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ilovemilestellersmoustache · 7 days ago

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Home Is Where The Heart Is

Bob Reynolds x Thunderbolts!reader

Summary: Wanting to feel more included Bob decides to help on a mission but in efforts to protect you he injures himself leaving him with amnesia. Your boyfriend not remembering isn’t the biggest problem because he’s always going to find you again, even in a hundred lifetimes.

WC: 5.9K

⸻

The team had been crouched in that half-collapsed factory for what felt like days, waiting on a deal that intel swore would be “low-risk.” Off-grid. Lo-fi. Not worth a full Avengers pull.

Bob had practically begged to come.

“I’ll carry gear, patch wounds, whatever you need. I just- please- I need to feel useful.”he’d told Valentina.

She rolled her eyes but nodded. “Don’t get in the way, Goldilocks.”

So now, with dusk bleeding into night, Bob was in medic-mode. His hair was pushed back, sleeves rolled to his elbows as he passed out water, adjusted bandages, and murmured encouragements. His eye, however, never strayed too far from Y/N.

His girl. His light in all the noise. She’d joined him on this mission reluctantly, her usual grace exchanged for tension in her jaw. She didn’t trust the “low-risk” label and she had good instincts.

She was halfway up the ramp to the team’s transport jet, ready to head home with no sign of enemy lines for days. Ava right behind her, when it happened.

The building cracked.

A sound like the world being split open echoed across the premise. The kind no one expected. The kind Valentina explicitly said wouldn’t happen.

“AMBUSH!” John screamed, diving behind a shipping container.

Yelena flipped backward, drawing her pistol mid-air. “I KNEW THIS FELT WRONG!”

Bob didn’t think.

Didn’t hesitate.

His eyes scanned for Y/N and found her on the ramp, instinctively moving to cover Ava behind her. But she was exposed. Too exposed. A chunk of the building’s upper ledge shuddered, then gave way, right above her.

“Y/N!”

Bob was already sprinting, shoving through smoke and static. His boots hit the ramp just as the slab of concrete dropped.

Time slowed.

He threw himself forward, arms outstretched, not to push her, but to shield her.

He caught her eyes. Hers widened.

“BOB-!”

And then-

CRASH.

The slab connected with his back, hard. The force sent him flying into the side of the jet, head colliding with the reinforced wall. A wet, dull hit echoed beneath the chaos. He fell on the floor with a thud, hair tangled in blood.

Y/N screamed his name, crawling toward him, bullets ricocheting around her.

“BOB! NO, no no no- Bucky, HELP ME!”

Bucky was already sliding beside her, laying down cover fire with one hand, dragging Bob’s limp body back into the jet with the other.

“He’s breathing,” Bucky snapped, but barely. “We need to lift now.”

Alexei and Yelena were already firing back, bodies moving as one in furious rhythm. John threw himself behind the controls while Ava climbed into the jet’s hatch.

As the engines roared to life, Y/N knelt beside Bob, hands trembling. Blood was running down his temple, soaking into the collar of the utility jacket she’d tailored for him before the mission. His pulse was shallow.

“You stupid idiot.” she whispered, voice cracking. “Why would you- why would you do that?”

His eyes fluttered, just for a second. A hint of gold flickered in the whites. Weakly, through split lips, he breathed.

“Had to make sure…you were safe…”

Then darkness took him again.

⸻

The fluorescent hum of the Thunderbolts medbay lights was too clean. Too sterile.

Bob blinked slowly, vision swimming back to clarity as the haze of sedation lifted from his limbs. Everything felt wrong. The bed beneath him, too firm. The blanket, military-issue, rough. The equipment around him, futuristic, foreign. It wasn’t the room that disturbed him most, though. It was himself. The reflection in the monitor screens a man with soft brown hair, a faint scar on his temple, eyes too heavy with something he couldn’t name.

And then, her.

She stood by the far wall, posture sharp in a dark tactical jacket, arms folded. Not cold, not distant- just… restrained. She looked like she had practiced stillness as a defense. Her face was familiar and unfamiliar all at once. Like a song heard in another language.

“Hey.” she said gently when their eyes met, moving off the wall inching closer to him. Her voice carried a weight behind the calm. “You’re awake.”

Bob swallowed hard, cheeks turning a slight shade of pink at this breathtaking woman gazing at him in this state he was in. “Yeah. I guess I am.”

Doctors immediately rushed in, swarming around him with tests and clipped questions, their voices overlapping in a blur of medical urgency. Monitors beeped. A flashlight flicked across his eyes. Blood pressure. Reflexes. Vitals.

After what felt like hours, the pace slowed. One doctor, older, composed asked what should have been a routine memory check, his voice calm as he turned to the patient.

“Do you know who she is?” he asked, gesturing toward Y/N, who stood a few feet away, arms folded tightly across her chest, her expression unreadable beneath furrowed brows.

Bob blinked, his gaze landing on her with a faint frown. “I- No. Should I?”

The silence that followed wasn’t loud. It was quiet. Devastatingly so.

There was no desperate rush to his side. No trembling hand reaching for his. No whispered reassurances, no kiss to his forehead. Just a pause. Then a slow, measured nod from Y/N, her face still guarded, her eyes glassy but dry.

The doctor exhaled gently. “He has retrograde amnesia.” he explained, his tone careful but clinical. “It’s not uncommon with head trauma. The memories may come back gradually, or they might not. It’s too soon to tell.”

Y/N didn’t flinch. Didn’t move. Just kept nodding, as if she’d been expecting this. As if she’d already mourned the version of him who used to know her.

⸻

Bob learned quickly that no one blamed him for the memory loss. Not Yelena, who perched on the edge of his bed, slicing an apple with deliberate focus while muttering something about experimental tech frying brain cells. Not Ava, who wordlessly handed him a protein bar like it was the only thing she knew to offer. Not Alexei who was trying to force a collection of polaroids he’s taken over the last phew months into his vision. Even John, ever the smartass, only gave him a half-hearted, “Actions have consequences,” before softening with a quiet, “Glad you’re alive, man.”

Bucky tried though, and Bucky didn’t try for just anyone. Calm. Steady. The way someone might be when they’ve seen too much and somehow lived through it. He spoke like he’d walked people through this kind of grief before, the kind where you can’t even name what you’ve lost.

“You were with her.” Bucky said simply, arms crossed over his chest. “The two of you… it was real. Solid.”

Bob nodded, but the words floated past him like smoke.

With her?

The phrase felt like it belonged to someone else’s story, someone else’s life.

He could still see the way she looked at him earlier, cool, unreadable, posture tight like she was bracing for impact. She didn’t rush to him. Didn’t touch him. Didn’t fall apart.

That was the woman he was with? That he loved? That loved him?

But she hadn’t looked at him with love. She’d looked at him like he was made of glass, fractured and razor-edged, something you didn’t dare hold too tightly in case it shattered.

⸻

That night, sleep evaded him. The sterile sheets felt foreign, the shadows too still. The silence was heavy, not peaceful, but oppressive. Bob decided to get up and wandered the halls of the tower like a ghost, barefoot and cautious, as though the quiet might break beneath his steps. No one stopped him. Maybe they trusted him. Maybe they pitied him. Either way, he moved unnoticed, a stranger in a life that was supposed to be his.

He drifted toward the faint whistle of wind slipping through steel beams, drawn by something instinctive. Not memory. Just a pull. When he stepped out onto the upper balcony-level watch post, the night stretched out before him, wide and quiet. And there she was.

Y/N stood at the edge leaning against the rails, her silhouette sharp against the backdrop of city lights and stars. She wore a lightweight jacket, shoulders squared, eyes trained forward through night-vision lenses. Her presence was steady, unshakable. A soldier on alert. But there was a stillness in her posture that said more than readiness. It was grief, maybe. Or exhaustion.

A breeze swept past, and a faint scent clung to it, lavender, soft and nostalgic. It hit him like a blow to the chest. Not a memory, not quite. But a feeling. Something warm. Familiar. Safe.

She didn’t flinch when he approached. Didn’t acknowledge him, but didn’t move away either. He took it as an invitation. He settled beside her, placing his arms across on the cold metal railing, careful to keep his distance. He didn’t want to crowd her. He didn’t even know if he could anymore.

They stood like that for a while. The kind of silence that wasn’t awkward, but reverent. Like they were both trying to listen for echoes of something long gone.

Eventually, he broke it. Quietly, like he wasn’t sure if he had the right.

“What were we like?”

Her body tensed. Not visibly, not dramatically, but enough. He saw her jaw shift, her hands subtly clench at her sides. When she finally responded, her voice was caught somewhere between startled and guarded.

“What? Who- who told you?”

He shrugged. “Doesn’t matter. I just… I thought maybe it would help. Jog something.”

Y/N exhaled through her nose, gaze still fixed ahead. For a moment, he thought she wouldn’t answer.

“…We were quiet.” she said at last. “But not in a bad way. It was the kind of quiet that felt… easy. You always made me laugh. Not loud laughs, just those little breathless ones. The kind that slip out when you’re trying not to smile.”

Her voice was steady, but he could feel the cracks beneath it.

Bob turned to look at her. Her expression didn’t shift, but her throat moved when she swallowed. She was holding something back. She had been holding it back since the hospital.

“You used to make breakfast.” she continued, voice softer now, like she was afraid if she spoke too loud, the memory would disappear. “Badly. You’d burn toast every time, and then get all dramatic when I didn’t want to eat it. And you always made coffee, made mine every morning. Just the way I liked it. Never forgot.”

There was a pause. Then her voice wavered, almost imperceptibly, on that last word.

Bob looked down at his hands. They felt unfamiliar. Like maybe the man who used to hold her hand, who used to make that burnt toast and pour her coffee, was someone entirely different.

“I don’t remember any of that.” he whispered. The admission tasted bitter. Hollow.

“I know,” she said. Not accusing. Not bitter. Just tired. Just sad.

The words hung between them, fragile and final.

And then, silence again. But this time, it wasn’t easy.

⸻

Later in the night, when he decided to head back, sleep finally took him, it wasn’t gentle. It dragged him under like a riptide. The sterile white noise of the tower faded, and in its place came fragments, uninvited and half-formed. Not memories, not quite. But echoes of something once real.

The first was laughter. Not his, hers. Light and effortless, like water trickling over smooth stone. It filled his chest with a warmth that bordered on pain. He didn’t know what had made her laugh like that, but he knew, somehow that it had been him. And he knew he would give anything to hear it again.

Then, sunlight. Her face turned toward him, golden and radiant. Eyes crinkling at the corners. Lips parted, like she was just about to say something teasing or tender. There was a weightless joy in the image, but it slipped too fast, like a leaf on the wind.

Another shift.

His heart pounded. The dream turned sharp. He saw her leaning over him, breath close to his cheek. Her hand, warm and trembling, pressed to his chest, not in fear, but in relief. She was giggling, the sound laced with adrenaline, tears clinging to her lashes.

“Don’t do that again, Reynolds.” she whispered, her voice cracking with everything she wasn’t saying. Her fingers fisted his shirt like she was holding him together with her bare hands.

And then-

Lavender. Not a color, but a scent. It hung in the air like a memory all its own. A pillow. Her pillow. It carried the comfort of something known, something intimate. It flooded him with longing. He could almost feel the curve of her body pressed beside his beneath cool sheets.

Then came the sound. Quiet. Distant.

Humming.

A melody. Familiar but unplaceable. Maybe something from her childhood. Maybe something she sang when she thought he wasn’t listening. It was the kind of tune you’d hear while doing the dishes or tying your shoes, mundane, but sacred. A sound of home. Her voice, wordless, soft, wrapped around him like a blanket.

He tried to follow it. To hold on. But the dream began to dissolve, slipping through his grasp like fog.

Bob jolted awake in the dim pre-dawn light, lungs tight, fingers clenched in the sheets. It took him a moment to realize the wetness on his face wasn’t sweat. It was tears, fresh and hot, sliding silently down his cheeks.

He didn’t remember. Not truly. Not enough to hold onto. But the ache was real. Bone deep. He felt hollowed out, like his heart was trying to mourn a life he’d never lived but somehow missed all the same.

He pressed a shaking hand to his chest, right where she’d touched him in the dream.

And for the first time since waking up in that hospital bed, he felt the true weight of what he’d lost.

Not just memories.

Her.

⸻

Over the course of the next week, Bob found himself drawn to her in ways he couldn’t quite explain.

It wasn’t fear that made him watch her from across rooms, from training mats, from the dining table he shared with others but never truly listened to. It wasn’t suspicion either. It was something quieter, something closer to longing, even if he didn’t yet understand why.

Curiosity, maybe. Or recognition. The soul’s memory, even when the mind forgets.

She moved like someone who had been forged in fire and didn’t flinch at the heat anymore. There was nothing soft or performative about her presence, no wasted gestures, no unnecessary emotion. Every movement had purpose. Every word she spoke during briefings was clipped and precise, stripped of anything sentimental. She was a soldier, yes but there was something beneath the discipline. Something deeper. She wasn’t cold. Just… contained.

He noticed how she never hovered. Never lingered too long after meetings or volunteered small talk to fill the gaps. She didn’t crowd him with the weight of what had been. She never asked if he remembered her, or them, or the way her voice sounded when she called him by name.

She simply stood back. Present. Measured. Waiting.

And maybe that was why he started coming to her.

First it was subtle. He’d take the seat next to her in mission briefings, even when there were other chairs open. Not close enough to touch, but close enough to hear her quiet breath, to catch the lavender scent that still clung to her jacket.

He started showing up earlier. Hanging back after meeting. Sharing his seat without asking. Once, he handed her a towel after watching her spar in a match without even realizing he’d done it. She took it silently. But her fingers brushed his just a second too long.

In the dining room, he noticed she rarely ate her full plate. The others didn’t comment, but Bob did. Casually offering her his extra bread roll or protein bar. She would scoff, wrinkle her nose, roll her eyes like he was being ridiculous, but sometimes, she accepted. And sometimes, when she thought he wasn’t paying attention, he caught her smiling.

Not big. Not wide. But there. Barely there creases at the corners of her mouth. A warmth that hadn’t surfaced in days, maybe weeks. And always, always gone before he could say anything.

He wasn’t sure what any of it meant.

Only that, in the stillness of his new life, her presence anchored him.

And that the ache in his chest grew sharper every time she walked away.

⸻

His confusion, once sharp and disorienting, gradually melted into something gentler. Something warmer.

It was a strange kind of torment to feel so deeply for someone you didn’t remember. Because it wasn’t just the absence of memory that haunted him anymore. It was the presence of emotion. The heart, it seemed, didn’t wait for proof. The body didn’t require context. The feelings arrived without invitation, and they came in waves, sudden, steady, and impossible to ignore.

She would laugh at something Ava said, usually something dry and unexpected and it would hit him square in the chest. Not because the moment was funny, but because her laughter felt like a melody he used to know by heart. A sound that once lived in the private corners of his life.

He’d catch her braiding her hair before a mission, standing in front of a window or mirror with practiced ease. And every time, his hands would twitch. The muscles moved without command, a ghost-memory that didn’t belong to his mind but to his body. He knew those braids. Knew the rhythm of her breath when she leaned back against him. Knew the weight of her trust when she let him close enough to touch.

Sometimes she’d pass him in the hallway, her shoulder barely brushing his and his breath would hitch, the hairs on his arm rising like he was expecting the graze of her fingers, the low murmur of his name in a voice only meant for him.

But it never came.

She didn’t reach for him. Didn’t slip notes into his hand or steal glances when she thought no one was watching. She didn’t cling to hope or pressure him with memories he hadn’t recovered.

Instead, she gave him space.

Too much space.

And yet, somehow, the ache kept growing.

Every time she walked away with that same quiet grace, every time her expression stayed carefully unreadable, it carved a little deeper into him. A hollow expanding behind his ribs where something important used to live.

He didn’t remember their first kiss. Their inside jokes. The late nights or shared scars.

But something in him missed her, all the same.

And worse still-

He was starting to fall for her all over again.

Without even remembering why he did the first time.

⸻

A week later, he found her again, alone, tucked away in the quiet hum of the tech bay. She sat beneath a low-hanging heat lamp, sleeves rolled to her elbows, forearms smudged with pencil marks as she adjusted the inner circuitry of her weapon. Her hair was messy, hastily tied back. No makeup. No armor of sarcasm or sharpness. Just her.

Raw. Real. Beautiful.

“You look tired.” Bob said gently from the doorway.

She didn’t flinch. Just glanced up with a dry smile and replied, “So do you.”

He didn’t argue. Just stepped inside and leaned against the wall, watching her hands work in silence for a beat. The room buzzed with the faint sound of tools…

Then, finally, he spoke again. Softer this time.

“Is it weird if I say I think I’m starting to… feel things? About you?”

She paused, fingers stilling over a coil of wires. Her eyes lifted to his, cautious but not cold.

“What kind of things?” she asked, voice carefully neutral.

Bob looked down, almost embarrassed, before he met her gaze again. “Good ones. Familiar ones. Like… maybe my heart remembers, even if my head doesn’t.”

Her breath caught. And for the first time in weeks, she let the exhaustion show. Let it settle in her shoulders, in the delicate downturn of her mouth. Her fingers curled around a tool like she needed something to hold on to.

“I miss you.” she said, barely above a whisper.

He took a step closer. Then another. Still careful. Still slow. But he wasn’t afraid this time.

“I’m still here.” he said. “Even if I don’t remember who I was… I think I still want to be him.”

For a moment, she didn’t speak. Just stared at him like she was trying to memorize this version of him too, this half-stranger with familiar eyes and a voice that sounded like home.

Her hand lifted slightly, hovered midair as if it might reach for his cheek. But she stopped herself. Just inches away.

Not yet.

Still, her voice was softer now. It trembled just a little around the edges. “Then let’s take it slow. Start over, if we have to.”

Bob nodded, a small, earnest smile curling his lips as he extended a hand like it was the first day of something real.

“Hi. I’m Bob.”

Y/N blinked. And then she laughed, gentle and quiet, like the echo of a memory he couldn’t quite catch but never wanted to stop chasing.

“Hi, Bob.” she said, slipping her hand into his.

“I’m Y/N.”

And just like that, something shifted. Something healed.

Not fully. Not yet.

But it was a start.

⸻

And somewhere, deep in the fog of his fractured mind, a thread of gold began to glow. Subtle. Elusive. But unmistakably there.

Bob’s recovery was steady. Methodical. Predictable in the way a machine recalibrates itself, just input, output, routine. His vitals stabilized. His strength returned. The neurologists nodded solemnly over scan results and EEG charts, murmuring about neuroplasticity and “hopeful signs of cognitive repair.” The Void within him, the chaos fused to his cells like a shadow stitched to his soul, remained dormant for now, but pulsed quietly in the marrow of his bones. Like a storm cloud on the horizon, waiting.

But none of that, none of the science or tests or data, could explain the way his pulse quickened when she walked into the room.

She would start bringing him water without being asked. Left briefing notes folded neatly beside his tray, her compact handwriting a strange comfort in a world where everything else felt unfamiliar. She checked the charge on his comms unit before every debrief and stood silently beside him during med scans, as if her presence alone could ground him.

And every night, when she thought he was asleep, she sat beside his bed. Just for a little while. Just long enough to keep the nightmares away.

But she never touched him.

Not once.

No graze of her fingers across his knuckles. No guiding hand at the small of his back. No welcome back hug when he stumbled through the door after his first real training session, bruised and soaked in sweat but alive. Alive and somehow still not enough.

He noticed the way her hands twitched sometimes. Just the slightest flinch when he got too close. Like her muscle memory wanted to reach for him but her heart had already buried the version of him that belonged to her.

Because she kept telling herself even if he wanted to try, she’ll never get back the old him.

The man who braided her hair. Who burned her toast. Who held her in the quiet moments between chaos.

He was a ghost in his own skin. A stranger with his voice and his eyes and none of the history.

And she didn’t know how to grieve someone who was still breathing.

So she kept her distance.

Kind. Careful. Controlled.

And utterly heartbreaking.

But Bob-

He saw her.

Not with the eyes of the man she once loved, but with something new. Something fragile and blooming.

And somewhere deep inside, that golden thread tugged again.

A whisper. A memory.

A promise he hadn’t made yet.

But still intended to keep.

⸻

It was Ava who finally gave voice to the thought neither of them had dared to speak aloud, the unspoken weight that had settled between them like a shadow neither wanted to face.

They sat on the rooftop between missions, legs dangling over the edge as the world below slowly awoke. The city was a blur of distant sounds and shifting lights, but up here, it felt like time had paused, delicate and still, suspended in that fragile space just before a heartbeat.

Ava tossed a small pebble into the air, catching it effortlessly on the back of her hand, her eyes never leaving the softening sky as dawn’s first light spilled pale gold across the horizon. Her voice was calm, steady, but carried an undeniable certainty as she finally spoke.

“You act like he’s not still yours.”

The words landed quietly but with a force that stirred something deep inside Y/N. She blinked, her chest tightening, a sudden ache blooming in the hollow spaces she hadn’t yet admitted existed. “He doesn’t remember.” she whispered, her voice barely louder than the gentle breeze rustling around them, fragile and tentative.

“That doesn’t mean he doesn’t feel it.” Ava said without hesitation, her gaze finally meeting Y/N’s with a softness that held understanding, compassion.

Y/N remained silent. Her jaw clenched as if holding back a flood, her breath catching in her throat. The truth in Ava’s words washed over her slowly, like a cold tide creeping in, unrelenting and undeniable. She had been holding herself apart, convinced that without memory, the connection between them was broken beyond repair. But now, confronted with the possibility that feelings could endure without facts, her walls began to crumble, piece by fragile piece.

The silence stretched out between them, vast and heavy, carrying the weight of unspoken fears and lingering hope. Finally, Ava reached out, a tentative hand brushing a stray lock of hair from Y/N’s face, a small act of comfort, a bridge across the distance.

After a long, quiet pause, Ava’s voice softened further, a gentle whisper carried on the wind. “You know, most people would kill for the chance to fall in love with the same person twice.”

The words hung in the air, delicate and shimmering like morning dew on fragile leaves. They were raw, hopeful, and aching all at once, cutting through the quiet like a promise. As the sun climbed higher, casting its warm light across the cityscape, something shifted between them, an unspoken invitation to believe in beginnings anew, to let the past and the present intertwine, fragile but real, like the slow bloom of dawn itself.

She felt it, of course, how could she not? The way Bob lingered, how his gaze clung to her like it hurt to look away. How his voice gentled when he said her name, how he remembered every little thing about her without even realizing it.

And it killed her.

Because she wanted to run to him. She wanted to bury her face in his chest and let the months of grief, fear, and waiting break open between them like thunder.

