incorrect, about pretty much everything

Header and profile from @editfandom

[fromv3nus]

morning dew

jude bellingham x fem!reader

content warning: dry humping, p in v, established relationship, jude's a lil ass in this but hes sexy so it cancels out #pemdas, sir kink debut, creampie, big dick!jude, tit slapping, mdom/fsub, and cockwarminggggg.

author's note: i may not know a lot about futbol BUT!!! i do know about beyonce and the painful urge of wanting to ride a handsome man. so heres this! also, my asks are open so if you have any requests or words to share please feel free to do so :). as always reblogs and comments are always appreciated. enjoy.

thinking about sensual morning sex with jude. him catching you stare at the side of his face one warm summer morning. an airy huff leaves his mouth, “i can feel you staring a hole into my face.” he complains with a slight crack in his voice before he opens one eye to peek at you, then burying his face into the pillow. for a man so sweet and gentle during the day, he can be a bit of an asshole for the first 10 minutes of waking up. but fortunately, that just turns you on even more. a smile creeps onto your face as slick warmth pools in between your thighs, lifting a finger and tracing over the muscle of his bicep. "but you're so cute, jude."

“let me sleep.” he grumbles through the pillow, his coily dark brown hair slightly smushed from his slumber.

"i am!” you whisper with a whine, toying with his hair gently, brushing your hand up and down his back with a soft scratch of your nails. "...then can i ride you when you wake up?"

jude's breathing pauses for a second before he hums with approval, rolling onto his back with his eyes still closed. he pats his thighs signaling you to get on. you smile to yourself and proceed to throw a leg over his thighs, pressing your heated core onto his half hard dick. your hips roll lazy circles on his lap almost instantly; a soft moan leaves your lips and onto the skin of his naked shoulder. you bury your face into his neck and leave kisses, nose poking at his jawline and taking a deep inhale of his scent.

his large hands grab at your ass, eyes shutting tighter as he takes control and guides your hips up and down, side to side, and mimicking the small circles you did before. both of your breathing starts to pick up, the peaks of your nipples hardening through the soft fabric of jude's t-shirt, you finally lift your body up from his and run your fingers down his chest. your eyes travel from his happy trail and up to his face, already looking up at you, his expression warm and dreamy. bottom lip tucked under his perfect top row of teeth as he devours you with his gaze.

"mmm fuck-" you gasp, looking down to your bodies clashing; a patch of arousal starts seeping through your panties and onto his growing bulge.

"yeahhh get her nice and wet f'me." he snickers confidently, hands pushing your shirt up to your chest and exposing your tits. "making a mess and we've barely started."

a breathy moan falls from your mouth in response to his praise; shaking your head in disagreement as you lift the shirt and throw it over your head in a swift move. "been this wet since i woke up.... last night really."

he groans as you grind on his dick greedily, "fuck- why didn't you tell me."

"i thought you were sleepy." you pout with a fake sincere voice, digging your nails into his abs and pressing your hips down with force.

"not anymore." jude licks his bottom lip, hands leaving your hips and resting behind his head. "pull it out. take what you've been needing."

you nod and begin to pull off your ruined panties.

"ah-" he calls for your attention. you look up at him once more. "where's your manners?"

"sorry-... thank you, sir."

"there's my girl." he finally flashes a smile at you; it reaches his eyes, mahogany brown irises admiring you as his fingertips fluffs his hair. waiting for you to continue what you started.

you smile back at him. body heated with desire. rolling off of him and slipping your panties off slowly; a cloudy string of arousal connects from your clit to the cotton fabric. you look back to see if he's watching. which he is, of course.

a desperate groan leaves his mouth from watching you. his breathing slows as you turn back to him and pull the comforter off to the foot of the bed, his dick bulging through his navy-blue briefs with growing a patch of precum.

you toy with his waistband for a moment before sliding them down, eyes flicking back and forth from his beautiful face to his perfect dick slapping on his thigh; you continue to drag his briefs down his legs and throw them alongside the rest of your discarded clothing on the floor.

crawling back up to him your noses bump together as one of your hands slip in between the two of you, slowly pushing his tip into your dripping entrance.

"slow... you know i'm big." he hisses at the stretch even though he's halfway in. a hand moves from the back of his head and to your cheek, caressing your skin gently as you push down to the hilt, the dark trimmed hair at his base digging into your clit.

"i know-" you moan with a reassuring tone the sound of your body slapping onto his with every bounce.

"i" plap. "know" plap. "oh shit" plap.

you let out a sharp gasp when his tip presses directly onto your cervix. his eyebrows furrow, groaning lightly whilst his hands grab at your body; your thighs, your back, your ass, drawing hearts on your skin as you fuck yourself onto him.

you lift back up with your hands on his chest, knees digging into the mattress, pushing his body into it. rolling your hips in large circles, making his tip brush into that sensitive spongy spot inside you.

he nods mindlessly, watching your facial expressions fall into a range of desperation to sensitivity. studying how your head falls forward, pretty eyes flutter shut, how you bite your lip in pleasure.

“juuuuuude.” you moan, ass smacking onto his thighs. “hahhh, i love your dick so much.”

“yeah? were you dreaming about it last night?” a cocky grin grows on his face, large hands moving up to cup your tits and playing with your sensitive nipples; twisting and pulling them with grip.

"yes, baby! i dream about it every fuckin' night.." your brain turns into mush, voice breaking as you grind your clit onto his pelvis once more. the feeling of your nipples being teased sends sparks through your body. “oh fuck- ah i can feel it in my stomach." the words slurring and combining together towards the end.

"then show me." he grunts, slapping at your tits firmly with one hand, the other gripping at your hip.

"huh?" you ask while grinding onto him chasing your orgasm.

"show me what you were dreaming about." he cups your face to make you look at him, his thumb traces over your bottom lip.

you nod. "okay..-"

he raises a brow, waiting for the sentence to end properly.

"sir." you clarify, rolling your eyes in embarrassment as you swing your feet from under you and place them on the bed. you lift and shift your hips on top of him to get comfortable, scratching at his pecs to brace yourself.

"that's it darling, plant your feet on the bed." his voice eager and dominate, encouraging you with both hands pawing at your ass and spreading you apart. “fuck me like you mean it. c’mon.”

you slowly lift up to the tip and drop down. whimpering as you feel him hit spots you didn't even know existed. "oh my god." falls from your mouth repeatedly, taking your time to find a pace that works.

"just like that. always looking so pretty when you ride this dick." jude pants, fighting between watching how your pussy swallows him with zero struggle or focusing on your tits bouncing in his face. the shine of your arousal covering his length every time you lift and drop yourself on him.

"fuckfuckfuck." you whine, a hand lifting to grab onto the headboard to keep it from slamming against the wall.

jude eyes widen in shock, surrendering himself so you could use him to get off. the coil in his stomach tightens, groans turning to open mouthed "ah's" correspondent to your thrusts, hands tugging you down onto his dick like you were going to disappear right from above him. "take it. take this cock like you fucking own it. baby, holy shit.”

"i own it, sir." you moan, one hand pressed on his abs for leverage as you bounce harder, the other piercing your nails into the headboard. "it's mine." eyes staring into his. "nobody else's."

"it’s mine." you repeat, panting like you ran a marathon as you slam down to the hilt with a full body quiver; your slick walls clenching around his length with no remorse, orgasm hitting you with a broken whine. practically falling apart in his hands.

"give it to me gorgeous, cum for me." his thumb teases your clit with fast flicks, sending you over the edge. your legs shake atop of him, mouth agape as he rubs you into overstimulation.

“sir- i c-can’t.” you plea in a desperate tone, hand grabbing at his wrist in an attempt to pull him away. “too much!”

“almost there sweetheart, you’re doing so good for me.” he groans, thrusting his hips into you to get as deep as possible. you roll your hips to help him get close, he looks up at you with need as he cums, thighs shaking, head falling back into the pillow in bliss. exhaling your name with a shaky moan like he breathed for the first time.

your head lays back into the crook of his neck, chests smushed together with silence filling the room besides the sounds of your heavy breathing.

he clears his throat after a few minutes pass.

“well good mornin’ to you too.”

[sinfulpetal]

JUDE BELLINGHAM — AIN'T TOO PROUD TO BEG

summary 𓂃 ࣪˖ ִֶ you convinced yourself that being a footnote in jude’s life was better than getting hurt again. truly, you were finally distancing yourself away from jude. but this time, jude bellingham refused to let you go.

warnings 𓂃 ࣪˖ ִֶ unprotected sex, fem reader, jude is begging, crying, plenty of praise, apologising, hair pulling, fingering, slight angst, miscommunication, light choking, soft dom!jude, overstimulation ig, oral, & fluff at the end (7.8k wc)

note 𓂃 ࣪˖ ִֶ wrote this while listening ain't too proud to beg by the temptations, so, there was my inspo. and, boom, there you have it! 50s music always gets me in a jude mood. also, my 3 part series has concluded. i hope this lived up to the hype, i really enjoyed finishing this story and having jude reconcile. THIS IS THE FINAL PART to a 3-part series. you can read PART ONE HERE, and PART TWO HERE.

You couldn’t believe him, which was ironic, really, because this was probably the most believable thing Jude Bellingham ever did.

The photos found you before he was able to explain—or rather—excuse himself.

You were mindlessly scrolling through Instagram, a terrible habit of yours. Suddenly, you came across a blurry picture of Jude outside an expensive restaurant, then another from inside. Jude sat across from a woman you recognised immediately, the same woman he’d mentioned the night of the gala: “I was supposed to bring someone tonight… but she cancelled.”

Evidently, she’d made it up to him. Wow.

Your manicured thumb hovered over the screen, refusing to scroll any further. Instead, you found yourself reading the comments beneath the post. There was complete strangers picking apart every detail, convinced they knew exactly who she was to him. Some called her his girlfriend. Others insisted she was just a friend. Others called her all sorts of horrible names. A few were already congratulating him, saying how pretty she was.

You exited the app before you could read another word. Because the truth was, it didn’t matter.

It didn’t matter whether she’d been a date, a friend, or someone Jude simply shared dinner with. It didn’t matter if the internet had gotten it completely wrong.

What mattered was how easily your stomach sank. How quickly every conversation you’d had with Jude over the past few months came rushing back. Every lingering glance of his. Every touch that lasted a little too long. Every time he’d found you in a crowded room as though there was nowhere else he’d rather be, touching the small of your back so intimately as he did so. Every time you had made love to each other. Every time you had left his warm embrace in the morning when the consequences of your actions caught up to you. You knew this, yet kept running headfirst into a brick wall.

After the party, you’d walked away convinced that would be the last time. The last time you’d let yourself mistake his attention for affection because you knew better now. The last time you’d convince yourself that maybe he’d changed his mind. That, maybe, the boy who swore he didn’t want anything serious had finally realised he wanted something more. Then, the gala happened; you were thrown back back to square one.

Looking back, it made you cringe. You found yourself doing that a lot more recently.

You’d spent months clutching pieces of Jude because they felt better than having none of him at all. A hand on your thigh beneath a dinner table, arm wrapped around your shoulders in crowded rooms. Pillow conversations that blurred into early mornings, with you making eggs for yourself while Jude fixed his premade nutritional bowl. The little moments that felt far too intimate to mean nothing, yet never enough to mean something of fruitfulness.

Jude gave you just enough to keep hoping, then reminded you, without ever having to say it again, that hope was all it would ever be. And the worst part was that you let yourself become content with it.

You convinced yourself that being a footnote in Jude’s life was enough, even when he had somehow become the centrefold of yours. You were willing to exist in the margins of his world, to take whatever pieces of him he was willing to offer, while he occupied every corner of your thoughts without even noticing it.

He’d told you from the beginning; he didn’t want a relationship. Jude didn’t want commitment, didn't want to make promises he couldn’t keep. So why had he spent months making it impossible for you to leave?

Your phone buzzed against the comforter, the sound breaking through your thoughts. It's almost like he knew you had found out, that you had been thinking about him. You eyed your phone with disdain as his name lit up your screen before it disappeared again. Another message came through less than a minute later, then another.

Normally, you would’ve answered by now. Even if it was hours later. Even if you wanted to be angry with him. Somehow, you always replied to Jude because you cared about him.

However, not this time.

You turned your phone over, burying his name against the mattress before it had the chance to taunt you again.

You were sick and fucking tired of his bullshit. Tired of trying to decipher someone who had already given you his answer months ago. Tired of letting his actions convince you of one thing while his words insisted on another. Tired of being pulled back into his orbit every time you finally found the strength to walk away.

Maybe this was exactly what you needed. To be disappointed enough to finally believe Jude; he truly didn't want anything, and it didn't mean anything to him.

Jude knew he screwed up big fucking time. The worst part was that he couldn’t even pretend he didn’t understand why.

At first, Jude brushed it off. Maybe you were busy; you had a tendency to sleep for long periods of time. Or maybe you were finally giving him a taste of his own medicine. But after the fifth unanswered text and the third missed call, something in his chest began to tighten. You never ignored him before. You might’ve been frustrated, you might’ve needed space, but you always came back to him. You were always so understanding.

It wasn’t difficult to piece together what had happened. The photos had been everywhere before he’d even made it home. One dinner with a woman he’d known for years, someone he’d promised he’d make it up to after she cancelled on the gala, and suddenly the internet had decided he had a new girlfriend.

The thought would’ve been laughable to Jude under any other circumstances. She was nearly ten years older than him, someone he’d always viewed as a close friend and nothing more. There had never been anything romantic between them, nor would there ever be.

Jude could only imagine what you thought when you’d seen them. The explanation sat on the tip of his tongue, ready to spill the second you answered his phone calls. But the longer you ignored him, the more he realised the explanation wasn’t really the problem; the problem was him.

After the gala, Jude convinced himself everything had finally settled into place. The two of you had started talking more than ever before. Good morning texts became routine, calls that were supposed to last ten minutes somehow stretched past midnight. He found himself reaching for his phone after training without thinking, itching to tell you about another ridiculous argument that had happened in the dressing room or to tell you another funny story about Mastantuono or something Kylian had raved on about during ‘team meetings’.

Jude genuinely enjoyed your presence. The constant pressure that followed him—the cameras, the expectations, the endless rollercoaster that is football—disappeared whenever it was just the two of you. You never asked anything of him besides his company, and somehow that became the thing he looked forward to most. In fact, you really didn't even care about Real Madrid or football, nor did you bring it up unless he did first.

He’d convinced himself he finally had his feelings sorted. Or, at the very least, under control. Jude told himself there was no rush to put a name to whatever the two of you were. Things were good as they were! That eventually, when the timing was right, he’d figure the rest out.

Looking back, it was beyond selfish of him. Jude was asking you to wait for an answer he wasn’t willing to find because every time things edged toward something real, he’d retreat behind the same sentence he’d repeated from the very beginning: I don’t want anything serious.

But, at the time, Jude believed he was doing the right thing.

Football had to always come first. The scrutiny that followed him everywhere was relentless, and he knew better than anyone what happened when the public got hold of someone’s private life. Every relationship became a headline, every minuscule move was analysed for entertainment on social media.

Jude told himself that keeping you in the grey area was protecting you from all of it. If there was no label, there was nothing for the media to destroy; there was no way they could take you away from him as they had done to so many others.

It sounded noble in his head, but, really, it was just a shitty excuse. Because while he’d been trying to shield you from the outside world, Jude had been hurting you himself.

You’d become the person he wanted to tell everything to. The first face he searched for after a good match. The opinion that mattered more than thousands of strangers praising him online. Being around you never felt like another obligation. It felt like home, and he’d grown so used to having you there that he’d stopped appreciating how much of yourself you were giving him.

Fuck, fuck, fuck! He was selfish.

Jude accepted all the parts of a relationship that came naturally, your company, your comfort, your unwavering support, while refusing to give you the one thing you deserved in return: certainty.

He thought back to the gala more than he’d care to admit. The way you had fit beneath his arm as though you’d always belonged there. The way he’d found himself looking for you in every room, wanting you beside him even when he was surrounded by people. Asking you to be his date hadn’t been planned.

And that, he realised, should’ve been enough for him to face the music: Jude Bellingham wanted to be yours, and he wanted you to be his.

Maybe some part of you had always known Jude would eventually reach out. He never stayed away for long, even if you were the one that sought him out moreso. There was always a text after a few days of silence, some excuse to start a conversation again, some small reminder that he was still there. You had gotten used to him finding his way back into your life before you had the chance to fully convince yourself he was gone.

But you hadn’t expected to open your door and find him standing there.

The knock had been quiet, his knuckles barely making enough noise against the wood to announce his presence. It was almost like Jude wasn’t sure he wanted to be heard, as if some part of him was still giving you the chance to ignore him. Had you not been home, had you not been standing close enough to hear the faint sound, Jude probably would’ve convinced himself that it was a sign and gone back to his car. He would’ve told himself he tried, that showing up unannounced was too much, or that you deserved space from him and his selfishness.

Yet, you were home.

It wasn’t that Jude was someone who avoided difficult conversations. He was passionate by nature, someone who felt everything deeply and never did anything halfway. Jude knew from an early age that he couldn't get what he dreamed of in life without that. But standing outside your door, knowing there was a chance you might not let him in, was different. This wasn’t a conversation he could charm his way through. There was no crowd to distract him, no confidence to hide behind, no easy smile that could make everything feel alright.

For once, the mature Jude Bellingham had no idea what to say.

When you finally pulled the door open, he looked nothing like the man you were used to seeing. He wasn’t carrying that effortless, nonchalant confidence he wore around everyone else. There was no teasing remark waiting on his tongue, no playful grin to soften the tension between you.

Jude just stood there, framed in your doorway, looking more nervous than you had ever seen him. His hands were shoved deep into the pockets of his sweatpants, shoulders tense as his dark eyes immediately found yours. They were red around the edges, a little swollen. You could tell Jude had spent the entire drive over fighting back tears or had already lost that battle before he reached your door. It was unsettling seeing him like that, to say the least.

“Can… we talk?”

You stared at him.

For a second, you hated that your first instinct was still to let him in. You hated that even after everything, after seeing those photos and convincing yourself you were finally done, some part of you still softened at the sight of him looking this lost. Stop, you won’t give in.

You didn’t move, instead, your face hardened. “You came all the way here just to fucking talk?”

His expression tightened slightly, and his lip trembled. “I know—I know how this looks.”

A quiet laugh escaped you. Not that anything was funny, but because you couldn’t believe his audacity.

“No, Jude. You don’t.”

The words left your mouth before you could soften them. Jude’s eyebrows pulled together immediately, a small crease forming between them as if he genuinely couldn’t understand why you were pushing back. His lips parted, ready to argue, but there was no confidence behind it.

“I do.”

You shook your head slowly. “No, you really don’t.”

Your fingers curled tighter around the edge of the door, the only thing keeping you from crossing your arms or stepping back completely. You needed the barrier. And needed the reminder that he was standing on the other side of it for a reason.

