was the only sound in the room now, the sudden silence making everything feel more intense.

Before you could even process what had just happened, Seokjin leaned in again, his lips crashing into yours with renewed fervor. His hands found their way to your back, pulling you even closer, if that was even possible. His lips were hotter now, more demanding, as if he couldn’t get enough of you.

Your hands roamed up to his chest, feeling the muscles beneath his shirt, before you slid your hands into his hair, tugging him closer. He groaned against your lips, his fingers digging into your back as the kiss deepened further, passion igniting between you. The sensation of his lips moving against yours—of his body pressing closer to yours—made your head spin.

You could feel his hands exploring your body, his fingertips brushing the curve of your side, making your breath hitch. His mouth never left yours, the kiss turning into something desperate, almost frantic, as if neither of you could wait any longer. Seokjin’s breath was shallow, his chest rising and falling rapidly as you both lost yourselves in the kiss.

Your bodies were tangled in the soft cushions of the couch now, the world outside fading into oblivion. Every kiss, every touch, felt like an invitation to something more.

Seokjin finally pulled back, his forehead resting against yours, both of you breathing heavily. “Are you sure you’re okay?” he asked, his voice husky with desire, his thumb brushing along your jaw.

You nodded, trying to catch your breath. “I’m more than okay,” you whispered, your voice shaky but full of longing.

Seokjin’s eyes searched yours, his thumb still brushing along your jaw as if grounding himself in the moment. Just as you opened your mouth to say something, a glance at the clock over his shoulder made your heart drop.

“Oh my god,” you gasped, sitting up abruptly. “I have class in fifteen minutes!”

Seokjin blinked in surprise, then let out a soft laugh. “You’re kidding.”

“I’m not!” you exclaimed, frantically gathering your scattered belongings.

He leaned back against the couch, arms draped casually along the cushions, watching you with a grin that made your heart race all over again. “You sure you don’t want to skip? I mean, we were in the middle of something really important.”

You shot him a glare, though the heat in your cheeks probably made it far less intimidating. “Nice try, Seokjin. I can’t fail this class because of you.”

“Fair,” he conceded, standing to walk you to the door. But as you reached for the doorknob, he tugged you back, planting a quick, heated kiss on your lips that left you breathless. “Hurry back when you’re done,” he murmured, his voice low and teasing.

From that day on, a pattern emerged. Every time you came over—whether to study, watch a movie, or just hang out—the two of you would inevitably end up tangled together, lips locked and breaths mingling. It didn’t matter if it was before or after you hit the books; somehow, the boundaries between tutoring sessions and heated makeout sessions blurred until they were almost nonexistent.

It became your guilty pleasure, a secret routine that neither of you dared to acknowledge aloud. And then, finally, the day of the exam arrived.

You walked into the lecture hall with butterflies in your stomach and left with a grin you couldn’t contain. A 91! You had passed, and not just barely—you’d crushed it. The first thing you did after checking your grade was text Seokjin, your fingers flying over the keyboard as you told him the news.

His response was instant: Come over. We’re celebrating.

You didn’t need to be told twice. Within minutes, you were at his door, and before you could even step inside, Seokjin was pulling you into his arms, his lips crashing into yours.

“Congratulations,” he murmured against your lips, his voice warm and full of pride.

But there was no time for further words. His hands found their way to your waist, pulling you closer as the kiss deepened, his lips moving against yours with a hunger that sent sparks shooting down your spine. You barely registered the door closing behind you as the two of you stumbled into the apartment, too caught up in each other to care.

His hands roamed over your body with an urgency that made your heart race, slipping beneath your shirt to explore the bare skin underneath. You tugged at his hoodie, eager to feel more of him, and he obliged, pulling it off in one fluid motion before his lips found yours again.

This time, there was no stopping, no holding back. The couch cushions were a familiar backdrop as Seokjin pressed you down, his body warm and solid against yours. His kisses grew deeper as his fingers dipped beneath the hem of your shirt, his eyes flicking up to yours for permission. When you gave a small, almost imperceptible nod, he didn’t hesitate.

With a swift motion, he tugged your shirt up and over your head, tossing it onto the floor. His eyes darkened as they roamed over you, lingering on the lacy bra you’d decided to wear that day.