But she didn’t.

Because this wasn’t a fairytale. This was real. Messy. Fragile. Bob had lost everything, even himself. What he was feeling now wasn’t grounded in memory. It was instinct. Pull. Echoes of something he couldn’t touch. And if she leaned in too fast, too hard…

She’d break both of them.

⸻

Bob caught himself watching Y/N more often than he was willing to admit.

Observing her, getting ready to re learn all the things that made him fall for her in the the first place. Tactical necessity. Her habits, the subtle language of her body and gesture.

He noticed the way she tied her left boot tighter than her right, the deliberate care in each knot. How she tapped the corner of her datapad twice, always twice, before slipping it under her arm like a secret. The faint scar tucked beneath her jaw, visible only when the light caught her just so, small and sharp, like a whispered story.

When she spoke, he felt the ghost of a feeling, the memory of how it once was to listen to her voice, as if he’d shaped himself around its cadence long ago.

He learned to read her moods by the music she chose in the mess hall, Fleetwood Mac when exhaustion weighed on her, the jittery energy of Talking Heads when she was wired and restless. He noticed the way her eyes blinked three quick times when she fought back tears, the barely perceptible quiver in her hands during briefings.

He stored these fragments away like precious secrets, little clues she’d left behind just for him.

And then, quietly, without warning, it happened he started fully head first (no pun intended) falling for her all over again.

Not because of memories or history, but because this was something new. A slow, hesitant kind of longing, a fragile second chance his heart couldn’t ignore, even if his mind still wavered.

Late one night, after the rest of the team had long since retreated to their rooms, Bob found himself in the weight room with Bucky. The dull hum of machines and the steady clink of weights filled the space, but between them there was a comfortable silence, one that felt safe enough for truths to slip out.

Bucky handed Bob a towel, the gesture simple but steady, like a lifeline. Bob took it and sank back onto the bench, shoulders heavy, not just from the workout, but from something far more weighty inside him.

He exhaled slowly, trying to gather the words. “I can’t stop thinking about her.” he said finally, voice rough and low, like admitting it made the feeling more real.

Bucky’s eyes flicked up, sharp and curious. “Y/N?”

Bob nodded, rubbing the back of his neck awkwardly. “Yeah. It’s weird. It’s like my body remembers her. All these little things I don’t actually recall, the way she laughs, the way she gets serious when she’s worried, how she always taps her datapad twice before putting it away.”

He paused, searching Bucky’s face for judgment or dismissal, but found none.

“It’s like this echo inside me that won’t shut up. Even if my brain can’t pull up the memories, the feelings are still there. I don’t know what that means, but it’s driving me crazy.”

Bucky nodded slowly, as if he understood that ache too well. His voice was quiet but sure. “Maybe that’s the part that really matters, the part that sticks around after all the rest gets lost. Sometimes the heart remembers before the mind catches up.”

Bob looked up at him, a flicker of hope mixing with the confusion in his eyes. For the first time in a long while, maybe there was a path forward, even if it was just one small, fragile step.

⸻

It came to a head one evening, late.

The others had cleared out after a long debrief. She stayed behind to finish reports. Bob… didn’t leave either.

He stood in the doorway for a moment before walking in. She heard him, but didn’t look up.

“You always work this late?” he asked quietly.

She smiled faintly, still not looking at him. “Someone’s gotta clean up your mission notes.”

He chuckled, soft and warm. “That bad, huh?”

“No,” she said, softer now. “Just… messy.”

A beat of silence.

Then, his voice. “I remember how you take your coffee.”

Her hand froze mid-type.

“I didn’t realize it.” he continued, stepping closer. “This morning, when I was making a cup, I poured two. Yours, black, one sugar. I didn’t think. I just did it.”

She finally looked at him.

Bob’s eyes held no confusion. No uncertainty. Only wonder. And something deeper.

“I don’t remember everything. I wish I did.” he admitted. “But every time I look at you, I feel like I’m home. Like you’re the part of me I’ve been missing.”

Her eyes filled. She blinked fast, pressing her lips together to keep them from trembling.

“Bob-“

“You don’t have to say anything.” he cut in gently. “I just… I wanted you to know I’d find you again. In a hundred lifetimes. Even if I didn’t remember your name, I’d still know you.”

She shook her head, tears slipping down now. “Don’t- don’t say that. Please. Because if you fall again and something takes you from me again, I don’t think I’ll survive it.”

Silence. Thick. Raw.

Then, he stepped closer, slower than slow, and stopped just short of touching her.

“I think.” he said, voice low and rough, “we both survived the first fall. Maybe that means we’re meant to do it again.”

Y/N looked at him for a long moment, heart shattering open in her chest.

And for now… she didn’t run.

She just breathed.

And stayed.

“I love you.”

Y/N’s breath caught.

He didn’t look at her. He couldn’t. Not yet.

“Even if all those moments we had are still fog to me, I love you now. Not because I did. But because I do.”

She closed her eyes. The ache inside her chest expanded like a dam threatening to break.

She stared at him, lips parted, a thousand emotions crashing behind her eyes. And for a second, she hesitated. As if the love she’d locked away so tightly might shatter everything if she let it out now.

But then, she broke.

Her hands cupped his jaw, and she kissed him like it was the last time and the first. Like the end and the beginning had always been the same. Her mouth trembled against his, but she kissed him with years of ache, of waiting, of love that had refused to die even when everything else had been taken.

And he kissed her back like he’d been waiting a lifetime.

Maybe he had.

⸻

They didn’t say anything when they re-entered the living room, hand in hand, flushed and quiet and overwhelmed.

They didn’t have to.

Yelena looked up from her spot on the couch and offered a half-smile, knowingly. Bucky gave a small nod of approval.

Even Alexei, wiping his eye a little too aggressively, muttered, “Dust. Stupid American dust.”

John and Ava exchanged a look but said nothing. Respectful silence wrapped around them like a blanket. The team didn’t tease. Didn’t pry.

They just let them be.

⸻

[Epilogue — 2 Months Later]

The morning light fell golden across the compound grounds, glinting off the dew-soaked grass and filtering through the windows of the common room. Someone had put on music, Fleetwood Mac, soft and low.

Bob sat on the steps just outside, a cup of coffee in hand, watching as Y/N barked a laugh across the courtyard, playfully tossing a sparring mat at Alexei, who pretended to stumble like he’d been shot.

Her hair was pulled up messily. She wore one of his old shirts, sleeves rolled, collar stretched. She looked free. She looked like home.

He didn’t have all his memories. Some things were still missing, like half-remembered dreams just out of reach. But he was okay with that.

Because this, now was real.

They had rebuilt something not from memory, but from the heart. From the quiet comfort of relearning one another. From the gentle rediscovery of touch, trust, laughter.

And they were better for it.

She turned then, sensing his gaze, and their eyes locked across the distance. Her smile softened. Not flashy. Not forced.

Just full of love.

Bob smiled back, heart full.

He’d crawl back home to her.

And he would.

Every single time.

⸻

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rexhya · 20 days ago

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Your anul writings are sooo good like i got hooked

Like imagine anuls dad saying he found a wife for him and reader starts distancing herself because the potential wife heard about how obsessed he was with reader and threatened reader that if she listened or obeyed him she would have her father kill them

yandere!prince who is livid at his father, who wants to kill the woman who's supposedly going to be his wife. ( as if )

Anul doesn't even bother trying to pretend to like her, he continues as usual. What he doesn't know is how this wretched woman has been treating you.

You're sewing together fabrics of Anuls clothing, ever since he'd learned you know how to tailor clothes he's been insistent that no one else but you touch them, a button on one of his shirts had broken.

You of course noticed the woman approaching you, her luxurious gown could be seen swaying from miles away.

"You, maid girl." the woman sneered.

You turned upwards to where she was standing, her chest puffed out proudly. "Yes?" you gulped, she was obviously a noble, though one you didn't recognize.

"Stay away from The Prince , and I mean it. I know you think he loves you, but's he just using you. He'll understand you're nothing but a bug on the wall once he meets me." she flipped her hair waiting for answer.

"Okay." you mumbled looking down, this wasn't worth your trouble.

But the woman wasn't done, "Dont get cocky, do you know who my father is?"

You pricked your fingers while sewing, "I'm not—"

"That's right, you're not anything, stay away from him or i'll tell my father what you've done, and trust me you won't like that." she didnt wait for an andwer as she stalked away, leaving you and your bloody pointer alone.

It wasnt long after this interaction that you began avoiding Anul, excuse after excuse eventually led hardly any interaction at all, and it wasn't like you didn't enjoy seeing the prince from time to time, its was simply for your own safety.

The woman had been watching you like a hawk, ready to catch you near him so she could punish you, or even worse, kill you. You didnt take any chances and went to great efforts to stay away from him, seeing as he was constantly looking for you on a daily basis this turned out to be quite dificult however you'd made things work.

Untill they weren't of course.

Anul was deeply upset, you were so slippery these days, everytime he wanted to see you there seemed to be something of great importance interupting his much needed quality time. You hadn't slept in his chambers in over a week! This needed to stop, and it needed to stop now.

A week and 3 days, and 4 hours since you'd been avoiding him Anul decides he's had enough. He knows everything about your routine, he decides to set a trap. A maid girl leaves a letter in your locker to head up to the head of the maids office, your terrible nervous of course, because of Anul you hadnt been exactly the most present untill this past week, you hoped you wernet being fired.

That wasn't the case at all, "[Name], so you really are alive!" you don't have time to answer before Anul swoops you off your feet and into the air, twirling you around in a way that delightfully makes you squeeze onto him.

He sets you down gracefully and you peer up at him, " My prince, what are you doing here?" you try to pull away but he has his arms locked on your waist an deliriously lovesick expression on his face.

"I missed you my love," he sighs burrying his nose into your neck, breathing in your scent.

You warm, it was weird feeling the sheer power of Anuls body after being away for so long.

"But what are you doing here! I thought i was in trouble, Ms. Jalei, she—"

Anul suddenly pulled away, a cold and angry look on his face, "We'll that's because you are, you''ve been avoiding and ignoring me [Name], you should tell me why." despite the coldness in his voice he sounded awfully hurt. Had being away from you really hurt that bad?

"I havent been—" you tried.

"Dont, I'm not in the mood." he stared, and you began to crumble, his gaze felt like starting into a void of pitch black smoke.

"I–" you voice clogged, when you thought about the woman. "Well, it's just that there was this noble. I don't know her name—"

"She threatened you?" he narrowed his eyes.

You nodded, it was an obvious conclusion to come to. Anul knew of his admirers, he simply didn't care for them. Then Anul did something unexpected, he sighed in relief. "Oh thank god, I thought you didn't like me anymore. You would never abandon me, how silly of me."

You didn't say anything to this, letting Anul rub his nose into your neck, he hadnt said it aloud but he'd been misreable without you, running on 4 hours of sleep because he couldn't fall asleep right away, accidentally cutting of this knight boy he'd sparred with, and not to mention the drinking, god, it got so bad his father almost gave in and demanded you back to him. His moaning and wailing kept the entire palace up.

"Well, that solves everything then," he smile was as wide as you'd ever seen if before. "Don't ever do something like that again, okay? Tonight you sleep with me."

You nodded again, you should've expected this, Anul wasn't one to give up to easily. He finally pulled back and away to peer at your face, a hand coming up to stroke your cheek. "You're so quiet, she didn't already touch you did she?"

You shook your head no again. Anul frowned. "Use your words."

"No"

He grins, "Good girl. My precious darling, It's been so long since we've last seen each other, I feel obligated to a kiss."

You blink rapidly, struggling to keep eye contact with the violet haired man, he loved it when you were flustered like this, "Well?" he whispered and softly your your lips open with a thumb, open-mouthed sucking on your tounge, you shivered, trying to ignore the prodding feeling between Anul's legs. He was just as flustered as you when he was done, crimson red coating his face.

"God, I can't believe I went a week without that, you're to never be away from me again you hear me? And don't worry about that woman, she'll be disposed of if it's the last thing I do."

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grimmsbride · 3 months ago

Text

▒ ❀ ̭͡⠀ ❛Blackout. Mohawk! Mark

summary.. you thought you had found some alone time with you, and your mighty little vibrator. but of course, all fun is always short-lived

tags.. canon-divergence (i have never written for mark or any of his variants nor have i read the comics, so, mohawk will be a little ooc and i apologize for that. also this ofc doesn’t really follow the plot of his dimension) / rough sex / overstimulation / he’s lowkey a dick / multiple orgasms / lowkey pain kink / reader is into everything ofc / light use of pet names / unrealistic descriptions of sex(?) /

authors notes.. i want to start writing for invincible and truthfully this is the first thing that came to mind. between mohawk mark and cap(?) mark, they will be written for the most cause imo they are the finest 😔. also please excuse any typos or grammar mistakes.

The mental checklist cycled through your brain quickly as your eyes peered about your room. Door locked? Check. Music playing from your tv a little too loud? Check. Your fully charged, pretty blue vibrator waiting patiently on your bed? The final and most important check of all. Between work, school, and juggling a relationship with your beloved boyfriend; finding time for self-pleasure was like trying to find a needle in a haystack. Of course, most of your sexual needs were satisfied by your partner— however, there was nothing like taking the time to yourself, easing towards your orgasm in solitude.

You tugged the bottoms you wore down, thumbs hooking onto the elastic of your panties in the process. In one fluid motion you tossed them off your body and onto the ground, dropping to your bed back first with excitement brewing deep within your tummy. You reached down for the little vibe, examining the hollow opening that allowed the most perfect suction.

You remembered getting the device randomly one night, even paying extra for expedited shipping— a clear indication of your own desperation.

A finger flicked out to press against the button, holding it for a moment before the little toy revved to life. Little, yet so powerful; varying in several modes that tailored to your needs perfectly.

You always started slow, lowering the vibe to your breast and allowing the suction to flutter over your nipple— it slowly hardening from the attention. Your lips parted, along with your legs, allowing your free hand to lower to your folds, petting the soft skin slowly. A breath escaped as that familiar feeling danced across your body, warming you up inside at a gentle pace.

You spread yourself open, lowering a finger over your bud and slowly rolling it into tight circles. Your hips instinctively caught onto the rhythm, twitching at every special turn of your finger pad on your sensitive clit.

Soon enough you were growing impatient, knowing at any moment family could knock at your door for some random inconvenience. With that said, you lifted the toy from your breast, lowering it down between your legs. It always took a moment for you to align the hole with your clit, eyes squinting as if trying to visualize the perfect angle.

But the moment you got it, the moment you felt those delicious vibrations right against your sensitive bud, you let out the softest moan, legs opening more as the pleasure grew.

Your finger pressed into the button, amping the power up to its second level, strong vibrations thrumming right against your clit. Your legs began to squeeze shut, hurried breaths falling from your lips as you began to etch closer to your orgasm.

You wanted to personally thank whoever thought of vibrators. As pathetic as that sounded..

Your head knocked back against your pillows, the tightening cord in your stomach nearly snapping when a familiar sound entered your ears.

“Babe, oh man— I gotta tell you what this gu—..”

In a flash you felt that pleasure melt from your body, your eyes peering open to spot your one and only Markus Grayson standing in your bedroom in all his glory. His glory being that godforsaken supersuit and the stupidest grin on his features.

Which only seemed to deepen the moment his eyes trailed down your body.

Curse you for forgetting to close and lock your window.

“What’s this?.. Having fun without me?”

You opened your mouth to speak, yelping as wind flew past you far too quickly. Mark was a blur for a moment before he stood still beside your bed, currently inspecting something in his hand.

You quickly realized that it was your vibrator, under his inspection.

“The fuck is this..”

“It’s—“ You moved to your knees, reaching out for it, only for him to hold his hand higher, cackling to himself. You gave an aggravated huff, hands dropping to your thighs.

“— a vibrator.. It’s a vibrator.” You murmured, trying to ignore the tinge of shame invading your form. Of course, the two of you have talked about masturbation, but toys were a different story. You’ve heard plenty of horror tales of men growing angry at their women for using them in the first place.

All that ego man stuff.. blah, blah, blah. And as much as you loved Mark, he was a man.. with a ridiculously big ego.

Your eyes slowly trailed up his body back to his face, watching the way an unrecognizable glint developed in his dark eyes. His gloved fingers tapped against the toy, fiddling with the settings, turning it off and on completely.

“A vibrator huh?..” Mark hummed, more to himself than you, gaze switching between the vibe and your features for a moment before a devious smirk pulled his lips.

Before you could think Mark was moving closer, using a hand to push you back onto the bed whilst the other went for your legs, tugging them open.

“Let me try.” The grin on his face deepened, reaching down with the toy towards your center. Clumsily, he forced the hole upon your swollen clit, eyes flicking back to your features as he amped up the vibrator.

Your hands clenched, lips parting once more to release a sharp moan. You weren’t alone anymore, released from the mercy of slowly building yourself up. No, Mark had selected one of the highest setting without a care, pressing it right against your already sensitive clit. Your legs threatened to close, hands falling to the bed and gripping your bedsheets tight.

“Ma—mark.. baby please— turn it down..” You whined out, gasping the moment you felt him twist the toy a little, the vibrations hitting your swollen bud at a different angle. Droplets of arousal trickled from your hole that fluttered around nothing, sliding down to your taint.

“Aww.. can someone not handle the little toy?” Mark mocked, twisting the little machine once again and giggling to himself at the high-pitched moans that escaped you. He rose himself high, face hovering close to your own whilst resting on a forearm.

“C’mon baby, you’ve had bigger! Don’t wimp out on me now.”

You couldn’t even dare to reply, far too focused on that band ready to snap in your stomach. Struggled gasps and moans continued to escape, as your legs tightened around his arm— as if trying to decide to push him away or keep him there.

Your decision was null the moment you came, hips rising into the air as you made a mess of his hand and your beloved toy. Your stomach ached, clit feeling raw from all the attention. Your body rested back onto your bed, attempting to calm yourself after your release.

Only to realize the vibrator was still stuck securely to your clit, not having moved an inch despite your orgasm.

You quickly back to fuss, reaching down at your partner’s wrist whilst a strangled, “Ma—mark, let me breathe..” escaped you.

But he didn’t budge, even pulling himself back to his haunches, keeping his one hand steady on the toy whilst the other went for your wrists, securing them into a tight single-handled hold right against your stomach.

“Oh, [Name], I’m not done. I wanna see what else this little thing can do.”

With two more presses, the vibrator was now thrumming at its highest setting, the sound of it on your sloppy cunt nearly echoing over your music— second to the whines and moans that you released.

Your mind was going blank, the pleasure teetering between bliss and pain in one fluid motion. Unlike the Viltrumite before you, you were only human— your stamina not being able to keep up at all. It was growing torturous the longer the toy played at your clit, yet you couldn’t escape. Even as you attempted to move your hands, Mark wasn’t budging an inch— nor was he fazed by the twitching of your legs, eyes so trained on your pussy he was currently tormenting.

It’s not as if Mark had an issue with you using the toy. Not at all, he found it quite amusing actually; you attempting to find pleasure in such a measly device— that couldn’t even began to compare to him at all. It was truly entertaining watching you struggle to keep yourself together, your moans and cries for mercy music to his ears after an already eventful day.

The man had things to share with you, like some idiot that tried to attack him from behind— however that could wait, until after he was satisfied with examining the limits of this little device.

“Such a fucking mess, you’re ruining my gloves, babe.” As cocky as ever, voice clear and loud so you could hear through the blur of your mind. You wanted to cuss at him, maybe tell him to fuck off and wipe that little smirk off his face. But you couldn’t— physically anyway, given any words were turning to jumbled mush that the man couldn’t make out.

Mark even had the nerve to tilt his head, pushing his ear a little closer towards you.

“Huh? What? You say something— I couldn’t hear it over all that moaning and whining of my name.”

If your hands were free you would smack him, but now you could only whine louder, trying your best at an annoyed pout, eyebrows clenched close together.

Mark quickly caught on, laughing to himself as he slowly moved the vibrator in circles on your clit, watching that anger dissolve from your face so quickly. Your eyes were glossy at this point, even rolling back to meet your skull as the pleasure thundered through your body.

And as quickly as it started, your second orgasm came even quicker; erupting from your body in shaky spasms. Your voice was etching on hoarse at this point, seeing white for a moment as you came undone so harshly it began to ache.

Your lover let out a boisterous sound, eyes trained on your messy cunt, your arousal trailing down to the bed, making a little pool of slick.

You panted heavily, struggling to keep your eyes open as they slowly lifted to Mark.

“Mark..” You were able to release, attempting to move your arms again, only to feel his hold tighten. You cried out, wiggling about in desperation.

“Ma—mark! Turn it off— fuck!” Tears of overstimulation were threatening to spill at this point, and in one swift motion you somehow were able to flip onto your stomach, scooting away from the man quickly.

Your face pressed against the bed for a moment, before turning to the side, releasing heavy breaths as your heart pounded against your chest. So focused on calming down, you couldn’t hear anything behind you at all.

Not the sound of Mark chuckling to himself.. his hands moving against his body, or even his clothes falling to your carpeted floor.

You hadn’t realized a thing until a familar hand was locking around your ankle, basically dragging you towards the edge of the bed and up onto your knees.

You rose to your hands, mouth open and ready to practically yell at him until you felt two things. His length prodding at your entrance, and that blasted toy finding your abused clit once again.

In one swift motion Mark was thrusting inside, leaving you unable to adjust with the vibrations buzzing against your swollen bud. Your hands nearly give out, nails digging into the fabric as tears began to stream down your chubby cheeks.

You could no longer form a single coherent sentence, voice switching between hurried gasps and a mush of his name, tangled with the loudest moans. Soon enough you felt his hips move, a bruising pace being set inside you, with little care for your overly sensitive pussy.

You felt Mark move, coming to rest his chest against your back whilst wrapping his arm around your body, leading his hand to gently grab your face— a completely contrast to how he has been ruining you for the past forty-five minutes.

“What a crybaby.. can’t even think straight can you, huh?” His lips pressed right up against your ear, hips flicking back and forth as he fucked you with no remorse. The corner of his mouth twitched, truly entertained by your reactions. The sweet wails you were releasing, the way your pussy clenched and clenched around his length, and how shaky your entire body was overall.

You sniffled and whined, hearing your love cooe as he slid his thumb over your skin. Once again, the only gentleness he’s shown you since he flew in.

“Feels good, doesn’t it? All this attention you’re getting, greedy little pussy..” Mark began to drill into you, now being the only thing keeping you sitting upright at this point. “Can barely handle me, yet you go out and buy this toy— isn’t that funny, baby? Hm?”

The man spoke to you so easily, fully expecting you to reply to the best of your ability. But you were only releasing whimpers, completely lost to the feeling that flipped between pain and pleasure.