“Because if you did,” you continued, your voice growing steadier despite the ache building in your chest, “you wouldn’t be standing here acting like this is just a misunderstanding.” Jude’s expression shifted. You watched the realisation settle in his face. “You wouldn’t show up whenever you decide you’re ready to have a conversation and expect me to just forget everything that happened. Or that it’s okay to treat me like shit.”

As you spoke, you realised you knew Jude too well. You knew every small change in his expression, every hesitation, every moment where he looked like he wanted to say something but didn’t know how.

“That’s—that’s not what I’m doing.” His voice was quieter now. You let out a breath that almost sounded like a laugh, but there was no amusement behind it.

“Then what are you doing?”

For a moment, Jude just stared at you. His mouth opened slightly; he had an answer ready, but nothing came out. His eyes flickered away from yours for half a second before returning, and somehow that frustrated you even more.

Because Jude always had something to say. He was quick with his words. Always knew how to lighten the mood, how to make you roll your eyes when you were trying not to smile. He could talk his way through almost anything.

But now, when he was standing in front of you, seeing the hurt he had caused and realising there wasn’t a simple explanation that would make it disappear.

For once, Jude didn’t have the right words. And maybe that was because, for once, there wasn’t an excuse good enough.

“I was worried.”

You blinked slowly, raising an eyebrow in confusion. You hadn’t expect him to disregard you. “What?”

“I was worried when you stopped answering me.”

The words almost made you laugh again. “You were worried?”

“Yes.”

“You were worried!?” You repeated it, shaking your head. “Jude, do you know how many times I was worried about you?” That shut him up. “Listen, you don’t get to just come to my fucking house and act like you’re the one who got hurt because I finally stopped putting up with your bullshit. You just can't.”

“I know what you saw.”

The words came out suddenly, almost like he couldn’t keep them trapped inside anymore. You looked at him, and Jude immediately shook his head, taking a small step forward before catching himself. His hands slipped from his pockets, fingers dragging through his hair in frustration as he tried to find the right way to explain himself.

“The photos,” he said, voice strained. “That’s what this is about, isn’t it?” Jude watched as you didn’t answer. You didn’t have to. “She wasn’t what you think.”

A bitter laugh left you before you could stop it. “Jude—”

“No, please. Please. Just let me explain.” There was something different about the way Jude said it. No confidence. No attempt to brush it off, but rather pure desperation. He was begging you to hear him out. “She’s my mate. That’s it.” The words spilled out of him quickly, like he was afraid you’d interrupt before he could finish. “She’s been my mate for years. She’s, like, literally ten years older than me, and I have never looked at her like that. Not once. There has never been anything romantic between us.”

His eyes searched your face, looking for any sign that you believed him.

“The dinner was exactly what it looked like. Dinner.” He swallowed, settling on that. “I told her I’d make it up to her after she couldn’t come to the gala. That was all it was. I swear, I swear.”

You stayed quiet, and the longer you did, the more unsettled he became. He was worried you’d leave him alone one and for all, that this was the nail in the coffin. That you’d never talk to him again, never forgive him, never let him back in over a miscommunication. That you’d would never accept one more idiotic action of his. And Jude couldn’t blame you one bit.

“I know how it looks,” he rushed out. “I know, God, I’m fucking daff. I know you saw those pictures and the first thing you probably thought was that I’d been leading you on.” His voice faltered, his expression twisting sour; he was fighting back tears. “And I—I understand why you would think that.” For a second, he looked away, jaw tightening as he tried to compose himself. “But please don’t think that.”

His eyes found yours again, all red and glassy. “Don’t think that I was sitting there with someone else while you were just…” He stopped, shaking his head. “While you were nothing to me.” The last sentence seemed to hurt him more than anything else he’d blurted out. “Because you were never that.”

His voice cracked, trembled and shook. “God, you were never that.”

Jude dragged a hand down his face, frustration and regret mixing together until he looked like he didn’t know what to do with either.

“I know I’ve given you reasons to doubt me. I know I’ve made you feel like you weren’t important enough, like you were just someone I could come back to whenever I wanted.” His voice shook as he spoke. “But it was never because of someone else. It was me being a fucking right dickhead.”

You watched him for a moment, taking in the way his breathing had become uneven, the way his fingers kept flexing at his sides like he didn’t know what to do with all the guilt he was carrying. Jude had always been someone who held himself together. The person who found a way to keep going, even when things got difficult. He was stubborn like that, always convinced he could handle everything himself. Right now he looked completely worn down. And honestly, it had worried you. Deep down, you always would love and care about him, which is why you took everything so hard. And also why you kept coming back.

“Jude,” you sounded quietly, his eyes frantically lifted to yours. “Hey. Look at me, it's alright.”

For a second, Jude didn’t move. Then he shook his head, dragging a hand over his face as he let out a rough breath. His shoulders were tense, his jaw clenched, like he was trying desperately to pull himself together.

“No, no,” Jude pursed his lips. “It's not alright.” You frowned slightly at the correction. His eyes flickered back to yours, red around the edges, his expression twisting with frustration. “It’s not fucking alright because I know what I’ve done.”

His voice cracked slightly, and you could hear how much he hated admitting it.

“I know I can explain the dinner. I know I can tell you she’s just a mate,” He shook his head quickly, almost like he needed to make sure you understood. “But that’s not even the point, is it? I was a proper idiot.” The words were so simple, so unlike him, that they almost hurt more. “I should’ve realised sooner. I should’ve seen what was right in front of me instead of convincing myself I was doing the right thing.”

Your expression softened slightly. “Jude…”

“Stop!” He shook his head immediately. Not angry, rather desperate. “Don’t do that.”

“Wh—Do what?”

“Make it easier for me.” Jude’s voice dropped. “I know I hurt you. I know I messed this up. I fucked up.”

You reached for him slowly, your hand resting against his arm. “Jude, please, it’s okay.”

He looked down for a second, breathing out shakily before looking back at you.

“It’s not.” His fingers curled around your hand carefully. He felt like he wasn’t sure he was allowed to hold onto you anymore. “I don’t want you to forgive me because you feel sorry for me. I don’t want you to just forget because I’m standing here apologising.”

His eyes searched yours. “I want to actually fix it. Let me make it up to you.” His voice was quieter now, almost a plea. “Please.”

You faintly smile and it’s so, so sad. He feels his heart crack and his eyes burn. He wants to make the warmth of happiness touch your features once more. He has let you down so much lately. Jude wanted to make it right, wanted to show you how much he did really care about you. And something in him shifted, you could tell. His gaze held yours, darker now, not with anger, but with a kind of certainty you hadn’t seen from him before. Slowly, carefully, his hand lifted, sliding up and down your shoulder.

Jude feels like he’s sinned and you are the only one who can absolve him of it.

“I—I need to make it up to you," he chokes out, and he is painfully aware it’s not that late and that the two of you are standing in your apartment doorway. Therefore, anyone could walk out of their door and see Jude Bellingham was begging for forgiveness. But he couldn’t give a shit. You need something to soothe the hurt. He can give that. He would give anything. His pride is minimal when it comes to you, especially now.

"Just tell me what to do," he breathes as he steps closer, toe to toe now, large hands cradling the sides of your face.

“Be only mine,” you whisper, and there isn't even a warble in your voice. That’s all you could say, that’s all you wanted him to do. And he could grant that wish. He can see it from the heat and challenge in your eyes. So, he kisses you.

He kisses you with that need that burns him from the inside out every time he sees you, with long and possessive sweeps of his tongue that make your knees weak. He steals your breath greedily and you moan in response. Then when your fingers curl into his shirt, he knows immediately where he needs to take you next.

The two of you barely stumble in through the door of your apartment before he grumbles, “Hold on tight.”

He hooks your thighs around his waist, the deep timber of his voice has you doing as he commands without hesitation. Your teeth latch onto the tendon in his neck as he jumps you against the bulge of his cock. The two of you make it down your narrow hallway to the bedroom. He hisses his approval as your mouth worries that sensitive area, bruising him for the future.

"Mine," you growl against him, and Jude quietly chuckles. He loved this sudden possessiveness you had over him—perhaps it was jealousy, perhaps it was relief that you knew he had let you into his heart.

You don't want him to think about anything right now; you felt rather selfish. You want his thoughts to be only of you. That's the least Jude could do after all of this shit he put you through.

Suddenly, he groans before he drops you on the bed; you know that sound by heart. It’s the sound he makes when everything is too overwhelming and you have him wrapped around your finger. It’s the sound he makes when he is trying to control himself, when his cock is kicking and threatening to spill. You knew it all too well.

You sigh, your fingers eagerly making work of his T-shirt. Meanwhile, his hands snap the elastic of his sweats, making you shiver as he slowly peels them off himself.

You bite your lip as you fall back against the mattress, watching him slip out of his boxers easily and prowl towards you. Seeing Jude naked and his cock hard, flushed at the tip and sticky with precum, is such a fucking beautiful sight to behold. You could never get tired of this.

No matter how many times you promised yourself you would walk away, you always ended up back here, because, really, you couldn’t get enough of Jude.

Not the version everyone else saw, but this one. The one who let his guard down with you. The one who showed up on your doorstep, begging for your forgiveness. The raw, authentic Jude Bellingham.

And maybe that was your fatal flaw. Because slowly, you began to forgive him as you realised this wasn’t Jude trying to keep you as something convenient. He was just a man who had been too stubborn, too afraid, and too blind to recognise what had been right in front of him the entire time.

Jude undresses you slower. Each sliver of skin he exposes is blessed with his mouth, kisses, licks, bites, and scrapes of his teeth. He worships you just like you wanted, just like you deserve. He spells his apology out in silent words against your sternum. He whispers his love against the softness of your stomach, he says how beautiful you are with deliciously slow kisses on the inside of your thighs.

"You are so perfect. More than I ever fucking deserve, I swear," Jude huffs, dragging his cheek along your pelvic bone. “Thank you, thank you.”

Light and teasing touches were only tolerable for so long, you could deal with Jude’s fingers dancing around your clothed folds while his lips stayed on yours—but when he pulled away your breaths became irregular, clinging to every ounce of patience you had.

You were about to whine when his hand pushed your panties to the side, slipping a digit inside of you without warning was enough to have you choking out a moan. Your hand flew to grip his bicep to ensure your legs wouldn’t give out on you.

Jude was watching you as if you were God’s gift to the earth, thumb settling on your clit naturally that within seconds of him getting to work your eyes were fluttering shut, head falling back against the wall.

“You’re soaked already, baby,” his words were barely audible; too in awe of you, but you still managed to catch them as you nodded ever so slightly.

“For you,” you breathed out—not that it needed clarifying, but the reassurance had the footballer smirking proudly, even rewarding you as suddenly a second finger slipped inside of you.

Suddenly, it was becoming hard to keep quiet, with strings of moans and whimpers escaping you in succession. Which made Jude’s hard-on strain against the bed. But that was the last thing on his mind, preferring to hold you against the mattress with the only goal of having you come undone in his grasp.

His name sounded heavenly as you moaned it, so much so Jude thought no one else should ever speak it again—nothing could compare to you. He got it now, God, he was stupid.

“Look at me, please,” Jude’s demand was so gentle you almost missed it, eyes still fluttering shut as your thighs squeezed around his hand. Despite hearing him you couldn’t act, control of your body slipping away ever so quickly with the way his thumb was circling your sensitive bud.

Jude’s breathy laugh wasn’t enough to capture your attention either, his touch was all your mind could focus on. So it was when his free, large hand trailed up your body to wrap around your neck that’s when your eyes shot wide open.

His eyes were inquisitive, clearly attempting to gauge a reaction to the action. Your lips parted despite having no pressure applied. Though it was the way you clenched around his fingers that told him enough.

The slight squeeze of your neck was enough to draw a moan out of you, and Jude could only hum in content. Jude could die right here, and he'd die a happy man, he thought. You were so fucking perfect.

It was quickly becoming overwhelming, pleasure suddenly building so quickly. Your eyes poured into him as you struggled to form words. “S’close,” was all you managed out; Jude’s nod was in sync with his curled fingers, your nails digging into his skin as he brushed the spot that had your legs almost giving out.

You were holding onto him for dear life, moans growing louder and whinier as your vision started to become starry despite having your eyes open.

“Let go baby,” his words were enough to push you over the edge, releasing onto his fingers as you practically panted his name like it was a prayer.

Jude had concluded a long time ago that he couldn’t fall for you more than he already had; but as he watched you come undone, he realised he’d been wrong. Your beauty truly knew no ends—and he was now more eager than ever to watch your face contort in pleasure again and again.

Admiration filled your own eyes as they opened once more to peer down at him, flushed cheeks and a sheepish smile spreading on your face as you attempted to catch your breath.

“You’re incredible,” Jude couldn’t stop the praise from escaping him, and watching the way your smile grew had him feeling no regret either; no shame like he usually would when a compliment perhaps too sentimental slipped passed his guard. “You are so perfect—so patient with a right idiot… I—I can’t believe how lucky I am.”

The sight above you rendered you speechless, no shame in your eyes raking over his toned frame as he stood again at the foot of the bed. You quickly felt overdressed, seeing Jude’s naked body. Your own hands found the hem of your shirt, peeling it off your body, no bra meaning your upper body was exposed to the Brit.

You could visibly see him gulp, his eyes dancing over your naked body as he took a few deep breaths; tongue flicking over his bottom lip. The man even shook his head in disbelief, unable to help himself when you invitingly leant back on your elbows. No matter how many times he saw you, you never ceased to render him utterly speechless.

Jude was on top of you within moments, situating between your spread legs as his head found the exposed skin of your chest, open mouth kisses pressed to your neck, slowly making their way to your breasts.

“You’re fucking beautiful,” he’d practically whined, your fingers finding the back of his head once more. You could only whimper as his teeth tugged on your skin momentarily.

“Want to make you feel good,” you whispered, unable to ignore his hard on pressing into your hip—the feeling had you squirming, keen to feel more of him. Even when he swore this was about you, you felt the need to make him feel oh-so good.

Jude simply shushed you, however, not being derailed as his kisses moved to your stomach now, your head smacking against the pillow as you tried to control your breathing—left to stare with wide eyes at the ceiling momentarily.

“I feel amazing already,” Jude spoke matter of factly, his hands spreading over your thighs as he parted them to his liking. Your eyes flickered down, not expecting to meet his brown ones. He looked like he was ready to devour you, it made your core ache. He offered no relief as your legs could only squeeze against his hold.

“Jude,” you whined, using all your strength to ensure you could keep your eyes on him, a pretty sight that was rendering you impatient. “Please,” the plea left you in desperation.

“Oh, baby,” Jude just clicked his tongue in reply, leaning up to give you a delicate, sensual kiss to silence your pleas. He pulled away, eyebrows twisted exasperatedly. “I should be the one begging you.”

Then, his tongue follows, tracing a flat path down your lower stomach to your throbbing clit. He nips sharply at your hip and relishes your breathless squeal. This time when he licks you, the tip of his tongue presses inside your fluttering walls. Then the width of it slips all the way up to your mons. He laps over every pearl of your slick; he savors every moan and sigh he pulls from you.

“Oh, fuck, Jude! S—so good,” you groan while you twist beneath him. Jude’s strong grip latches onto your arms, pinning you down.

“Ah, don’t run away from me, babe, please,” Jude whines against you. He sounded so inebriated, so desperate, so needy. All for you. It made your mind spin—you could feel your sanity slipping away. Everything. The photos, Jude showing up and sobbing at your door, his admission, his devotion to you, the way his tongue felt against you—it was all too much for you to handle right now.

Jude’s lips wrap around your aching nerves and pull blood to the surface with a strong suction. It makes you squeak and gasp, trembling. Your skin dances with heat that spreads across your body. With each roll of his tongue and suckle of his mouth you feel your mind whirl away just a bit more. You are fracturing under his guidance. He coaxes you with touches and murmurs, all languid.

"C'mon, baby. Y'know what I want. Tip over that edge for me," he smirks in a dragging purr, looking up at you through your legs.

It pulls your breath from your strangled lungs; it makes your hips buck futilely against his hold. You’re shaking with the sensations he is bringing to the surface now. Your hands move from grasping at the sheets to gripping his coiled hair. You think about pulling Jude away, but rather you instinctually hold him still while you grind softly against his mouth, shoving his face further down. Jude groans with approval and takes it. He flattens his tongue against you and instead of pinning you, he holds your waist so he can provide leverage for you.

You shudder and tremble at his allowance. At the way he bends and molds for you to take your pleasure from him. Normally, when you both had run-ins together, he would be in control, rough and leading. Though, that's not what tonight is about. Tonight is about you, and giving you everything you want and how you want it on a silver platter.

Jude realised what worshiping you means, he knows he is begging for forgiveness for dragging his feet when it came to you. And he will do everything in his power to lift you higher, even as you come for the first time that night on his tongue. Because you gave him everything—and, well—ignored his naivety. But at last, Jude finally understood what that meant to you, and what you meant to him.

It was a blur, the next few moments, you were not really present while Jude shifted your legs off of his shoulders and back onto the bed. Though once you realised the sight in front of you, it didn’t take long for you to push yourself up the bed so you were sitting up.

“You good?” Jude’s voice was soft now, ensuring you were okay; not oblivious to your tired body. You nodded however, a lazy smile spreading on your lips in reassurance, hooded eyes taking him all in. You just wanted to feel all of him.

“Perfect,” you breathed, leaning forward to connect your lips without another word. It was greedy, a few moments of no contact and you were drawn to him again, tasting yourself on his mouth. You just wanted more and more, and the way Jude’s hands flew to your waist showed it was truly reciprocated.

You pushed him slightly to sit down, switching positions so he was resting against the headboard now—it didn’t take much force; Jude was letting you guide him, hands delicately roaming your fatigued frame.

Jude moaned into your mouth the moment your hand wrapped around his length, pumping a few times was the relief he’d been ignoring since you both entered your room.

Jude struggled to kiss back for a mere moment, causing your eyes to flutter open, lips curving upwards at the sight of his face contorted in pleasure. Fuck, you could get used to that image.

“C’mon baby,” Jude rasped out as his hands found a home on your hips, guiding them upwards ever so slightly. “Fuck yourself on my cock, yeah? Would you do that? For me?” Despite his usual dominance, his gentle, submissive voice laced with his northern accent made you shiver with thrill. Your arms moved to hold onto his shoulders, enough to help steady you as you guided your hips on top of his, lowering yourself down onto his cock.

The pair of you gasped in sync, your forehead resting against his as you took him all in at once, jaw going slack from the stretch.

You stilled, needing time to adjust to his size, even after being with him for so long—and Jude had no complaints, the feeling of you wrapped around him making him content.

“You feel s’fucking incredible,” the man rasped, lips brushing against yours as he spoke; and you could only whimper at first, a few deep breaths escaping you.

“So—ah—fucking big,” you moaned; having to swallow intently before mustering the energy to begin moving. You gazed at him hard, slowly riding him.

The closeness and intimacy would usually scare you. Hell, it would normally terrify him.

The vulnerability of it. The weight behind every lingering touch, every confession, every moment where there was no room left to pretend this was something casual. Jude had spent so long convincing himself that keeping things undefined was safer, that putting distance between what he felt and what he admitted was the only way to protect both of you.