“Well, well,” he murmured, his tone teasing as his fingers ghosted over the edge of the fabric. “You wore this? Almost like you were expecting to celebrate.” he teased, his fingers grazing the edge of your lacy bra. His smirk was back, though it softened as he leaned in, brushing his lips against your collarbone.

“Shut up,” you managed, breathless and flustered, though the way your hands gripped his shoulders betrayed your eagerness.

Your face burned, and you tried to turn away, but his hand cupped your chin, gently guiding your gaze back to him. His grin widened, clearly enjoying your flustered state.

“I wasn’t—” you started, but he cut you off with a laugh.

“Relax,” he said, his thumb brushing against your cheek. “I’m not complaining. In fact…” He leaned in, his voice dropping to a husky whisper. “I think it’s perfect.”

His mouth moved lower, leaving a trail of soft, open-mouthed kisses along your skin, his hands sliding up your sides as he explored every inch of you. When his lips finally returned to yours, the kiss was deeper, hungrier, his body pressing against yours as if he couldn’t get close enough.

Your hands found their way to his shirt, tugging at the fabric until he got the hint and pulled it off. You couldn’t help but let out a soft gasp as his arms wrapped around you, pulling you even closer.

“Still think I’m the one who expected this?” you teased, emboldened by his reaction.

Seokjin paused, his lips hovering over yours as he chuckled, low and rich. “Oh, I definitely did. But I’m glad you were prepared too.”

With that, he captured your lips again, the playful banter melting away as the moment grew even more heated. The air between you was thick with desire, every touch, every kiss igniting a fire that neither of you wanted to put out.

As the kiss deepened, Seokjin's hands roamed over your body, his fingers tracing the curves of your waist, the swell of your hips. Your own hands were just as busy, exploring the contours of his chest, the broadness of his shoulders.

The room around you melted away, leaving only the two of you, lost in the heat of the moment. The darkness was almost palpable, a living thing that wrapped itself around you, holding you close. You felt like you were drowning in Seokjin's eyes, those piercing brown orbs that seemed to see right through to your very soul.

And yet, even as you felt like you were losing yourself in him, you knew that this was exactly where you wanted to be. This was what you had been waiting for, what you had been hoping for all along.

Seokjin's lips left yours for a moment, and he gazed down at you with an intensity that made your heart skip a beat. "I want to see all of you," he whispered, his voice low and husky with desire. "I want to touch every inch of your skin."

You felt a flush rise to your cheeks as he spoke, but you couldn't help the way your body responded to his words. You nodded slowly, and Seokjin's eyes flashed with excitement.

With gentle fingers, he reached behind you and unfastened the clasp on your bra. The straps slid down your arms, and Seokjin's eyes widened as he took in the sight of your bare skin. He reached out a hand and cupped one breast in his palm, his thumb tracing circles around the nipple until it hardened beneath his touch.

As Seokjin's hands continued to caress your breasts, his mouth descended upon them, his plump lips wrapping around one nipple with a gentle reverence. The softness and fullness of his lips were almost distracting, making you wonder how something so visually appealing could also feel so incredible. He kissed the nipple softly, his lips molding around it as he sucked gently.

He switched to the other breast, giving it the same attention, his lips tracing circles around the nipple before wrapping around it again. The sensation was exquisite, and you felt yourself arching your back, pushing into his touch as he continued to kiss and suckle your breasts.

After lavishing attention on your breasts, Seokjin's mouth began to kiss down your stomach, his lips tracing a path of fire along your skin. With each kiss, you felt anticipation build within you. He teased you with each touch of his lips, getting closer and closer to the heat between your legs but never quite reaching it. The suspense was deliciously agonizing.

Finally, Seokjin returned to your lips, kissing them with a fervor that left you breathless. His tongue danced against yours as he deepened the kiss. He didn't stop there; his mouth wandered to your neck, leaving behind a trail of hickeys as he sucked and nibbled on the sensitive skin.

"Your lips are so fucking perfect," you whispered into his ear, running your fingers over their full shape in awe. "They feel as good as they look."