Mark chuckled at this, pressing the toy just a bit harder against you.

“Guess you’re too fucked out to speak, huh?”

That was an understatement, truly. The word itself didn’t exactly describe how you felt. Your entire body was trembling, the two sensations of his dick and your toy eliminating any logical thinking inside your brain. You couldn’t care less about being too loud for your family or even neighbors, no, your entire focus collected into a single point, the orgasm that was rushing towards you extremely fast.

A mix of encouraging words and mockery was being purred right into your ear, followed by quick laughter with every cry you let out. Mark always enjoyed pushing your limits, especially in the bed room.

You were human, sure, but he didn’t care. He simply loved watching you struggle to keep up with anything he did, acting so cruelly only to praise you later on. A never ending cycle that he didn’t plan to change anytime soon.

“Clenching me like a fucking vice, you’re about to come aren’t you?” He questioned, fucking into you so deeply, his tip prodding against that spongy spot that caused stars to intrude your vision. The man listened to your whine, deciding to take it as approval to his previous question.

Mark grinned to himself, pulling back and allowing your body to land on the bed. Instead his free hand gripped your hip lifting you just enough to drill into that same spot perfectly.

“Go on then, come— soak the sheets while you’re at it.”

Your fingers dug into the bed, reduced to babbles as your sheets became soaked from your arousal, sweat, and tears. With blurry vision and muffled hearing you came undone, a prolonged bellow of his name escaping your aching throat. You jerked and jolted, making a mess of his cock and the bed beneath— just like he hoped.

The man’s hand smoothed across your ass, clearly soothing you as those sweet praises from his lips, continuing to chase his own orgasm. Moments passed before his hips stuttered, his load spilling into you, some trickling out from your stuffed hole.

You breathed heavily, feeling your body relax the moment the man pulled out and removed the still buzzing vibrator from your clit. You melted into the bed completely, caring less for the smell of sex and soaked blankets beneath you. Your legs trembled from the aftershocks, eyes closed as you attempted to catch your breath— and with that being your entire focus, you basically jumped out your skin the moment Mark’s hand fell to your thigh.

The man laughed, smoothing his fingers across your heated skin.

“Relax, I’ve finished my little test.. for now.”

“You’re..” You struggled to say, moving your head a little to glance back at your boyfriend. “— such a dick.”

The man grinned back at you, hands gliding up to your ass to grip whilst coming to hover over you, planting a kiss against your shoulder.

“I know. And I’m gonna be an even worse one the moment you catch your breath.”

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hellotailor · 11 months ago

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armand’s costumes are such an interesting data point re: his nebulous sense of identity.

when analyzing any costume, there are always many factors to consider: the setting, the character’s personal taste and economic constraints, storytelling concerns like tone and genre, etc. with armand, we also need to remember that he’s 500 years old and violently disconnected from his human origins. everything he wears has an element of disguise, selected to blend into a new environment.

armand was enslaved as a child in 16th century delhi, and barely remembers his mortal life. unlike louis - who can return to new orleans after 80 years and reconnect with his past - armand has no home to return to. his whole backstory, even his name, is rife with traumatic subtext, leaving him with an obsessive need for structure and control. this adds an extra layer of meaning to costuming choices that initially seem like straightforward menswear.

armand’s 1940s wardrobe is very put-together - primarily three-piece suits and coats that make him look wealthier and more formal than louis, who is purposefully dressing down. most of these outfits are tailored to bulk up armand's frame, leaning into the "maitre" persona. and like his business-casual dubai wardrobe, he always leaves his collar open. when i interviewed costume designer carol cutshall, she described this as a symbolic power move, signalling that he's an apex predator who doesn't need to protect his throat.

my personal interpretation is that while armand clearly likes to look good, he has a complicated relationship with attractiveness. he doesn't always want to draw attention. his color palette is shadowy (black, grey, brown, olive green), and he’s much less flashy than the other Théâtre vamps. however when he’s feeling confident and flirty, he becomes more of a power-dresser - for instance his hunting outfit with the big coat and sunglasses, or his habit of wearing kohl.

interestingly, most of armand's 1940s costumes set him apart from the coven. the Théâtre vampires dress like cabaret performers, embracing a lot of period-specific styles. by contrast armand is more timeless and neutral. in fact, due to the relatively minor changes in men's suits over the past 100 years, there's a lot of overlap between his wardrobe in the 1940s, '70s and 2020s:

the rest of the Théâtre squad share an unofficial uniform of boldly clashing monochrome patterns with pops of bright color. meanwhile armand has a very plain wardrobe, emphasizing the image of him as a businesslike authority figure surrounded by zany artistes. he only wears subtle stripes on a few occasions in the '40s, reflecting the recurring prison motif we see in lestat's trial suit and (most famously) the dubai penthouse bedroom:

if we ask the question, "what does this person like to wear?" there are easy answers for lestat, louis and claudia. we understand their tastes, and the motives behind them. but armand is more enigmatic. we can recognize through-lines in his wardrobe, but his "taste" is dominated by whatever role he's currently decided to embody, whether that's a parisian theater director or a real estate mogul in dubai.

the times when he appears to have the most fun with clothing are when he steals a pair of sunglasses from his human dinner (!) and when he's pretending to be rashid. in other words, when he's explicitly performing for an audience. "real armand" is still a mystery.

(i may write more about armand's dubai wardrobe later, but for now, you can find all of my iwtv costumes posts on this tag!)

#armand #iwtv #interview with the vampire #assad zaman #costume design #iwtv costume design #1940s #iwtv meta

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amirasainz · 6 months ago

Note

Hey, can write one where rbr!reader and Ollie prank the grid and tell them that Ollie accidentally got her pregnant. Maybe they all have different reactions. Pretty please♥️

Enjoy reading and send some requests!!!

I am currently obsessed with writing driver!reader, so maybe some requests for her or similar to this story.

-xoxo babygirl 💜

The greatest prank of all times

The sun had barely risen over the paddock when Y/N and Ollie, full of mischievous energy, hatched their plan. Both young, vibrant, and constantly on the lookout for some fun to break the tension of race weekends, they decided it was time to pull a lighthearted prank on their fellow F1 drivers. It wasn’t often the grid got to see the two of them in action, but today was going to be different.

Y/N, the youngest driver on the grid and a star for Red Bull Racing, teamed up with Ollie. They had been best friends for years, their bond often the source of harmless trouble. This time, however, they were aiming for something bigger—a prank the grid would never forget.

They booked a small, private room in the Red Bull hospitality area. It was cozy, with just enough space for a couch, a table, and a couple of chairs. Perfect for their "serious" conversation. Hidden cameras were expertly positioned around the room, capturing every angle without raising suspicion. They’d already tested the setup earlier in the morning, making sure every tear and every frantic gesture would be caught on film.

The story was simple yet effective. Y/N would pretend to be distraught, eyes puffy and red as if she’d been crying all night. Ollie would play the role of the nervous boyfriend, pacing the room, wringing his hands, and muttering apologies under his breath. The "problem"? Y/N was "pregnant," and they didn’t know what to do.

To make it believable, they sent text messages to each driver on the grid, tailored to their personalities:

"Hey, I really need to talk to you. It's serious. Can you come to the Red Bull lounge? Please don’t tell anyone."

One by one, the drivers were lured into the trap.

Y/N and Ollie ran through the scenario a dozen times before anyone arrived.

"Okay, so you’re crying, and I’m like, ‘I don’t know what to do!’ And then maybe I sit down and put my head in my hands?” Ollie suggested, pacing the room.

“Yeah, yeah, and I’ll be like, ‘I’m so scared!’ and then just stare at them for help. They'll definitely freak out!” Y/N added, barely suppressing a laugh.

----

The first text had already been sent, and the countdown began. Y/N dabbed her cheeks with a damp tissue, smearing her mascara slightly to complete the "crying" effect. Ollie threw on a hoodie and deliberately messed up his hair, making himself look as if he hadn’t slept.

"Alright, camera rolling?" Ollie asked, glancing at the monitor hidden behind a stack of Red Bull merchandise.

"Rolling," Y/N confirmed, grinning despite herself.

The door creaked open, and the sound of footsteps echoed down the hallway.

“Showtime,” Ollie whispered, shooting Y/N a conspiratorial wink before slumping into character.

The first victim was about to walk in.

----

The door opened slowly, and Lewis stepped into the room, his presence immediately filling the small space. His usual calm and reassuring demeanor was evident as he scanned the room, his eyes softening when he saw Y/N with her head in her hands, shoulders trembling as if she were crying. Ollie, meanwhile, was pacing frantically, his hands running through his hair like a man on the verge of a breakdown.

"Hey, hey, what’s going on?" Lewis asked gently, closing the door behind him. He moved toward Y/N, lowering himself to her level on the couch. "Y/N, are you okay?"

Y/N sniffled dramatically, her face buried in her hands. She peeked at Ollie from the corner of her eye, who nodded ever so slightly, signaling her to go ahead.

“It’s— it’s bad, Lewis,” she whispered, her voice shaking.

Lewis immediately placed a comforting hand on her shoulder, his tone soft and full of concern. "It’s okay. Whatever it is, we’ll figure it out together. Just breathe, alright?"

Ollie let out a shaky sigh, his pacing picking up. "I messed up, Lewis. I really messed up."

Lewis glanced between the two, his brows furrowing. "What happened? You two are scaring me."

Y/N wiped her eyes dramatically, hesitating for a moment before blurting out, "I’m pregnant."

Lewis froze, his expression blank for a second as he processed the information. His mouth opened slightly, but no words came out immediately. The weight of the news settled over the room like a thick fog.

Then, he took a deep breath, his face softening once more. "Okay. Alright," he said, nodding slowly. "First of all, it’s going to be okay. Both of you, calm down. We’ll figure this out together."

He turned to Y/N, his voice gentle and steady. "Y/N, does anyone else know? Your parents?"

Y/N shook her head, biting her lip. "No. We don’t know how to tell them. I don’t even know what to do," she mumbled, her voice cracking.

Lewis exhaled, leaning back slightly as he processed the situation. "Alright. Here’s what I think. You need to talk to them. They’ll be shocked, sure, but they love you. They’ll want to help."

Y/N gave a small, hesitant nod, while Ollie finally stopped pacing, standing awkwardly by the couch.

"But listen, Y/N," Lewis continued, looking her directly in the eyes, "this is your decision. Whatever you want to do, it’s your choice, and no one else’s. Don’t let anyone pressure you into anything, alright?"

She nodded again, sniffing.

Lewis then turned his attention to Ollie, his gaze serious but kind. "And you, Ollie. You need to ask yourself something important—do you want to be a dad?"

Ollie gulped, glancing at Y/N before muttering, "I—I don’t know. I mean, I want to be there for her, but I’m scared."

Lewis placed a hand on Ollie’s shoulder, grounding him. "That’s natural. But if this is happening, you need to be ready to step up. Support her. Be a team. This isn’t just about you anymore."

Ollie nodded, looking genuinely thoughtful, even as he fought the urge to crack a smile at how seriously Lewis was taking it all.

"Listen, both of you," Lewis said, his tone resolute. "Whatever happens, I’m here for you. You’re not alone in this. I’ll help you figure things out, no matter what you decide. You can call me anytime, alright?"

Y/N let out a small sob, hiding her face again to disguise her laughter. It was Ollie who couldn’t hold it in any longer. He burst out laughing, doubling over as the tension in the room snapped like a rubber band.

Lewis looked utterly confused. "Wait—what’s happening?"

Through her fake tears, Y/N managed to choke out, "It’s a prank! We’re joking!"

The realization dawned on Lewis, and he leaned back, his mouth falling open in disbelief. Then, he started laughing, shaking his head. "You two… are terrible. I was ready to call your parents!"

Y/N and Ollie were in hysterics, tears of laughter streaming down their faces.

Lewis stood, hands on his hips, a bemused smile playing on his lips. "I hope you know, you’ve got a prank coming your way now."

Even as they laughed, they knew they’d never forget how kind and supportive Lewis had been.

----

The door opened, and Charles stepped into the room, his brow already furrowed with concern. "Y/N? Ollie? What’s going on?" he asked, his voice edged with worry as his eyes darted between them.

Y/N sat curled up on the couch, her head down and shoulders shaking as if she’d been crying for hours. Ollie, meanwhile, was pacing like a trapped animal, muttering under his breath. The atmosphere in the room was heavy, and it immediately put Charles on edge.

“Y/N,” Charles said softly, stepping closer. “Are you okay? Did something happen?”

Y/N sniffled dramatically, peeking up at Ollie, who gave her a quick nod to go ahead. She hesitated, biting her lip, and finally whispered, “It’s really bad, Charles.”

Ollie stopped pacing and ran a hand through his hair, letting out an exaggerated, shaky sigh. “We… We don’t know what to do, man.”

Charles’ expression shifted to alarm, his hands fidgeting nervously as he crouched down to be at Y/N’s level. “Okay, okay. Just tell me. What happened?”

Y/N took a deep breath, her voice trembling as she finally said, “I’m pregnant.”

For a moment, it looked like Charles had been struck by lightning. His face went pale, his eyes wide as he stared at them in disbelief. “You’re… pregnant?” he repeated, his voice barely above a whisper.

Y/N nodded, her lip trembling, while Ollie looked down at the floor, rubbing the back of his neck like a guilty schoolboy.

Charles sat back on his heels, visibly struggling to gather his thoughts. He rubbed his face with his hands, exhaling shakily. “Mon Dieu,” he muttered. “Okay… Okay.”

After a moment of silence, he stood, trying his best to mask his panic with determination. “It’s… It’s not the end of the world, okay? It’s hard, yes, but we can figure this out. You’re both so young, but… we’ll make it work.”

Charles looked at Y/N with genuine sincerity, his voice soft. “If you need somewhere to stay, you can live with me. Both of you. My home is open to you.”

Y/N sniffled again, nodding while biting her lip to suppress a smile.

“And… And I can help, financially, emotionally—whatever you need,” Charles continued, pacing now, his hands moving expressively. “This is big, but you’re not alone. You’ve got me, okay?”

Ollie looked up, his face a picture of fake anguish. “Thanks, Charles. That means a lot.”

Charles stopped pacing and turned back to them, his eyes glassy with emotion. “Listen,” he said, his voice firm but gentle. “I know this is overwhelming, but it’s also… it’s also something to celebrate.” He gestured between them. “New life. That’s something beautiful. Scary, yes, but beautiful.”

Before either of them could respond, Charles stepped forward and pulled them both into a hug, holding them tightly. “You’re going to be okay. Both of you. I’ll make sure of it.”

Y/N buried her face in his shoulder to stifle her laughter, while Ollie awkwardly patted Charles on the back, barely able to contain his own giggles.

“Charles,” Y/N finally said, her voice muffled.

“Yeah?” he replied, pulling back to look at her.

“It’s a prank,” she blurted out, a burst of laughter escaping her.

Charles froze, his jaw dropping as the words sank in. “Quoi?”

Ollie was already doubled over with laughter, and Y/N followed suit, tears streaming down her face—not from crying but from laughing so hard.

Charles stood there, his face a mixture of shock, betrayal, and relief. “Are you serious? You… You scared me to death!”

Y/N gasped for breath, still laughing. “I’m sorry, Charles! We couldn’t resist!”

Charles shook his head, a small smile breaking through his initial disbelief. “You two are unbelievable. I was ready to start building a nursery for you!”

As the laughter died down, Charles joined in, shaking his head at their antics. “You’re lucky I love you both. But you’d better watch out, because revenge is coming.”

-----

Oscar opened the door, his brow furrowing at the sight in front of him. Y/N sat on the couch, her head buried in her hands, and Ollie was pacing again, his face a picture of distress. The room was thick with tension, and Oscar could immediately sense that something was wrong.

“Oi, what’s going on?” Oscar asked, his voice laced with concern as he stepped in, looking between the two of them.

Y/N looked up at him, her eyes red and her face a mask of fake sadness. She hesitated for a moment, waiting for Ollie’s silent cue. Ollie stopped pacing and gave her a nod.

Oscar stood there, completely bewildered, trying to make sense of what he was walking into. He looked at Y/N, who took a deep breath and said, “Oscar… I’m pregnant.”

The words hung in the air, and for a moment, Oscar just stared at her, his mind struggling to process what she had said. His face drained of color, and his eyes flickered over to Ollie, who was now standing silently, looking every bit the panicked figure.

“Wait… what?” Oscar whispered, taking a small step forward.

Y/N nodded slowly, and Ollie let out a shaky breath, as if the weight of the situation had just hit him all at once.

Oscar sat down on the arm of the couch, placing his head in his hands, clearly shaken. The room was silent except for the faint hum of the ventilation system, and it felt like time had slowed down.

“I— I don’t know what to say…” Oscar murmured, still processing the shock.

After a few moments, he lifted his head and looked at them both, his voice more steady now, though tinged with concern. “Look… whatever happens, everything’s going to be fine, okay? You two are family, and you’re not in this alone. I’ll help you. I’ll be here for you.”

Oscar’s voice cracked slightly, but he quickly gathered himself. “You don’t have to go through this by yourself. I’m here, I promise.”

But then, his expression softened as he looked at them, his eyes filled with honesty. “But... to be real with you, I’m not sure I know how to help. We’re all so young, and maybe... maybe we should talk to someone who knows what they’re doing. Maybe we should ask Mark for help, someone who’s an adult and can guide us.”

Y/N and Ollie both stared at him, and for a moment, the sincerity in Oscar’s voice seemed to bring them back to the gravity of the situation.

“But…” Oscar continued, his eyes softening as he looked at the two of them. “I’ll go with you. I’ll support you. We’ll figure it out together, okay? Because no matter what, we’re friends. And that means we stick together. You don’t have to face this on your own.”

Y/N was on the verge of tears, not from distress but from holding back laughter. She could see the genuine concern in Oscar’s eyes, and despite everything, it made the prank feel all the more heartwarming.

Ollie, too, felt a rush of gratitude for his friend’s unwavering support, even if it was all based on a huge misunderstanding.

“Oscar,” Y/N said softly, her voice full of emotion, “thank you. I swear we’ll make it up to you for scaring you like this.”

Oscar blinked, clearly still trying to make sense of everything, when suddenly the tension snapped. Y/N burst into laughter, and Ollie followed suit, unable to keep it in any longer.

Oscar’s face went from concern to confusion to disbelief. “Wait... What?!”

“It’s a prank!” Y/N managed to gasp between laughs. “We’re just messing with you!”

Oscar’s expression froze, and for a moment, he was completely still, trying to comprehend what was happening. Then, his eyes narrowed playfully, a grin slowly breaking through his initial shock.

“You two… I’m going to get you back for this,” Oscar said, shaking his head, though a smile tugged at his lips. “I was ready to become a dad! What are you doing to me?”

Y/N laughed even harder, wiping tears from her eyes. “We thought you’d be the one to react the most seriously, and we weren’t wrong.”

Oscar chuckled, shaking his head in disbelief. “I can’t believe you got me. But seriously, next time you prank me, you better make sure it’s not something that serious. I almost had a panic attack.”

“I’m sorry, Oscar!” Ollie said, still grinning. “We promise we’ll make it up to you!”

Oscar leaned back in his chair, shaking his head in mock disbelief. “You better, because I’m never trusting either of you again.”

The room was filled with laughter, the tension of the moment finally broken, and despite the craziness of it all, they knew their bond as friends was stronger than ever.

----

The next one who walked in was Carlos, his usual easygoing demeanor replaced with concern as he noticed the tense atmosphere in the room. Y/N sat on the couch, head down, and Ollie was pacing, his hands nervously running through his hair. It was clear something serious was going on, and Carlos immediately felt a knot form in his stomach.

“Hey, what’s going on? You guys okay?” Carlos asked, his voice filled with genuine concern.

Y/N looked up at him, her eyes red and tearful, but there was a flicker of mischief in them that Carlos didn’t notice right away. Ollie, on the other hand, was pacing with purpose, his face scrunched up as if he were carrying the weight of the world on his shoulders.

“Carlos…” Y/N began, her voice shaky. “I… I’m pregnant.”

Carlos froze in place, the words hitting him like a punch to the gut. His eyes widened in shock as he tried to process what he had just heard.

“Wait… what?” Carlos stammered, his mind struggling to catch up. “Y/N… you’re… pregnant?”

Y/N nodded slowly, her face a picture of fake sadness. Ollie stopped pacing, his eyes wide as he looked at Carlos with a mixture of fear and guilt.

Carlos began pacing himself, running his hands through his hair, trying to make sense of the situation. “This... this is big, Y/N. You’re so young, and Ollie too—this is really serious, you know? You guys… this wasn’t planned, right? It was careless.”

He paused, looking between them with concern, his voice rising with panic as he spoke. “You’re too young for this, both of you. What were you thinking?”

Y/N’s expression faltered, her lip trembling as she struggled to hold back a smile. Ollie, too, looked down, feeling the weight of the words as if they were truly being scolded.

But when Carlos noticed how devastated they looked—how broken and unsure they were—his steps faltered. He immediately stopped pacing, his hand lowering from his forehead.

“I’m sorry,” Carlos said quickly, his voice softening as he turned toward them. “I didn’t mean to upset you. I’m not mad. I was just… shocked. I didn’t know what to say at first. I didn’t know how to react.”

Y/N looked up at him, her expression vulnerable, and Ollie shifted uncomfortably, his eyes meeting Carlos’ for the first time in what felt like forever.

Carlos took a deep breath, stepping closer to them, his gaze softening. “Listen, I’m still shocked. You guys are so young. I wasn’t expecting this. But I will help. I will be there for you both.”

Y/N’s lip quivered as she looked at him, taking in his words. Carlos kneeled down in front of them, looking each of them in the eyes. “I don’t know how to fix this. I don’t know how to help exactly. But I’ll be there. We’ll figure it out together. But…”

He paused, his face showing his own uncertainty. “I still can’t believe you’re pregnant, Y/N. You’re so young… this is a huge thing to take on. But… if you need anything—anything at all—I’m here. I’ll support you.”

Ollie let out a shaky breath, still looking down at the floor. “We’re scared, Carlos. We don’t know what to do, and we didn’t know who else to turn to.”

Carlos reached out, putting a hand on Ollie’s shoulder, then turning to Y/N with a reassuring smile. “You’re not alone in this, okay? You’ve got me. But seriously, maybe we need to talk to someone who can help us more. We’re too young to know how to navigate all this, you know? We need to talk to someone who knows more about this.”

The sincerity in his voice broke through the tension, and Y/N finally let out a small, relieved breath, though her face was still full of fake distress.

Carlos stood up and took a step back, wiping his hand over his face. “And I’ll help you talk to your parents if you need me to. We’ll figure it out together, I swear. But… I really didn’t expect this.”