But now, Jude accepted it. In fact, he wanted it.

He wasn’t pulling away when things started to feel real. He wasn’t searching for a reason why it couldn’t work or finding some excuse to keep you at arm’s length. For once, he wasn’t fighting the feeling that had been there all along.

He was letting himself have it. Letting himself choose you.

Your nails dug into his skin once more as you shifted up and down, Jude’s hands only on your skin to ensure he had a hold on you—letting you set the pace as he watched, jaw tense and eyes adoring.

“Fuck, Jude,” you whined when he’d bottom out once more, hitting a spot so deep inside of you that your toes were curling. The sound of his own grunts and moans only added to the pleasure.

“Doing so good for me, baby,” his praise only encouraged you, words so delicate. You sped up as much as you could, not too fast but with more urgency than before; as much as your sore body would allow. “So fucking good.”

It wasn’t long before you started to tire, your moans grew whinier but you didn’t need to say anything, a choked moan escaping your throat when his hips suddenly thrusted up to meet your movements.

You hadn’t thought you could feel more full but you were wrong, and Jude didn’t relent as he started fucking up into you.

You were like a doll in his hands, as he started to practically move you up and down his cock; his own hips continuing to thrust up you couldn’t keep up, eyes screwing shut as your mouth fell agape.

“Oh—Oh my God, Jude, fuck,” you were practically chanting; a string of curses and his name; it all felt too good. So perfect, you couldn’t comprehend any of it.

“Take it baby, y’doing so well.” Jude grunted, and you nodded so quickly, like you could ever disappoint him. Fingers reaching to his back and nails dragging across the skin—his thrusts harsh, not slow, but not too quick that you wouldn’t have time to feel every inch of him.

Your head was thrown back, exposing your bare chest further to him, which Jude made the most of for the time being, lips ducking down and attaching to one of your nipples for a few moments. But as your sounds got louder he needed to be able to see your face clearly, hand moving up your back and tangling in your hair to force you to look at him.

“Open your eyes, please,” he practically insisted, and at this point you’d do anything he said without question; eyes blinking open to look at him.

His stamina was still so impressive, unsurprising, especially anymore, as he bounced you on his cock like you weighed nothing. Though the way Jude’s breaths got shaky and his hooded eyes revealed he was feeling the pleasure like you were.

“Who’s making you feel this good?” Jude’s question escaped him without much thought; he just needed to hear you say it. Wanted to revel in the fact he had you in such a state, that you still wanted him. Your praise and reassurance held such a high value to him.

“You, Jude, you,” you whined out in response. You felt his hand move back to your hip, needing to use your own strength now to keep your head upright. “Feels so good,” you told him, squeezing him as you did so.

Jude groaned at the feeling, almost having cummed on the spot; thankfully he didn’t, because he needed to see you fall apart one more time.

“Y’want to cum again, yeah? That you want?” his mouth seemed to know no ends, the taunting only making your stomach grow tighter as you nodded to the best of your ability.

His breaths were heavy now, hands travelling to your bottom. He used the plush of your ass as his grip on your body instead.

“Wanna hear you say it,” Jude begged, head ducking into the exposed skin of your neck, more kisses pressed onto your skin and the thought of marks being there from the amount of attention he’d paid to it was the last thing on either of your minds.

You were struggling now, too fucked out to process his words as quickly as he’d like, so much so a harsher thrust upwards had you aware you needed to answer him, yet you already forgot what he said. Instead, you just screamed out a moan.

“Too fucked out to form words baby?” Jude teased now that he knew he had your attention; and he chuckled once more when you shook your head quickly. You had your Jude back. “Want to hear you say it.” he repeated, eyes piercing yours.

“Wanna—oh, fuck—cum, agh, again,” your words were laced with desperation, needing to take a breath between sentences as his cock spread you open. “Please—please let me cum.”

The man’s hum of satisfaction turned into a moan of pleasure at your plea, sounding and looking so pretty for him, it was clear you’d done enough as you felt his hand snake down between your bodies to your clit.

Your vision went white practically immediately, almost yelping from how sensitive you were; thrown over the edge with little warmth as you came on his cock, practically screaming his name as you did so.

Jude came inside you merely a few seconds later, jaw slack from the sight of you and the way your walls squeezed him once more, only now was his thrusts sloppy as you both rode out your highs.

You were practically limp in his lap, forehead pressed against his bare shoulder as his own head rested against the headboard; loud, heavy and irregular breaths filling the silence.

Jude’s hand gently moved to your head, fingers running through the strands of your hair comfortingly, the action causing you to hum in appreciation. Both of you were content with the silence, purely because neither of you knew exactly what to say, what to do. This was unexpected, to say the least.

After everything that had been said, after all the apologies and truths that had finally been dragged into the open, neither of you really knew what came next. It was strange, sitting here with the person you had spent so long trying to let go of, only to realise that neither of you had ever truly wanted the distance.

Jude’s fingers slowed slightly, his eyes dropping to where his hand rested before looking back at you.

“I’m sorry.” The words were softer this time, though his voice was hoarse after everything. Not rushed, not desperate. Just honest. “I’m so sorry.”

You could hear the weight behind it. Like no matter how many times Jude said it, he still felt like it wouldn’t be enough. His thumb brushed lightly against your hair as he looked at you.

“I know I’ve said it already—and I’m probably ruining the mood—but I mean it.” There was a small pause as Jude chuckled. “I should’ve done this sooner.” His gaze softened, “I should’ve stopped being scared and just told you what I wanted.”

His thumb brushed against your hand, clearing his throat. “So… would you be mine?”

And finally, you heard the words you wanted to hear all along from his lips. You didn’t have to think about it. Not because everything that happened suddenly disappeared. Not because the hurt wasn’t real or because forgiving him had been easy.

But rather somewhere along the way, you had realised Jude wasn’t asking you to forget what he’d done but he was asking you to believe he could do better. And that was the difference.

You squeezed his the nape of his neck gently, watching the tension slowly leave his shoulders as he looked at you.

“Yeah,” you whispered.

A small, boyish smile beamed across his face, almost disbelieving. “Yeah?”

You laughed softly, shaking your head. “Yes. Yes, Jude.”

And for the first time in a long time, there was no uncertainty between you. No wondering where you stood. No trying to decipher what his actions meant.

Just him. Just you. And finally the quiet understanding that this time, you were finally choosing each other.

© SINFULPETAL. // all rights reserved. do not copy or repost any original content from this blog.

tags: @sophiaehernandez, @yunakwi, @wehatesophia, @ronanpakes0, @nessalvswrld, @writtenbylolo, @shuzcis, @djovulating, @dollettetimes, @leafygreens345, @laminesgirl, @frenchaurora, @dianazyb, @winterosco, @jupitereleven, @pfectnow, @sleepysidcros, @dontputyourfckingdrinkonmytable, @sia840, @11sp4des, @bia-n-t-d, @just-here-for-ff, @laylaysanangel, @wobblewobble822, @444sturns, @ichigonator, @bekky06, & @ffreitws.

interested in joining my taglist? join here.

[depsidase]

[queefburgglar69]

Sexy boy.

ᢉ𐭩 miguel o hara/fem!reader

.ᐟ cw: cock riding, ear licking, shift in power dynamics, reader removes condom at the end, miguel and reader are third year college students, oh and its your first time having sex together :)

a/n: this has been in my drafts for about a week now. I wrote this at three in the morning while I was ovulating ok. art by hamburgerald

Masterlist

You remember the times when Miguel would be so hesitant and awkward to even brush his fingertips on your arm, how he would be so embarrassed, trying to hide his boner when he received a hug from you. It was evident that he didn't have much experience; most of his time was allotted to studies and other college organizations he's a part of. Sure, he's had a few kisses and some action, but it wasn't enough to be bold.

The once shy lover boy is now being ridden, under your mercy. Your hips roll in rhythm with his groans and moans, the grip on your ass tightens as you smile—milking him as much as you can. The bed creaks, and the headboard bangs harder at each thrust you make.

You chuckle softly, the sound mixing with your moans. "Yeah? You like that?" Your lips curl into a teasing smile as you watch his gaze travel from your wet cunt to your pretty face.

His eyes plead in pleasure, his nose scrunching for a split second before gathering the energy to reply. "You feel so—" His sentence gets cut off as you lower yourself to suck on his neck. He grunts, almost drooling. "So fucking good."

Your breathless laugh against his neck goes straight to his cock. You insisted that he doesn't need to wear a condom, but he refused—wanting to last longer, to stay inside you for as long as he can.

"How about we do this… let's say once a week?" Lips graze against his cheek, your nose going up and down—his words finding a way out of his gritted teeth. Your thumb is rubbing circles on the other side of his cheek.

He would've said something like "Why just once a week?" But you're both students chasing that degree. His logical and intuitive brain never turns off, even when he's drunk from sex.

“Whatever you want, ma.” Translation: use me however you want.

"We could also…" Your lips don't lift off from his cheek; they glide to his ear. "Try different things."

"Yeah?"

"Every week, we try something new."

His rich, soft laugh overlaps with the wet sounds of intimacy. "Like what?"

"Like this." His half-lidded eyes turn into full moons when you work your tongue on his earlobe, wetting the concha and stopping the tip of your tongue at the entrance. You lick his ear in a pattern, almost in a freeform shape—however you desire. Not only filling his outer ear with physical pleasure, but also his senses with your moans.

His hips lift upward, and a grunt escapes his lips without his permission, chasing his end. The tip of his cock hits your spot over and over, faster and faster. At this point, you're not the one riding him anymore; you're just on top of him as he uses you.

This makes you grip his shoulders, bitching and moaning like the little slut you are against his clavicle. "M- Miguel—I'm supposed to be—"

He doesn't bother to listen to what you have to say; he lifts you just by a few inches to give him leverage to properly fuck you hard and how you deserve. "Cum on my dick the way you came on my tongue." Alcohol isn't the only thing that could make your subconscious confident. Turns out libido does the same.

Your body's overwhelmed with ecstasy, reflecting in your teary eyes. "Can you do that for me, mi amor? I would be the happiest man alive," he says breathlessly, resting his cheek on your head, while you just accept your control being taken away from you.

Your breasts rub against his pecs. The hours you put into yourself before meeting with him have become nothing but a waste of time, as he enjoys the mess you are right now.

"Miguel—"

"Again."

"Miguel!"

Your bodies intertwine as your orgasms hit, his thick cum seeming like such a waste for being inside a condom instead of painting your walls that are wet and always ready for him. Your pussy pulses and tightens around his cock—your body trembling from the overwhelming, best orgasm you’ve ever had.

"So fucking tight and needy," he says as you both catch your breaths. His still-hard cock slips out of you as you rest on his chest—his arms wrapping around you.

Once your mind finally clears out the clouds, you notice his hand wrapping around your waist and his other reaching for the box of condoms on the nightstand. You lift yourself enough to look at him and stop him.

"No."

He looks at you, confused—but understanding. "Do you… want to stop?"

"No. I want you to fill me up," you say almost immediately, reaching out for his length to set him free from the plastic—a waste.

Your desperate and needy state rewards you with his smirk and condescending stare. "I'll fill you up so much it leaks out of that pretty pussy of yours."

[sortagaysortahigh]

Slim Pickins | Joaquin Torres x Reader

A/N: omg guys im so glad ts is over, yall know I love reading fluff but writing fluff is a whole other ballgame for me. However, i had fun writing most of this, very dialogue heavy, friends to lovers/idiots in love, love confessions, all that jazz! Plus my comedic timing is here, idk if its funny tho ngl i might be rereading sections too often. Thank you to chicken @love-chx for beta-ing this for me, i love u chicken <3. Also tagging @anxietyandtacos bc casserole is my biggest supporter in my shitshow writing and i love her <3

Summary: Every Friday for the past few months you've been going on shitty dates, and at this rate, you're convinced that you're either ending this life alone or settling for another douchebag. You can't find a genuinely good guy, it's not like there's one right in front of you or something!

Warnings: 2nd person POV, might be use of y/n honestly i cant remember, Spelling and grammar errors (I am who I am), cursing, mentions of violence, reader does throw things at people, self-deprecating humor and 'I'm gonna kms' humor, reader has a shitty love life, SAMBUCKY SUPREMACY WOOO (implied sambucky intimacy <3), reader does threaten to murder joaquin a few times but it's fine!! they're friends!! SMUT: nasty kissing/makeouts, choking, minor spanking, MATING PRESS WOOOHOO!! (not too detailed), giggly sex, unprotected p in v, creampie, cum eating, squirting, fingering, oral (f receiving), handjobs, spitting, drooling, biting/bruising/hickies, praise, finger sucking

Word Count: 20.1k

Joaquin Torres x Fem!Reader

Ngl guys, I NEED THATT BARK BARK BARK BARK!!!!!, anyways heres the fic:

Every Friday night ended in the same repetitive cycle of disappointment for you, and somehow, someway, you managed to continue the cycle over and over again. 

It was a simple routine, you’d spend the week talking to some random guy from some shitty dating app, or maybe you’d meet him in a random store, at the movies, hell, even a few guys from the Air Force base! You’d text, with the occasional phone call or Facetime sprinkled in. From there they’d ask when you were free, the reply was always ‘this Friday works for me’ because it was your only genuine day off.

From there they’d plan some lackluster date, and of course, like an idiot, you’d go. The date would be horrible from start to finish, they typically fell into three broad categories: The Narcissists, The Idiots, and The Wanna-be heroes. 

Those that fell into the third category were always the worst, mainly because they were overly full of themselves while simultaneously empathetic. It made zero sense to you, then they’d go on long winded tangents about how admirable the work you did was, or how amazing it would be to work side-by-side with heroes like Captain America and the Falcon. Then, after your third attempt of drowning their non-stop talking out with a drink, they’d subtly try to ask for a connection to Sam Wilson or Joaquin Torres.

As if you were the walking LinkedIn for hero networking.

You preferred to listen to the Narcissists constantly talk about themselves while trying to gaslight you into liking and sleeping with them. 

Maybe Joaquin was right and you really were a walking douchebag magnet. 

Tonight was no different, you’d gotten dressed up, opting to gaslight yourself into thinking that maybe things would be different, or the date would be enjoyable, or at the very least you’d get an ounce of good sex for the first time in months. It wasn’t as if there were a million and one options; genuinely good men weren’t actively lining up at your doorstep begging for a chance to take you on a date.

Of course, you’d been on a few dates with guys that seemed as if they were truly good for you and you’d even tried dating some consistently. However, around the one or two month mark, something would click into place and the potential relationship blew up in your face.

There was the guy who’d just finished veterinary school, he had a great relationship with his family, shared a lot of the same ideologies and beliefs as you, loved animals, spent his off-days doing volunteer work, and even knew how to actually do his own taxes. 

Everyone had faith in him—Joaquin and Sam had even nicknamed him ‘the tax guy’. 

Then he’d gotten black out drunk after a concert with you and vented about how much he missed his ex-girlfriend while simultaneously forgetting that you were his current fling. He’d even mentioned that the only reason he really liked you was because you were pretty and the fact that you shared a birthday with his ex so ‘it had to be a sign that she would come back’.

Plus he also said you gave great blowjobs. But that was neither here nor there.

To make matters worse, you had to call his emergency contact to pick him up from your apartment. That emergency contact just happened to be his ex-girlfriend.

To say you had a terrible dating history was an understatement.

Yet here you are, glaring at your own reflection and questioning every second that led up to being stood up in a lackluster fake Italian restaurant in the middle of Washington DC. The drinks were overpriced, you were practically stranded, and the straw that broke the camel's back was your server having the nerve to leave his number on the back of your receipt while he tried to ‘comfort’ you after watching you get stood up.

Said server didn’t look a day older than eighteen, and that was pushing it.

So you did what any responsible twenty-something year old woman would do. You yelled at him, practically screaming at the top of your lungs, made a scene, and then raced to the restroom to look at your angry blurry reflection.

The fitted black dress felt too tight, your heels felt too small, the restaurant was too hot, your skin felt sticky, and your bra was digging into your back to the point that you wanted to cry tears of frustration—not to mention your thong had shrunken in the dryer and was currently clinging to your hips to the point that you were convinced you’d get a rug burn. The icing on the cake. however. was the sound of ‘Rather Be’ by Clean Bandit playing over the bathroom speakers. 

This had to be your personal hell.

It wasn’t long until you were calling someone to pick you up. You sat outside for nearly twenty minutes on top of a random pile of crates that were left outside of the restaurant. The humidity left your hair frizzy and skin moist while you debated on running into moving traffic to end your misery.

Well, you were until a very familiar motorcycle pulled up in front of you. So familiar that you had to do several double takes to process who exactly was on the bike.

Then Joaquin took his helmet off, shaking his head like a dog fresh out of water, and if you had half a mind to actually consider your best friend attractive, then in that moment you would’ve realized that several women walking out of the restaurant stopped to gawk at him, one so drunk that she’d even whistled at him and proceeded to attempt to cat call him.

Sure you noticed them, but it hadn’t ever fazed you. Joaquin was objectively an attractive guy, but you saw him as your friend.That was that. 

It wasn’t as if one day you’d wake up and figure out that you were utterly in love with the guy that had to ask his own mother to make him ‘less spicy’ versions of traditional Mexican dishes.

Joaquin flashed the crowd of women a smile and a wink, but before they could approach him, you practically rushed through the crowd with your jaw clenched, looking like the epitome of irritation.

“Jesus Christ, Cabezona, you look like shit.” He smiled as he spoke, eyes quickly taking your disheveled appearance in. Then he glanced behind you at the few women still looking in his direction, debating on asking for one of their numbers while you pulled the extra helmet out, mumbling a series of curse words under your breath.

“Yeah, no shit. How the hell did you get Buck’s bike?” 

He blinked a few times before looking back at you and nodding. “Oh uh—he’s staying with Sam right now, and I was there when you called me. He said it’d be faster than taking my truck. Besides, I look pretty damn sexy on it, don’t I?” He elbowed you, wiggling his eyebrows up and down while you scoffed.

“Whatever you say, Quino—” Then you paused, now glancing at him, noticing he was looking past you towards the women near the entrance into the shitty restaurant. Then you slowly nodded “—I’m totally cock blocking you aren’t I? Oh my god, Quino! Go—flirt or something, tell them I’m your cousin or something!” 

Joaquin laughed, shaking his head while looking back at you. For a second there was something else in his expression—something you didn’t recognize. But the second you noticed it, it was gone.

“It’s alright, Cabezona. Now c’mon, Bucky’s gonna kill me if I’m not back with this baby in the next half hour. He’s doing paperwork or something with Sam, y’know after Sam’s whole ‘I’m gonna sue you’ fiasco. Now get on the bike.”

You rolled your eyes at him, shoving him lightly before pulling the helmet on.You glanced down at your dress, shaking your head before struggling to get on the bike without flashing the entire street.

It took a few minutes, and several curse words, alongside grasping onto Joaquin’s side—grip practically bruising as you attempted to slide your dress down lower while your legs practically clung to the sides of the bike. 