Seokjin chuckled low in his throat but didn't stop kissing and sucking on your neck. After a few moments of this sensual assault on your senses, he pulled back slightly and whispered against your earlobe.

"Enough of my lips; time to see what yours can do."

With that tantalizing promise hanging in the air between you like an unfinished challenge waiting for resolution - Seokjin stood up from where they had been sitting together on couch pulling both pants & boxers all way down letting them pool at feet before taking seat once more now fully exposed

You got onto your knees between his legs spread wide and proceeded to give him a blow job. You began by licking his quivering length, taking its head into your mouth. You started sucking gently, gradually increasing suction pressure and movement speed.

Your hand rose to begin stroking his shaft up and down while continuing to suck on it, your fingers wrapped tightly around base, moving in the opposite direction of your head bobbing. You made sure to pay special attention to the ridge just beneath where the head of his cock meets the shaft, knowing the extra sensitivity there.

As you continued to stroke and suck, Seokjin's eyes remained locked on yours, besides when he'd occasionally draw his head back in rawr pleasure. His hands rested on your head, gently guiding the pace but letting you set the rhythm. The sensation of his fingers in your hair, combined with the taste and feel of him in your mouth, was incredibly erotic.

You could feel his excitement building, his breathing getting heavier, and his muscles tensing under your touch. Encouraged by his reactions, you deepened the suction slightly, moving your head in a steady bobbing motion while your hand continued to stroke the base of his shaft.

Seokjin's moans filled the air, soft at first but growing louder as he neared climax. His hands tightened in your hair, not pulling but applying gentle pressure as if urging you on without wanting to disrupt the perfect rhythm you'd established.

Just as it seemed like he was about to come, Seokjin suddenly pulled back, his chest heaving with exertion. "Not yet," he whispered hoarsely, "I want to come inside you."

He gently helped you up from your knees and led you back to the couch. This time, as he sat down, he pulled you onto his lap so that you were straddling him. The position was intimate and vulnerable at the same time.

With deft hands, Seokjin guided himself into you, filling a void that had been aching for fulfillment since this encounter began. As he entered deeper into you, your warmth enveloped around him fully. Everything else faded away, leaving only the sensations between two people completely lost within another.

The movement started slow but was soon quickened, as he grew more desperate. The two of you lost track of the time or your surroundings, solely existing in the moment of moving bodies seeking release.

As the movements became more rhythmic and intense, the connection between you and Seokjin deepened. Every thrust, every sensation, seemed to be amplified.

Your hands were on his shoulders, his around your waist, holding you close as you moved together. Seokjin's eyes locked onto yours, filled with raw desire. Yet, there was also a tenderness there, a care that made this feel like more than just a physical act. It was as if he was seeing into your very soul, and you into his.

The pace quickened, the intensity building until it felt like everything was going to shatter apart at any moment. But instead of fear or anxiety, there was only anticipation - a desperate longing for that release.

And then, in an instant that seemed to stretch out forever, it happened. Seokjin's body tensed beneath yours, his muscles hardening as he came inside you. The sensation triggered your own climax, waves of pleasure crashing over you like a stormy sea.

For what felt like an eternity, you just sat there, wrapped in each other's arms as the aftershocks of pleasure continued to ripple through your bodies. It wasn't until your breathing began to slow that reality started seeping back in - the feel of the couch beneath you, the sound of your heartbeats slowly synchronizing back into separate rhythms.

Seokjin's arms loosened their hold on you slightly but didn't let go. Instead, he leaned forward and kissed your forehead softly before whispering against your skin.

"Looks like all our hard work paid off. Congrats on passing, beautiful."

a/n: wahoo! feel free to leave feedback, hope you all enjoyed!

masterlist

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internetdaddy98 · 11 days ago

Text

The Opening Gambit

Previous | Next [Series Masterlist]

Pairing: Dr. Michael “Robby” Robinavitch x F!SeniorResident!Reader Summary: From the first subtle brush of your shoulder to the featherlight graze of your thumb, you don’t flirt, you control, cool and calculated. Every touch, every murmur, every glance is measured and deliberate. You work seamlessly beside him, professional and sharp, but just close enough to fray his composure.