Y/N couldn't hold it in anymore. She and Ollie both burst out laughing, and Carlos stood frozen for a moment, his mouth falling open in shock.

“Wait, what?!” Carlos exclaimed, his eyes widening in disbelief. “Is this a prank?”

Y/N wiped the tears from her eyes, still laughing. “It’s a prank, Carlos! We were messing with you!”

Carlos’ face slowly shifted from confusion to a mixture of shock and relief. He took a deep breath, shaking his head in exasperation. “You guys are unbelievable,” he said, the tension melting away as a laugh escaped him. “You nearly gave me a heart attack.”

“I’m so sorry!” Ollie said between fits of laughter. “We just had to do it to you!”

Carlos sighed dramatically, but a smile tugged at his lips. “You two are insane. But seriously… next time you want to pull a prank like this, maybe make it a little less… real.”

Y/N and Ollie just grinned, still laughing. “We’ll make it up to you, promise.”

Carlos shook his head, chuckling, though he couldn’t help but feel a little bit of pride. After all, the two had truly pulled off a masterclass in pranking him—he’d almost believed it.

“You better make it up to me,” Carlos said with a playful grin. “And by the way, when you two start planning your real life decisions, let me know. I’ll give you actual advice then.”

----

Max strode into the room, his sharp eyes scanning the tense scene in front of him. Y/N sat curled on the couch, her head buried in her hands, while Ollie was pacing frantically. Something was clearly wrong, and the heavy atmosphere hit Max immediately.

“What’s going on?” Max asked, his voice firm and direct.

Y/N sniffled but didn’t answer, and Ollie froze mid-step, turning to look at him with wide, uncertain eyes.

“Max,” Y/N whispered, her voice shaky and small. “I… I’m pregnant.”

The words landed like a bomb. Max’s face immediately shifted into a mixture of shock and disbelief. His mouth opened slightly, but no words came out as he processed what he’d just heard.

“You’re what?” Max finally said, his voice sharp.

“Pregnant,” Y/N repeated, her voice trembling.

Max stared at her, his eyes narrowing as the weight of the situation settled in. “You’re kidding, right? This is some kind of joke?”

Ollie shook his head, his voice low. “No. It’s real. We don’t know what to do.”

Max took a deep breath, his hand dragging over his face as he tried to contain the storm of emotions swirling inside him. “You two are too young for this! How could you be so careless? Do you even realize what this means?”

Y/N flinched at his words, her lip trembling as she fought to keep her composure.

“You’re just kids,” Max continued, his voice rising slightly. “Do you even know what it takes to raise a child? This isn’t just some small mistake—it’s life-changing!”

Y/N let out a shaky sob, and Max immediately stopped. His harsh tone softened as he saw how devastated she looked. In an instant, he crossed the room and knelt in front of her, pulling her into his arms.

“Hey, hey,” he said gently, wrapping his arms around her and stroking her hair. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to yell.”

Y/N buried her face in his shoulder, her fake tears muffled by his jacket. Max’s hold tightened as he whispered, “It’s going to be okay. I’ll help you figure this out.”

He glanced up at Ollie, his expression hardening. “And you,” Max said sharply, his tone like a scolding parent. “You better be ready to step up, Ollie. You can’t leave her to deal with this on her own. She needs you to be there for her.”

Ollie nodded quickly, trying his best to look apologetic. “I will, Max. I swear.”

Max sighed, shaking his head. “Stupid teenagers,” he muttered under his breath before pressing a kiss to Y/N’s forehead. He pulled back slightly, looking down at her with a mix of worry and determination.

“You’re not alone, Y/N,” Max said softly, his hand still stroking her hair. “We’ll figure it out. But… I can’t believe you two let this happen.”

Y/N sniffled again, barely able to keep the giggles bubbling up inside her from escaping. Ollie bit the inside of his cheek to stop himself from laughing at the sight of Max in full protective mode.

Max looked between them, his brow furrowing. “What?” he asked, suspicion creeping into his voice.

“It’s a prank,” Y/N blurted out, laughter finally breaking free.

Max froze, blinking as the words sank in. “A prank?” he repeated slowly, his voice dangerously calm.

Ollie nodded, unable to stop himself from laughing now. “Yeah, Max. It’s a prank.”

Max pulled back, his expression a mixture of relief and exasperation. “You two are unbelievable,” he muttered, shaking his head. “Do you have any idea how much you scared me? I was ready to adopt the baby myself!”

Y/N and Ollie were laughing uncontrollably now, the tension in the room replaced with giddy energy.

“I’m sorry, Max!” Y/N said between giggles. “We couldn’t resist!”

Max stood, crossing his arms as he looked at them both with mock severity. “You two are going to pay for this,” he said, though the small smile tugging at the corner of his lips gave him away. “And don’t expect me to believe you next time you cry wolf!”

Y/N grinned, wiping fake tears from her eyes. “We’ll make it up to you, Max. Promise.”

Max shook his head, his smile finally breaking through. “You better. And next time you prank someone, don’t make it about something that serious. My heart can’t take it.”

----

Lando strolled into the room with his usual carefree energy, a playful grin on his face. He immediately noticed the tension in the air, but instead of worry, his first instinct was humor.

“What’s going on? You two look like you’ve seen a ghost,” he joked, his bright eyes darting between Y/N and Ollie.

Y/N glanced at Ollie, who gave her a subtle nod. Taking a deep breath, she looked at Lando, her voice trembling. “Lando… I’m pregnant.”

For a moment, Lando just stared at her, his grin frozen on his face. Then, he burst out laughing, clapping his hands together. “Good one! You almost got me there!”

Y/N and Ollie exchanged a quick look before Y/N shook her head. “Lando, I’m serious. Ollie’s the dad.”

The laughter immediately died on Lando’s lips, his smile fading as he looked at them both. “Wait… what? You’re serious?”

Y/N nodded, her face the picture of fake distress.

Lando’s playful demeanor shifted in an instant, his brow furrowing as he processed the situation. “How did this happen? I mean, I know how, but… you guys are so young. What were you thinking?”

Ollie shifted nervously, rubbing the back of his neck. “We didn’t plan this, obviously. It just… happened.”

Lando sighed deeply, running a hand through his hair. “Alright. Tell me everything. I need to know exactly what’s going on before we figure out what to do.”

For the next few minutes, Y/N and Ollie stumbled through their fabricated story, trying their best to keep their composure as they watched Lando’s serious expression. Once they were done, Lando sat back in his chair, his arms crossed as he nodded slowly.

“Okay,” he said, his tone surprisingly calm and measured. “Here’s what we’re going to do. First, tomorrow morning, the three of us are going to the doctor. We need to make sure everything’s okay with you and the baby, Y/N.”

Y/N blinked in surprise, not expecting Lando to take charge so quickly.

“After that,” Lando continued, “we’ll go to your parents. Both of you. I’ll come with you when you tell them. They’ll need to know, and you’ll need their support.”

Ollie opened his mouth to protest, but Lando raised a hand to stop him. “No arguments. They’re your parents, and they’ll want to be there for you—even if they’re mad at first.”

Y/N and Ollie exchanged a glance, both trying to hide their surprise at how practical Lando was being.

“Once that’s done, we’ll find a place for you two to live together,” Lando said, his voice growing more determined. “Somewhere big enough for a nursery but close to me so I can help if you need anything.”

Ollie gaped at him. “Lando, that’s… a lot.”

Lando ignored him, already deep in thought. “We’ll design the baby’s room together. I’ll help you pick out furniture, decorations, everything. And I’ll go with you to every appointment if you want me there. I’ll even help with the baby when they’re born. Diapers, bottles, sleepless nights—you name it. We’re in this together.”

By now, Y/N was struggling to keep a straight face. Lando’s level of commitment and detail was far beyond anything she’d expected.

“Lando,” Y/N said, her voice wavering with emotion, “that’s… really sweet of you.”

Lando turned to her, his expression softening. “You’re my friend, Y/N. And Ollie, you too. You’re not doing this alone, not if I can help it.”

Ollie scratched the back of his head, looking both grateful and overwhelmed. “Wow, mate, I didn’t think you’d have a whole plan ready.”

Lando shrugged, a small smile tugging at his lips. “Well, someone has to keep a cool head in this situation. And honestly, it’s kind of exciting in a weird way. A little scary, yeah, but exciting too.”

Y/N’s lip trembled as she tried to hold back her laughter, but it was too much. She burst out laughing, clutching her stomach as the tension in the room broke.

“Lando,” she said between giggles, “it’s a prank! We’re not actually having a baby!”

Lando’s jaw dropped, and he stared at them both in disbelief. “Wait, what? You’re kidding me, right?”

Ollie joined in the laughter, shaking his head. “Nope. It was all a prank. We wanted to see how you’d react.”

Lando slumped back in his chair, letting out a groan. “You two… I can’t believe I fell for that. I was already planning your entire future!”

Y/N wiped away tears of laughter. “You were amazing, though! You had everything figured out!”

Lando sighed, shaking his head, though a small smile crept back onto his face. “Yeah, well, don’t expect me to go all out like that again anytime soon. You’ve officially used up your prank privileges.”

The three of them laughed together, the air now light and full of warmth. Despite the prank, Y/N and Ollie couldn’t help but feel touched by how quickly Lando had stepped up to support them, proving just how much he cared.

----

Fernando entered the room with his usual composed yet curious demeanor, his eyes narrowing slightly as he took in the scene before him. Y/N was curled up on the couch, "crying" into Ollie’s shoulder, while Ollie looked up at Fernando with an expression of guilt and desperation.

“What happened?” Fernando asked, his voice calm but laced with concern.

Y/N sniffled, pulling back slightly from Ollie’s hold to look at Fernando. “I… I’m pregnant,” she whispered, her voice shaky.

Fernando froze for a moment, his sharp gaze flicking between the two young drivers. His silence stretched for a beat too long, making Y/N and Ollie exchange a brief, worried glance.

Then, to their utter surprise, Fernando’s face broke into a wide, genuine smile. His entire demeanor shifted, radiating warmth as he stepped closer to them. “That’s wonderful news!” he said, his voice filled with excitement.

Before either of them could respond, Fernando leaned down and wrapped them both in a strong, reassuring hug. “Congratulations, both of you,” he said, his tone so heartfelt that it momentarily disarmed the pranksters.

When he finally pulled back, his expression softened as he noticed how “scared” they looked. Without missing a beat, Fernando sat down on the couch between them, motioning for Y/N and Ollie to sit closer. He gently pulled Y/N to his right side and Ollie to his left, placing a comforting arm around each of them.

“I know you’re scared,” he began, his voice soothing and steady. “But this is going to be one of the most beautiful experiences of your lives. A new life, a part of you both, is coming into the world. You’ll love that child more than anything else—more than racing, more than winning.”

Y/N’s “tears” slowed as she listened, her heart softening at Fernando’s words despite the prank. Ollie leaned in slightly, his nervous energy fading as Fernando continued.

“You’ll get to watch them grow up,” Fernando said, his eyes shining with a rare tenderness. “Their first steps, their first words, the way they’ll look at you with so much love and trust… There’s nothing like it. And you’ll give them the world because you’ll want nothing but the best for them.”

Fernando paused, smiling warmly at the two of them. “This isn’t something to be afraid of. It’s something to celebrate. A child will bring you joy, purpose, and a love you never knew was possible.”

For a moment, Y/N and Ollie could almost see the future Fernando was painting for them—a cozy home filled with laughter, the small hands of a child reaching for theirs, and the kind of love that could make anything possible.

Ollie cleared his throat, his voice quieter than usual. “You really think we could do this?”

Fernando squeezed his shoulder, his smile unwavering. “I know you can. You’re strong, both of you. And you won’t be alone in this—you’ll have each other, your families, your friends… and me. I’ll be here every step of the way if you need me.”

Y/N glanced at Ollie, her resolve wavering under the weight of Fernando’s sincere encouragement. Finally, unable to keep up the charade any longer, she let out a small laugh.

“Fernando,” she said, wiping her fake tears away, “it’s a prank.”

Fernando blinked, his smile faltering as he processed her words. “A prank?”

Ollie nodded, a sheepish grin on his face. “Yeah… we wanted to see how you’d react.”

For a moment, Fernando just stared at them. Then, a deep laugh rumbled from his chest, and he shook his head in disbelief. “You two are unbelievable! You had me going for a moment there.”

“We’re sorry,” Y/N said, her voice still tinged with laughter. “But honestly, your reaction was so sweet.”

Fernando chuckled, leaning back against the couch. “Well, when it does happen someday, you’ll know exactly what I think about it.”

Ollie grinned. “Thanks, Fernando. You were amazing, honestly.”

Fernando waved a hand, still smiling. “Just promise me one thing—when you pull your next prank, make it a little less heart-stopping for me, okay?”

The three of them laughed together, the warmth of Fernando’s words lingering long after the prank had been revealed.

----

Yuki walked into the room, his usual curious and slightly mischievous energy in full swing. “What’s going on?” he asked, looking at Y/N, who was hunched over, fake crying into her hands, and Ollie, who looked awkwardly guilty while pacing the room.

“Yuki, we need to tell you something,” Ollie began, his voice serious.

Yuki blinked, glancing between them. “Okay… What is it?”

Y/N sniffled dramatically, wiping her “tears” with her sleeve. “I’m pregnant.”

For a moment, Yuki just stared, his head tilting slightly to the side. “Huh?”

“I’m pregnant,” Y/N repeated, trying to sound exasperated but sad.

Yuki squinted, his confusion only deepening. “Wait, like… for real? Or are you talking about some kind of food baby? You ate too much sushi or something?”

“No, Yuki!” Ollie interjected, his hands on his hips. “She’s actually pregnant.”

“Oh,” Yuki said, nodding slightly, but his expression was still blank. “Okay… so, um… what do you want me to do about it?”

Y/N let out a frustrated sigh, looking at Ollie for help. Ollie sat down beside her, trying to maintain the act. “Yuki, it’s serious. Y/N is having a baby, and I’m the dad.”

This only seemed to confuse Yuki more. He blinked rapidly, his eyebrows knitting together. “Wait, you’re the dad?”

“Yes, Yuki,” Ollie said slowly, as if explaining to a child. “I’m the dad.”

Yuki’s brow furrowed further as he processed this information. “Okay… but who’s the dad?”

Ollie groaned, rubbing his temples. “Me. I’m the dad, Yuki.”

Yuki looked genuinely puzzled, glancing at Y/N and then back at Ollie. “But… how? You’re, like, just… Ollie.”

At this point, Y/N let out a frustrated laugh, breaking character. “Yuki, what do you mean, ‘just Ollie’? How do you not get this?”

Yuki shrugged, looking completely unbothered. “I don’t know. It’s just weird. Are you guys pranking me or something?”

Y/N and Ollie exchanged a glance before collapsing onto the couch across from Yuki, utterly defeated. “Yes, Yuki,” Y/N said with a sigh. “It’s a prank.”

Yuki’s face lit up. “Oh! Okay! That makes way more sense.” He stood up, stretching casually. “You should’ve just said that from the beginning. Anyway, I’m going to get a snack. Let me know if you need help with, uh, whatever.”

With that, Yuki walked out of the room, leaving Y/N and Ollie staring after him, dumbfounded.

“He didn’t get it at all,” Ollie muttered, shaking his head.

“Nope,” Y/N agreed, slumping back against the couch.

From down the hall, Yuki’s voice echoed back to them. “You guys are weird!”

----

Franco stepped into the room with a concerned expression, immediately sensing something was off. His eyes darted between Y/N, who was "crying" into her hands, and Ollie, who was pacing nervously with a hand in his hair.

“What’s going on?” Franco asked, his voice laced with worry as he moved closer. “Are you two okay? Did something happen?”

Y/N sniffled dramatically, looking up at him with red-rimmed eyes—an excellent fake cry performance. “Franco… I’m pregnant.”

Franco froze, his eyes going wide. He opened his mouth to say something but immediately closed it again, clearly unsure how to react. “Wait… are you—like, seriously? For real?”

Ollie nodded solemnly, stopping his pacing. “Yeah, and… I’m the dad.”

“Oh, my god,” Franco breathed, his hand coming up to cover his mouth. He took a step closer to them, his nervous energy bubbling over. “Okay, uh… okay. Are you happy? Are you scared? Sad? I—I don’t know how to feel right now. What about you guys?”

Y/N hiccupped, pretending to be on the verge of another sob. “We don’t know what to do, Franco. We’re so young…”

Franco immediately crouched down in front of her, his hands hovering nervously as if he wanted to comfort her but wasn’t sure how. “Hey, hey, it’s okay,” he said quickly, his tone soft and motherly. “Deep breaths, Y/N. Deep breaths. It’s going to be okay. You too, Ollie—deep breaths.”

Ollie blinked in surprise. “Franco, you’re the one freaking out.”

Franco ignored him, pulling a chair close and sitting down, his knee bouncing anxiously. He clasped his hands together, his knuckles turning white as he tried to gather his thoughts. “Alright, listen. This is big. It’s huge. But we’re going to figure it out. You’re going to figure it out.”

He glanced between them again, his gaze softening. “Look, this is scary, but it’s also… kind of amazing, right? A new life! But—wait, no, sorry, I don’t want to freak you out more,” he added quickly, shaking his head. “Are you happy about this? Or scared? Or both? You don’t have to answer if you don’t want to. Oh god, I’m not helping, am I?”

Y/N bit her lip to keep from laughing, shaking her head. “No, Franco, you’re helping,” she said, her voice quivering with fake emotion.

Franco exhaled in relief, reaching over to pat her hand awkwardly. “Okay, good. That’s good. So, uh… first thing’s first: don’t panic. Take deep breaths. Have you thought about telling your parents? Or… no, no, wait, one thing at a time. I’m sorry, I’m just…” He ran a hand through his hair, visibly flustered. “I’m freaking out for you. But you’re going to be okay, I promise.”

Y/N and Ollie exchanged a quick glance, barely holding back their laughter as Franco continued to fret over them like a worried parent.

Finally, Y/N couldn’t take it anymore. “Franco,” she said gently, reaching out to touch his hand.

He looked up at her, his face a mix of concern and determination. “Yeah?”

“It’s a prank,” she said, unable to hold back a laugh.

Franco blinked, his brain taking a second to catch up. “A… prank?”

Ollie nodded, his grin sheepish. “Yeah. We just wanted to see how you’d react.”

For a moment, Franco just stared at them, his jaw slightly slack. Then he let out a groan, leaning back in his chair and covering his face with his hands. “Are you serious? You two put me through all that for a prank?”

Y/N burst out laughing, reaching over to pat his arm. “Franco, you were amazing. Seriously, you were so sweet.”

Franco peeked at her through his fingers, a small, embarrassed smile tugging at his lips. “Yeah, well, next time maybe prank someone who doesn’t care as much.”

Ollie clapped him on the shoulder. “You care too much, mate. But that’s why we love you.”

Franco groaned again, though his smile lingered. “You’re both lucky I love you too. But don’t ever do that to me again!”

The three of them laughed together, the tension melting away as Franco finally relaxed, shaking his head at the duo’s mischievous antics.

----

The press conference room was abuzz with the usual pre-event chatter. Reporters settled into their seats, armed with notebooks, voice recorders, and cameras, ready to pepper the drivers with questions. But the atmosphere shifted when Y/N and Ollie walked in.

Y/N’s eyes were red and puffy, as though she’d been crying for hours. Her shoulders were hunched, her body language radiating nervousness. Ollie, on the other hand, had an almost frantic energy, his leg bouncing as he sat down next to her. Yet, he kept a hand on her back, rubbing soothing circles and leaning in every so often to whisper something comforting.

The other drivers on the panel—fully in on the prank—exchanged knowing glances, some biting their lips to keep from laughing. Lewis had to clear his throat and look away, Max pretended to be overly focused on his water bottle, and Lando barely managed to keep a smirk off his face.

It didn’t take long for the reporters to notice that something was off.

“Y/N,” one of them finally asked, leaning forward, “are you alright? You look upset.”

Y/N sniffled audibly, looking down at the table as though gathering herself. Ollie leaned closer, whispering something inaudible, which only seemed to make the situation more curious.

Another reporter jumped in. “Ollie, is everything okay with Y/N? You seem… tense.”

The tension in the room became palpable as reporters shifted in their seats, sensing a story. Finally, Y/N lifted her head, her voice shaky as she spoke. “We… we weren’t planning on talking about this today, but…” She paused, looking at Ollie, who nodded solemnly.

Ollie took over, his voice steady but filled with a faux nervous edge. “Y/N and I… we just found out she’s pregnant.”

The room erupted.

Gasps, hurried whispers, and the frantic clicking of cameras filled the air as reporters scrambled to process the bombshell.

“What does this mean for your career, Y/N?”

“Ollie, how are you going to support her through this?”

“Did Red Bull know? What’s the team’s response?”

Y/N buried her face in her hands, and Ollie leaned closer to shield her from the barrage of questions, murmuring fake reassurances like, “It’s okay, we’ll get through this.”

The other drivers played their parts to perfection.

Fernando leaned forward with a supportive nod. “We’re here for them, of course.”

Charles shook his head solemnly. “It’s a difficult situation, but they’re strong.”

Lando, biting his lip to keep from laughing, muttered, “Yeah, we’ll all be there for them.”

Max, perhaps enjoying the chaos a bit too much, smirked and added, “It’s a bit shocking, isn’t it? But these things happen.”

The questions only grew louder, reporters tripping over one another to get their takes. But then Y/N, who had been trying to “compose herself,” let out a small snort of laughter. Ollie followed suit, and within seconds, both of them were doubled over, laughing uncontrollably.

The reporters froze, staring in confusion. “What’s so funny?” one finally asked.

Lando couldn’t hold back any longer, bursting into laughter. Fernando chuckled, Charles shook his head with a grin, and even Max let out an amused huff.

Y/N finally managed to speak through her laughter. “It’s—it’s a prank! We’re not pregnant!”

The room went silent for a moment before an uproar of disbelief and groans erupted from the reporters. Some laughed along, shaking their heads, while others looked like they’d been played harder than ever before.

Ollie grinned, leaning into the microphone. “Sorry, we couldn’t resist. The reactions were too good.”

The other drivers laughed harder, with Fernando adding, “You should’ve seen your faces!”

Within hours, clips from the press conference flooded social media, from Y/N’s dramatic performance to Ollie’s earnest act and the reporters’ chaotic reactions. The prank went viral almost immediately, with fans and media outlets alike praising the creativity and humor of it all.

“Y/N and Ollie: F1’s Ultimate Pranksters” trended worldwide, with the prank cementing itself as one of the most memorable moments of the season. Even the reporters, though initially annoyed, couldn’t help but laugh at themselves once the dust settled.