“If I flash D.C. my ass, you think people would respect me more?” 

He glanced back at you as he pulled the helmet on, a muffled ‘nope’ leaving his lips.

Then you were instinctively grasping onto his waist, helmet-clad face pressed into his shoulder while you squeezed your eyes shut. It wasn’t your first time on a motorcycle, but you hated it nonetheless. 

You met Sam and Bucky through Clint Barton. It wasn’t exactly the most pleasant meeting, not when Clint had actively tried to kill you during his assassin era, but after managing to clear your name and cut ties with several illegal weapons dealers and mafia-based families worldwide, you needed a job.

That job practically landed in your lap about four years ago when Sam had called Clint for a favor, and you just happened to be exactly what he was looking for. Someone well versed in weapon’s mechanics with enough global intel to land you in the Raft for life. It was a no-brainer to work for Sam Wilson.

Working for Captain America meant you weren’t a criminal, and that was enough to get you to say yes. Then with Sam came Bucky Barnes. Truthfully, you had a theory that anyone who held the shield at one point came with Bucky, even if it was reluctantly. 

You and Bucky bonded fairly quickly, and in a lot of ways, he was like a father to you. Which was odd at first because you’d never had a great relationship with your biological dad, and prior to meeting the former Winter Soldier turned Congressman, you admittedly stated on several occasions that you would’ve fucked him.

However, you would not do that now—you weren’t into the freaky things that Sarah Wilson’s dark romance bookshelf held. Hell, you tried getting into that genre of romance novels, but the second Sarah handed you something by Penelope Douglass, you read three chapters and silently returned the book, opting to re-read Lord of the Rings for the fifth time. 

It’s safe to say you also silently judged Sarah, but then again, when you had nowhere else to go after being practically stranded in Louisiana with Sam, she gave you her couch and for that, you’d forever be grateful—even if she did read kinky freaky books. 

Joaquin laughed at the way you held onto him, and admittedly, it made his heart race a little bit. He always had moments like these, moments when you were a little too physically close for comfort, moments that would tear down the facade that you and him were just friends. That he only wanted to be your best friend, that you weren’t more than that to him.

But he knew you didn’t see him that way, and it didn’t bother him. For the most part, he never really thought about it—but it always crept up on him when he least expected it.

However, the second the bike was parked in the garage under Sam’s building and you practically fell off of it as you attempted to get off, Joaquin was easily snapped out of those thoughts. Now, he was focused on holding his own abdomen as he doubled over in laughter, meanwhile you were leaning against the side of Sam’s suburban, hands braced against the windows while you held yourself up with a panicked expression and unruly hair.

“Stop fucking laughing at me! I’ve had a shitty night, Torres!” You glared at him as you regained your footing, now smoothing out the dress and pointing a singular manicured finger at him.

He nodded a few times, catching his breath while holding in laughs, doing his best not to smile at you as you stormed towards the garage elevators. Arms crossed in front of your chest while you waited for him to catch up—the key fob being the only thing that would get the elevators to actually work.

It took him a few seconds to catch up to you, offering a wide smile while he scanned Sam’s spare key then hit the button for the elevator.

“So, what happened with this guy, uh, the electrician?” 

You scoffed. “No, the electrician was last week’s idiot. This week’s idiot just happened to be mister tortured artist with an obsession with Instagram. Completely stood me up at that shitty restaurant that he recommended. I got like 4 drinks, cost me like thirty bucks, then mister barely old enough to serve alcohol hit on me.” 

Joaquin’s eyes widened, lips rolling inward as he tried not to laugh, he noticed the way you sighed, shoulders slouching lower as you shook your head.

“Laugh. I know you want to—go ahead. Sam’s gonna laugh—he always does. Just let it out now, and the usual ‘I told you so’, I’m all ears.”

The elevator opening caught both of your attention, and he motioned for you to enter first. So you did, then he followed suit before pressing Sam’s floor number. As the doors shut he glanced back over at you, raising a single brow at the sight of you pulling several bobby pins out of your previously curled hair, now it was more of a frizzy disaster.

You held them between your teeth as you took bits and pieces out of the half-up, half-down style you’d spent far too long on. To make matters worse, the heat damage wasn’t even worth it—the asshole you’d gotten all dressed up for didn’t even show up! 

Joaquin held his hand out in front of your mouth, you easily dropped the pins into his palm, then you started handing them to him as you pulled each individual one out of your hair.

“How many are in there?” he looked down at his hand then back at you, slightly concerned.

“Beauty is pain—that’s why my thong is so far up my ass I might be getting a free fucking colonoscopy.” 

Your serious tone had his eyes widening in horror, then he processed your words, and the laughter that he’d previously swallowed down bubbled out. You shook your head at him, still dropping bobby pins into his hand as you rolled your eyes. Meanwhile his laughter echoed off of the metal elevator walls.

Eventually the two of you made it back to Sam’s apartment, your hair now framing your face in an awkward frizzy afro of sorts. But you knew Sam had hair ties somewhere in his apartment for his dates, so you’d just steal from his stash.

When you walked in, both Sam and Bucky paused. They had the perfect view to the front door, watching as you walked in, kicking your heels off with a frustrated pout, meanwhile Joaquin held the door open for you, then followed you inside before locking it behind him.

Sam and Bucky exchanged a singular look. Both struggled to understand how you and Joaquin could be so close and not see one another romantically. It made absolutely no sense to them, you were perfect for one another. Yet somehow, every Friday you went on terrible dates and Joaquin was always the shoulder you’d cry on after the fact.

“So, how was the plumber?”

You scoffed at Sam, glaring at him the second you managed to get the heels fully off of your feet, then you walked into his kitchen, thankful for the open floor plan. Everyone watched as you rummaged through the fridge, finally finding the bottle of mango lemonade that Sam always kept stocked in his fridge for you.

Several months ago you’d forced him to buy one, and now it was a habit.

You were quick to grab a glass from the cabinet beside the fridge, pouring yourself some juice while mumbling a jumbled mixture between English, Russian, and Spanish curse words.

First you took a drink, then you spun around, looking at them.

“It was terrible! That idiot stood me up! What the fuck?” 

Bucky slowly nodded, looking from the tablet in his hand to you. “Have you ever considered that maybe you should take a break from the DC dating scene, I don’t think it’s ever done you any justice. Or just delete the apps. I hear they’re terrible.” 

“Have I considered taking a break from dating? Well Grandpa, I have actually because no matter what the fuck I do, everyone just fucking sucks! What the hell is this? Some shitty rom com from the 90s?!” You were shouting now, frustration evident on your features while you gripped the cup in your hand so tightly that everyone was afraid it would shatter.

When no one replied, you groaned, putting the glass down on the countertop then storming to Sam’s guest room. 

He just watched from his seat on the sofa, shaking his head at you. “Torres, make sure she doesn’t burn my place down.” 

Joaquin nodded at Sam, following after you, only to find you rummaging through the drawer that had his own clothes in it. There had been several nights when he had to stay with Sam because of work, and of course, following his accident last year, he wasn’t exactly able to live alone—so he stayed with Sam for a while.

That led to him having several clothing items here, clothing items which you were currently going through like a madman. He shook his head at your frustrated expression, slowly approaching you, then grasping both of your wrists and carefully pulling them away.

“Cariño, calm down and go take a shower. I’ll find you something to wear.”

You let out a frustrated sigh, nodding your head.

It wasn’t as if you were genuinely upset, you didn’t feel the need to cry or anything of that nature. But you were just overwhelmed, and everything was bothering you to the point that you couldn’t even think straight. 

Somehow Joaquin always knew how to ground you, it was as if his presence alone was enough to calm you down. 

While you showered, he looked through the options, settling on a pair of loose sweats, and a Twilight shirt that you’d gotten him with the words ‘Chica where have you been loca?’ on it surrounding a heart with Jacob Black’s face in it. The clothes had been oversized because after his accident that’s all he could really wear, so he knew it wouldn’t bother you the way your dress did.

He slipped into the steamy bathroom and placed the pile of clothes onto the counter, then let himself out.

By the time that you’d gotten out of the shower and gotten dressed, he managed to make himself comfortable on the bed, gaze focused on his phone while he mindlessly scrolled through TikTok, even giggling to himself at the random thirst-traps and edits people made of him—Joaquin would be a liar if he said he wasn’t deep in the ‘Joaquin Torres edits’ and the ‘The Falcon edits’ hashtags.

He liked to watch the videos people made of his clips from press releases, interviews, and the occasional interaction he’d have during his daily life. Not only did it fuel his ego, but it also made him feel like what he did mattered—and of course it was nice to know people found him attractive enough to comment things like ‘bark bark’ and ‘my legs are wide open rn’.

As you walked out of the bathroom in his clothes, you focused on braiding your slightly damp hair, you’d done your best to not get it wet in the shower, knowing that once it was wet that would be a whole other world of issues.

Meanwhile, Joaquin shifted onto his side, gaze now on you. “You feel better now?” 

You nodded your head at him, opting to walk around to the other side of the bed before plopping down beside him. Once you finished with your braids you laid down, pulling the comforter over your body while turning to face him.

“I think my love life is utterly hopeless…I’m sorry for yelling earlier, I was overwhelmed and I felt like my clothes were actively trying to murder me.”

Joaquin laughed at you, nodding his head as he turned to face you now, his phone still in hand playing the most recent edit. Your brows knit together at the song playing from his phone, and before he could fully process what you were doing, you’d already snatched the phone from him.

Your jaw dropped at the sight of the video of him taking off Bucky’s helmet, clearly at a gas station. Then the beat dropped and several different clips of him biting his lip in interviews started playing, one transitioning into the next and so on.

His eyes widened, a rosey flush overtaking his features. 

“Seriously Quino! You’re over here watching edits of yourself! Oh my god! Wait do you save them into a folder—wait back up—!” you were laughing and giggling as he tried to snatch the phone from you, but you quickly tossed the blanket onto him, then used your legs to push him back slightly before rolling over and hopping off the bed.

While you moved you also went into his TikTok bookmarks, eyes widening at the several different folders, some labeled with emojis, others pertaining to workouts, a few having to do with places to visit, then there was a folder labeled ‘Cariño’ but you didn’t look at that one. Instead you focused on the one with the eagle emoji.

Then you looked back at him, watching as he practically jumped off of the bed. 

“Don’t you dare!” 

You shook your head at him, a wide smile on your face. “You do save them don’t you!” Then you flashed him his phone, now opening the folder, the several videos buffering through, and in the few seconds that you’d let your guard down, Joaquin was practically tackling you back onto the bed, now you were stretching your arm as far away as possible while attempting to shove him off. 

The mixture of your laughter and his practically bouncing off of the walls while you both rolled around the bed, then eventually you managed to pin him down, catching your breath as you held both of his arms above his head with one of your arms, straddling his waist, while you held his phone in hand.

Before either of you had a chance to process the position, the door to the bedroom opened, and Bucky stared at the both of you with wide eyes, his lips parted while he tried to process what he walked in on.

“Jesus Christ Sam, they’re about to have se-” before he finished his sentence, Joaquin’s phone was hitting him directly in the abdomen and Bucky practically doubled over as he choked on his words. Then you quickly got off of Joaquin, heat enveloping your features while you tried to process what you’d just done to Bucky.

Joaquin sat up quickly, blinking several times as he took in the sight of you rushing over to Bucky who was gripping his abdomen with his vibranium arm. Meanwhile Joaquin’s phone was now on the floor face down, but Ride by Sir-Mix-A-Lot was playing in the background.

“Bucky I’m so sorry—I didn’t mean to throw it, I just reacted! Oh my god! Sam’s gonna kick my ass! Jesus this is it, I assaulted a congressman now I’m going to the Raft!” 

You were panicking while Bucky slowly stood up, nodding his head and catching his breath.

“Anyone ever told you that you have a strong arm, kid? You ever played softball?” 

You shook your head at Bucky’s question. Brows knit together as you tried to shrug off the shame and embarrassment of practically hurling Joaquin’s phone directly at Bucky all because you didn’t want him to finish his sentence. 

“You’re not going to the Raft for hitting me with his phone. Speaking of—” he squatted down to pick it up, eyes widening at the video playing before handing it to you, awkwardly clearing his throat before leaving the room.

You slowly turned to look at Joaquin who looked equally, if not even more mortified than you. Then you showed him the specific edit playing, a compilation of Joaquin shirtless when he played in a charity basketball tournament. 

“Y’know what, at least one of us is having a better day Cariño. Now, can you please, give me my phone back and stop judging me for supporting my supporters!” 

You blinked a few times. “I think this makes you a little narcissistic, y’know. Or at the very least, chronically online. Now Buck is gonna tell Sam about this entire situation—Jesus Christ, he thinks we were borderline fucking! Oh my god, this is mortifying for me!” 

Joaquin sat up, raising a single brow, slightly offended.

“Would it really be that terrible? Damn, just call a guy ugly why don’t you?”

You blinked a few times, now looking over at him, tilting your head to the side as your eyes trailed him. “You’re not ugly though, actually—wait nevermind. Not important, what’s important is I have to live knowing I hurled your phone at James Buchanan Barnes! He’s like a dad to me! I just assaulted my pseudo-dad!” 

He laughed at your panicking, lips rolling inward as you glared at him, throwing his hands up in a surrendering motion as he got off of the bed. “Listen sweetcheeks, you’ll be fine! Besides, if anything, Sam’s just gonna make awkward eye contact with us for a few days, and that’ll be it! It’s not like we’re actually having sex.”

You nodded at that, now handing him his phone as he walked towards you. Then you let out a deep sigh, opening the guest bedroom door again and grimacing as you walked back out.

The both of you silently walked back into the living room, sitting beside one another on the loveseat, both mirroring the same awkward expression and tense shoulders the second Sam and Bucky made eye contact, then looked at you two.

A tense silence filled the room for about three minutes. Then Sam sighed, shaking his head. “Listen, if you two are getting freaky, that’s fine by me, but save it for your own place—not mine, and don’t let it screw up work.”

Your jaw dropped at Sam’s nonchalant nature, then you looked at Bucky who simply shrugged. 

“Yeah, as long as it doesn’t influence work, then you two should be fine doing whatever it is you’re doing, just don’t do it near me, around me, in front of me, or within my vicinity—”

You cut him off, “All of those things mean the same thing Buck—”

He nodded his head. “That’s the point.” 

Then you shook your head again. “—Wait a damn minute, we’re not having sex!” You motioned between yourself and Joaquin. “We’ve never, not once, ever done anything under the umbrella of sex. We’re just friends, that’s it.”

Sam slowly nodded his head, very clearly not convinced, then he glanced at Joaquin who had a distant look in his eyes, very clearly zoned out and focused on something else. “So you mean to tell me, you two have never, not even after a long night of drinking, have ever hooked up? You’re just this close and comfortable with each other with no semblance of sexual or romantic feelings?”

You nodded your head, then glanced at Joaquin, who blinked a few times as if he’d finally zoned back in.

“Yeah, we’re just friends. Best friends at that—right Cabezona?” he elbowed you slightly.

“Mhm, now stop calling me that! My head is not that big!” 

He scoffed, raising a single brow. “Yes it is. Even if it’s not literally huge, metaphorically it is, little miss ego-maniac.”

Your jaw dropped at that, now shoving Joaquin with both hands, he hadn’t anticipated it, and had to grab onto the arm of the sofa to stop himself from toppling back. “Don’t be fucking rude Quino!” 

Sam and Bucky slowly nodded at the exchange before glancing back at one another and shaking their heads in sync. 

You two were truly hopeless.

Three days later you found yourself at the grocery store with Joaquin in tow. He decided that he also needed to buy groceries, and he’d practically yelled at you over text about waiting for him to pick you up so that both of you could go together. Something about having multiple sets of eyes making the process faster.

If anything, shopping with Joaquin made things ten times slower. He was like a little kid, going through every single aisle, getting easily distracted—and you couldn’t stand how he managed to touch every single thing! Hell, he’d tried to convince you to buy snacks that he liked for your apartment under the guise that he ‘spent all of his time there anyways!’ 

You were currently in the produce aisle, looking through the tomatoes, brows knit together, biting into your tongue slightly as you focused on finding ones that weren’t overly ripe and still firm. In one hand you held the clear plastic bag, in the other, you lightly felt several individual tomatoes and rummaged through the large wooden bin of them. 

Eventually you settled on eight that you actually liked.

Meanwhile Joaquin was weighing limes, hyperfocused on getting exactly three pounds of them. He’d roped you into making him ceviche based on his abuela’s recipe, and she said that he needed exactly three pounds of limes. 

You knew she was just messing with him. Clearly, Joaquin did not.

His abuela had called you directly and given you the list of ingredients, telling you to measure the seasonings based on taste and what you thought was enough. She said that she trusted your judgement while making several jokes about Joaquin’s inability to cook, not to mention his spice intolerance.

You’d met his family three years ago when Sam had sent you with him on a recon mission in Miami. The mission was relatively simple and had been completed earlier than expected, so it gave him the perfect amount of time to head home to see his family, and he’d dragged you along with him because you’d been complaining about missing home cooked meals.

His family loved you immediately, it also helped that during your years of not-so-legal work, you’d managed to pick up some Spanish. 

Although, it did take a lot of convincing for them to finally believe that you weren’t Joaquin’s girlfriend. Everytime you’d visit Miami with him, you had to go through the same process and the same ‘so are you two together yet?’ questions from his cousins.

But you didn’t mind, not when his family was so welcoming, and of course, you loved his Abuela the most—something you’d never tell his mother. While she was strict, she was also loving, and funny, and embraced you time and time again while also letting you tease Joaquin. 

Plus, every time she saw you, she’d do an egg cleanse on you while ranting about the importance of doing a ‘limpia’ every now and then.

By the time you moved on to the onions, Joaquin had finally perfected the three pounds of limes, tossing the bag into the cart. Then you glanced over at him, raising a single brow which led to him sighing and grabbing the bag, now handing it to you. 

You gave him the onions then proceeded to open the bag, grabbing each individual lime, making sure they were the right texture and color. Meanwhile Joaquin waited, swaying back and forth on his heels while he watched you.

“Y’know you can just tell me I did a good job now. I’m pretty good at the whole produce thing.”

You scoffed at him, closing the bag again and handing it to him. “You did better than last time, when you literally brought me a bag of half-rotten limes. Now can you go get the fish from the butcher area? I don’t like how it smells over there.” 

Joaquin shook his head, hands on his hips while he stared at you with a singular brow raised.

“You look just like your mom right now.”

He rolled his eyes. “Don’t bring my mom into this, you know you’re supposed to go pick out the right cuts of fish!” 

You shook your head. “No, Abuela gave us both a list, you can read! Here—” you dug through your purse for a second, then handed him his glasses that he insisted he never needed.It got to the point where he put them in your purse anytime he’d have them on for more than an hour. When he didn’t take them from you, you shoved them right against his chest.

“Seriously?! Fine—but you owe me one!” 