Word Count: 1 K Content Warning: Medical procedures, blood, will most likely be medically inaccurate at times

The shift started like any other: chaos thinly veiled by protocol. A multi-car pileup on I-279 had half the ER running on caffeine and adrenaline before noon. Trauma teams rotated like gears, syncing movement with muscle memory.

But you weren’t here just to keep up.

You were here to test gravity.

And Robby? He didn’t know it yet, but he was already falling.

You saw him the moment you walked in. Standing at the board, stylus pen between his fingers, brown locks glinting at his temples under the harsh light. His scrub top was wrinkled, his jaw shadowed with a salt and pepper beard, and you had never seen anything more devastating in your life.

“Morning, Dr. Robby,” you said, soft and rhythmical as you passed him, your shoulder brushing his ever so slightly.

You weren’t just being polite.

You were starting something.

He didn’t look at you right away, but his hand paused. You saw the twitch of a muscle in his cheek. Heard the shift of his weight.

“Morning, Sheri,” he replied, low and even. But his voice had a rasp in it that hadn’t been there yesterday.

The trauma pager went off before either could say another word.

Room Four. Level One. Blunt trauma. Male. GCS 8. ETA three minutes.

They moved like a unit, you at his side, anticipating his decisions before he made them. In the resus bay, the air was dense with urgency, but your focus never wavered. Not on the patient. And not on him.

“Needle decompression,” you said confidently, your gloves snapping on. “Right side. You want to confirm, or do you trust me?”

You didn’t say it flirtatiously. That was the genius of it. You said it with that steady, cool voice you knew he liked, that made him respect you.

And you meant it. But still, your eyes flicked up to meet his as you said it. And you held them there.

He paused for half a second too long.

“I trust you,” he said finally and you nodded with a smile.

You worked like clockwork and when it was over and the patient stabilized, you stayed behind to clean up, letting the others filter out.

He lingered near the supply cabinet, reorganizing gauze.

You slipped beside him, close enough he could smell your skin, lavender and antiseptic.

“I like it when you let me take the lead,” you murmured, quiet enough that it was for him and only him. “It suits you.”

He didn’t move. Didn’t speak.

But you saw the way his fingers curled around the shelf. Saw the tight line of his jaw. The heat in his eyes when he finally turned to face you.

“That wasn’t the time to flirt,” he said gruffly.

“Oh,” you said, lips quirking, “was I flirting?”

And you left him there, too stunned to answer.

You moved through the ER with controlled grace, your expression calm but unreadable. Except he could read you. He’d known you long enough now to sense when you were holding something back. When you were leaning in instead of away.

You didn’t linger when you handed him chart updates. But your fingers always brushed his, and once, only once, your thumb skimmed his knuckle, deliberate and featherlight.

Long that he’d felt it for hours.

Later, you stood beside him as he dictated notes at the computer. You leaned in slightly, not touching, but close. He could smell the soft, clean hint of your shampoo, lavender and something warmer beneath it.

“Good phrasing,” you murmured under your breath when he dictated a particularly precise differential. The words were harmless. But your tone wasn’t.

You said it like a secret. Like a confession meant for him alone. His fingers hesitated on the keys. A flicker of heat curled low in his abdomen.

He didn’t turn. Didn’t look at you. Couldn’t.

Another trauma came in, motorcycle, late thirties, open femur fracture with significant blood loss. The room was loud, packed with motion, but Robby still felt your presence behind him as you prepped the surgical tray.

“IV established,” you said, then added softly, “I’ve got you covered.”

It should’ve been nothing. A reassurance. A common phrase.

But your voice lowered just enough that the words twisted into something else entirely, subtly charged. Personal.

He didn’t look at you then either. He couldn’t afford to. Not with blood on the floor and adrenaline humming through his veins.

But later, when the room emptied and he was washing his hands at the sink, he realized he was gripping the faucet too hard. Water too hot. Skin flushed.

And not just from the trauma.

The rest of the shift passed in a haze of carefully orchestrated tension.

You stood a little closer than necessary when reviewing imaging with him. Let your hand brush his forearm as you reached past for a chart. Tilted your head and gave that slight smile when he caught you watching him.

“You okay?” Mel asked once, nudging you while you reviewed a pelvic fracture.