#formula 1 #formula 1 x reader #xoxo babygirl 💋#ollie bearman x reader #lewis hamilton x reader #charles leclerc x reader #carlos sainz x reader #oscar piastri x reader #max verstappen x reader #lando norris x reader #fernando alonso x reader #yuki tsunoda x reader #franco colapinto x reader #driver!reader

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misstycloud · 1 year ago

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Imagine yandere vampire hunter finding out he married one of the creatures he vowed to destroy. The very monster he dedicated his entire life to kill.

“…no..i-it can’t be..” his voice was barely a whisper, but you heard it loud and clear as if he was right next to you.

You stood still in the darkness, your face was a mask of indifference. If you hadn’t been blinking he would have mistook you for a statue. It appeared you’d been careless and let yourself be seen- by him no less. You could still feel the warmth of the blood dripping down you chin; a curtain of red fell down the front of your dress and stained it.

“Please tell me this isn’t real..” your husband let his eyes wander to the soon-lifeless body laying not far away. Small puffs of air was seen coming for the person, indicating they were not yet dead. The disgusting sound of gurgling in one’s own blood sent a shiver down his spine. His eyes met yours, searching for any sort of confirmation that everything was indeed a figment of his imagination.

“It is, I’m afraid.” You said.

He let out a devestatd choke, muttering ‘no’ over and over while shaking his head, clearly in denial.

You reminded yourself not to show any emotion and stepped forward. “I will not lie to you and therefor I will utter the clear truth in front of you. I am a vampire.”

“No, no you’re not.” He refused to believe it. If it had been his friend, he would prioritise duty before friendship. If it was his brother, he would do the same. Even if it was his own parents, he would die before letting insensible things such as emotions to come in the way of doing what is right. But this was different. It was you. It can’t be you. It could never be you.

But it was. Clearly. The evidence- the body- was right in front of him, unblinking and unmoving.

“You cannot look away from what is in front of you-“

“Stop saying that!” He suddenly shouted, surprising you with the sudden change in tone. “You can’t be one of….them.” He expressed in great repulsion.

Despite knowing how evil your kind is, you still though of yourself as quite good- well, as good as you can be when you’re a blood sucking, murderous creature of the night. So your husbands disdain awoke some sort of defensiveness in you.

“Wel, I am. And I have been for a while now.”

He seemed to think for a moment. Then he asked, “how long? How long have you been a…a vampire?” He furrowed his brow at the end, not believing he’d ever connect ‘you’ and the word ‘vampire’ in his life.

“36 years. Not as long as some others, but it should still count as something.”

“Oh god..”

It meant that you were one since the start- no before- your marriage. Was he truly that blind? Had love taken such hold of him that he could no longer do his job properly?

How many vampires had he killed during you union? All that while simultaneously being wed to one himself. While loving one, caring for one and even making passionate love to one. It was like some fucked-up punishment tailor-made for him.

He knew what he had to do.

The first tear fell down his cheek, betraying his stern expression and showcasing his endless sorrow. “You are evil,” he raised his crossbow, “and now you have to be judged for your crimes.” How ironic of him to talk about committing crimes of slaughter as if he wasn’t doing exactly the same. He wasn’t stupid, not all immortals were pure darkness, it wasn’t that simple. They do what they have to in order to survive. Only some killed more than they had to. Still, it didn’t change the fact that they all need to be destroyed.

Your eyes widened when he pointed the weapon straight at you. You expected this. Of course he would kill you. However, a part of you could not stop from hoping he wouldn’t think of you as a monster. That perhaps you’d finally find somewhere you can call home and be accepted for what you are. It was a naive dream. Weren’t you his wife before you were a monster? Apparently not, because an arrow shot at you at incredible speed. It hit you in the arm and you cried out in pain.

While you had physical advantages, it doesn’t mean you are immune to pain.

Ripping it out, you studied the black liquid staining it. Your husband swore and immediately prepared to launch another. You felt your fangs grow in length and you hissed at him. Throwing yourself at him the two of you rolled around on the floor, each trying to restrain the other. You managed to get ahold of his crossbow and threw it away form his reach.

Your husband quickly dug into his pockets to grab a dagger, and tried to stab you. Luckily you stopped him in time, fighting him with your vampiric strength. You had to give it to him, he was surprisingly strong for a human. Despite you having supernatural gifts, he was definitely a match and you had a hard time holding you down. If it was any other situation you would have been impressed and rather seduced by his sheer strength, unfortunately this was not a good situation for you.

You leaned down, planning to bite him, but his fast reflexes let him use his free arm to keep you at a distance. He was now on the floor with you straddling him and trying with all your might to end his life.

Your husband knocked your heads together which was the distraction he needed to kick you off of him. You clenched you forehead in pain and backed away. But there was no more time to dwell on that pain, because it was minor compared to what you felt next. Agony was in your side, accompanied by the dagger you had previously defended yourself against.

Your lover was close. Enough for you to feel his breath, and enough for you to see tears running down his regretful face.

“Why was it you?”

Whether he referred to you being a vampire or you being the one he married, you did not know. It hardly mattered anyway.

In a way, you did love your husband. It was probably not in the normal spousal way but it was there. Maybe if you weren’t a blood-sucker you two would have been truly happy together. Too bad fate had other plans. Even though it was true that you were probably evil, you wanted to live. And despite the one threatening your existence was none other than the man who’d showed you the devotion and love you thought you’d never find again, this was not where you wanted it to end.

With a shriek, you used all your power to push him as hard as you could. He flew backwards into the wall. You supposed he’d fainted from the force since he wasn’t making any move to get up. You clutched your side and groaned. You had to get out of there; somewhere safe.

You stumbled to the window and put your foot on the ledge. The dagger he’d stabbed you with must be silver, otherwise it wouldn’t have made as much damage. The wound in your side burned and sizzled with pain. You had no idea if your body would be able to fully heal you in time for when you need blood again- or even at all.

“Ugh….”

You heard a cough from behind you. It was your dearest. He must be sturdier than he looks to have woken up so quickly. He had rolled over to lay on his stomach and had his arms pathetically stretched in your direction.

“D-don’t go.”

You scoffed at his audacity. “What, so you can finally finish me off?”

He whimpered pathetically, “ N-no, I’m sorry… I shouldn’t have done that- why did I do that?” The last part appeared to be a criticism on himself. Nevertheless he continued, “please, I won’t do it again. I was wrong, you’re not evil I know that, I don’t know why I said that. I’m so sorry, please..”

A frown adorned your face. “It’s okay. I’m not evil, but I know I’m far from good- I’m not that delusional.” Then you turned back to the view of the outside world.

“Wait, no-“

“I have to go. I really mean it when I say this, ‘thank you for all these years together, they have been the happiest days I am now able to remember’.

“My love, don’t-“

You ignored his pleas as you jumped from the window. You landed in the dirt outside. You looked back at the house which you’d just escaped from and as you prepared to run off to another town and build up a new life (until you’d eventually have to run again) you listened to the scream of the man who’d been your husband for six years.

What was he screaming? What else if not your name.

#oc #male yandere #obsessed #yandere oc #possesive #misstycloud oc #yandere husband #vampire hunter husband #vampire reader #wife reader #vampire wife reader #yandere x reader #toxic #yandere husband x wife reader #yandere oc x reader #yandere imagine #fantasy #yandere human x vampire reader

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fatherbrat · 7 months ago

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the amount of sexual tension between defense attorney!suguru and you, his client.

being his client is agonizing because you know you have to maintain professionalism. he’s not a hookup, or a friend, or even a colleague. he’s your lawyer, tasked with the hefty responsibility of keeping your ass out of jail. but, god, every time you have to see geto, your resolve weakens bit by bit.

you’ve wondered how he would react if you proposed paying his fee with sex instead of a direct deposit. you'd sooner ask him to represent you pro bono—or even discharge him—before ever considering letting that question leave your head. still, you'd be lying if you said you hadn’t touched yourself to the thought. multiple times.

having to work with you isn’t easy for geto either. he wishes that you would’ve met another way, because having sex with a client is completely, totally, utterly out of the question. he dreads the meetings you have together. being stuck in his office with you sitting a less than two feet away and not being able to touch you feels like torture.

as if that wasn't trying enough, every time you meet him at the courthouse you do a little spin and ask if your outfit is appropriate enough or if you need to wear the cardigan you brought along. his answer is always the cardigan.

maybe that was the driving force behind all those late nights at the work he’d been pulling lately. putting in extra work to make sure that he won your case and wouldn't have to endure this torment anymore. (or maybe it was because your perfume lingered in the air after you left his office and he wanted to jerk off to the thought of bending you over the desk while your scent surrounded him.)

for you, having to watch suguru in court is the worst part. you can smell his cologne wafting off him as he sits next to you at the defense table, something musky and woody and just a little vanilla-y that makes you want to jump his bones right there in the courtroom. you gnaw on your bottom lip as he cross-examines a witness, appreciating his tailored suit and leather oxford shoes and the way he commands attention before he even gets up. you wouldn’t be surprised if some of the jury members were swayed by his looks. you were.

you should be listening intently, fixing your posture, and trying to portray a look of innocence. it feels impossible when suguru's smooth voice is echoing throughout the courtroom and your clit is throbbing between your legs.

it’s a relief when the jury finds you not guilty, not for the obvious reasons, but because you won’t be obligated to see him anymore. when you invite him out for a few celebratory drinks after the final court appearance, you have nothing but pure intentions. it’s the polite thing to do. the proper way to thank him. a neat little bow tied on the end of your professional relationship.

however, in the soft lighting of the bar you suggested, suguru looks good enough to eat. you want to blame the wine, but you know the reason you feel so warm is because he's laughing and smiling and looks terribly handsome with the top buttons of his dress shirt undone.

he looks at you with half-lidded eyes and leans in too close. this time, you do attribute it to the alcohol. that is until you catch him staring at your mouth for a beat too long and all of your remaining resolve crumbles. you incline your head towards him, your lips just barely brushing against his before he closes the gap.

the kiss is feverish and disorienting and definitely too much pda. there's a string of spit connecting you when suguru pulls away and asks if you'd like to go back to his office for a nightcap.

begrudgingly, you remind him that you shouldn’t. you can’t. it’s inappropriate. he’d likely lose his license if anyone found out.

he reminds you that the case is closed now. you’re not his client anymore. the two of you can do whatever you want.

that's all the convincing you need.

#geto x reader #geto smut #suguru smut #suguru geto smut #suguru geto x reader #geto suguru x reader #geto suguru smut #jjk smut #jjk x reader #fatherbrat ♱ library #jjk #suguru

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colebabey888 · 8 months ago

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Cultivating Your Signature It Girl Aesthetic | THE IT GIRL DIARIES

Fashion and style are critical components of the ideal It Girl. However, style is not about following every trend, you are the inspiration, the trendsetter, the It Girl style is about creating a look that is uniquely yours, an appearance that no one else can replicate but instead only have deep admiration for it. It’s about creating a personal brand that feels true to who you are and owning it.

How to discover and curate your signature look?

Know Your Aesthetic

Identify your fashion preferences. Are you drawn to classy elegance, barbie doll pink, edgy streetwear, coquette or bohemian chic? Curate a wardrobe that reflects this aesthetic consistently. Identifying your aesthetic does not mean limiting yourself to only that, else you're just another follower taking inspiration from the trendsetter. Take your aesthetic and make it your own, add your touch of personality and characteristic to it, give it a bit of you.

Invest in Staples

Build your wardrobe around staple pieces that can be mixed and matched. Classic items like plain white or black tees, versatile denim, fitted slacks, clothing that can never go out of style because it can always be made into something more.

Embrace Your Natural Features

Celebrate what makes you you. If you have big lips or eyes, find ways to accentuate them! Instead of conforming to trends that don't serve your look, embrace and elevate your features. For instance, laminating your brows for a neat, polished appearance instead of shaving them all off and redrawing them on like.. Discover beauty techniques that enhance your natural beauty rather than masking it.

Maintain a Signature Hair Routine

Your hair is one of your defining traits! Whether you have silky straight hair or kinky 4b curls, a consistent haircare routine helps you feel polished and put together. Invest in treatments that align with your hair type and goals—like deep conditioning and hot oil treatments for moisture and strength. If you love to wear your hair sleek, using heat protectants and frizz control products will help maintain your signature look while preventing damage.

Curate a Low-Maintenance Glam Look

You don’t have to spend hours on makeup to feel fabulous. Find key beauty steps that give you lasting results, like applying a lip tint every third day to keep your lips subtly flushed without constant reapplication. Design a makeup routine that emphasizes your key features. A weekly face mask tailored to your skin’s needs helps keep your complexion glowing. Embrace easy, effective beauty hacks that fit seamlessly into your routine.

Focus on Clean, Minimal Elegance

True elegance comes from appearance and how you carry yourself. Paying attention to skin, hair, and environmental cleanliness, moving with grace and poise. Keeping things simple yet chic, whether it’s maintaining a daily skincare routine or practicing oil pulling—ensure you’re always putting your best self forward. The key is consistency and subtlety, qualities that define It Girl charm.

Stick to What Works

The It Girl aesthetic isn’t about following every trend—it’s about finding what works for you and sticking with it. Your style and beauty choices should reflect what feels comfortable and sustainable for you.

Your personal style should reflect who you are on the inside and help you radiate confidence. Discover what feels authentic, and from there, curate a signature It Girl aesthetic that highlights your best self.

mwah! xoxo, colebabey8.88

www.thedigitaldollar/gumroad.com

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dreamersparacosm · 3 months ago

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under the checkered flag - epilogue blurb 1!

prompt ; in which your boyfriend, who’s normally all confidence, cockiness and self-assured, turns into a pouty, jealous mess when he remembers how much of a catch his girlfriend really is.

warnings ; unprotected sex, lil bit of oral (m recieving) (also this is not even a blurb. this is a whole ass story. also wrote this hungover so if there’s grammar errors… welp. idk how i got so ahead of myself pls help)

request ; linked here

part of the under the checkered flag universe

You’re not entirely sure why you agreed to this.

The room is packed: it’s loud, buzzing with conversation, glittering lights and expensive diamonds you could never dream of affording, filled with the kind of people who look like they walked off the cover of Vogue. Jungkook, of course, is in his element, shaking hands, flashing his signature grin, seamlessly weaving through the crowd like he was born for this.

Meanwhile, you are hiding behind him like a child.

“Baby,” Jungkook murmurs over his shoulder, amused. His hand rests against your hip, keeping you tucked close as he greets another executive, another industry legend who already knows exactly who he is. “You gonna say hi or just use me as a human shield all night?”

You huff, clutching onto the sleeve of his tailored suit, peeking past his shoulder just enough to offer a shy, “Hi.”

The older man chuckles, shaking his head. “Cute one you got there, Jungkook.”

Jungkook beams, unbothered. “I know, right?” His fingers tighten around your waist, clearly very proud of you, and he wants everyone in this room to know exactly who you are.

And, to be fair, they already do. Your face has been plastered across every media outlet since his last race a few weeks ago, the headlines barely able to contain themselves. “Jeon Jungkook Off The Market: Meet the Woman Who Stole His Heart.” Paparazzi shots of him running to you after his win, kissing you in front of thousands, wrapping you in his arms like you’re his greatest trophy. Really, it was getting a little overwhelming.

You smile up at him as the aforementioned man turns away to entertain another person “Why are you doing this?”

He bites back a smirk. “Doing what?”

“Introducing me to every single person like I’m some mystery. They know who I am, Jungkook.”

“Do they?” He grins, leaning down, voice dropping just enough for only you to hear. “Because I don’t think they know you’re the love of my life yet. Want me to make a bigger announcement?”

Your face bursts into flames. You slap his side, making him laugh as he pulls you closer, not letting you escape even an inch.

“Relax, my love.” He presses a kiss to your temple, warm, grounding, very much second nature now. “Just wanna show you off a little.”

You groan, burying your face in his shoulder. “I hate you.”

“Liar liar pants on fire.” He says it so easily, so confidently, because he’s right. You’re completely, stupidly in love with him actually. However, the worst part of that? So is everyone else in this damn room.

The buzz of the party hums around you as you trail behind Jungkook, hands still lightly clinging to his arm like it’s your lifeline. He doesn’t seem to mind, laughing lightly as he introduces you to every person who approaches, all the while keeping one eye on you, making sure you’re still there, still close. You’re the quiet one, always in the background, but tonight? You’re sticking to him like glue.

The chaos around you only adds to the sensation of feeling out of place, and your mind pulses with the need to break free for a moment.

“I’m gonna get some champagne,” You tug on his arm to get his attention, hoping he won’t follow, aching for just a second alone.

“Alright,” Jungkook says, winking at you. “Dont wander far, I’ll miss you too much.”

You roll your eyes, the slight teasing in his voice making you smile despite yourself.

And finally, with a little space between you two, you head for the bar, where the bartender is already pouring multiple glass of champagne, a brand you hardly recognize besides the times that Jungkook has sprayed it over your head in his locker room after a win. You grab one, thank him with a smile, clutching your drink tightly, letting the warmth of the alcohol loosen some of the tension in your shoulders. You lean against the bar, taking in a deep breath, trying to shake off the intensity of the room.

You shift slightly, your heels pinching the back of your feet. Even though Jungkook is across the room now, deep in conversation with some high-profile men, you can still feel him, like a phantom touch, like gravity pulling you toward him even from a distance.

You’re halfway through your first sip when someone leans in beside you. His voice is warm, easy-going.

“Is it safe to assume you’re with Jungkook?”

The voice comes from your right, definitely belonging to someone who’s good at conversation.

You glance up, blinking at the tall, well-dressed man beside you. He’s… handsome, you suppose. Friendly. Dressed in a navy suit, collar slightly open, drink in hand. Polished, but not in an obnoxious way. He leans against the bar with a casual kind of confidence, the kind of presence that blends in rather than commands the room.

“Yeah, I am,” you admit, still feeling a little shy. “I’m his… well, girlfriend. Sort of.”

He raises an eyebrow, amused. “Sort of? That’s an interesting answer.”

You huff a small laugh. “I mean, yes. I am. He just… likes making a big deal out of it.”

“Yeah, that sounds like him,” he chuckles, taking a slow sip of his drink. “I take it you’re not used to all this?”

You shake your head immediately. “Not even a little.”

He laughs, genuinely, like he understands. “I get it. These events can be overwhelming.”

You tilt your head slightly, curiosity creeping in. “You say that like you’ve been to a lot of them.”

He grins, and that’s when it clicks. You suddenly recognize him, the familiar face.

“Wait—” Your eyes widen. “You’re a driver too, right? You raced today.”

His smile turns a little playful. “I did. And I did alright, if I say so myself.”

“You placed third, didn’t you?”

He blinks, slightly impressed. “Didn’t expect you to know that.”

You blush slightly, shrugging. “Well… I may have learned a thing or two from Jungkook.”

“Ah, so he’s been turning you into a racing expert, huh?” He teases.

“Not even close,” You laugh, shaking your head. “But congratulations. Third place is still huge.”

“Thanks,” He says, tipping his glass toward you. “Though, I have to admit, Jungkook is damn near impossible to beat. The guy drives like he’s invincible.”

You smile softly, the kind of smile that only comes when someone you love is being praised. “Yeah… he does.”

“You must be proud of him.”

“I am.” The words fall out before you can second-guess them, before you can hide them behind your usual shyness.

That much, you know is true. You are proud of Jungkook, more than he’ll ever know.

The man watches you for a second, a knowing look flashing in his eyes. Then, he smiles, shaking his head slightly. “He’s got a good one.”

You tilt your head. “What do you mean?”

He gestures toward Jungkook, who’s across the room, entertaining the guests, bright and effortless. “I mean, it’s not every day you see him this… settled. The guy used to be a bit of a wildcard.”

Your stomach flutters. You know that. You know exactly who Jungkook was before you.

You swallow, about to respond, when his next words catch you off guard. “Though, I have to admit…” He leans in slightly, voice dropping just a bit, teasing but still measured. “It must be tough, standing next to him all the time, knowing you stand out. ”

You feel your heart skip, your fingers tightening around your glass. You’ve always been completely oblivious when it comes to flirting. It’s not intentional—you just never assume anyone would be interested in you like that. Compliments fly over your head, teasing remarks get brushed off as jokes, and subtle advances? You don’t even register them.

Even with Jungkook, it took months of playful taunts, agreeing to do whatever you wanted, and blatantly flirty texts before you even considered the possibility that he might actually like you. And now, standing here at the bar, faced with a man who is clearly steering the conversation into dangerously suggestive waters, you’re a little slow to catch up. The moment finally clicks a beat too late, the realization washing over you like a delayed shockwave—oh. He’s not just making conversation. He’s flirting. And you? You walked right into that trap.

You let out a soft laugh, playing with the hem of your dress, trying to ignore the way his words sit uncomfortably in your chest.

“I mean, yeah,” You say lightly, swirling the champagne in your glass, forcing yourself to play it cool. “Jungkook has a lot of eyes on him. That’s kind of the deal when you’re one of the best, right?”

You try to steer the conversation back to Jungkook, hoping it’ll naturally fizzle out, but he gives you a look. A slow, appreciative glance. The kind that lingers just long enough to make your stomach twist in anxiety.

“That’s true,” He muses, his voice casual. “But I think most people would be looking at you tonight.”

Goddamnit.

Your fingers grip the glass so roughly it might shatter in your hands as you blink at him, processing. You laugh again, but this time it’s a little awkward, a tad nervous, like you’re trying to buy yourself a moment to think.

And then, as naturally as breathing, you look for him. Jungkook.

Your eyes search the crowd, scanning past the fitting dresses and tailored suits, past the photographers and the industry elites, until they land on him.

Of course, he’s right at the center of it all.

He’s laughing, head thrown back slightly, looking so alive, so magnetic, exuding the kind of confidence that made the world fall in love with him (and you as well, for that matter.) His suit jacket is long gone, probably thrown off on the back of a chair somewhere, replaced with a perfectly tailored white button-up, his sleeves pushed up just enough to tease the tattoos running along his forearm. He looks stupidly good.

He’s glowing, genuinely happy, his eyes crinkling as he talks, hands gesturing animatedly, completely and utterly in his element.

You bite your lip, a new kind of frustration blooming in your chest. How is he over there, completely fine, while you’re over here trying to figure out how to escape this conversation without being rude? Why must the universe put you, of all people, in the ring of fire?

“So,” The driver’s voice pulls you back, making you blink and turn your attention back to him. “How did you and Jungkook even meet? I don’t think I ever heard the full story.”