You nodded at him, smiling triumphantly as he slipped the thin white wired-frames on. “Now go get the damn fish or I’m not cooking anything! Thanks! Love you! Bye Quino!” As you spoke you shoved him away from you, then clapped a few times, laughing at him as he tried to lightly slap your hands away from him.

He scoffed, shaking his head while turning around and heading towards the back of the store, leaving you to finish the produce shopping. 

About ten minutes later, as you were trying to get cucumbers, someone cleared their throat beside you. You glanced over to your right, confusion evident on your features as you made eye contact with none other than mister tortured artist that stood you up. His eyes trailed your figure, a single brow raised as he took in your fitted sundress.

It was hot, it made sense that you’d be wearing something breathable. What didn’t make sense was the idiot beside you having the nerve to clear his throat, then practically eye-fuck you in the middle of a grocery store produce aisle. 

“Can I help you with something?” his eyes met yours as you spoke, irritation and venom evident in your tone.

“Y’know, I was gonna call you, had an uh—family emergency. Damn, I didn’t think you’d be this hot.” His eyes were back on your body, which earned a loud scoff from you.

“Dude, fuck off. Besides, I’m glad you didn’t show, I got back together with my ex, I needed someone to pick me up and he just happened to be around.” The lie practically rolled off of your tongue, it wasn’t exactly a good idea, but there was no way in hell that you’d let this douchebag think he had any real effect on you.

“Oh, you sure? You don’t have to lie to me, I said I meant to call, we can always try again—maybe somewhere more private and intimate.”

He didn’t even bother making eye contact with you as he spoke.

Joaquin was your savior, walking right up to you and putting the now bagged and wrapped fish into the cart, then he noticed the way you were breathing, and your fists clenched at your sides while you glared at the artsy douchebag across from you. 

He didn’t need to know what had been said to know that you were pissed.

So he smushed himself right next to you, a hand wrapping around your waist, gently resting against your side as he planted a kiss to the side of your head. 

“You alright cariño? This guy bothering you?” 

You relaxed against Joaquin’s touch, glancing at him, a pleading look in your eyes that only he could recognize. “Yeah, I’m fine baby, this is the asshole I was telling you about. Remember? From Friday?” 

He nodded, now taking the time to look at the guy across from you. Joaquin knew his name was Dylan, that much you’d told him when you vented on the drive to the store, complaining about your terrible taste in men and rambling about how much you hated having to settle. 

Joaquin also didn’t know what you saw in this guy. Sure he was tall, but the guy was lanky, scrawny, and looked like he smoked two packs a day. Not to mention the way his ‘oversized’ clothes were mismatched in the worst possible way, and he had paint stains all over his jeans. Plus he had on god-awful boat shoes.

Maybe he managed to catfish you—that had to be it. 

Well, maybe he was funny, or something. Joaquin knew you’d ranted about constantly settling, but at this rate, the bar had to be in Hell.

“Ah, this is Daniel? Wish I could say it was nice to meet you man, but clearly, the circumstances aren't great.”

Dylan nodded slowly, blinking several times as he looked between you and Joaquin. “So this is the ex boyfriend that you’re back with? You sure you aren’t bullshitting me, I think you would’ve mentioned your ex-boyfriend being the Falcon.” 

You simply shrugged. “I like to keep my dating life private.”

Meanwhile Joaquin was doing his best to contain his excitement that someone recognized him in public. He had a fake boyfriend facade to upkeep! He couldn’t afford to squeal right now.

Dylan didn’t look convinced, and clearly he was persistent. To the point that it was starting to piss Joaquin off. So he did what any rational best friend would do in this situation, he leaned into your space, and littered the side of your neck with kisses—right in front of the guy. At first, he’d only left a few pecks—then he lightly traced his tongue along your skin.

Your eyes widened, shock evident at the feeling of Joaquin’s lips and tongue along your bare neck.

You didn’t know whether or not you wanted to whimper or gag. Either way you’d be kicking Joaquin’s ass over this later.

The public display of affection was enough to earn a loud scoff from Dylan as he walked off. 

Then you were shoving Joaquin back slightly, now whisper-shouting at him. “Seriously dude! Maybe that was overselling it!” 

Joaquin shrugged, matching your tone, “What? I had to sell it! I mean come on, ex-boyfriend?! You could’ve said I was a one night stand turned into a three night stand or something!” 

You shook your head at him. “You didn’t need to fucking lick me! You pervert!” Then you ran the back of your hand along your neck, wiping away the remnants of his spit from your skin as you grimace.

He threw his hands up in surrender. “God forbid a guy acts a little freaky with his fake girlfriend!” 

Your jaw dropped at that.  “You’re so chronically online! You freak!” 

Joaquin watched as you rummaged through your purse, finally pulling out a small pack of makeup wipes, practically ripping it open as you grabbed a wipe and ran it along your neck. He raised a single brow at the dramatics of it all.Okay, maybe you weren’t being that dramatic considering he did run his entire tongue along the column of your throat in the middle of a grocery store produce aisle,but he had a point to make!

Besides, he’d be lying to himself if he said he hadn’t enjoyed it. If you’d let him do it again, he would without an ounce of hesitation.

It wasn’t the first time you had to put on a fake show of intimacy and affection in public. 

But usually that was done under the guise of working recon missions, having to blend into large crowds at fundraisers and banquets, going undercover with one another, posing as a happy—and sometimes unhappy—couple. 

Hell, once he had you pinned against a hallway wall at a masquerade ball, his lips on yours while he held one of your thighs up, wrapped around his waist as his fingers dug into the plush skin. 

He thought about that night sometimes, having to shake his head and force himself to snap out of it. 

“I am not chronically online! You’re just chronically offline!” 

You rolled your eyes at that, tossing the used makeup wipe into the nearby trash can before looking down at the list of groceries and essentials that you needed for your apartment, and the list of things for the ceviche. “Let’s go get my coffee before I wring your throat.”

“As long as you tell me I’m pretty while doing it.”

Then you shoved him again, now pushing the cart towards the coffee and tea aisle.

By the time that you’d actually made it back to your apartment and put everything away, it was nearly four. Then you’d spent half an hour chopping up vegetables while forcing Joaquin to handle cutting the fish.

He was reluctant the entire time, making faces as he tried to avoid getting any fish juice on himself. He’d even opted to wear a pair of latex gloves and one of your frilly aprons.

“This is so disgusting.” 

You laughed at his complaining, nodding your head while you focused on juicing the limes into a bowl. “Well, you were the one who practically begged your Abuela for the recipe, if you hadn’t opened that big ass mouth then we wouldn’t be here! Besides, it’ll be good when it’s ready.” 

Joaquin shook his head, now putting the last bits of the cut up fruit into the large container, then he moved his knife and cutting board directly into your kitchen sink, pulling the gloves off and tossing them in the trash can before turning the water to the hottest setting to wash his hands.

“You better wash that cutting board too! Just wash it once and leave it in the sink, I’ll put it in the dishwasher when I’m done here.” You focused on pouring the lime juice overtop the fish while you spoke, ensuring that all of it was saturated. 

“It’s fine Cabezona, I’ll do the dishes too. I owe you one after licking you like a dog—even though I’m positive you liked it!”

You nearly dropped the bowl at his words, a loud scoff leaving your lips. “Joaquin! You’re such a perv!”

He nodded while he washed the dishes, then unloaded your dishwasher, stacking each bowl and plate on the counter before putting them in the right cupboards. “I’m just saying, everyone likes being a little freaky every now and then. Besides, you’re always wound so tight—I guarantee you’re into that nasty shit.” 

You tried to drown him out as you closed the container and put it inside of the fridge, focusing on cleaning up and putting the container of cut vegetables away, followed by the additional lime juice that you’d squeezed for later.

“Joaquin Torres, now is not the time to talk about my shitty sex life! We can’t all be you!” 

He turned around, now shrugging your apron off and leaning against the counter. “What’s that supposed to mean?” 

You raised a brow at him, looking over at him from your position next to the fridge. “Well lets see, anytime you get laid you walk into the office, my apartment, Sam’s apartment—hell you walk anywhere and you’re all smiles and laughs as if you’ve had the best night of your life. So clearly, only one of us is having good sex here, and it’s most definitely not me.” 

Joaquin’s expression was unreadable for a few seconds as he stared at you.

“Don’t even start pitying me either, and please, I don’t have time for another ‘you just have shitty taste in men’ speech, I’ve heard it enough from literally everyone. Maybe I’m just like an idiot because I genuinely can’t find a good guy to save my life.” 

Then you shut the fridge and moved back towards the small island that you were previously standing by, now focused on wiping down the countertop as Joaquin stared at you.

“Have you ever considered that you’re blind as hell?” 

You blinked a few times, pausing your motions to look over at him. “I’m pretty sure every good guy that’s left is either dead or in a committed relationship, so either I’m blind, or an idiot—or maybe both. I’m thinking I should just call a Nunnery and join a convent.” 

Joaquin sighed, shaking his head before turning back towards the sink, now loading the last few cups before shutting the dishwasher and washing his hands again. After he patted them dry on his pants, he was at your side again, leaning against the island while you reorganized your small fruit basket, putting the oldest fruits on the top to make sure you’d get to them before they went bad.

“I’m pretty sure you’ve dated guys that don’t know the difference between their, there, and they are.” 

You nodded at that. “Honestly, probably. Jesus, even the tax guy turned out to be an asshole. Maybe I’m like a douchebag magnet! What does a girl have to do to find a guy who isn’t a piece of shit,like, men are all shitty. No offense, well you don’t really count.”

He blinked a few times, arms now crossed in front of his chest. “What’s that supposed to mean? You always say I don’t count.”

“Because you don’t count. You’re my best friend, I don’t see you romantically. Yeah. I can admit that you’re attractive, but I wouldn’t ever date you.”

Joaquin didn’t know whether or not to be offended, so instead he pressed further. “Okay, elaborate on that.” 

You looked over at him, a bit confused. “Why?”

“Because, I’m pretty sure I should be offended—but I can’t tell.”

That earned a laugh as you shook your head. “I don’t mean to offend you, it’s just, you’re my friend and I see you as a friend. I mean, if I wanted to, I’m positive I could see you romantically, but I just don’t. I like what we have and given my shitty relationship track record, I don’t want to ruin my friendship with you just for the chance to bone you. Besides, your abuela would kill you if we stopped being friends. Y’know she likes me more than you.”

He slowly nodded at that. “But you would—hypothetically bone me?” 

You shrugged again. “Why’s that important again?” 

Joaquin ran a hand through his hair, staring at you with that far-away look in his eyes again. “Can you just answer the question without answering with a question.”

You sighed, now standing up straight, hands on your hips as you turned to face him fully. “Hypothetically speaking? Like full on mind-wipe? Forget I ever said it?” When he nodded you took a deep breath, eyes trailing his figure for a few seconds before meeting his own again.

“Yes. Hypothetically, I’d bone you—but I think you’d be boning me. You’re too overconfident and cocky to be submissive at first.”

It wasn’t as if Joaquin was unattractive, there was nothing unattractive about the man. Of course, he wasn’t the tallest guy around—however he made up for that in almost every other department.

He had nice teeth, sure they weren’t perfect, but you loved his smile. His hair was always done, and his curls were to die for, they were always soft anytime you’d touch them, and you knew he spent time taking care of his hair. Physique wise? He was a wall of muscle, tan skin that was perfectly toned from years of being in the Air Force and now being an Avenger. 

Joaquin’s eyes always held so much emotion, they were deep pools of chocolate that you could drown in—if you really wanted to.

Not to mention his hands? Jesus Christ you could write a book about Joaquin Torres’s hands.

But outside of all of his physical traits, Joaquin was genuinely a great guy. He cared deeply for everyone in his life, and even those he hardly knew. He was observant and knew how to read people well—especially you. 

His words snapped you out of your daze.

“I’d definitely do the boning.” 

You scoffed at that, shoving him again. “You make me sick!” 

Joaquin smiled, nodding his head. “Well, it’s true! Besides, you’d love my hypothetical boning! Now, not to totally void the mind-wipe, but I was thinking that maybe, possibly, we could, well—y’know at least try once. You could use it.”

You blinked a few times. “Joaquin Torres, are you asking to bone me?” 

He nodded, jutting his bottom lip out slightly for a few seconds. “I guess so yeah, it doesn’t need to be like romantic—you just need to get laid, and lucky for you, I’m great in bed.”

“You’re literally offering to pity fuck me. Oh my god, is this what my life has really come to? My best friend has to pity fuck me? Jesus Christ!” With that you stormed off, leaving Joaquin standing in the kitchen with a confused expression on his face.

He wouldn’t really be pity-fucking you. 

Okay, maybe he did pity your lackluster lovelife and even shittier sex-life, but having sex with you would’ve been a win-win situation for the both of you. Joaquin would probably be able to get rid of the random fantasies about you, and you’d actually get to have a real orgasm that doesn’t require a vibrator.

Maybe Joaquin should’ve been more bothered by your blatant rejection—yet somehow he still had a semblance of hope that you’d cave. It wasn’t as if he’d ever force himself onto you, but based on the amount of stress you’ve been under, alongside your lackluster love life, this was something you needed.

Although, maybe volunteering to be the person to sleep with you wasn’t the best idea in the world.

He should’ve known you’d overreact to the simple suggestion. 

You were constantly a walking ball of emotional tension waiting to explode. He’d been used to it, and he was one of the few people that knew how to calm you down and help you relax. Granted, there were also other ways that would most definitely help you relax—but now you think that he offered to ‘pity fuck’ you, which was an insane thought in the first place.

You had to be blind. Joaquin was positive you were blind. 

Even Sam had made several quips in the past about the way that Joaquin looked at you when he thought no one else was paying attention. He was constantly overly possessive when it came to you, and sure, he did take things a little too far at times—hence the grocery store incident—but you outright refused to see him as anything other than a friend!

It was infuriating in a way that he couldn’t explain. He couldn’t just go on and yell at you or be mad that you didn’t see him romantically, not when your reason for it all was so valid and made perfect sense. You and him were best friends, you’d almost instantly clicked, it was rare to meet someone that you meshed with so well. 

If you didn’t want to ruin the friendship, that made sense to Joaquin and he didn’t want to push the issue. But he was currently trying to swallow down the minor sting of rejection while considering the best course of action.

He could easily play it off, acting as if he was joking and hadn’t meant for the joke to get that far. The only issue with that was the fact that he was a terrible liar and you always saw right through him, something about knowing his tell—whatever the hell that meant.

Joaquin could also just swallow his pride and chase after you, which seemed to be the most realistic option here. It wasn’t as if you were on the verge of starting World War III, well, not this time at least.

So he took a few deep breaths, ran his hands through his hair, then made his way to your bedroom, glancing over at the sofa, spotting your black cat sitting and staring at him as he stopped walking—hesitating as he debated on actually walking into your bedroom. 

“Binx, this is a terrible idea isn’t it?”

A meow was her only response, Joaquin pretended that it was a meow of encouragement, however he knew the cat didn’t exactly like him. If anything, she was probably shaming him for his terrible timing and horrendous ideas.

Then Joaquin walked down the short hallway, knocking on your bedroom door a few times. Of course you didn’t respond—he should’ve expected that. 

So he slowly opened the door, met with the sight of you laying flat on your bed, feet hanging off the edge slightly while your face was pressed into one of your many pillows. Then you let out something between a muffled shout and groan, raising a single hand, middle finger facing him.

“Oh come on, Hermosa! You can’t really be in here pouting right now!” He opened the door wider, arms now crossed as he leaned against the doorframe, looking directly at you while you let out another muffled shout.

“I have no idea what you’re saying right now, you do know that, right?”

Then you were sitting up on your elbows, groaning again as you looked over your shoulder at him, eyes squinted, brows knit together, and an evident pout on your face. “Fuck off Joaquin. I really don’t need your pity right now, it’s bad enough Bucky gave me relationship advice yesterday! A man who hasn’t been on a real date since the 1940s has a better dating history than me!”

Joaquin slowly nodded. “I mean, I think he’s technically dating Sam? Actually—I don’t know what the hell those two are, but I know I’ve heard some suggestive sounds from Sam’s room before. That was enough for me.”

You groaned again, face back against your pillows. 

He finally walked into the room, grasping your ankles and dragging you down slowly, ignoring your squeal as he leaned against your bed to usher you onto your back. Then he plopped down beside you, both of you staring up at the ceiling fan. 

“I didn’t mean to insult you y’know. I just figured it would’ve been a win-win. Besides, you said it yourself, you don’t see me romantically, so I thought it would avoid the whole awkwardness thing.”

You sighed, hands now folded together over your stomach, eyes following the slow rotation of the fan’s blades. “Okay, I might have overreacted. But Quino, my love life fucking sucks. People are always yapping about how your twenties are supposed to be like full of great experiences and I mean, yeah so far most of my twenties haven't been horrible—outside of being like a criminal for the first two years—but I have terrible luck with relationships and even worse luck with sex.”

Then you finally turned to look at him, eyes trailing his side profile, taking in the different curves and ridges of his face. “This shit sucks.” 

He laughed at you, a smile on his face as he finally looked at you, neither of you fully processed how close you actually were to one another until this exact moment in time. Your faces were inches apart, he could feel your shallow breaths against his face, and the smell of your minty gum lingered between the two of you.

Joaquin’s eyes traced your features. “Y’know, you’re really pretty, Cabezona.” 

You raised a single brow. “Yeah, because every girl wants to be called pretty, followed by an endearing nickname about how big their head is.” 

He bit his bottom lip as he smiled, nodding a bit before speaking. “It’s part of the Torres charm. Besides, you know how my family is, everyone has a nickname—at least yours isn’t something like Lindito. They basically call me a cutie pie because I was a cute kid—it was fine when I was six, now I’m almost thirty!”

You laughed at him, raising both brows. “Don’t make me call your Abuela and tell her you’re talking about her!” 

Joaquin scoffed, brows knit together. “I’d never! Now, can you please get up and stop wallowing in pity and embarrassment. If anything, I should be the one wallowing, you just brutally rejected me.” 

You rolled your eyes then looked at him again, except this time you made direct eye contact with him. “This is literally embarrassing, I can’t get laid to the point that you offered to bone me.”

Now it was Joaquin’s turn to roll his eyes. “I didn’t mean anything offensive by it, but let’s face it—you need to get laid. Like properly, not whatever mediocre shit you’ve been doing with guys.”

Then you sat up, shaking your head. “Yeah, but it won’t be with you, mister hot shot, now c’mon, we have to finish cooking and call your Abuela before she kills you. Not me though, I’m her favorite.” 

A grand total of four days have passed since the night that you brutally rejected Joaquin and assumed that he was offering to ‘pity-fuck’ you—whatever the hell that meant. 

Within those four days, you managed to walk in on Sam and Bucky in a very intimate position in Sam’s office, which led to you yelling at them both while they shrugged their missing remnants of clothes back on—honestly, you were glad they weren’t full blown fucking when you walked in because you probably would’ve stomped your foot and yelled at them even more.

Then you spent an hour laying on the sectional in the room with your head in Bucky’s lap as you vented about your lackluster love life and fear of commitment, which was followed by even more relationship advice from him—which you screamed into a throw pillow over.