“Yeah,” you said, eyes flicking toward Robby down the hall. “Just...trying something.”

Santos caught your look and grinned knowingly. “Poor man never stood a chance.”

You stood behind him again as you both reviewed a CT scan on the monitor. This time, your hand ghosted over the small of his back, not quite a touch. Just… there.

His breath caught. Brief, sharp. He said nothing.

But every nerve in his body lit like a flare.

At 7:02 p.m., as the shift wound down, Robby cornered you by the lockers. The hallway was empty, residents already changing, nurses clocking out. He stood close. Too close for it to be professional.

“You’ve been testing me all day,” he said, voice low and tight. “Why?”

You looked up at him, all wide eyes and innocent calm. “Testing you? I thought I was just doing my job.”

“Don’t play coy.”

“Who’s playing?”

He stepped closer. The tension coiled so tight between them it could’ve shattered.

But you only smiled. Tugged your pink hoodie from the locker. Brushed past him, one last slow, deliberate drag of your fingers across his hand.

And with a whisper in his ear, said, “But if I was playing, I think I’m winning.”

Then you left.

And Robby stood alone, fists clenched, heart racing, one breath away from forgetting every line he ever swore not to cross.

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drabblesandsnippets · 11 days ago

Text

A Future Waiting to Bloom

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x female reader

Summary: (2.2k) TW: Early miscarriage. An unexpected pregnancy leads to you and Bucky dreaming of a future that never comes to be.

A/N: I know miscarriage is a sensitive topic, but I’ve always written to help me process things in my life and I thought I would share, just in case anyone else needs a story like this. As always, please take care of yourself 🩶

Warnings: TW: Early miscarriage/’chemical pregnancy’. Established relationship. Soft and sweet Bucky. (Brief, vague references to Bucky’s foray into politics.) Fluff. Angst (with a hopeful ending). Mention of menstrual cycle, pregnancy symptoms, pregnancy tests, baby clothes, cramps, spotting.

The cold air whips around Bucky the moment he steps outside, remnants of winter still lingering in the air. Just another reason to add to his growing list of why he shouldn’t go. As if you’re incapable of staying warm without him.

He certainly is.

With a resigned growl of frustration, he shoves his bag into the backseat of the car and closes the door with a slam, hard enough to make the hinges groan in protest.

Yep, he’s handling this spectacularly.

Within seconds, he’s back inside the warmth of your shared residence for one more hug. One more kiss. One more moment of holding you close in order to ground himself in your comforting scent.

Then he’ll be able to make it out the door for his flight.

At least, that’s what he tells himself as he buries his face in your hair, mumbling another plea for just a few more seconds. Minutes. Hours, if you’ll let him.

Your gentle reminder that it’s only for a couple days does nothing to deter him, Bucky refusing to loosen his tight embrace, even as you laugh softly against his chest, his strong arms keeping you from leaving him. As if that’s even a possibility.

You’re struggling just as much as he is - tears guaranteed the second he’s driving away - but you refuse to give him yet another excuse to cling to.

While separation is never easy, nothing compares to how proud you are of the man you’ll spend the rest of your life with. And you’ll be damned if you let him talk himself out of taking this next step, not with how important this is to him.

“It’s just politics,” you state matter-of-factly, giving Bucky a playful smile as your fingers soothe the tension from his neck. “Piece of cake. Nothing you can’t handle.”

At his raised eyebrows, you double down, telling him, “Can’t be any worse than Sam’s birthday party.” A twitch of a smile at the corner of his lips and you add, “Four hours of karaoke, remember?”

“Don’t remind me,” he huffs, closing the distance once again to nuzzle your neck. “I still have nightmares.”

This time his laughter mixes with yours and he smiles against your jaw, soon kissing a path towards your inviting mouth, desperate for one more taste of you.

And when his soft murmur of appreciation ghosts over your lips, thanking you for loving him the way he needs, he doesn’t miss the way you cling to him. The way your heart syncs with his.

The way you feel like home.

It’s more than he ever thought he’d have - more than he deserves - and it’s exactly what finally kicks his ass into gear, giving him the strength to actually leave.

With one more lingering hug and deep kiss that steals your breath away, he’s professing his love for you, hammering home how lucky he is to have you.