You shift again, clearing your throat, desperate to reroute the conversation away from yourself. “Oh—uh, through work, sort of. It’s actually kind of funny—”

Focus. Focus on Jungkook. Keep it safe. Keep it neutral.

You take another sip in between your sentence, the champagne fizzling against your lips, but the tightness in your chest doesn’t ease. You keep your focus on the man, trying to steer every single word back to Jungkook. It’s a delicate balancing act, keeping the conversation polite while dodging every veiled compliment, every lingering glance, every slight shift in tone that threatens to turn friendly into flirtatious.

“Yeah, it’s kind of funny, actually,” you pick up where you left off, still trying to keep it collected. “I had no idea who Jungkook even was when we first met. Everyone was freaking out about him, and I was just..”

You pause, shaking your head with a soft laugh. “Well, completely clueless.”

He chuckles, leaning in slightly, interest still flickering behind his eyes. “And now you’re wearing his jacket, front and center at every race.”

“Guess I learned who he was real quick,” You joke, though your fingers tighten slightly around your glass.

He tilts his head, like he’s about to say something else, perhaps even heavier, when two warm hands slip around your waist. They’re firm, familiar. A voice, deep, steady, and close enough to feel the breath of it against your temple. “Didn’t realize you two were getting so close.”

You blink, your entire body reacting before your mind even processes it. His presence is instant, all-consuming. You barely have time to react before you feel him pull you back against him, his grip on your waist just tight enough to send a message. The warmth of his chest presses against your back, solid and unwavering.

And when you tilt your head slightly, looking up at who you know damn well is your boyfriend — Oh. Oh, he’s not happy.

His jaw is tight, his lips pressed into a firm line. His usual easy-going expression is replaced by something darker, sharper, a quiet intensity simmering behind his eyes.

The man clears his throat, shifting awkwardly. He knows. Everyone in this room knows. Hell, even the higher powers know better than to mess with Jungkook’s girl.

“Jungkook,” he greets, nodding slightly. “Good race today, man.”

Jungkook doesn’t move. Doesn’t nod. Doesn’t blink.

He just keeps his eyes on the man in front of you, expression unreadable, until he finally speaks.

“Yeah?” he muses, voice deceptively smooth. “Guess I’m lucky I had my girl with me.”

His hold on your waist tightens, just slightly, as if reinforcing the point.

Your pulse spikes, warmth creeping up your neck as you become painfully aware of how close he is.

You’re not usually the center of attention. But right now, you may as well be standing in the eye of a storm.

The tension lingers for a moment more. Jungkook’s hands are possessive, fingers pressing slightly into the fabric of your dress. His presence is impossible to ignore, a wall of warmth at your back, his cologne—deep, musky, with some woodsy notes—wrapping around you like a second layer of skin.

The man shifts, clearly picking up on the shift in atmosphere. Still, he offers an easy smile, nodding toward you.

“She’s beautiful,” he comments, like it’s the most obvious fact in the world. “Guess I can’t blame you for keeping her close.”

Jungkook hums smugly.

“Yeah,” he murmurs, tilting his head slightly, like he’s weighing his next words carefully. “Prettiest girl in the whole damn room.”

Your stomach flips violently, a cage of butterflies releasing themselves in your body. You’ll never get used to the way he speaks about you.

The driver gives one last chuckle, his eyes flicking between the two of you before wisely deciding to move along with his night. He excuses himself, raising his glass towards both of you before scurrying away as quick as his legs can take him.

And then it’s just you and Jungkook.

You exhale, not even realizing you had been holding your breath, still feeling the ghost of his touch on your waist.

You’re about to say something, but before you can, he turns to you, leans down, presses a soft, lingering kiss to your cheek. The warmth of it spreads across your skin like wildfire.

He pulls back, just slightly, his lips hovering over your skin, his voice dropping into something quiet, “You really let that guy talk to you for that long?”

Your eyes widen. “What? I wasn’t—”

Jungkook pulls back, finally looking at you, and he’s pouting. Actually pouting. The 27 year old man. Lips jutted slightly, brows furrowed, his usual confidence slipping juuuust enough to reveal the jealousy simmering beneath. It might be the cutest thing you’ve ever seen.

You can’t help it. You giggle, heart swelling in your chest.

“Jungkook,” You breathe out, leaning up, pressing a kiss to his cheek.

He grumbles something under his breath. You kiss him again, again… one more time for safe measures. Tiny, peppered kisses, soft and teasing, trailing across his cheek until you feel the tension in his shoulders start to ease. He exhales slowly, tilting his head, still acting like he’s suffered through the potato famine, furthering your agenda on the sassy man apocalypse.

“I just don’t get it,” he mutters, dramatic. “Why does everyone love you?”

You giggle again, nose brushing against his as you murmur, “Maybe because I’m soooo beautiful?”

Jungkook scoffs. “You think I don’t know that?”

And for the rest of the night, Jungkook doesn’t let you go. Not for a millisecond.

His arm is wrapped around your waist like an iron band, keeping you flush against his side as he guides you through the afterparty. He greets people, nods along to conversations, but his attention never fully strays from you.

Every so often, he leans down, his lips brushing against your temple, the shell of your ear, whispering things only for you.

“Having fun, pretty girl?”

“Gonna keep breaking hearts tonight, or am I enough attention for you?”

“Can’t believe you almost let some other guy steal you away. The blasphemy.”

You laugh every time, eyes sparkling, cheeks warm from the champagne and from the way his voice wraps around you like velvet.

By the time you’re finally in his car, it’s even more obvious.

The moment he pulls onto the empty streets, one hand gripping the wheel, the other immediately finds your thigh. You’re all giggles and smiles, alcohol-induced laughs spilling from your lips as you shift beneath his touch.

“You’re being so touchy,” You tease, voice teasing, light, dripping with warmth.

Jungkook barely glances at you, but you see the smirk pulling at his lips. “Don’t see you pulling my hand away.”

You roll your eyes, but your skin betrays you, heat pooling everywhere his fingertips graze. His thumb circles slowly, rubbing absentminded patterns into your thigh, like he doesn’t even realize he’s doing it.

“You’re ridiculous,” You mutter, biting back another laugh as you lean against the headrest, the world outside the car nothing but passing trees and shadows.

“And you’re also tipsy,” Jungkook counters, stealing a glance at you, his eyes dark, amused, playful.

He licks his lips, the silver of his piercing catching the streetlights, and you hate how mesmerizing it is.

“So?” you huff, crossing your arms in mock defense.

“So,” he drawls, fingers squeezing slightly around your thigh, watching with interest as you visibly react. “You’re all giggly and sweet right now, and I think I like it too much. My bad for wanting to get my hands on my girlfriend.”

Girlfriend.

God, the word rolls off him so easily it makes you dizzy.

“You like me all the time,” You poke his hand that’s on your thigh.

“Yeah, but I like you even more when you’re like this,” He plays with his lip ring as his eyes focus on the road.

You peek up at him through fluttering lashes, watching the way his jaw flexes, the way he glances at you just a little too long at a red light. And then, without thinking, you lean toward him, voice dropping into something soft, just shy of teasing. “You’re really that possessive, huh?”

Jungkook’s fingers flex, grip tightening, and for a split second, he looks like he might mount you in that car. “Oh, you have no idea.”

And, he proves it to you. The second his front door swings shut behind you, there’s barely a beat of silence before his lips crash onto yours. It’s immediate, it’s urgent, all-consuming from the tip of your scalp to your toes.

His hands are already on you, fingers digging into your hips, pulling you in like he’s been starving for this. You gasp against his mouth, the taste of champagne still lingering between you, and it makes you giggle yet again like a little high schooler. “Jungkook—”

“Mm,” He hums against your lips, not even bothering to let you finish.

“You’re so cute when you’re needy ,” You chortle in between, barely able to keep up with his pace. Jungkook groans, grinning against your lips before kissing you again, longer, slower.

“What did I tell you about calling me cute?” He mutters, voice low (definitely playing up the octave to seem even more menacing.)

“That it’s true?” You tease, bubbly from the way he won’t stop kissing you.

In a single swift motion, Jungkook grips your thighs and lifts you off the ground, your legs instinctively wrapping around his waist, and a squeal exits your mouth.

“Jungkook!” You yelp, arms looping around his neck in surprise. Except it’s really no surprise, because the man has made it clear he’ll throw you around like a rag-doll. He’s already moving, already carrying you toward the bedroom with so much ease your head is spinning.

“Tired of you running from me,” He murmurs, smiling cheek-to-cheek, his bunny teeth poking out as he shuffles quickly down the hall.

You can’t stop laughing, light and heady, fingers threading through his dark hair as he all but sprints the rest of the way. He nearly flings you onto the bed like you’re deadweight.

The laughter is still spilling from your lips when Jungkook slots your mouth with his again, swallowing every giggle, every teasing remark before it can fully form. He kisses you like he needs you to stay quiet, like he’s trying to erase every last trace of your playful remarks before they slip past your lips.

But, you are not letting him off that easy.

“You were so jealous tonight,” You whisper between kisses, smiling against his lips.

Jungkook groans, tilting his head back just slightly before diving back in, his mouth brushing yours in a way that feels punishing.“Maybe. Or maybe I was just passionate.”

You roll your eyes, your fingers curling into the front of his shirt as he leans into you.

“It was kinda hot,” You mock. “You couldn’t stand it, could you?”

Jungkook grumbles something under his breath, his fingers pressing into your waist, pulling you closer, as if kissing you harder will shut you up. But the moment his lips trail down to your jaw, your pulse leaping beneath his touch, you decide to take control.

In a swift motion, you push against his chest, sliding out from underneath him and standing up.

Jungkook stumbles back onto the bed, eyes wide for half a second before something darker, more intrigued, flickers through them.

You smirk down at him, your confidence surprising even yourself.

“Oh?” Jungkook muses, grinning as he props himself up on his elbows. “Taking charge today?”

You hum, sliding onto his lap, your knees pressing into the mattress as you settle yourself atop him.

“I think you need to be reminded,” You murmur, your fingers ghosting over the silver chain around his neck before trailing downward, nails grazing the buttons of his shirt.

“Of what?” He questions, eyes dark, eager, watching your every move.

You lower yourself, pressing your lips to the corner of his mouth, not quite kissing him, just kind of floating.

Slowly, with a purpose, you start kissing down his jaw and the column of his throat. “That I’m all yours,” You whisper against his skin, letting your lips brush over him with every word.

“All mine?” His voice is rough, strained, his fingers practically imprinting upon your skin. He needs to hear it again.

You pull back slightly, rolling your eyes just a little. The man knows very well you’re all his, but the desperation in his voice has you a little more soaked than you’d like to admit.

“Yes, baby,” You breathe out, cupping his face, your thumbs brushing over the faint pink tinge dusting his cheeks. “All yours.”

Now, Jungkook has seen many sides of you. The quiet, reserved girl who hides behind him at events, the sweet and hesitant thing who blushed at every flirty remark he threw your way, the one who overthought every touch, every glance, every lingering silence between you. However, that’s not to say he’s not thoroughly enjoying how unbelievably attractive you looked sitting on top of him.

The girl—the one who is straddling his lap, fingers tangled in the fabric of his shirt, murmuring sinful things in that soft, teasing tone, the heat of breath sending shockwaves straight through him—he does not recognize.

His heartbeat pounds in his ears, blood rushing to his cock. He can hardly breathe or think, all logic stripped away. Jungkook watches, wind knocked out of him, as you shift in his lap, your hips rolling against the growing bulge in his pants. He is ever the patient man; almost as if he wants to see how far you’ll take it.

He continues to stare as your fingers reach behind you, tugging at the zipper of your dress, the soft fabric peeling away from your shoulders, slipping lower, revealing more, more…more. Good lord.

The room is silent except for the soft rustle of fabric, the faint collective gasp in his breath as your dress pools around your waist, leaving your bare skin kissed by the golden lamp light in the room. Jungkook is entranced, his pupils dark. He’s still propped up on his elbows, yet he’s barely keeping himself upright.

Your body is soft curves and slow movements, every roll of your hips against him smoother, more confident than the last, every movement calculated and precise .

His head tips back against the mattress, his long lashes fluttering, his cock throbbing beneath the confines of his pants. Just when he thinks he might combust, you lean down, your lips hovering near his ear, whispering something he doesn’t even hear properly through the haze in his mind. He doesn’t even know what language you’re speaking.

Every teasing shift of your body against his, every brush of bare skin against fabric is driving him to the brink of insanity.

“Tell me what you want, baby.” Your hands trail up his chest, slowly undoing every button, nails barely scratching the heated skin beneath his shirt. Your jaw slightly drops as you let out a soft, needy whimper, a sound so devastating it makes his cock twitch beneath his slacks. “I’ll do whatever you want.”

Jungkook’s resolve crumbles, and his hand flies up, fingers wrapping around your jaw. He tilts your face toward his, making sure you see him. His eyes are feral, his pupils so black and wide they nearly swallow you whole. “Want my cock in your mouth.”

The words send a bolt of heat straight to your core, your body clenching instinctively. There is a small part of you that’s not all that experienced, despite your past boyfriend and you having sexual experiences. It’s just.. different with Jungkook. You think he expects more, although he tells you he doesn’t. But you’ll do your best for him, like you always do.

He moves up, sitting against the headboard, and you wiggle down, your lips parting just slightly, like you’re already imagining how he’ll feel pushing past them, how he’ll taste on your tongue, which you 100% are.

Your fingers work slowly, methodically, undoing the zipper of his slacks with a deliberate precision that has Jungkook shaking beneath you.

The sound of the zipper unfurling is deafening in the quiet room, drowned only by the unsteady rhythm of his breath, the way it stutters every time your fingers brush against him, every time you shift or press a kiss just a little lower. The man is putty in your hands.

You slip his pants down his thighs, fabric pooling around his ankles, and you throw them somewhere in the room; it doesn’t even matter. What matters is beneath them, he is hard, aching, straining against the waistband of his boxers, the fabric doing nothing to hide just how much he needs you, letting you take control while he teeters on the edge of losing it completely.

Your lips press softly to the fabric, your breath warm, your hands gliding up his thighs, fingertips tracing the defined muscles there, feeling the way they tense under your touch, how they twitch with anticipation.

Jungkook watches you, his dark lashes heavy, his chest rising and falling too quickly. He gathers your hair for you gently, fingers running through the strands, pushing them away from your face, tucking them behind your ears, cradling the back of your head, making sure he can see you completely.

For the first time in a long time, you want to be seen.

You want him to watch as you shift, as you lean back, as you slowly kick off your dress, letting it slip down the length of your body, letting it pool onto the floor in a forgotten heap, leaving you bare and exposed.

The black lingerie set you had worn underneath is still intact, a stunning contrast against your skin, the delicate lace barely covering anything at all, making you feel utterly unbreakable under his gaze.

You finally pull his boxers down. His cock springs free, the thickness of it always making you gulp. It’s flushed an angry shade of red, the tip glistening with precum, leaking and throbbing.

You swallow, your mouth already watering, your thighs pressing together as you wrap your fingers around him, feeling the weight of him in your palm. “F-fuck, baby,” Jungkook gasps, his head tipping back against the headboard, his hands gripping your hair tightly.

You stroke him slowly, taking your time, watching every little reaction, fascinated by how his body responds to you, by how his hips barely lift off the bed, chasing your warmth, chasing more. There’s normally a slight hesitation from you, but between the mix of the champagne and how fucking good he looks, you lean in. The first kitten lick to his tip is tentative, barely a flick of your tongue, just a taste.

Jungkook groans, his body jerking, “Jesus fucking Christ,” he curses, his voice shaking, his grip trembling against your scalp.

You hum softly, the sound vibrating against him, your lips parting slightly, your tongue flattening against the tip this time, lapping up the bead of precum that had gathered there, savoring the salty, musky taste of him on your tongue.

“That’s it, baby, fuck, so good,” Jungkook moans, his thighs tensing, his abs clenching, eyes screwing shut, then flickering open again, desperate to watch you, desperate to see you taking him, loving him, making him fall apart in the most beautiful way possible.

His praise makes you braver, makes you bolder, makes you want to see him even more undone, even more at your mercy. You press a soft, open-mouthed kiss to his tip, feeling him pulse beneath your lips, hearing the way he gasps sharply.

“You’re so fucking perfect,” He whispers, his voice awe-struck that you’re letting him have this piece of you.

His cock is heavy, filling your mouth so perfectly, stretching your lips as you slowly bob your head, taking in as much as you can. You feel the weight of him glide over your tongue, your throat relaxing, your jaw straining in the best way possible.

“Shit, baby,” Jungkook groans. You’ve always loved how vocal he gets for you.

You steal a glance up at him, and that’s when your eyes meet. His gaze is so dark, pupils blown out, his lips parted, damp. The moment he catches your heavy-lidded, pleading stare, something in him breaks like a live-wire.

“F-fuck,” He chokes out, his abs flexing as his breath breaks. “You’re so beautiful like this.”

You get the urge to keep going, faster now, the wet, lewd sounds of your mouth working him filling the room. Your tongue flattens along the underside of his cock, the heat of your mouth searing, your hand wrapping around the length that won’t fit, pumping in time with your movements.

“So, so good, so fucking good,” He pants, voice cracking like a prepubescent boy, his self-control hanging by a thread.

You feel it when he starts to twitch on your tongue, when his hips stutter, when his grip tightens, when he pulls your hair just slightly, as if he’s trying to stop himself from spiraling completely.

“Shit, fuck, wait—” He pulls you off him suddenly, his cock leaving your mouth with a wet pop, a string of saliva still connecting you. Your lips are swollen and glossy, your breath ragged as you look up at him, dazed and a tad cock-drunk.

“But…” You sigh, your voice small, your fingers still gripping his length, feeling the way he pulses in your palm. “I wanted to keep going.”

Jungkook groans, pulling you up onto his lap where he needs you most. His lips find your cheeks first, then your nose, your forehead, your jawline, kissing you everywhere, like he’s seconds away from breaking.

“I know, baby, I know,” He pants, barely coherent. Before you know it, he’s positioning you, guiding you to straddle him, to let him sink inside you where he belongs. “But I need you to sit on my cock, baby, please.”

His forehead presses against yours, his lips brushing against your mouth, his breath mingling with yours. “Need to feel you, need to be inside you.”

You whimper against him, the words sending a shudder through your body. Your core throbs and aches for him, whole body on fire like you’ll die if you don’t have him.

You align yourself, rolling your hips just slightly and letting his tip press against your folds. You glide it through your slick, coating him in you. It’s disgusting how aroused you are by him, but there’s comfort in knowing he feels the same way about you.

The sensation sends a jolt of pleasure through you, and your head tilts back, your mouth falling open, a soft, breathless moan slipping past your lips as the friction sparks along every nerve in your body.

Jungkook is completely gone, eyes glued to where your bodies meet, his jaw clenched so tight. He’s doing everything in his power to not completely lose control before he even gets inside you.

You sink down, slow, so slow, inch by inch, your walls stretching and molding to accommodate him.

The moment his thick length pushes inside, Jungkook groans, low and broken, while he holds you steady. The slide feels endless, like it always does, stretching you out like you’ve never taken him before, and he’s still struggling to ground himself, trying not to explode right then and there.

“Oh, f-fuck,” He hisses, his thighs tensing beneath you, his muscles coiling so tightly. He’s barely keeping himself from thrusting up into you, from taking what he wants, from losing himself in you completely.

You are getting split in half. Or, it feels like it. Your walls squeeze around him, your body shuddering.

“That’s it, baby,” he pants, his voice low, as his fingers trail up your spine. “Taking me so f-fucking well, feel so good, so tight.”

You only really sit comfortably when your clit presses against his pubic bone, when he is fully, completely inside you, when his cock is buried to the hilt, stretching you so perfectly, so devastatingly deep that it feels like he’s become a part of you.

“Oh my fucking god,” He chokes out, his grip on you bruising, completely lost in the feeling of you milking him already, pulling him in deeper, deeper, deeper. “I almost, fuck, I almost came just from that—”

The thought of it, the idea that you could make him cum just from sinking onto him, has your brain on autopilot.

You start to move, hips rolling in smooth undulations, dragging yourself up his length, feeling every ridge, every inch, before sinking down again. It’s a steady rhythm, one that has you both gasping for air.

But you don’t let him look away from you.

Nails pressing into his shoulder blades, you keep him anchored to you, your body flush against his. You tilt his face back up, your lips ghosting over his. The eye contact sends a shudder through him, his pupils blown wide, begging without words.

“You’re mine,” You murmur, your voice soft but firm, dripping with possession. Your hands trail up to cup his face, holding him there, making sure he hears you.

“Yeah?” he pants, his voice slightly slurred and drenched in adoration “Show me, baby. Let me feel it.”

Your walls squeeze him with every movement, every drag of your hips. And it’s all too much: his cock reaching even deeper, grazing that spot that paints stars in your vision.

“You’re so fucking good to me,” He groans, his voice choked, eyes desperate.

Your hands slide into his hair, tugging slightly, and he whimpers, his lips grazing over you, kissing wherever he can reach, mouthing at your skin. “All yours, baby, fuck. No one else, just you.”

Your heart swells, his jealousy from earlier feeling so distant, so insignificant, when he’s begging for you like this.

“Mine,” you whisper again, your lips ghosting over his ear, your hips picking up the pace, making him writhe beneath you.“Always fucking mine.”

Jungkook shudders, “Yours, baby.” And the words are just being repeated over and over like babbles, barely coherent to either of you as the feeling of being full by him overtakes all.

His hands lift you slightly, just enough for you to feel the drag of his cock leaving you, before he pulls you back down, filling you again in one smooth, deep motion. You cry out, your walls fluttering around him, the pace shifting from teasing to something more consuming, more needy.

“That’s it, baby,” he mumbles, his hips meeting yours now, pushing deeper, guiding you exactly how he wants you. “Just like that, ride me just like that.”

“Kook,” You whimper, nearly shaking, nearly crying from how good it feels, your hands sliding down to press against his chest.

You’re practically soaking him, your slick glistening at the base of his cock, collecting there, and he might need to be put in a mental institution after catching sight of it.

“Look at what you’re doing to me,” His eyes lock onto yours, hand slightly moving your face to avert your gaze elsewhere. You glance down, and fuck, he’s right. He’s glistening, his cock shiny with your arousal. Every time he pushes back inside, there’s more slick coating his length, dripping onto his thighs, pooling at the base of him like a sinful masterpiece.

“You feel that, baby?” he whines,“This is all yours.”

Everything becomes messier, sloppier, you’re not even sure where you are anymore. Jungkook is barely holding on, his thrusts erratic, his hands tight on your waist, slamming your hips down over and over again.

Your walls are fluttering, pulsing around him, the pleasure so intensethat you can barely even think or form any thought that isn’t jumbled.