It also didn’t help that both Sam and Bucky were acting incredibly awkward following you walking in on them, but you simply brushed it off, telling them you couldn’t care less about what they did with one another, while emphasizing the use of locks on doors.

Sam tried to argue with you about needing to knock, which you rolled your eyes at, while telling him this office was technically government property, and it was a shared space with Joaquin as well—so technically, you were within your right to walk right into the space without a care in the world. Especially since the door was unlocked.

It didn’t help that your younger sister had called and told you that she was engaged to her long-term high school sweetheart. You hated him—but he made her happy so you tolerated him. Although, given the opportunity, you would kick his ass, so you congratulated her and told him he was always on thin ice.

That sent you into a minor depressive period because truthfully, you felt pathetic. You knew there weren’t that many good guys left in the world, but the fact that your younger sister had managed to settle down before you really sent you over the edge.

Joaquin told you that you were just being dramatic when you told him that you would just end up alone with seventeen cats, you were already on the way there! Binx was your first cat, but what was to stop you from adopting seven more!.

Even today as you sat inside of Sam and Joaquin’s shared office, you were irritated and venting. 

“No you guys don’t get it! I have shit luck with love! Y’know this is the first Friday in months that I haven't had a date? Mind you, each date was shitty. But damn, at least I was trying! Now I feel like a sack of moldy potatoes. My little sister is gonna get married next year and I’ve never even been in a real committed relationship!”

Sam shook his head. “You do know you have your own office in this building, right?” 

You scoffed at him. “So what? Now you don’t even want to talk to me? You’re in a relationship with my pseudo-dad so you’re basically my step dad that doesn’t love me Sam!” 

Joaquin groaned, spinning around in his desk chair to look at you. “Cariño, you need to calm down and stop yelling at everyone, it’s three thirty, and for the first time in a while we’re not on some high-stakes mission or on crunchtime with some Avengers related deadline to meet, or handling a potentially world-ending crisis. You can’t be mad at Sam for wanting some peace and quiet.”

You blinked a few times, jaw clenched as you squinted, staring directly at Joaquin, wishing you had magical powers to light him on fire. “Peace and quiet? Coming from you? You never shut the hell up!”

He took a deep breath, over the past few days you’d progressively gotten snappier. Joaquin figured it was because you desperately needed to get laid, you were so wound up and tense that anything sent you spiraling into a fit of rage. It was most likely because you hadn’t had your weekly dose of mediocre sex to keep your inner turmoil at bay.

“Jeez, have you always been this mean and whiny?” 

You glared at Sam, who shook his head, raising a single brow. “Listen, I’ve got a sister, you don’t scare me. I’ve also fought literal aliens from outer space—wait put that down! What the hell are you doing!” 

Then you were hurling your plastic water bottle at him. He ducked right on time, eyes wide and jaw dropped as he looked at you, then he shook his head, now standing with his hands on his hips.

“That’s it, get out! You’re on time out. Go work on a report or something, get the hell out of my office.” He stared at you, eyes wide as he pointed towards the doors.

You scoffed, rolling your eyes as you stood up and walked out, slamming the door behind you. They both winced slightly at the sound. The doors into the room weren’t exactly easy to slam—it was as if you’d put all of your strength into the action.

“You really are acting like her dad, man.” 

Sam scoffed, now looking at Joaquin. “And you’re acting like her shitty boyfriend. Go console her, give her a kiss so she stops letting all of her frustration out on everyone! It’s obvious you like her! Can’t you go confess your feelings and help her deal with her inner rage demon. She’s never this bad. She tried to shoot me once, but I think I’d prefer that over her hurling full bottles of water at me, in my own office!”

Joaquin’s jaw dropped, eyes wide as he stared at Sam. 

“Oh please, don’t look at me like I’ve got three heads, it’s obvious to everyone but you two. You’re basically in love with the maniac, and she’s so hellbent on just being your friend that she can’t process how un-platonic the both of you actually are! I mean come on! Her dating history is trash because she’s too slow to see what’s right in front of her, and you won’t man the hell up and tell her how you feel!”

Joaquin pursed his lips, eyes shut as he nodded a few times. He knew Sam was right, but he didn’t need the tough love, not today at least. “Listen man, I don’t know what to do about her, she’s just so—well you know how she is! Y’know I offered—”

Sam cut him off, blinking several times before speaking. “Offered to what? Don’t tell me you tried the whole ‘lets just have sex as friends’ thing. That never works!”

“Okay, it wasn’t exactly like that, in those words! But come on! She told me she doesn’t see me romantically! How’s a guy supposed to recover from that? I get it, we have a great friendship but if she doesn’t want to flush it down the drain, I get that, I just have to respect her boundaries, I can’t just bug the shit out of her until she snaps and fucks me.”

Sam grimaced, shaking his head. “Okay, a little too vulgar for me, kid. Were those her words, like verbatim?” 

Joaquin nodded. “Kind of, sort-of? She said that, but she also told me, she probably could see me romantically if she tried, but she doesn’t want to try so why should I push it? Besides, she’ll eventually relax! It’ll just take some time.”

“Yeah, how about you actually, y’know, act like the adult that you are and talk to her about your obvious feelings, and maybe little miss anger issues, might actually put two and two together and realize she’s practically in love with you, thinks you’re unattainable, so she settles for idiots and assholes.”

That conversation sparked one of Joaquin’s less-than-great plans. Instead of talking to you about things, he opted to simply do boyfriend-ish things around you while simultaneously being a little too up close and personal with you for several days, hoping you’d get the message, or at the very least, full-on reject him so he could actually move on.

It started the day after he spoke with Sam. That Saturday Joaquin showed up at your apartment with a bouquet of sunflowers—thankfully they were actually in season—and when he handed them to you, you were utterly confused. 

He was starting to think that maybe you were really that oblivious. Your reaction only emphasized that. The second he handed you the bouquet, you asked if he was apologizing for something, or if you’d forgotten about an important date—or if maybe these were ‘thank you’ flowers. 

Joaquin stared at you, utterly confused.

Who the hell just randomly shows up at someone’s doorstep on a Saturday with ‘thank you’ flowers—most people would just get them delivered. It also didn’t help that you simply shrugged, focused on trimming the stems before putting the flowers in water without any other questions. You were quiet the entire time, which also had him overthinking the gesture.

Mainly because you hadn’t been quiet in a while.

Then you decided it was time to grace him with the terrible news that you had a date on Monday. Who the hell goes on dates on a Monday?!

“Well, he seems nice enough I guess. He actually works on base, not directly with us, but I’ve seen him around. He stopped me yesterday on the way back to my office. I can’t even promise that he’ll be different—maybe if I’m lucky he’ll actually be good in bed.” 

Joaquin was glad you weren’t looking at him, he couldn’t even control his facial expressions, right eye twitching slightly at the news.

So he opted to step his game up, that day as the two of you spent time together, he stood closer than usual, and as he moved behind you, he made sure to place his hand on the small of your back, or he’d grasp your hips slightly, shimmying past you as if there wasn’t enough room for him to move without touching you. 

Throughout the entire day he helped you with your mundane tasks, and the domesticity of it all was getting to him—to the point that he had to give himself a pep talk in the bathroom

He even helped you unbraid your hair, fingers massaging against your scalp just enough to make you blush.

His final move that night was pulling you directly against his chest on your oversized sofa, arms wrapped around you, fingers gently grazing the sliver of exposed skin on your hip between the hemline of your shirt and the pajamas you wore. Hell—he even intertwined his legs with yours. 

Sure you’d cuddled in the past—but never like that. 

When you tried to question it, he hummed against your scalp, pressing a kiss to the top of your head while his gaze remained focused on the shitty slasher movie that you chose.

By the time the movie ended, the both of you had fallen asleep.

Sunday morning you were awoken by the sounds of Binx’s loud meowing and the rays of sunlight shining through your half-opened blinds. As you tried to get up, you then realized that Joaquin was still holding you in place—the motion had an unfamiliar feeling bubbling through you. 

Something similar to butterflies? But that wasn’t right—that was something associated with childish crushes and you’ve never had a crush on Joaquin Torres.

So you shoved his arm away, which in turn woke him up. Then you were up, walking to the kitchen, rubbing the sleep out of your eyes with the only goal of feeding Binx before she managed to start a feline uprising at eight in the morning.

“G’morning Sunshine.” Joaquin sat up as he spoke, yawning and stretching. Taking the time to roll his shoulders back then crack his neck slightly. The couch wasn’t exactly uncomfortable, however after a night of sleeping in the same position—he felt stiff. 

His voice was raspier than usual, and that didn’t help with the foreign emotions you were currently feeling. Your brows knit together as you looked down at Binx, who was now purring while rubbing herself along your calves. Of course the cat would be happy now that you were awake to feed her—she couldn’t give you thirty more minutes of sleep.

“Uh—morning Quino.”

Your voice was strained, and you cringed the second you finished speaking, glad he couldn’t see your face.

“So what’s on today’s agenda? Now that Sam and Bucky are on good terms, it looks like we’ll have a lot more free time.” 

You nodded your head without looking at him, now squatting down to give Binx her ceramic bowl of wet food, then you looked around, trying to find things to do that would help you avoid Joaquin’s stare. You were unfortunately, very unsuccessful, especially when the second you stood back up, he was already in the kitchen, one hand on your lower back as he walked past you, taking the time to brew a new pot of coffee.

You rushed to the bathroom, eyes wide, panic evident on your features as you looked at your own reflection. Maybe you were just imagining things, he’d always been touchy-feely with you, and it hadn’t ever affected you before. What was so different now? Maybe you were just overthinking things, this was Joaquin—your Joaquin.

There wasn’t anything different between the two of you. You were friends, best friends at that. You trusted him with your life, so why the hell did it feel like your skin was tingling from where he’d touched you, and why the hell were you blushing like a schoolgirl.

You tried to take longer with your morning routine, hoping that you’d be able to waste as much time as possible—maybe he’d get the hint and go home.

But instead, he walked right into your bathroom, which wasn’t exactly unusual for the both of you. Then he placed another hand on your hip, squeezing past you to grab his spare toothbrush and the toothpaste. Then he was brushing his teeth, standing right beside you—except he was closer than usual.

Or at least he felt like he was closer than usual.

You had to be losing it. This was normal, there was nothing different about this interaction—so why the hell did it feel so different?

The bathroom wasn’t exactly huge, so of course you’d be close. The counter only had one sink, it wasn’t as if this was a large dual-vanity bathroom with extra walking space. The bathroom had barely enough room for the both of you behind the wide-set counter, even then, you had your own organized chaotic mess of things along both sides of the white countertop.

Plus, with where Joaquin stood, his left shoulder was brushing against one of your plush towels hanging on a hook, and he hardly fit into the space between the wall and you. Usually he’d opt to lightly shove you closer to the wall, so you weren’t exactly sure why he chose that side today, maybe because it was closer to the toothbrushes.

While you swished your mouthwash, he flossed, humming the tune to Love Story by Taylor Swift. Then as you both made eye contact in the mirror’s reflection, you raised your brows at his song choice, taking a second to spit the mouthwash out, and in seconds, you were both scream-singing in sync.

“Little did I know! You were Romeo, you were throwing pebbles and my daddy said stay away from Juliet!” 

You were both incredibly off-key and pitchy. Bursting into a fit of laughter while trying to keep up with the song, except both of you only knew some of the lyrics, so you ended up mumbling and making up words while singing together.

He held one of your brushes in hand as he sang to you. “I've been feeling so alone—something about waiting for you—something something something—marry me Juliet you’ll never have to be alone!”

You laughed at him, a wide smile on your face while you shook your head, shoving him slightly before snatching your brush out of his hand. Then you opted to moisturize your face, using two fingers from each hand to rub circles against your face before tapping your under-eye cream on.

Joaquin watched you the entire time, brows knit together, focused on your movements. “The hell is all that even for? Can’t you just slap some lotion on and call it a day?”

You blinked several times, now turning to look at him, brows knit together in confusion. “You only use lotion?”

He nodded, shrugging “I mean yeah, I wash my face, then put lotion on. That’s really it.”

You shoved him once, then scoffed and shoved him again. “Of course you’d have nice skin just because. I can’t stand you, y’know that? Only using lotion, my ass—now c’mere!” 

Joaquin wasn’t exactly sure how he could get any closer to you, but then you stepped back a bit to grab one of your fancy little moisturizers, unscrewing the cap of the glass bottle, a dropper now in hand while you grasped his jaw—the motion catching him off guard, then you were focused on dotting the liquid along his face.

Before he could fully process it, you were rubbing circles into his skin, and he was staring with wide eyes and parted lips. 

“Close your mouth before you catch a fly.”

“So you’ve got flies in here? That’s disgusting, cariño. I think you actually should call someone about that.” Then you shoved him again, shaking your head at his antics.

The two of you stood in a comfortable silence as you moved on from one serum to the next, applying each product carefully to his skin as he stared at you with another unreadable emotion.

Maybe if you weren’t so blind you would’ve realized Joaquin had nothing but unending adoration in his eyes as he focused on your face, taking in each and every detail, committing this moment to memory.

Before he could get too caught up in the domestic fantasy, he cleared his throat. “Cabezona, are you finished yet? I think I’ll be fine without your ten step skin care routine!”

“Don’t you have your own apartment to be at? Instead of bothering me on my peaceful Sunday?”

He shook his head at you. “Nah, but I’m thinking, we should go out today. I heard about this great spot in Chinatown, you’ll love it, I promise! After we can go to the aquarium, you know you love seeing the octopi.” Joaquin sounded so excited and admittedly you were too—he was right, you did love seeing the ever expanding Octopus exhibit.

“Okay fine, but I have to get ready. No way in hell I’m going looking like I just rolled out of bed.”

“Works for me cariño, I think I have some clothes somewhere here too, gotta go find it in all of your shit.” Then for some reason unknown to him—he planted a firm smack to your ass as he walked past you.

Your surprised breath had him realizing what he’d done. It was something similar to a high pitched gasp—hell if he wasn’t so focused on the rush of heat throughout his entire body he would’ve registered it as a slight moan.

Joaquin froze in the doorway, and you froze in place, jaw dropped while you slowly turned to look at him. At the same time he was slowly turning around, absolutely mortified—the domesticity was really getting to him—to the point of no return.

“Did you just smack my ass? What the hell, Joaquin!” 

He slowly nodded “I don’t know—shit I mean yeah—but I don’t know what came over me! I’m sorry! I just—you and then me—and then—I’m sorry. God don’t kill me—I didn’t mean to, I just—I think I’m losing it here!”

You blinked several times, mouth opening and closing as you struggled to figure out what to say to him. 

“Listen Hermosa, I really didn’t mean it—like really. Oh my god—holy shit. I’m really sorry, like seriously sorry, don’t murder me—please you look like you’re about to kill me!”

He was full on panicking, this wasn’t part of his plan, hell his plan was supposed to be long and drawn out, he’d spend a week pestering you, doing relationship-esque things until you finally got the hint, then he’d do some grand gesture and ask you out on a real, genuine date. Not the shit that you’ve been so used to.

After the date he’d also fuck you until you forgot your own name—but now it was looking like he wouldn’t live to see that potential date ever happen. Not when your shocked expression was quickly warping into your usual glare. The glare was like a silent warning telling him to run, so that’s exactly what he did.

The moment you reached for your brush again—he was off, sprinting out of the bathroom, down the short hallway, and running away from you.

You were quick on your feet, chasing after him with your brush in hand, throwing several random things at him while he ran circles around your living room, then into the kitchen, then he’d ducked behind the Island for a few seconds to catch his breath before practically hurdling himself over it to get away from you.

“I’m sorry for smacking your ass! To be fair! It’s a nice ass!”

“You’re such a pervert! I’m gonna fucking kill you Joaquin!” Then you threw the TV remote at him, he barely managed to smack it out of the way mid-air, wincing at the impact on his palm. 

Now you were both at a stand still, the only real piece of furniture separating you both was your small sectional, he stood on the side closest to your bedroom door, you stood on the opposite end closer to the apartment door. He wished he had ended up on that side—then at least he would’ve been able to run down the building hallway.

“Come on Hermosa! I didn’t mean anything by it! I just—something came over me okay?! You don’t need to murder me—you’ll go to the Raft or something—Sam would kill you! Actually that’s a good point! If you kill me, Sam’ll kill you!” 

You blinked a few times. “Then let him kill me! At least I’ll kill you first you freak!” 

“You’re so mean! Take it as a compliment! Actually—shit! Don’t take it as a compliment, that's not how my mom raised me! But fuck—you’re so—just God—I can’t ever get you out of my head! Then you go and do shit like that! With the thing on my face and my heart is racing—and it’s not because I’ve been running. You just don’t get what you do to me Cariño!”

You paused, dropping the brush in your hand, it hit the floor with a shallow bang. You stared at him, brows knit together in confusion, his words didn’t make any sense to you. 

It wasn’t the first time you’ve done something like that for Joaquin, you two were close, extremely close, so why was everything suddenly so different?

“Then you look at me like you don’t know what I’m talking about! But I know you do! I know you feel it too! I spent all of yesterday trying to get you to really feel it! Then I had this whole plan about how I was going to act around you for a week—and honestly, I was just gonna do stuff that I’ve always wanted to do with you! But then waking up with you in my arms had my brain feeling like mush and my heart hammering in my chest—and you—you’re just—you’re everything to me.”

His confession had you in shock, brows raised, lips parted, heat enveloping your features while you struggled to process everything. 

“Fuck, last week you rejected me, and y’know what? I earned it, asking my best friend to have sex with me was a bit shallow, I can admit that!—but then you said you don’t see me romantically—which yeah it hurt, but you followed it with you could see me romantically if you wanted to, and that gave me enough hope that maybe you do feel the way I do, maybe you just don’t see it—or haven’t let yourself—but at this point, I have to let it all out because I literally smacked your ass like you’re my girlfriend and now you’re probably gonna behead me with some evil makeshift guillotine in your closet!”

As Joaquin spoke, he moved his hands rapidly, emphasizing certain words and phrases. He’d always done that—talking with his hands—but right now, something about it had your heart racing.

Or maybe it was the realization that Joaquin Torres had romantic feelings for you.

“Then I talked to Sam, and he told me that maybe you’re just settling for shitty guys because somehow, in the back of your mind, you won’t let yourself see what’s right in front of you.Not to sound like a narcissist here, but I’ve swallowed down my feelings for so long, and every now and then they come bubbling up and I have to gaslight myself into thinking that I’m just insane and don’t actually like you in the romantic sense!”

That’s when you realized why your heart was racing, not because Joaquin Torres has feelings for you—no. It was because you have feelings for Joaquin Torres. 

You really did settle each and every time, going for asshole after asshole and somehow convincing yourself that you just had bad luck and would never find a single guy that was actually kind hearted and cared about you beyond just having sex. Then you’d end up on a series of shitty dates, being heartbroken, angry, and frustrated—and the first person you always called was Joaquin.

Joaquin Torres who had every single positive trait that you wanted in a man. 