You hold the tears at bay, even as you return the sentiment, shouting one last ‘I love you’ from the porch, your arms wrapped around you to stave off the sudden burst of cold.

Only once his car disappears from view do you finally give in to the emotions, the urge to cry intensified by your impending period.

You only give yourself a few seconds of cathartic release before you’re pulling yourself together, determined to make the most of the next couple of days instead of calling in sick to work and moping around the house. No matter how tempting that plan seems.

------

By afternoon, you’re rethinking everything, your eyes drooping the longer you stare at your computer screen, trying to juggle several tasks instead of taking a nap.

The only thing keeping you even remotely conscious is Bucky’s constant updates, his texts ranging from ‘Plane landed. Miss you.’ to ‘There’s a mirror in the shower. Can we get one?’

With your mental state already under siege by your hormones, you spend the rest of the day fighting off tears and aching for his touch. And berating yourself for acting like a military wife whose husband just got shipped off to war.

The surge of pride you feel for him brings more tears to your eyes and you throw yourself into bed, a ridiculous sob erupting when his scent suddenly overwhelms you.

Bucky’s a few hours away, carving out a new path for himself. A new way to help the same world that tried to cast him aside.

Because that’s who he is - who he’s always been - and god, how you wish you could be there. To be a fly on the wall to witness his passion to make things better, to bring light to the things others try to keep in the dark.

Within seconds, you’re clutching his pillow to your chest, trying to remind yourself that it won’t always be this hard, that you won’t always be this emotional.

Hell, by the time Bucky gets home, your period will have started and this whole thing can be a funny anecdote to share over wine and much-needed snuggling.

------

The city is wide awake by the time you roll out of bed the next morning, blaming your lack of energy on the hours spent tossing and turning. And the few sporadic late-night conversations with Bucky when things felt too lonely.

Problem is, while he might not need much sleep, you’re barely functioning, hovering over your laptop for half an hour before deciding to call it and use one of your sick days. It doesn’t feel like a lie, your body desperate for more rest, the occasional twinge of a cramp encouraging you to take it easy.

The brilliant idea of tricking your body into submission comes in the form of superstition - take a pregnancy test and your period will show up just to spite you. It’s worked every time before.

But, with every new text from Bucky, you’re starting to entertain the idea of a quick nap, followed by a short flight to DC in order to surprise him at his hotel.

The only thing stopping you is the dread of getting your period while you're dealing with airport security or, worse, getting stuck in traffic.

And then your whole world tilts.

Disappointment blooms briefly when it still doesn’t make an appearance during what always feels like the longest three minutes of waiting for the results.

It leaves you frustrated, yet innocently hopeful that it’ll show up within the next couple of hours.

Doubt overwhelms any other emotion for several minutes, your shaky hands fumbling with another pregnancy test, already assuring yourself that the last was faulty.

This new one will confirm your suspicions, the mantra repeating right up until the faint second line joins the first just like before.

Your first inhale brings life into the hope building in your gut. On the exhale, you’re laughing, all of your symptoms becoming glaringly obvious. You should have known.

This time when the ground shifts beneath you, your knees nearly give out. Your lungs cease to work. Your heart pounds in your ears. A terrifyingly beautiful future plays out behind your eyes.

This is actually happening.

You need to tell Bucky.

Of all the million thoughts racing through your head, that one remains the loudest and it’s hard to ignore the guilt gnawing at you for doing this without him.

It doesn’t feel fair that you get to live in this reality without him, but it’d be equally unjust to irrevocably change his life with a phone call.

So you wait. You pace. You agonize over every little detail. From how to tell Bucky, to what life will look like a year from now. Five years. Twenty.

Eventually, the tendrils of hope start to take hold, steadying you even as your worry and anxiety whisper of danger.

Neither of you are prepared, your shared moments of vulnerability echoing in your mind, the mirrored palpable fear of bringing a child into this world overriding the dreams neither of you dared voice.

Now you get to.

Now you get to prove to Bucky that he was made for this. That whatever doubt you harbored wasn’t a reflection of him. If anything, knowing how amazing of a father he’ll be is one of the things keeping you from swirling into a panic attack.