“Jungkook, fuck,” You sob, your body jolting forward every time he drives into you, every time he hits that perfect spot inside you, over and over and over again.

“I got you, baby, fuck, I got you.” And then you really can’t take it anymore when he says things like that. Your hand flies between your legs, fingers pressing to your clit, rubbing furiously. You’re trying to tip yourself over the edge, trying to chase the orgasm that is so close, building like a wave, curling at the base of your spine, ready to crash over you at any second.

Jungkook watches, lips slightly parted. He can’t tear him away from the way you touch yourself, how you look so absolutely fucked out on top of him.

“You gonna cum for me, hmph? Hm, baby?” His words send a shockwave through you, his pace stuttering for just a second before he pounds up into you without a single ounce of restraint left.

“Fuck!” You cry out, your release inevitably waiting for you. Jungkook grins, knowing how close you are, already used to how you look when you finish.

The pleasure crashes over you like a tidal wave, drowning you in pure, white-hot ecstasy. Your entire body locks up, breaking apart as your orgasm rips through you with violent force.

“Oh, Jungkook,” Your walls are squeezing around him so tight it nearly forces him out, your head tipping back, mouth falling open, but no sound coming out. Your fingers slip from your clit as your body gives out, but Jungkook doesn’t stop. His hands are locked onto your waist, his hips still driving up into you, prolonging your orgasm, forcing you to ride it out until you’re whimpering.

“Holy fuck, squeezing me so tight,” He’s shaking with restraint, his muscles taut.

Watching you fall apart like this, feeling your walls clench around him like a vice, holding him, owning him, milking him—it’s a lot.

Jungkook grits his teeth, his grip on your waist turning bruising, his chest rising and falling in frantic, erratic pants as his orgasm hits him like a fucking wrecking ball.

“Fuck, mineminemine,” He gasps, and for the first time since you two started dating, he doesn’t ask for permission to finish inside of you. Doesn’t wait for your sweet little nod, your usual whispered “yes” into his ear.

No, not tonight. Tonight, he needs to claim you, needs to remind you, remind himself that no one else is going to have you.

Tonight, he slams you down onto his cock one final time, burying himself as deep as he can go, he spills inside you, filling you up.

“Take all of it, baby,” He gasps, his hips jerking up, riding out his high. Your bodies tremble together, both of you completely wrecked. Yet still, he stays inside you. Still buried to the hilt, his arms wrapping around your waist, pulling you flush against his sweaty body. His lips press lazy, open-mouthed kisses to your temple, your collarbone.

The room bathes in the warm afterglow of post-sex air. Your limbs are tangled with his as you lay with your head sprawled across his chest, his heartbeat still hammering beneath your ear. For a long moment, neither of you speak. Just deep, ragged breaths. The faint hum of the city outside. The lingering warmth of his hands tracing slow, absentminded patterns across your bare back.

“So… still wanna deny how jealous you were tonight?” You laugh, the words muffled slightly against his skin.

Jungkook groans, his arms tightening around you instinctively. “Don’t start.”

You grin, tilting your head slightly to catch the faint pink creeping up his ears.

“No, but really,” you hum, your fingers lazily tracing the chain around his neck, feeling invincible. “You almost lost your mind over a five-minute conversation. Kind of insane, actually.”

Jungkook lets out a low, gravelly laugh, the sound vibrating through your ears. “You don’t understand how fucking attractive you are. Seriously.”

“Jungkook—”

“No, really,” he kisses your forehead, watching you so intently you feel like he’s seeing right through you. “You walk into a room and I lose my goddamn mind. Every single time. You could have anyone, and yet… you chose me.”

He exhales slowly, lips brushing against your forehead in a way that feels so domestic. You don’t know what to say to that, so you sit with the words for a minute, let them reverberate through your chest. And it almost feels like your chest can’t contain it, like the pressure is building too fast, too much, like your ribs might crack beneath the weight of it. Behind them, your heart swells, expanding at least three sizes larger than its usual.

You pull him back down, lips curving into a soft smile as you kiss him again. “Always gonna choose you, Kook.”

｡･:*:･ﾟ★,｡･:*:･ﾟ☆

masterlist + request

#jeon jungkook #jeon jeongguk #jungkook #jungkook smut #jungkook x reader #jungkook x you #bts #bts army #bts jungkook #bts x reader #bts x you #jungkook fanfic

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mononijikayu · 5 months ago

Text

is it new years yet? — nanami kento.

"Apparently, we're #RelationshipGoals now." "Some of them really think I write poetry about you during my lunch breaks, too. Not inaccurate, of course. But the thoughts I have of you are different." “My darling, behave.” “No <3” ".......In any case, my darling…..this one says I’m lucky to have you. Can’t argue with that."

GENRE: alternate universe - no curses au!;

WARNING/S: afab! reader, secret coworker romance, co-workers to lovers, romance, fluff, nsfw, rated 18 and above, explicit content, kissing, making out, rough sex, fingering, creampie, p to v sex, stairwell sex, orgasm, humor, profanity, pet names (my darling, babe, etc), possessiveness, jealousy, characters speaking in sexual innuendo, mention of sexual euphemisms, depiction of explicit sexual content, actor! nanami kento, actor! reader;

WORD COUNT: 6k words.

NOTE: hello everyone, this is the first fic of 2025!!! this was specifically written because of a conversation between me and @midnight-138 on the afternoon of december 31st 2024. i started progress while on a bus on the way to my grandma's house and for a bit on the 1st. i still wanted to write more for it, but i had to stop because i caught a cold. i still have a cold. and i need a massage cause i feel my body hurt real bad, cause its working hard to save my life from this cold TT TT

but that being said, i shouldn't complain too much. good things have been happening to me despite my problems. i hope that good things continue to come!!! anyway, enough yapping, i hope you enjoy this little fic. happy 2025!!! may good things, good health and happiness come your way always this year!!!

masterlist

if you want to, tip! <3

IT WAS ALWAYS LIKE THIS WHEN YOU AND KENTO GET TOGETHER. But it was to be expected, since you graced the screens since you were a child. Nanami Kento was like that too. Of course, it wasn’t something of a brag at all. It was just your normal.

You were lucky, you were favored like that. Kento was favored just like that. Both of you were so beloved. And especially so, in a way that they end up hoping that you both were together.

Ever since you worked with him on Jujutsu Kaisen all those years ago, it was just too strong — the chemistry between the two of you. It pulls people in for more. They wanted a story, they wanted something that could ease their days from the mundane boredom that it was to the fun, exhilarating excitement that comes with the tea in both of your private lives.

You didn’t mind, your company didn’t mind either. Neither did Kento or his side of the aisle. It helped that you were both good friends. You had met even before landing your roles on Jujutsu Kaisen, after all. So, the ‘will they, won’t they’ between the two of you really did help your careers.

But of course, just like in Gege–sensei’s scripts, some parts are sentences with too many blank pages. And the wholeness of your relationship with Nanami Kento truly only belonged to you and him. And you were not willing to expose it to the world. Not just yet.

Yet — this does not stop them from trying to do something about that.

The studio buzzed with activity as you adjusted the earpiece in your ear, stealing a quick glance at the veteran actor, singer, producer, writer and entertainment personality that is Nanami Kento.

He stood near the stage, his posture relaxed yet impossibly refined. Dressed in a tailored charcoal suit, his tie a subtle but elegant shade of deep blue,everything about him just exuded a quiet confidence that made it hard for anyone to look away.

You, however, knew better than to let your gaze linger too long. You knew too well that those are reserved for just him and you to interpret and to see. No one else should. You were as possessive about your private moments as he was. But you would never say that outloud and neither will he.

“Can you believe these two again?” a stagehand whispered slowly, behind you. It was still, of course, loud enough for you to hear. “It’s like they were made for this. If they don’t end up together after tonight, I’ll lose faith in love. Really!”

You bit back a laugh, focusing on your notes. No one knew the truth, after all. That you and Kento were already together had been for a while now. Not even your publicists or managers — hell, not even your entertainment companies, knew that this was for genuine actuality, a real thing now. But you and him liked it that way.

You had let your fans go wild with their theories over the years of course. Every post, every comment, every little interaction, every collaboration, every press tour — almost everything seemed to spark a new wave of speculation and fan shipping.

For years now, the internet was rife with hashtags like #OurSecretLovers and #MrAndMrsNanami with fans pouring over every detail like it's an investigatory report they were doing, a documentary study. You had to admit, it was amusing at times, watching people try to connect dots they couldn’t see.

Nanami Kento had a reputation for being rather serious, because he gets roles in that league often. But he was a silly little man, well your silly little man. And he often had the knack for finding the most random, yet oddly endearing, posts about the two of you on Twitter. During your five-minute breaks between shoots, when you were in separate rooms or on different sets, his messages would pop up on your phone, accompanied by a link and a deadpan caption.

"Apparently, we're #RelationshipGoals now."

"Some of them really think I write poetry about you during my lunch breaks, too. Not inaccurate, of course. But the thoughts I have of you are different."

“My darling, behave.”

“No <3”

".......In any case, my darling…..this one says I’m lucky to have you. Can’t argue with that."

You’d giggle to yourself, your shoulders shaking as you tried not to draw attention. It didn’t matter how serious the production you were working on either. He had a way of making you laugh even from miles away. And that relaxes you a lot.

When it was your turn, you’d send him TikToks. Fancam edits of the two of you together had exploded in popularity as of late, especially since you both played a married couple who were spies deceiving each other recently. People thought he looked so good, especially when he had his shirt off. You loved teasing him about it. After all, he was really pretty hot in those scenes. And if you were being honest, they did in fact rile you up.

"Look at us, babe." you texted once, attaching a video with dramatic lighting, a love song playing over clips of you two stolen from interviews and behind-the-scenes footage. "We’re icons."

His reply came almost immediately: "Icons, sure. But I’m just a guy who got lucky enough to be yours, you know?"

Those words made your heart swell every time. He’d always been effortlessly humble, never letting fame or admiration inflate his ego, even as his star rose. After all, you were the senpai here—the darling of the Japanese screen since childhood.

You’d grown up in the industry, your name synonymous with household stardom. He, on the other hand, had been a late bloomer, starting as a teenager and building his career with quiet determination.

He never let the difference in your status get in the way, though. If anything, it only made him more in awe of you. He’d often remind you how much he admired your grace, how you’d navigated the pressures of fame with a poise that still left him speechless.

“You’ve been dazzling audiences since you were a kid.” he’d say, his voice warm with pride. “I’m just lucky to share the screen with you now and your life.”

And you’d roll your eyes playfully, nudging him with a smile. “Don’t sell yourself short, Kento. You’re a fan favorite for a reason.”

“Maybe.” he replied with a soft smirk. “But you’re my favorite. And that’s what matters.”

No matter how busy your schedules got, those small exchanges, be it a funny link or a sentimental text, every bit of this kept you connected. It reminded you both that beneath the glitz and glamour, what truly mattered was the quiet, enduring love you shared.

You were out of your bubble soon enough when Kento suddenly caught your eye from across the room, offering a small, reassuring smile and then a small gentle nod. You felt your cheeks turn red but lowered your head immediately before anyone was to notice. He was too good at making you feel like this. And certainly so, he was hiding his smirk under his cue cards.

“Alright, places, everyone!” the director called.

You finally stood up from your chair, taking a deep breath and calmed down. You gave yourself one more look in the mirror, trying to make sure that your cheeks were natural now. When you felt like it was, you smiled at your manager who handed you the mic and swiftly thanked them. You went to your position. Kento soon approached, his footsteps purposeful but unhurried.

“Ready?” he asked, his voice low and calm.

“Ready as I’ll ever be, I suppose.” you replied, flashing him a smile.

You were grateful for the reassurance. Even if you were already such a big name, you still did get nervous. And even more so, with such a big show like this — the New Year Countdown, of course you could feel yourself slipping.

The two of you took your positions on stage as the lights dimmed and the opening music swelled. His fingers brushed against yours briefly as he fixed himself up, your pinkies touching. Even briefly, you could feel the warmth. He did that on purpose. You could see it in his caramel eyes.

You let a brief smile echo on your lips. You gathered yourself as the lift came up slowly. When you both were in the sight of the gathered audiences and the cameras started to broadcast it all live, you both slipped effortlessly into your roles. After all, you both were professionals.

“Good evening, everyone, and welcome to this year’s New Year’s Eve Countdown!” you began, your voice bright and enthusiastic.

“Thank you for joining us as we bid farewell to the old year and welcome the new.” Kento added, his tone smooth and polished.

Your banter flowed naturally, as always. That well beloved chemistry between you is still ever so undeniable. It was easy to fall into a rhythm with him; he was your partner in every sense of the word. And that made your job tonight a little bit easier.

But of course, the real challenge was hiding the little moments that threatened to give you away that bit you kept so dear to you. You just can't help it when it comes to him. He has such a powerful pull on you and he knows it.

There were those little lingering glances, watching and feeling the way his fingers brushed yours when you handed him a card, the subtle softness in his smile when he looked at you. After all, this is the longest you could be together in your very busy schedules this year.

Still, you kept yourself in that cage. And so did he, despite his lack of patience when it comes to you and everything about you. As the night progressed, the energy in the studio grew electric.

Various music performances lit up the stage, and interviews with special guests kept the crowd engaged. Throughout it all, you and Kento remained the perfect duo—professional, poised, and completely in sync.

After nearly a few hours of composure, it came almost all too suddenly. In just a few moments, the final countdown approached, and the excitement was palpable. The two of you stood at the center of the stage, along with the other participants for this year’s event. In front of you, the crowd behind you cheering wildly, waiting excitedly for the new year.

“Here we go!” you said, your voice barely audible over the noise.

Kento leaned in slightly, his voice low enough for only you to hear. “You’re doing great, darling..”

Your heart fluttered, but you kept your composure. “Thanks. You’re not so bad yourself, babe.”

The countdown soon began.

You took a breath, looking at the screen.

You held your cue cards tightly to you.

“Ten! Nine! Eight!”

The lights soon dimmed, and the giant screen behind you displayed the numbers as they ticked down. The crowd’s voices grew louder with each second. The emotions coming through you were indescribable. Another year had gone by. But he was still by your side, like this. And all you could pray for as the time passed into a new age — that you would always be together.

“Three! Two! One! Happy New Year!”

Confetti soon rained down, and the studio erupted in cheers. You turned toward Kento, and for a fleeting moment, the world around you disappeared. The look in his caramel eyes was unmistakable—warm, tender, and filled with a quiet pride that made your chest tighten.

But just as quickly, the moment passed, and you both turned back to the crowd, waving and smiling as the cameras captured every angle. People of course started to pay less attention to you both and the stage and more onto the fireworks now blurring the sky with its bright hues. You and Kento made a steady exit off the stage.

“Another successful project, isn’t it?” you said, breaking the silence as you leaned against the wall.

Kento smirked faintly, unbuttoning the top of his shirt to loosen his tie. “They’ll be talking about this for weeks, you know?”

“And shipping us even harder, hm.” you added with a laugh.

“They’ll never know, though.” he said, his voice soft but steady.

You stepped closer, your hand finding his. His fingers intertwined with yours, the simple gesture grounding you in a way nothing else could. “They don’t need to, babe.” you whispered, meeting his gaze. “This is ours.”

Kento’s lips curved into the faintest smile as he brought your hand to his lips, pressing a kiss to your knuckles. “Happy New Year, my darling.”

“Happy New Year.” you replied, your voice barely above a whisper.

You had thought it would end there, sweet and innocent. You had thought you both were safe for one more year. But when you two are together after a long time…..it was a whole new animal. And nothing can stop such a wave in high tide from occupying something whole.

The next tithing you know is that the internet exploded the moment the photos dropped. Headlines blared across every platform, hashtags like #FINALLYOMG and #NewYearNewScandal trending within minutes after they were taken.

The pictures were pretty damning. They were blurry but unmistakably you, disheveled and wrapped in Nanami’s coat, your hair a mess. And him? A rare sight indeed.

It was none other than Nanami Kento, usually the epitome of composure, looking uncharacteristically undone. His tie was loose, his shirt wrinkled, and the telltale bruises blooming on his neck left little to the imagination.

You groaned, tossing your phone onto the coffee table as you buried your face in your hands. Beside you, Kento sat unbothered, calmly sipping his tea like the world wasn’t on fire—or at least your career’s PR team.

“I told you we should’ve been more careful, babe.” you muttered, your voice muffled by your palms.

He raised an eyebrow, the corner of his lips quivering into a teasing smile. “You were the one who couldn’t wait with it, y'know?” he replied smoothly, setting his cup down with an elegant clink.

His tone was infuriatingly calm, but the glint in his eyes betrayed his amusement. “Who was it again, begging me to fill you up? By round two, you were going—‘Kento, I need you. Right here. Right now.’ and I was happy to heed the request like always.”

Your scarlet blush was immediate, your head snapping up to glare at him. “Kento!” you hissed, glancing around the living room as if someone could overhear, even though it was just the two of you. “Not helping!”

He leaned back in his chair, crossing his legs with the air of a man thoroughly enjoying himself. “I’m just stating the facts about, I'm the same.” he said with a shrug, his smirk widening as you shot him another flustered look. "That's not a bad thing."

Your phone buzzed again on the table, your manager’s name flashing on the screen. You sighed, picking it up only to immediately huff and toss it back down. “This is really…” you trailed off, searching for the right word but settling on a frustrated groan instead.

“Chaotic? Consequential? Hilarious?” Kento offered, his voice laced with mock innocence.

You shot him a glare that was far more affectionate than threatening. “Horrible. That’s the word. This is horrible.”

He chuckled, reaching over to rest a comforting hand on your knee. “Darling, it’s not the end of the world. Scandal or not, we’ll deal with it.”

“Easy for you to say.” you grumbled, crossing your arms. “Your team probably thinks this is great publicity for your brooding, mysterious heartthrob image. Meanwhile, I’m the one getting texts about how unprofessional it looks for ‘Japan’s sweetheart’ to be caught sneaking around with hickeys and wearing her boyfriend’s coat.”

“Unprofessional?” he repeated, his tone incredulous. “It’s not like we committed a crime. We’re adults in a committed relationship. And in any case my darling....….” he added, his voice dropping to a playful murmur. “You look adorable in my coat.”

Despite yourself, you couldn’t help but crack a small smile. “You’re impossible.”

“And yet, you love me. Very much." he quipped, leaning over to steal a quick kiss from your lips.

You rolled your eyes but didn’t protest, instead letting your head fall onto his shoulder with a sigh. “Next time, though….really.....” you muttered. “We’re finding a stairwell without photographer cameras.”

He chuckled, pressing a kiss to your temple. “Noted.”

As you leaned against your lover, the memory hit you both like a freight train, vivid and unrelenting. It had started innocently enough—or as innocently as it could between the two of you. The countdown show had gone off without a hitch, and the studio was still buzzing with post-show chaos.

You both talked for a bit, had a cute moment and then went back to your professional mode when everyone started to surround you both again. It was like a switch, and it was easy. No one suspected a thing.

You went ahead into the dressing room, you talked with everyone. You’d been polite and professional, thanking the crew and chatting with some of the guests. But the moment Nanami Kento had caught your eye as you left the green room, something in his caramel gaze had made your pulse quicken.

You hadn’t seen him in weeks. Between his packed schedule and yours, the countdown project had been the only excuse to be in the same room together. The public facade you maintained only added to the frustration. Every fleeting touch, every shared look—it all built up, an unbearable tension neither of you could ignore.

So, when he’d quietly grabbed your hand and guided you down a quiet, rarely-used stairwell in the building when no one was looking, you hadn’t protested. You were excited, happy even. This was the chance to feel him again this close to you.

And you were glad for that opportunity. You could feel his touch be so genuine and warm despite the heavy chill in the air, and the firm grip of his fingers around yours sent a shiver of anticipation down your spine.

“Darling, I missed you, really.” he murmured as soon as you were alone.

His voice low and rough, filled with a longing that made your knees weak. His hands cupped your face with a reverence that always left you breathless, his thumb brushing softly against your cheek as he leaned in. The kiss was searing, his lips melding with yours as though it had been an eternity since your last stolen moment together.

The cold winter air bit at your exposed skin, but his touch set you alight. His coat had slipped from his shoulders in a quiet, unspoken gesture, draped over yours as his lips moved to your neck. The kisses were hot, open-mouthed, and deliberate, his tongue tracing the sensitive skin before his teeth grazed your pulse.

“Kento, babe….” you gasped, your voice trembling from a mix of the frigid air and the heat of his attention. Your fingers clutched the lapels of his suit, trying to ground yourself against the onslaught of sensations.

“Shh, just enjoy it......” he whispered, his breath warm against your skin.

His hands slid down your sides, firm but gentle as they gripped your thighs. Without hesitation, he lifted you effortlessly, pressing your back against the wall. The rough texture scraped against your coat, but you barely noticed, too focused on the way his body pressed into yours.

His strength always caught you off guard, even after all this time together. Your eager legs wrapped instinctively around his waist, your heels digging into his lower back. His hands gripped your thighs, spreading you open as he stepped between them, his body fitting against yours like a missing piece.

“Babe!” you breathed again, the sound barely audible over the pounding of your heart.

He kissed you like a man starved, his lips leaving your neck to reclaim your mouth. The intensity of it stole the air from your lungs, leaving you dizzy and clinging to him. He was hungry, perhaps even more than you were. But you had expected that. He has a habit of yearning to touch you a lot.

“I hate not being able to touch you, with all the schedules we fucking had.” he muttered against your skin, the words tinged with frustration and longing. “Hated every fucking minute of it……”

You tangled your fingers in his hair, the silky strands slipping through your fingers as you tugged him closer. “Then don’t stop, babe.” you whispered, the plea soft but desperate. “Cause….I need you badly too. I need you so bad in me—”

He growled softly, the sound rumbling against your throat as his touch shifted. One hand remained steady on your thigh, holding you firmly in place, while the other slid beneath the hem of your dress. His fingers were deliberate, pushing aside the delicate lace of your panties with practiced ease.

When his fingers slipped through your slick folds, a gasp escaped your lips, your head falling back against the wall. He groaned softly, the sound low and satisfied as he gathered your arousal, his touch teasing and unhurried.

“You’re already so ready for me, aren’t you, my darling?” he murmured, his lips brushing against the shell of your ear as his fingers moved with precision, finding the spot that made you arch into him.

The cold air around you was a stark contrast to the heat building between you, the quiet of the stairwell broken only by your uneven breaths and his whispered praises. It was reckless, indulgent, and utterly intoxicating—just like him.