Joaquin Torres that knew you like the back of his hand.

Joaquin Torres who’s family absolutely adored you—and you adored them.

Joaquin Torres, the same Joaquin Torres that you’d instantly clicked with when you met several years ago.

You’d managed to completely drown out Joaquin’s mixture between ranting, venting, and confessing his feelings for you. Then you shook your head, walking around the sofa in three long strides until you were toe to toe with Joaquin.

“If you’re gonna kill me, at least tell me I’m pretty fir-” you immediately cut him off, rolling your eyes at his terrible attempt at humor. One hand tugged on his shirt, the other caressed the side of his face, practically pulling him into you as you smashed your lips against his. 

Joaquin was practically frozen in place for a few seconds until he felt you pulling away—clearly reading too much into his lack of reaction. So he gently grasped both sides of your face, kissing you back, pouring all of his frustration into the kiss. 

Things started slow, however the second you parted your lips, letting him in—things picked up very quickly. He kissed you as if he’d never be able to again, like he wanted to memorize this exact moment, and he held you firmly against him—one hand moving from your face to your hip, pulling your lower body flush with his own.

He bit your lip as he pulled away, resting his forehead against yours for a moment while you both stood in silence, your uneven breaths filling the space.

“I’ve wanted to kiss you for years—Christ the day I met you I wanted to kiss you. Then when you came to the hospital to see me after I got my ass handed to me by that Flag smasher? All I wanted to do was kiss you until I couldn’t breathe.”

You bit your bottom lip slightly, eyes finally meeting his as he leaned back a few inches. 

“I think I might be an idiot, Quino.” 

He nodded at that, thumb gently caressing your cheek. “Oh absolutely, your taste in guys emphasized that.Would now be a bad time to ask if you want me to bone you?” 

You laughed at his joke, shaking your head with a smile, before lightly shoving him and taking a step back. “You’re such a freak!” 

“I never said I wasn’t! Come on, you’re basically my girlfriend now, let’s all be honest here—you could be my wife if you wanted to, I’ll propose right now, drop down on one knee and everything.” Both of his brows were raised while he shrugged, hands out in front of him and a smirk on his face.

“Oh my god! Quit being yourself for ten minutes Joaquin Torres!” Then you walked away from him, towards your bedroom. 

“Wait! Where are you going?!” 

You glanced over your shoulder with a single hand on your doorknob. “What, did you think you were gonna defile my couch?!Now, come on—I prefer having sex on a bed, besides, I haven’t even had sex in my bed.”

He blinked a few times. “Like ever?” 

You nodded. “I usually don’t bring my dates here, besides, letting random men know where I live isn’t the safest bet. Honestly, I think I settle for car sex the most. Wait—does my vibrator count?” Then you giggled as you walked into your bedroom, mentally counting to five to see how long it would take him to follow you. 

You only made it to three before he was practically running through the door and shutting it behind him. Then his hands were back on you, walking you towards your bed before pushing you down.

Before you knew it, he was shirtless and on top of you, his lips back against yours. He kissed you like he had a point to prove, lips moving against yours, kissing you deeply, moaning against your lips while you fought him for control of the kiss. 

Joaquin knew he’d won the second you whimpered as he rolled his hips against yours. He was perfectly situated between your thighs, and your toes curled at the feeling of his evident bulge pressing against your clothed core. 

Your hands were all over him, tracing his chest, then his shoulders, then his back. Eventually, one settled in his hair, lightly tugging at the curls, earning a low moan. But he hadn’t stopped kissing you, his lips perfectly moulded against yours, and you were both lost in one another. You had years to make up for. 

Eventually he pulled back for air, heavy breaths against your lips while he struggled to fully regain his composure. Then his eyes scanned your features, your eyes were slightly hooded as you looked up to him, an evident flush on your skin, and your lips were swollen.

“You’re so pretty.” 

You laughed at him, raising both brows. “Yeah, you aren’t too bad yourself, Torres.” Then you moved the hand in his hair to his jaw, thumb grazing against his bottom lip, tugging on it slightly while holding eye contact with him. 

He smirked, nodding a few times. “I always knew you were a freak in the sheets.”

You scoffed. “You’re so annoying!”

Joaquin smiled. “That’s why you like me, isn’t it?” 

That earned an eye roll. “Isn’t there something else you could be doing with your mouth instead of annoying me on purpose?” 

Then there was a glint in Joaquin’s eye, and he tilted his chin down slightly, just enough to pull your thumb into his mouth, lightly sucking on it for a few seconds before letting it go. 

The sight had your eyes widening.

“Yeah—there’s something I’ve been dying to do with my mouth. Promise you’ll love it.” Then his lips were on yours for a few seconds before he trailed open mouthed kisses along your jaw, taking the time to run his tongue against your warm skin, then as he kissed down your throat, he nipped a few marks into the skin, smirking at the sounds of your quiet whimpers.

Then he ran his tongue along your freshly bruised skin—the motion so familiar that it made you giggle. Well at least you giggled until the found the spot below your ear, which earned a surprised gasp from you—and that was all Joaquin needed to hear before he was kissing against your skin, sucking your skin into his mouth, teeth lightly tugging at it—your fingers digging into his back at the feeling.

Once he was satisfied with his work, he started kissing back down your neck, and along your exposed shoulder in your cut up t-shirt. His hands focused on pushing the shirt up from your waist, exposing more and more skin until he was met with your bra. 

You pushed him away, slightly embarrassed at the older plain black bra, it was your comfiest bra—it even had a few holes along the band closer to the hooks on your back. 

“What’s wrong, Hermosa?” He sounded so soft and concerned, looking at you as if he was afraid of breaking you.

“Nothing—don’t judge my ugly bra.” 

He laughed at that, shaking his head. “You think I’d judge something that’s coming off anyways?” Then, he was sitting back on his haunches, gently pulling you up before his hands grasped the edge of your shirt—making eye contact with you, waiting until you nodded—then he was pulling it upward, helping you take it off.

The second his eyes landed on your chest, he groaned, biting his bottom lip at the sight of your tits—even if they were confined in the plain bra—he didn’t give a shit about that, to the point that he was pushing you back onto the bed, lips back on your skin. Joaquin started from your shoulder, then moved along your chest to the swell of your breasts.

He took his time with you, a trail of bruising kisses along your plush skin, then he reached behind your back with one hand, fumbling with the clasp of your bra—the motion making you laugh as you shook your head.

He glanced up at you from your chest, a rosy flush overtaking his cheeks. “Don’t laugh at me, you’re gonna give me performance anxiety!” As he spoke, he finally managed to unclasp the bra, taking the time to pull the straps off of your shoulders, then he squeezed his eyes shut as he took it off of you. 

“Quino, what the hell are you doing?” 

He laughed, “Giving myself a grand reveal! Duh.” Then he opened his eyes, lips parted as he stared directly at your bare chest. He blinked a few times, then licked his lips while nodding his head. “Yeah—you’re so fuckin pretty, all of you—Christ.” 

You gasped as he practically dove into you, lips back on your chest, one hand massaging against your right side, his mouth focused on the other, a mixture between bruising kisses and low groans being left against your skin. Then he wrapped his lips around your nipple—gently sucking on the hardened peak, earning a high pitched moan from you.

Eventually he moved onto your other breast, repeating the motions until your back was arching into him while you pulled his hair so hard that it stung—although that wasn’t why he stopped. Joaquin opted to kiss along your stomach, even taking the time to bite into the soft skin, smirking against you at the sounds of your quiet whimpers.

By the time that he made it to the waistband of your pajamas, he paused, now looking up at you, giving himself the chance to process how truly wrecked you really were. Your hair framed you in a messy halo, your eyes were hooded, swollen lips parted, and you stared at him as if he was everything and more.

His heart was about to beat out of his chest.

Then he hooked his fingers into the waistband of your pants. “Can I?” 

You nodded at him “Please—” 

Joaquin didn’t need to be told twice, he was pulling your pants and panties off in one motion as you lifted your hips, easing the process along. Once they were full off, his eyes focused on you—taking in every single detail of your body, from the budding bruises he’d left, to the scars, stretch marks, hell even the few moles and birthmarks he’d never seen before.

His stare made you feel insecure in the moment, opting to sit up with your back against your pile of pillows leaning into the headboard, legs pressed together and arms wrapped around your chest, as if you wanted to hide from him.

“Mi Vida, don’t hide from me, you’re so beautiful, everything about you is beautiful.” His voice was full of adoration as he stared at you with a fondness you’d never really experienced before.

Joaquin stared at you as if he was in love, and that alone was enough to have you sitting up further, grasping his shirt and crashing your lips against his. He laughed against your lips, smiling into the kiss as his hands found their way to your waist—one at your thighs, pushing them apart to slot himself between them once again. 

Your hands were all over him, moving from his hair, to his cheeks, to his jaw, then down to his chest again, now beneath his shirt, fingers splayed against the toned ridges of his abdomen. The warmth of his skin was comforting in a way you couldn’t explain.

He moved away enough to pull his shirt off, tossing it aside somewhere, lips back against yours. The kiss was somewhat sweet, but now it was a mixture of teeth and tongue as he deepened the kiss, mouth practically overtaking yours.

Joaquin Torres had always been competitive, it was clear that his competitiveness was incredibly prominent in every aspect of his life—to the point that you felt as if you were drowning in him trying to keep up.

Eventually you pushed him away to catch your breath. He smiled at you once before moving back down, following his previous trail of bruising kisses, except this time with light open mouthed kisses. He’d even grazed his tongue against a few of the blooming marks along your skin.

Then he was between your legs, kissing along your inner thighs, gently biting into the skin—doing his best to leave marks. He’d always been possessive, and to him, you were his girl. The world didn’t need to see every single mark he’d leave against you, some were just subtle reminders for you.

Joaquin used both hands to spread your legs—wide. He was a bit shocked at how wide he was able to get them, raising both brows with a satisfied smirk. “Never knew you were this flexible.”

You scoffed, shaking your head as you looked up at the ceiling to avoid his gaze, feeling the flush of embarrassment taking over as he stared directly at your wet center. 

“Can I?” You didn’t look at him as you mumbled a quiet ‘please’. Too embarrassed to actually meet his gaze. 

Joaquin smiled, shaking his head at you, you’d never been the shy type, but maybe the intimacy was getting to you—however, he reveled in it. He’d never felt more in love.

He didn’t hesitate to lick a flat stripe along your cunt, the motion caught you off guard, eyes widening as you looked down at him, giving yourself a better view of him.

“That's it baby, I want you to look at me—promise I won’t be mean.” Joaquin’s teasing tone made you groan, both hands covering your face for a few seconds before you shook your head.

Joaquin winked at you before repeating the motion, this time with more pressure—starting at your sopping hole, ending at your clit. “You’re so fuckin wet—taste so good too. Fuck, I’ve wanted this for so long—wanted you for so long.”

Then his tongue was back on you, he hadn’t started slow, if anything he’d dove straight in—as if he was a prisoner on death row and this was his last meal. 

You couldn’t stop your moans and whimpers, Joaquin had been a man starved and he clearly had a point to prove. Your hands were in his hair, tugging at his curls, back arching into him while you tried not to roll your hips against his face—doing your best to keep some composure.

He knew you too well, and he noticed the way your thighs had already started tensing up. His tongue moved against your clit, alternating between small circles to rapidly flicking against it, the mixture of sensations eliciting borderline pornographic moans from you. He wasn’t stopping anytime soon—and he wanted you to let go. 

Joaquin knew you needed this, and honestly, he needed it too.

So he hooked one of your thighs over his shoulder, bringing you even closer to him, pulling your clit into his mouth, harshly sucking on it while moaning against you, his eyes now shut as he let himself get lost in the motions.

You looked down at him again and nearly lost every sense of composure you had left, his brows were knit together, eyes shut, and as he sucked on your clit with his fingers gripping your thigh, he moaned against you—as if he was doing this for his own pleasure, not yours.

Then you noticed the way his hips rolled into your mattress—that had you whimpering his name, biting your bottom look as you tugged on his hair, fingers grazing his scalp while you finally let go—now grinding yourself against him.

Joaquin let go of your clit, a deep guttural moan leaving his lips at the feeling of you grinding against his face, then he moved lower, nose now pressed against your pearl while his tongue lapped at your dripping hole. 

The second he slid his tongue into you—you whined his name like a prayer. Now fully rolling your hips against his face, moaning at the pressure from his nose against your clit and the feeling of his tongue licking into you—practically darting in and out of you at a brutal pace.

Your body was on fire, the coil in your abdomen wound so tight it felt as if you were about to explode, and all you could focus on was the feeling of Joaquin Torres’s tongue fucking into you.

He managed to press his face deeper against you, moaning at the taste of your cunt, drowning himself in it. His hips were grinding against your mattress as one of his hands held you against him, then he slid his tongue out of you, two fingers now prodding at your hole, his tongue back on your clit as he slowly slid them inside of you.

The stretch of his fingers alongside his tongue moving against your clit sent you over the edge—practically gushing against his face as you came with a high pitched “Quino!”.

Joaquin’s eyes fluttered open as he looked up at you, your lips parted, brows knit, eyes squeezed shut in ecstasy as your orgasm consumed you—fuck you’d never looked more beautiful.

You expected him to stop, but he was far from finished with you. Fingers now curling into you, fucking you through your orgasm—prolonging it. One of your hands moved from his hair, now on his shoulder—nails digging into his skin as you held onto him, unknowingly grinding yourself against him even more—rolling your hips over and over again—using him for your own pleasure.

“That’s it Hermosa—use me—fuck just like that.” His words were muffled against your core, you didn’t even fully register them as he finger fucked you through your high and into the world of overstimulation. It was simultaneously too much and not enough, your nerve endings on fire and all you could think about was Joaquin.

He brought your clit back into his mouth, cheeks hollowing as he sucked on it, tongue swirling over it slightly—just enough to have you seeing stars as his fingers brushed against the velvety spot inside of you that left you gasping his name. Joaquin focused on that spot, fingers moving rapidly and purposefully, moaning against your clit at the feeling of your walls fluttering around him.

This was downright sinful, prior to this moment, you were positive you’d be going to hell—but Joaquin Torres’s greedy mouth on your cunt had you convinced there was a spot dedicated to the both of you.

It wasn’t long until you were toppling over the edge again, vision blurring as a white heat overtook your entire being—practically screaming his name as your eyes watered slightly.

He looked up at you, eyes hooded, mouth still focused on your clit—moaning at the sight of you, knowing that he was the one bringing you this much pleasure was enough to have him on edge.

Thankfully, as you came down from your high, you gently pushed him away, whimper and shaking your head, voice breathy while mumbling. “It’s too much—fuck—give me a second”. 

When he finally moved away from you, he licked his lips, now staring at you with a dopey smile on his face. You should’ve been embarrassed at the shiny layer of your essence along his lips and chin—but you couldn’t bring yourself to care. Not when he was looking at you like you’d hung the stars. 

Neither of you said a word as you held eye contact. 

Something unspoken in the air, an evident shift in your entire relationship—but neither of you cared. Not when he’d already confessed his feelings for you and made you cum twice in the span of twenty minutes.

Especially not when you knew that you were practically in love with Joaquin. It’d just taken him slapping your ass and word-vomiting a confession for you to realize it.

Your eyes moved from his, trailing along his body, stopping at his waist—the evident tent in his sweats had your eyes widening slightly. You’ve always had an inkling that he was big just based on the way he carried himself—but now you knew you were right and your mouth was already watering.

“Take them off Joaquin.” 

He nodded at your request—although it was more of a demand.

You laughed as he stood up, rushing through the process of taking off his sweats and briefs—stumbling a bit as he kicked them off. However, the second your eyes landed on his cock you stopped laughing, lips parted, mouth watering slightly—just enough that you were drooling.

He was big—huge even—thick and girthy in a way that you knew would make your head spin, a few defined veins traveling along the shaft of his cock, and the head had a pink-ish flush to it, already leaking precum. 

The sight was salacious.

Joaquin watched it happen, the sliver of spit gliding along the edge of your open mouth—then in seconds he was back on you, his tongue trailing along your chin, gathering it before kissing you. It was downright filthy, the way his tongue explored your mouth—the taste of cunt still fresh on his tongue. 

You moaned against his lips, one hand on his jaw, the other sliding along his torso, then down to his cock, fingers trailing the length of it, before you grasped him in hand, his hips bucking into you. You kissed him as your hand slowly pumped along his shaft—thumb spreading his precum along the tip, dragging it down his cock—using it to move faster, gliding along the length of it all.

He pulled back slightly, resting his forehead against yours as you jerked him off, pausing for a moment, long enough to spit on your hand—then it was back on him. 

“You’re gonna kill me—y’know that?” 

You laughed at him, head rolling forward the slightest bit, gaze focused on his cock—biting your bottom lip as you tighten your grip on him, speeding your motions up just enough to make his abdomen flex. “I want you in my mouth Quino.” Your words were quiet whispers, then your eyes met his again, faces only a few centimeters apart.

“Not today—fuck don’t think I’ll last today—shit” he moaned, heavy breaths against your lips while he rocked his hips forward—chasing his own high. But he needed more. “I need you, Corazón”.

You smiled, kissing him softly before shoving him away from you. 

“You’re giving me whiplash baby—but if you don’t want to, we don’t have to.” He laughed at his own joke, smile on his face while you looked up at him, shaking your head, biting your lip, holding back your own grin—or at least attempting to hold it back.

“Tell me how you want me, Joaquin.” 

His eyes widened at your seductive tone, you’d never sounded sexier—it made his cock twitch, and he was blushing. How one sentence managed to make him blush was insane, considering he’d just had his face between your thighs to the point that you were practically squirting against his tongue.

“Shit baby—on your back, but trust me okay? You said you’re flexible right?” 

You nodded at him, brows knit together as you slid down the mattress, now flat on your back with your legs bent at his sides. Then you watched as his palms met the backs of your thighs, lifting them slightly until you got the message and raised them up—legs now in the air. 

You were laughing at him, and soon enough, he was laughing too.

That was until he rested your ankles on his shoulders and leaned closer into your space, practically folding you in half. You were in shock at his position of choice. “What the hell, Quino? Basic missionary too boring for you or something?” 

He smiled, nodding his head. “Trust me—you’ll love it, I promise. Oh shit wait—I don’t have a condom.” His movements faltered as the realization dawned upon him, minor panic evident on his features.

“I’m on the pill—and I’m clean. I’ve never let anyone else ever—y’know without one. Wait—you literally go to the clinic with me to get tested!” 

Joaquin shrugged, which in turn made your legs stretch a bit more—earning a short gasp. “Well, when you put it that way corazón, I might end up cumming inside of you—I gotta ask now, are you okay with that?” 

You blinked several times “Quino, you literally have me folded in half and you’re asking if I’m okay with you cumming inside of me when I just gave you the okay to fuck me raw? Are you hearing yourself right now?” 

“I made you cum twice and you’re still so mean—jeez. God forbid a man wants full consent before creampie-ing his girl.” His hands left your calves, now up in faux-surrender as he spoke. The motion made you both start laughing again, but the second he moved his hips forward the slightest bit—his cock nudged against your clit and you gasped.