------

Your plan starts small.

A gift bag with the pregnancy tests.

Then, a tiny motorcycle jacket resembling his that you just couldn't resist. You’re already imagining Bucky holding his helmet up to complete the outfit, a goofy smile plastered across his face as you snap a picture.

A couple hours before he walks in the door, you’re adding the last minute addition, butterflies swarming in your belly as you imagine his reaction to the onesie hiding inside, the words “My daddy is my hero!” etched across the front.

It builds slowly. Surprised recognition at the tests. A glance at you for assurance that this is really happening before he’s diving back in. A ghost of a smile that communicates more than he’s capable of verbalizing right now.

At the first touch of the faux leather against his skin, Bucky’s willing his heart to slow enough to allow himself to stay right here with you, to let himself believe in a future he thought was closed off to him. To imagine himself in a role he no longer gave credence to.

The onesie completely breaks him open.

Hero. Daddy. Two titles that you swear he can proudly hold. A monster who used to-.

Your soft utterance of his name catches him before he can fall into the familiar well of guilt, bringing him back to the fragile edge he teeters during moments like this.

“This isn’t something you have to earn, baby,” you whisper, reaching out to trace your fingers over the words, purposefully drawing Bucky’s attention back to the statement that’s trying to unravel him. “You just get to be.”

Just like that, you piece him back together. Like you always do. His jagged edges never once managing to scar you in the process.

“You’re allowed to be excited,” you promise, your own glassy eyes meeting his, full of unshed tears. “Even if you’re scared… ‘cause, honestly, I’m terrified, but I-.”

“I want this too,” he finishes with you, a tentative smile finally taking hold, one hand gripping the onesie, the other pulling you closer. “I’m already thinking of baby names. Is that crazy?”

You laugh, meeting him in a teary kiss before confessing, “I’ve been picturing having to send them off on their first day of school, so…”

“You think I’m letting them outta my sight?” Bucky grins with a shake of his head. “Homeschool all the way, sweetheart. At least ‘til they’re 18.”

“We’ll see about that.”

You have plenty of time to figure it out.

------

For 52 glorious hours, you get to exist in a world full of possibilities. A world where Bucky begins to believe that his luck didn’t just end with you. That, despite everything, he’s allowed to have more. To want more.

His already attentive nature somehow multiplies, eager to wait on you hand and foot, insisting on a nap whenever a yawn overtakes you.

Several times you find yourself curled up on the couch with your head in his lap, his vibranium hand stroking lazy circles along your back, while scrolling with his other, researching everything from pregnancy symptoms to baby gear. And trying to figure out what the big deal is with gender reveals.

Bucky’s halfway through memorizing swaddling techniques when the first cramp hits, a flicker of worry etching itself along your brow.

For a while, you manage to convince each other it’s totally normal. Common, even. Everyone says so. Even the doctor as you schedule an appointment anyway.

When the spotting starts, Bucky still clings to hope, refusing to believe the universe would dangle this just to rip it away before it could ever really begin. Fuck the statistics.

But, deep down, you already know.

There was always a part of you that knew you tempted fate by taking that test. If you had waited, let nature take its course, you probably would have never known. You would have spared you both this heartache.

When the guilt starts to drown you, Bucky quiets your needless apologies, holding you together as sobs wrack your body.

As easy as it would be to blame himself - his past, his karma, hell, maybe his genes - he chooses a different path instead. One he’s not used to taking, but you’ve done a damn good job of lighting the way for him.

“I’m glad we knew,” he assures you, his gentle hands cradling your wet cheeks, encouraging you to stay right here with him. “Even if it wasn’t meant to be, I wouldn’t change anything about this, do you hear me?”

And that’s more than enough.

At your teary nod, one of his own slips past his lashes, but his smile never wavers. “You’ve given me the greatest gift, sweetheart,” he whispers, closing the distance to rest his forehead against yours, grounding you with him.

“You showed me that I’m allowed to hope. Freely. Without guilt. Like maybe I get to want things again.”

The healing will take time. The world won’t look as bright for a while. The baby clothes will start to gather dust on the dresser. But it’s all perfectly okay.

Because you're together, and you already have everything you need to begin writing the next chapter.

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