“Kento, babe….oh!” you whimpered, your voice trembling as his fingers continued their unrelenting rhythm. Your hands clutched at his shoulders, nails digging into the fabric of his shirt as waves of pleasure began to build within you.

“Shh, darling.” he murmured, his lips brushing against your ear before trailing back to your neck. His voice was low and soothing, laced with a quiet intensity that only made your pulse race faster. “You’ll have to keep quiet for me. Can you do that?”

You nodded frantically, biting your lip to stifle the moan threatening to escape as he added a second finger. The stretch was delicious, his movements slow and deliberate, coaxing you higher with every stroke. His thumb brushed over your sensitive bud, and your thighs instinctively clenched around his waist.

He chuckled softly, his breath warm against your skin. “That’s my good little lover, hm? My only beloved darling.” he murmured, his praise sending a fresh wave of heat coursing through you. “So perfect for me.”

Your fingers slid up into his messy blond hair, tugging gently as your body arched against him. The rough texture of the wall behind you was a sharp contrast to the soft warmth of his touch, grounding you as he pushed you closer to the edge.

“Kento, please, b–babe….oh!” you breathed, the words barely audible as your head tilted back, exposing more of your neck to his eager lips. “M–more…..more!”

He hummed in response, the sound vibrating against your skin. “So impatient, aren’t you? Greedy too.” he teased, though his fingers quickened their pace, curling just right to hit the spot that made your breath hitch. “I missed seeing you like this, so needy for me.”

The heat pooling in your core intensified, your body trembling as the pleasure built to an unbearable peak. “I’m—” you began, but the words dissolved into a strangled gasp as he pressed his thumb harder against your sensitive nub.

“That’s it, pretty for me, so fucking pretty." He says, coaxing you like a pied piper. His voice was low and intoxicating. Everything about it just burns you as much as his touch did. "I’ve got you. Always.”

With one final stroke, the beautiful echo, that blossoming coil inside you just snapped, pleasure crashing over you like a tidal wave. Your body tensed, your thighs tightening around his waist as you buried your face in his shoulder to muffle the cry that escaped your lips.

He held you through it, his fingers slowing their movements as your body shook with aftershocks. His other hand slid up to cradle the back of your head, his lips pressing soothing kisses against your temple.

When you finally relaxed, your breaths coming in shallow gasps, he pulled back just enough to look at you. His eyes were soft, his gaze filled with a mixture of adoration and satisfaction that made your chest tighten.

“Better?” he asked, his tone light but tinged with affection.

You nodded, still too dazed to form words. He chuckled, adjusting his hold on you as he gently set you back on your feet. Your legs wobbled like jello against him, and he immediately steadied you, his hands firm but gentle on your waist.

“Careful, darling.” he murmured, his brow furrowing in concern. “Are you alright?”

“I’m fine, babe.” you managed, your voice breathless but steady. “More than fine.”

His lips quivered into a soft smile, and he leaned down to press a lingering kiss to your forehead. “Good.”

As the reality of your surroundings sank back in, you couldn’t help but glance around, the abandoned stairwell suddenly feeling far less private. “We should… probably get back, babe.” you said, your cheeks flushing with embarrassment. “It’s getting pretty late.”

He followed your gaze, his expression calm and unbothered. “Let them wonder where we went.” he said simply, shrugging off the concern as he adjusted his coat around your shoulders. "It's none of their business."

You opened your mouth to protest, but the mischievous glint in his eyes stopped you cold. He leaned closer, his breath warm against your ear as he whispered, “After all… I’m not done with you yet.”

Your breath hitched, and before you could respond, he was guiding you gently back against the wall. His lips found yours again, this time slower, deeper, igniting the fire he’d only begun to stoke. His hands trailed down your sides, their warmth chasing away the chill of the stairwell as he pressed his body firmly against yours.

“Kento, babe.” you murmured, a weak attempt to regain your composure, but he silenced you with a kiss that left no room for argument.

“I missed you, a damn whole lot.” he said, his voice low and filled with longing as his hands slid to your thighs, lifting you effortlessly once more. "Like I always do."

Your legs wrapped around his waist instinctively, your heart pounding as the desire you’d both tried to suppress flared back to life. He pressed against you, the hardness of his arousal undeniable even through the fabric of his pants. The teasing grind of his hips against yours drew a gasp from your lips, and he smirked, his composure slipping just enough to show his need.

"Really....." Kento effortlessly whispered to you, his voice vibrating onto you like a wave crashing onto you at sea. "We shouldn't schedule much this New Year, hm? So we can be together."

"Hm.....Kento." You echo back to him, intoxicated by his touch. "'ake time....for me, okay? I'll.....I'll do the same."

“That's the plan already, you know?" he murmured, his lips brushing against your ear as he shifted, his hands tugging at the barriers between you. “Let me take care of you, like I always do.”

Soon after that, you could feel the wet, thick head of his member pressed against your entrance, the heat and pressure stealing the breath from your lungs. You gasped as he began to push in slowly, his movements deliberate, almost reverent.

It was too good, too damn easy to fall into a high to. You could feel the stretch inside of you, it made you so full. Everything about it was intoxicating, your body yielding to him as he filled you inch by inch, your walls clinging to every part of him like he was made to fit.

It was like he was trying to make a home inside of it. Inside of you. And it just made you feel so good. A deep, guttural groan rumbled in his chest, his forehead dropping to rest against yours as he buried himself deeper.

“Darling.” he muttered, his voice strained and low. “You feel so perfect.”

You whimpered, your hands clutching at his shoulders for support as your body adjusted to the delicious fullness. The sensation was overwhelming, the slight ache quickly giving way to a heat that spread through your entire body.

“Kento.” you breathed, the sound a mix of plea and surrender.

His large hands gripped your hips, holding you steady as he pulled back slightly before thrusting forward again, the motion slow but unyielding. Each movement sent a jolt of pleasure coursing through you, and the friction only made you crave more.

“God, this is so…..you feel so good.” he groaned, his voice rough and filled with need. “You’re so tight. I don’t know how I’m supposed to go slow like this with you.”

“Don’t, babe.” you gasped, your fingers digging into his shoulders. “Don’t hold back.”

His carmel eyes darkened almost instantly at your words, a flicker of something primal overtaking his usual control. With a growl, he began to move in earnest, each thrust deeper and harder than the last. The sound of your bodies meeting echoed in the stairwell, a symphony of shared desire that neither of you could hold back.

The rough texture of the wall behind you only heightened the sensation, grounding you as he took you apart piece by piece. You could feel your back burn against the concrete wall as you throw your head back against it. His lips found yours in a searing kiss, his tongue claiming your mouth as thoroughly as his body claimed yours.

“Darling, my pretty baby darling.” he murmured against your lips, his voice ragged and desperate. “You’re mine. Always mine.”

“Yes, babe. Yours….O–oh…only! Only yours!” you managed to gasp, your head tilting back as he kissed along your throat, his teeth grazing the sensitive skin.

The coil in your core once more tightens with every spark you feel as he pushes deeper over and over in a fast pace. Everything about the pleasure you feel keeps building to an almost unbearable peak. It just felt too good. He felt too good.

His pace quickened, his breaths coming in harsh pants as his control began to slip. One hand slid between your bodies, his thumb finding your sensitive nub and rubbing it in quick, precise circles.

You cried out, your body arching into him as the tension finally snapped. Pleasure crashed over you in waves, your walls clenching tightly around him as your release tore through you.

“Fuck, fuck. I’m close!” he groaned, his movements becoming erratic as he chased his own release. With one final, deep thrust, he shuddered against you, his body going taut as he spilled himself inside you.

For a moment, the only sound was your shared, labored breathing, the intimacy of the moment wrapping around you like a cocoon. His forehead rested against yours, his hands gentle as they smoothed over your thighs and waist, grounding you both.

“Are you okay?” he asked softly, his voice filled with concern despite the lingering haze of pleasure in his eyes.

You nodded, a small smile tugging at your lips. “More than okay.”

He chuckled, pressing a soft kiss to your temple before gently setting you back on your feet. His hands remained steady on your waist, holding you as your legs wobbled beneath you. You leaned into him, your breath uneven, your body still humming from the intensity of what had just transpired.

But that wasn’t the end of it, of course.

The hunger in his eyes hadn’t faded, and neither had yours. The raw desire that simmered between you was far from sated, and you both knew it. Kento’s hands lingered, his thumbs brushing soft, teasing circles against your hips as he studied your flushed face.

“I just think that I…..” he murmured, his voice a low rumble. “I still want more.”

You barely had time to process his words before your lover’s lips were on yours again, roughly consuming you in a kiss that was as demanding as it was all encompassing. Your hands quickly found their way to his shoulders, pulling him closer to you. Your body instinctively responds to the magnetic pull of his, over and over.

“We shouldn’t…” you whispered between kisses, though your voice lacked conviction. “It’s going to make people suspicious.”

“Probably not.” he agreed, his smirk returning as his hands slipped under the hem of your dress, trailing up your thighs. “But repercussions are damned when we’re hungry. I can’t stop. I know you won’t too..”

The wall pressed against your back once more as he claimed you all over again, the cool stairwell air doing nothing to cool the fire that raged between you. It was reckless, but neither of you cared. Not here, not now. Hunger demanded to be fed, and with Nanami Kento, you were always insatiable.

After a while, you were both removed from the plane of normalcy and you were both panting with joyous weariness. He presses a kiss against your jaw as you keep a steady bite on his neck. He grumbles against you as he gathers himself from seeing stars. You follow him soon after. You released his neck and started kissing his lips once more.

When you both found yourself satisfied, you both started to make yourselves as presentable as possible. Well, at least what remains presentable and salvageable for both of you. Kento ripped too much of your outfit as much as you did. Still, you both did not care.

“We should get you cleaned up.” he murmured, his tone tender as he placed his coat on your shoulders and adjusted it tenderly on you, to keep you warm. “I’ll call my car and then we’ll just hop in there. We’ll go to my hotel, okay?”

You nodded again, your cheeks flushing as the reality of your surroundings began to sink in. But as he laced his fingers with yours and led you back toward the main building, you couldn’t help but feel a warm glow of contentment.

Of course, things too did not go the way you both wanted once again. You didn’t know that there were many SNS photographers and gossip journalists waiting to catch some other celebrity in that area where Kento’s car was going to be. And that’s just how you were caught, not thinking about the logistics of it all.

But how could you? It was New Years.

You just got mindlessly blown with really, really, really good sex.

And you were together once again with your lover.

How could you think about anything else after all that?

Now, back in the present, the two of you sat in the quiet of your shared apartment. Nanami Kento’s calm demeanor was a stark contrast to your frazzled nerves. You sighed, looking up to your lover who presses a kiss on your forehead.

“You know this is going to be everywhere, babe.” you said, gesturing toward your phone.

He set his tea down and leaned back, regarding you with a look of quiet amusement. “Let them talk, darling. It was bound to happen eventually.”

You groaned. “Eventually I didn't need to include hickeys and a ruined coat. And oh god….. was I leaking your cum?”

You took your phone once again to inspect, but your lover took your phone with his free hand and put it away. You looked at him, almost sulky as one would look as a child. He laughs. He presses another kiss on your hair. Kento couldn’t help but smirk. Both acts had made your heart skip a beat.

“You look good in my coat though. I could hardly care if my cum was dripping out, darling.” he said simply. “I’m pretty sure I look just as ridiculous. You mauled my neck so happily after that first round.”

“You do look like you’ve been ravaged.” you shot back, though your cheeks burned at the memory. “I mean, it made sense at the time….I was hungry.”

“Hm, I don’t blame you.”

You sighed. “We’ll contact our PR and everyone later, okay?”

He leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees, and reached out to tuck a stray strand of hair behind your ear. “Hm.” he said softly, his voice filled with the steady reassurance you’d always loved about him. “We’ll be fine, okay? I don’t care as long as I am with you.”

You sighed, leaning into his warm touch. “I guess the secret’s out, huh?”

He nodded, his gaze warm. “I don’t mind. As long as we're happy together, I say let them say whatever they want.”

You blinked at him. “You think so?”

“Hm.” He smiles at you. “Because no one will truly know who you are to me. That’s only mine. They’ll have a headline, but I’ll have the whole spreadsheet.”

You feel like your heart is melting with his tenderness. “I love you. So so much.”

“I love you too.” He kisses your lips, smiling wider at you.

And just like that, the storm outside felt a little less overwhelming.

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reidrum · 8 days ago

Text

safety net | b.b.

A/N: screaming nervously into the void bc this is my first bucky fic!!! i am literally on my knees please tell me what u think of it!!!!!! also i'm taking requests for bucky and spencer now <333

summary: in which bucky barnes needs a favor from his favorite senator

cw: smut 18+ minors dni, senator!reader, fingering in the blind spot we are so back baby, pet names, reader gets in her feels at the end sorry

wc: 2.2k

Bucky stands at the top of the stairs of Valentina’s mansion, vibranium hand holding a champagne flute as he surveys the span of the party. He takes slow enough sips to look busy but approachable, waiting for his moment to strike on the target.

It still feels odd for him to play into politics as a congressman, he’s used to fighting fist and bone to get his way and now he’s reduced to his own vocal devices to enact change. It’s harder some days when he has to advocate to a bunch of old senators who are decades beyond their retirement age. Oftentimes he has to dig into his 40’s trivia to be able to make small talk comeplling enough for them to listen.

Other times he can get away with using his reputation as the Winter Soldier—pardoned for being involved in the defeat of Thanos, there are times he finds it lucky to be considered a hero instead of the war criminal narrative he was used to.

Tonight, however, is his most preferred way to play the game of politics.

His eyes finally catch your figure, your silk gown hugging your body in ways he can only be envious of. You’re standing in the middle of the main room, a matching champagne flute in your hand as you charm the policymakers around you.

You are Bucky’s target tonight. You, the senator residing over Valentina’s impeachment case.

Nothing too extreme, just a little convincing on his end. A push in the right direction.

Your laugh carries all the way up the stairs straight into his chest, a warmth blooming through his heart. He tries to convince himself it’s the champagne working through him, but there’s a reason he made sure to get his suit tailored for tonight and put on enough cologne to drown you in it.

He watches you excuse yourself and set your empty glass on a nearby table, lifting the bottom of your dress while you head towards the stairs. He quickly jumps into action and walks a few steps down closer to you, holding out a hand. “It’s good to see you, Senator.”

“Congressman,” your eyes light up in recognition, “likewise. Are you typically waiting for women to struggle their way up the stairs or am I special?”

“You want the diplomatic answer or the truth?” he retorts, letting his hand fall to the small of your back as he guides you up the stairs.

You smirk, “What’s the diplomatic answer?”

“That I’m a good samaritan who didn’t want a colleague to fall over.”

“And the truth?”

Bucky pinches your hip, “Needed to get my hands on you somehow.”

You gasp as you reach the top step, abruptly letting your dress go, “Is that so? You couldn’t just, you know, talk to me?”

“Now what fun would that be, doll?” his arm curls around your hips as soon as you’re both out of sight from the main ballroom. “We do need to talk about something.”

A sigh leaves you before you can help it, “Bucky, I told you there’s nothing more I can do about Valentina’s impeachment. There is no evidence, without anything she’s not getting nailed for this.”

“I know, I know,” he says softly, “I just need a bit more time. Few days, and there’ll be damning evidence to put her away.”

“You know I can’t do anything to change it.”

Vibranium rests on your other hip, pulling you square with his, “See that’s why I needed to talk to you alone, because I know you can. You’ve done it before.”

“No I haven’t.”

His fingers curl slightly into your dress and raise the hem off the floor. A gentleman above all before he starts walking you back slowly. “I beg to differ, doll. I watched you delay that arms safety bill by five days last week.”

You think back, all the days you spent lobbying and pushing against the opposition. It took a lot of arguing, canvassing, and damn near begging on your part for them to delay as much as you did. If they had voted five days prior, you knew the government would have more blood on their hands than they anticipated, or cared for. You knew it was a worthy cause, and without your efforts a lot of people would be dead because of it.

You could delay Valentina’s case, if you wanted to. It would be easier than the bill. You could read Bucky’s intentions from the millisecond you laid eyes on him. But from the second Bucky found your hand to lead you up the stairs you’ve watched his eyes grow wider and darker in sensation as he talks to you. Like he knows what his end goal is, and he’s hoping you catch on soon too. Lucky for you, you caught on the moment you stepped foot into the mansion at the start of the night.

It’s always a means to an end with Bucky Barnes, the same cat and mouse game you both play that you inherently know is silly but you’re both too wrapped up in the chase of it all to say anything.

“I think someone just needs to prove to you that it’s worth your time.”

“And that’s supposed to be you?”

“I’m whatever you need me to be. Let me show you.”

Your eyes widen and dart across the ceiling as your back meets the wall, “Someone’s going to see us!”

“This is a blind spot, baby don’t worry. I won’t let anyone see anyone see you come, for my eyes only right?” He mouths your ear and works downward, ��Will you let me do that? Can I prove it to you?”

“I—I…” you sigh, eyes fluttering shut as his lips latch down onto your neck, “I’m listening.”

He grins into your skin and kisses back up your jaw, landing soundly on your lips capturing them in a hurried yet gentle kiss. He guides your hands to wrap around his neck and lets his own slide down to the swell of your ass.

You feel Bucky imprint his fingers into your flesh and you silently pray there’s proof of it in the morning. Your hips roll on their own accord towards his, desperate for any friction it can find.

“Patience, doll. I got you, I'm gonna take good care of you.” he whispers. You suppress a shiver as you feel his finger trail to the front of your dress, dipping behind the high slit and traveling to the fabric of your panties. A single digit traces a path along the edges of the fabric left to right, ghosting over where you need him the most. He lets his finger press into the center of your core, relishing in the sharp gasp that leaves you.

“Bucky,” you breathe, “please.”

His lips return to the sensitive spot on your neck and the feeling overwhelms you so much that you don’t realize he’s pulled your panties to the side and swiped a finger through your folds.

You moan brokenly at the feeling and Bucky quickly stills his movement, “Shh, don’t want anyone to come find us right? Gotta stay quiet.”

You nod rapidly, willing to agree to the most heinous of crimes if it meant he didn’t stop. You slap a hand over your mouth for emphasis, and the bastard has the audacity to laugh at your efforts to stay quiet.

Bucky’s fingers move through your folds with a guided ease, your core practically dripping in invitation for him to enter. “Did you get this wet just from us talking? If I had known I had that kind of effect on you, I’d have done this to get my way ages ago.”

“That’s all I am to you, right?” your voice raising in octave slightly at the end as he finally sinks a finger into you, “An obstacle to remove? Or use?”

“You wound me doll,” his finger goes about setting a rhythm before another slips in and joins, “but I know you’re smart. And I know that’s not what you think of me.”

The slide of his fingers is enough to set you on the course for delirium, rendering any and every responsibility or obligation that isn’t him obsolete. The pace he sets is downright ridiculous, addicting. His thick fingers leave you wondering and yearning for what it could feel like to be stretched out by him instead.

“And what do I think of you, Barnes?” you try to brave.

He chuckles, his thumb landing and circling your clit, “Well darling, I think you do hate me. I just think you hate that I can get you like this. That I can make that pretty brain of yours turn to mush the second I get my hands on you.”

You let out a soft whimper and roll your eyes, although it’s counterintuitive because they roll in pleasure for him and not your poorly conceived disdain for him.

Because you know he’s right, god he’s so right it makes you see red. This isn’t the first time you’ve bent your morals for Bucky Barnes, and you know it won’t be the last.

“That’s why you let me have my way with you in the middle of this mansion, where anyone can walk by. You love the thrill of it. You love risking it all, but you love risking it all with me.”

His fingers speed up, “I…Bucky no, I—“ you feign.

“No? So you’d let anyone do this to you?”

Never, you think, there’s not a single person you would let this happen with. Only him, always him.

Vibranium snakes up your throat and cinches around it, forcing your eyes to make contact with his icy blue ones. His other hand continues to pump relentlessly in and out of you, brushing against your clit every few strokes and causing you to break a sweat. “Answer me, sweetheart. You lettin’ anyone touch you like this?”

You languishly shake your head, “No! No, no one. I swear.”

Bucky doesn’t let up on his pace, “Who gets to have you like this, baby?”

The building pleasure imbeds into every neuron in your body, clouding any and every sense in existence until you’re a mess of whimpers and broken moans.

“Y—You.” you whisper.

His metal hand squeezes around your neck, “Can’t hear you, doll.”

“Buck,” you whimper.

He relishes in your feeble gaze, “This gone on my fingers, makes me wonder how you’ll be cockdrunk on me.”

His thumb circles your clit fervently, adding a third finger and stretching you out with a pain that hurts too good. Your head falls back against the wall as you let him take over, his hand laying firm against your throat to ensure you don’t lose his eyes.

Not that you’d ever want to, for as long as Bucky is willing to play this game or for as long as he’s willing to have you, you would never dare be the one to tap out first. If you could have him in any capacity you would, and you’d let him take as much as he wants if he kept him right between your legs.

You hope he mistakes the budding tears in your eyes for proof of his overwhelming ministrations and not for the vulnerability he threatens to expose with every thrust of his fingers. “ ‘m close.” you pant.

Bucky hums, “Want you to come all over my fingers, doll. Wanna feel you give me everything, can you do that?”

There’s no voice left in you to give him a response, your body speaking for itself in deep heaves and your arching back. Bucky groans into your neck feeling you clamp down onto his fingers as you reach your peak, working you through the pleasure as it consumes you entirely.

He whispers coos and praises into your ear, “Did so good f’me baby. It’s okay, I got you. Shh, I’m here.” as he anchors you back down to this realm.

Bucky pulls out a handkerchief from his back pocket, because of course he has one, and dabs at your eyes delicately. “Was it too much? I’m sorry if I got carried away, you can always tell me to stop, you know that.” he whispers with worry.

You sniffle and swallow your emotion down, “It was okay, I’m fine don’t worry.”

He doesn’t look convinced, “You sure?”

“Promise.”

“Okay,” he goes about fixing your dress and hair, hands resting at your hips again as he leans in and presses a chaste kiss to your lips, “will you talk to the council, please?

Right, you think, the trial. That’s all this was.

You nod automatically and smile solemnly, “I’ll see what I can do, Buck.”

He doesn’t pick up on your sullen smile, “Thank you, doll. I have to go make some calls, but I’ll talk to you soon, yeah?”

The lump in your throat thickens, “Sure, I’ll be in touch. Good to see you, Congressman.”

“Likewise, Senator.” he gives your cheek one last kiss before disappearing into the night.

Maybe one day you’ll tell him how you really feel, that one day you’ll feel like it’s worth telling him how much he really means to you.

But so long as Bucky Barnes has an agenda, you are simply not the priority.

Just an item to tick off.

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