Then you were making eye contact again.

He hesitated for a few seconds. “You sure?”

You nodded, “I’ve never been more sure of anything in my life.”

That’s all the encouragement he needed. Joaquin teased you the slightest bit, running the tip of his cock along your dripping folds—tapping it against your swollen clit a few times before lining himself up with your entrance.

Then he slid in the slightest bit—and the immediate stretch had your eyes squeezed shut, a breathy gasp leaving your lips while he slowly rocked himself into you, inch by inch. 

“You’re so big—fuck Joaquin” 

He nodded, shushing you in a comforting manner “‘s okay—you’re doing so well baby, fucking cunt feels so good—just like that, relax into it cariño.” He kissed along your calves as he focused on filling you to the hilt, taking his time with you, letting you adjust to his size. 

Your hands gripped the comforters, knuckles practically white as you bit your bottom lip, doing your best not to clench around him—trying to relax, trying to let him in fully. The stretch stung in a painfully pleasurable way, something you couldn’t put into words, it was too much and not enough all at once. 

He was so deep—and you had a feeling the position also had something to do with that. It was like you could feel him in your stomach. Your toes curled while your back arched into him, head lulling back, brows knit, all the while mindless moans and mewls filled the space.

When Joaquin fully bottomed out he moaned your name, eyes focused on where your bodies met, you held him in a vice grip, he wanted nothing more than to ruin you—fucking you so hard you forgot about every single shitty guy that you’d been with—making you his and only his. 

But he also wanted to take his time with you, wanted to be slow and considerate—wanting to make this good for you.

It was as if you could read his mind, eyes fluttering open as you met his gaze. “Quino—I need you to fuck me, hard—” before you could even finish your sentence he was pulling out of you in a swift motion, to the point that only the head of his cock was inside of you, then he practically slammed back into you.

You screamed his name.

Your words snapped something inside of him, and as his fingers gripped your legs—he focused on fucking you into the mattress, hips unrelenting as he rocked into you, moaning at the feeling of your cunt. 

“So fuckin tight, you’re making such a mess baby—fuck look at that, just like that Hermosa—just like that” he praised you while he fucked into you, eyes trailing your entire figure, then pausing at your cunt, moaning at the sight of you practically sucking him back in, his cock coated in a layer of your slick, pussy practically drenching him.

Then he leaned even closer to you, one of your legs slipping off of his shoulder, however he still held you in place, hand on the back of your thigh, practically folding it against the mattress as his lips found yours again. 

The kiss was sloppy, neither of you could really focus on it, but Joaquin needed to be as close to you as possible—needed this moment to last. 

You couldn’t think straight, Joaquin clouded your every sense to the point that all you could do was moan and whimper a mixture between his name and slurred praise. Your thighs were tense, hips practically burning, and the pleasure radiating through your body was too much.

You tried pushing him back, but you didn’t want him to stop—you just couldn’t focus on anything but the fire raging throughout your body.

“‘S okay baby—you can take it, I know you can. Fuck you’re so good for me Corazón—mean the world to me too.” Joaquin was rambling, letting your other thigh go—giving you a quick sense of relief, but his thrusts hadn’t let up, and he wrapped a single hand around your throat—applying the slightest bit of pressure—testing the waters.

Your moan was the very definition of desperate as you grasped his forearm, holding him in place, eyes slowly opening, meeting his intense stare.

That’s what sent you over the edge, holding eye contact with Joaquin as he roughly fucked into you, his hand wrapped around your throat, and you finally realized the odd emotion you’d always seen in his gaze was just love—pure, undevoted love.

“Fuck—I love you Joaquin” your words were mumbled as you moaned, eyes squeezed shut again, legs shaking as your final orgasm hit. You couldn’t focus on anything but the pleasure sweeping through your body in waves, when you thought you were alright—it was like mini aftershocks kept hitting you.

He hardly processed your words, part of him couldn’t tell if he was hearing things or not, but it hadn’t stopped his hips from tensing up, cock twitching inside of you as he buried it to the hilt, thick ropes of cum filling you with an overwhelming warmth as he moaned “I love you—fuck love you so much—.”

Joaquin practically collapsed on top of you, his head buried in the crook of your neck, shallow breaths hitting your flushed skin, meanwhile he intertwined his fingers with yours, his other hand grasping the comforter below as if it was a lifeline while he came down from his high.

The weight of him on top of you was relaxing, it was everything you needed in the moment.

Then your doorbell started ringing, and it wasn’t just once, no it was several times in a row—something only Sam did when he was irritated and couldn’t get a hold of you.

Your eyes widened and so did Joaquin’s, he lifted himself up, using his hand on the mattress to brace himself as he looked at you.

“Is that—?” 

You nodded, then you looked over at your bedside clock, ‘10:38’ showing. Then you realized you were supposed to send over the finished satellite reports by ten thirty today, meaning it was eight minutes late, but also, you most likely had several missed calls and texts from Sam.

“Oh my God, he’s gonna kill me!” 

When the doorbell started ringing again, you groaned. Then Joaquin slowly pulled out of you, kissing your forehead as he whispered apologies against your skin, hearing your subtle wince. He was quick to stand up, pulling his sweats back on, then he looked between your open thighs, pausing in his motions—eyes trailing your fucked out cunt, practically moaning at the sight of his cum leaking out of you.

“God—I should take a picture of that. Fuck—shit Sam can wait another second—” Then he was back between your thighs, tongue lapping at your leaking hole, your eyes widening as you whimpered, one hand already in his hair, meanwhile Joaquin’s tongue was back inside of you—the motion outright filthy.

It didn’t take much for you to cum again, you were already too sensitive, you felt like a live wire.

A few seconds after Joaquin started rubbing circles into your clit with his thumb, you were moaning his name and gushing—this time you were genuinely squirting, legs shaking, and body tense.

You pushed him away from you—thighs clamped shut as you caught your breath. Both of you exchanged a look before glancing at the clock, five minutes had passed.

“That’s gotta be a record for you huh? Five minutes was all that one took?” 

You shushed him, slowly sitting up, looking around the room for your clothes. But he was already off the bed, wiping his forearm against his face—doing his best to clean himself up before opening one of your drawers, pulling out a pair of shorts and tossing it at you.

You’d already found his shirt, so you pulled that on, then slipped into the shorts on wobbly legs.

“You really are a fucking freak Joaquin.” You spoke as you tried to find your footing, grasping the edge of your nightstand and taking a deep breath. Your legs were already sore, so was your abdomen. 

“Yeah, but you liked it, besides, I didn’t miss the way you reacted when I choked you, you love that shit don’t you?” He wiggled his brows as he teased you, now helping you stand up straighter, both of you looking at one another before walking out of your bedroom. Then he sat on your sofa while you opened the front door.

Sam was clearly annoyed as he looked at you. That’s when you noticed Bucky was also outside of your apartment, leaning against the wall with his arms crossed. 

This was about to get even more mortifying.

Sam practically invited himself in, already ranting. “Y’know kid, the job’s been relatively easy lately, and all I asked you to do was finish those reports because you’re the best data analyst I’ve got. You know everything about illegal and legal weaponry, practically specialize in foreign and alien-based tech, and you can spot an anomaly a thousand miles away, and yet here you are, damn near fifteen minutes past the deadline which I gave you on Wednesday—when usually you’d have everything over a day or two early.”

He paused, now turning to look at you again, shaking his head—he still hadn’t registered Joaquin sitting shirtless on the couch. “Then I called you, several times, I called you yesterday and today, you didn’t answer, I thought you died or something! How would I feel thinking you died when the last real conversation we had was me kicking you out of my office!”

Bucky cleared his throat as he looked at Sam, the first time Sam hadn’t noticed, then he did it again, which led to Sam looking at him with wide eyes.

“Yes, Buck?!” 

Bucky then nodded his head in Joaquin’s direction, Sam easily followed the motion.

Joaquin awkwardly smiled and waved at Sam. It didn’t help that he had red scratches along his chest—something you hadn’t even realized you’d done to him. Then of course, his hair was disheveled, and he looked a little too relaxed. 

That’s when Sam looked back at you, eyes taking in your figure, now noticing your own messy hair, the U.S. Air Force t-shirt you had on, and he noticed the way that you leaned against one of the countertops closest to you.

“Oh my god—are you two serious?! Didn’t I say don’t let this get in the way of work! I’m over here dragging that walking museum piece around because I thought you were dying, meanwhile you’re over here screwing Joaquin?!” 

You nodded. “Bucky’s the one who told me I needed to pursue less shitty guys.” 

Bucky shook his head at you. “That’s not what I meant. Don’t throw me under the bus here, he’s already pissed because I forgot to make brunch reservations—I don’t even like brunch.”

Then Sam looked over at Joaquin. “Did you at least tell the girl you’re in love with her before sleeping with her?” 

Joaquin shrugged, grimacing slightly before replying. “Does it count if I told her while we were having sex?” 

Sam blinked several times. “Those are details I didn’t ask for. Jesus Christ! Get those reports done and sent to me by tonight! And at the very least, answer your phone calls! Torres—you need to answer yours too! Let’s go Buck, before I lose my mind.” 

Then Sam was leaving, Bucky gave you an awkward smile, and a final, “for the record, I’m glad you came to your senses and realized you like him” before following Sam out.

Once the door clicked shut, you locked it. Now left with Joaquin.

“Well, that could’ve gone better.” You spoke as you walked to the sofa, plopping down across from him, feet now resting in his lap. 

He just stared at you for a few moments. “Y’know I do love you, right? It wasn’t a heat of the moment thing. I’m in love with you, and I was serious about the whole having to gaslight myself into thinking I’m not into you when I know I am.”

You laughed at him, smiling as you leaned against the couch cushions. “I can’t believe I’ve been this blind for so long, y’know how many shitty dates I could’ve avoided? Like genuinely—also you’re still a fucking freak.” 

Joaquin smiled, nodding his head. “Yeah? What—was the head too much at the end? Want me to tone it down some, I dunno, I think I might’ve set a record for you today, four orgasms? That’s more than you’ve had in months.”

You scoffed at his teasing. “Oh, shut up! It’s not my fault I didn’t know you were Mister munch!” Then you paused. “I need a shower.” 

He watched as you stood up, walking away from him, then you turned back, clearing your throat, waiting for him to meet your stare. When he did, you smiled. 

“Well, are you coming or what?”

Joaquin was positive he’d never moved faster, following you right into the bathroom, but before he could fully process what you were doing, you pressed him against the bathroom wall, a mischievous smile on your face.

“For the record, I’m positive that I love you too, Quino.” Then you were kissing him.

-

Thanks for reading my super hot and sexy ppl <3 Im literally posting ts from my job rn bc im so over working on a Saturday

[flashroid]

DC KINKTOBER DAY THREE

day three [ threesome .. trick or treat! clark kent and bruce wayne , '' word count : 2.1k before cam use . 18 + , smut , f!reader , protected sex ( not entirely ) , unprotected sex ( midway ) , oral ( m!receiving and f!receiving )

"You're doing so good.." Clark cooed as he worked his way inside you, the rubber of the condom stretching impossibly around Clark's aching cock - an angry red. Your gasps and sobs filled the room at the stretch between your thighs, though it came out muffled due to the length shoved into your mouth from Bruce's desperate rutting.

His hand was tight in your locks, a makeshift mess to grasp onto while he grunted and groaned, not a word out of him.

Your eyes rolled back a little when Clark slammed into your sweet spot, a pathetic wail leaving with your lips swollen around Bruce's dick. Clark leaned over, his arms wrapping around your waist with his chest pressed to your back, "Shh, sh..perfect, that's perfect sweetheart, just let me make you feel good, hm? Good..that's a good girl.."

Clark's glasses were fogging from his hot breath, the frames riding low on his nose bridge as he continued to thrust hard into you, every snap of the hips making you see a new array of colours - you might even discover a new one at this rate.

Bruce couldn't help pitching in, "you sweet talk her too much Clark," he muttered, his hips moving erratically as he fucked your mouth with earnest, a groan leaving when he hit that spot in the back of your throat, "she's gotta earn it, don't you?" He pulled his cock out, making you look up at him through misty eyes.

All you could manage was a dazed gaze and a shaky nod, drool collecting on the side of your mouth.

You looked pathetic, but it didn't distract you from Clark's cock poisoning in and out.

It was unclear to you if the Kryptonian was aware his dick was monstrous and might split you open, but with every helpless moan and cry of pleasure that left you, you found yourself not really caring.

Clark panted, his collared shirt unbuttoned and somewhat slid down his arms, his tie loose and over his shoulder as he kept at it, not relenting once - he wanted to make you feel good..even if that meant sending you into a coma with his fucking.

"Don't say that Bruce," Clark chided like the good man he was, the sweetest of the sweetest, "she's doing her best.." he leaned in, his breath caressing your ear before he kissed behind it, "and I'm so proud of her."

The praise had your wet pussy clenching tight, kicking a groan out of Clark who buried his nose into your hair, "Yeah, that's right..she knows I'm proud of her."

Your babbling didn't go unheard - it'd be a bit concerning if either men didn't hear your loud moaning right in their ears.

Bruce huffed, glancing down, "Can't let Clark have all the fun, can I?" He murmured lowly, pushing fingers into your mouth before he looked at Clark, "I think someone needs some more attention."

Clark instantly got the message, a nod before he pulled out with a wet slap as his hands grasped your thighs, hauling you up and taking a shocked gasp out of you, though your yelp came out muffled around Bruce's fingers, "Clark!-"

"Shh, don't worry. You're okay." He murmured, shifting so he could be against the headboard, before he set you down so your back was towards him, and you were facing Bruce.

You weren't one to waste time; carefully grasping Clark's cock, you began sinking down once more, a whimper leaving at the sensation of your sticky walls being full once more sending sparks up your spine. Bruce leaned down, opening your thighs before his tongue slipped out to lick around where you were stretched open by Clark.

The mixed sensations had your back arching like some cat, hips bucking before Clark grasped them with his large hands, "Ope, let's not hurt ourselves sweetheart," he murmured, before he began moving his hips in slow, deep rolls.

All while Bruce's lips enclosed around your swelling clit, beginning to suck like his life counted on it. You moaned shakily, tears welling further from the amount of stimulation you were gaining. Clark seemed to graze your bundle of nerves with every move, and one of Bruce's hand reached up to paw at your tit, squeezing and kneading the softness while he licked up at your nub.

In a blur of pleasure, you hadn't realized Bruce had taken his fingers out of your wet mouth, moving them done to start swiping at your clit, his lips now kissing at your chest before taking a tender nipple into his mouth, making you croon.

That, combined with Clark's heavy breathing while he worked overtime in trying to get you to cum was sure to send you into a spiral of nothing but endless ecstasy.

Your hands clawed at Clark's forearms, whining helplessly while Clark huffed, "You doin' okay?" He inquired softly albeit the hoarseness in his tone that only made you hotter.

Bruce scoffed down from where he continued to lick and suck at your clit, causing the hot bubble in your core to grow larger, a pressure that made you feel like you were drowning in euphoria, "Clark, stop babying her. She's a big girl," he murmured, looking up at you through his lashes, "aren't you?"

Babbles left you in an embarrassing attempt to answer him, but seriously - you can't be blamed when you had dick pistoning in and out of your swelling cunt while Bruce licked simultaneously, can you?

Yet to Bruce, that wasn't the case. The man laughed richly, "Oh, don't give me that now. You told me and Clark you could handle it baby, and I wanna see you handle it; handle it like the big girl you are."

You'd been so concentrated trying to comprehend Bruce's sentences, that when Clark slammed into you with a loud groan, you hadn't realized how close to cumming you'd been until you felt an unforgiving rush, causing you to cry loudly, "Oh!"

"That's my girl," Clark damn near growled, fucking into you with abandon to prolong your orgasm, "Look at you, you're perfect- hm? You can handle it."

With shaky thighs, you could only lay back breathlessly against Clark, though it didn't stop the quick sobs leaving you as Bruce's tongue worked, trying to push a second orgasm out of you, "Bruce, Bruce please." You basically wailed, and Bruce shook his head, "Take it."

You definitely felt the second orgasm coming, a loud moan leaving as you squirted, taking a groan out out of Clark as the sprays hit his cock and forced him to pull out, allowing the fluid rushing out of you to go freely.

Bruce kissed around your pulsing pussy, a stark contrast from the mercilessly exquisite torture he'd just been giving it, "Good..good girl. See? You just need a little bit of discipline sometimes, don't you?"

A weak nod was all you could offer Bruce, and Clark hummed, "I'll just.." he reached a hand down to squeeze his cock, bulging with the tension of having not cum yet. With your head mostly fuzzy, you smacked his hand away and began to pull the condom off.

Clark's eyes widened, "Woah woah, what are you-"

"Just don't finish inside." You interrupted shakily, and though Clark was reluctant at first, he couldn't pass up on the offer.

He removed his reading glasses, setting them on the nightstand before he grabbed your hips.

Sliding back in with that fullness that made your legs shake, Clark began fucking back into you rapidly, "Sorry, I'm close I promise." His voice was strained with the effort, and all you could do was lay there, fucked out and moaning like you were born for it.

With a loud groan right into your ear, Clark pulled out in time for you to see his cock spurt out long ropes of white, the head throbbing as Clark pressed sloppy kisses to your neck, "Thank you.." he murmured.

Bruce, who'd been watching with a bit too much interest rubbed along your thigh, a small gesture to maybe ease the swell between your legs.

He stood up on his knees, glancing at Clark, "Move over here. I want her on her back." He instructed, and Clark chuckled softly, "And what do you suppose I do?" He seemed to be teasing Bruce, because the Bat scowled silently.

Clark winced, "Okay, okay..I get it."

You whined in a daze when you were hauled over onto your back by Bruce, the ache between your pussy forgotten when Bruce tapped his neglected dick against your wet folds, "You tell me if it's too much." He stated sternly - he may be a little strict when it came to your pleasure.

But he loved you just the same.

You nodded, "Okay.." you managed.

Bruce rubbed at your pussy for a bit with his dick, before he held it in place while he pushed into you, an almost animalistic groan leaving him - he'd been waiting for way too long, watching Clark make you moan so sweetly, give you pleasure.

He wanted to make you feel just as good.

Clark in the meantime had moved to over your mouth, "Don't choke..please. Just, tap my thigh twice and I'll stop, promise." He murmured, worry shining in his blues - it made your heart soften just a tad. "It's okay." You reassured with your hand massaging Clark's thigh.

The Kryptonian couldn't help a soft smile, before he grasped your chin, "Open." He ordered gently, grasping his dick with the other hand.

With no reason to disobey, you opened your mouth for Clark to put his dick in, to which Clark carefully did.

A soft sigh left him when did, his hands carding through your hair affectionately. Once Bruce noticed you were somewhat settled, he began to thrust, his hands moving to hold your thighs.

Muffled moans turned into soft gurgles as Clark began thrusting into your mouth too, groans leaving both them men as they used you thoroughly.

"Fuck, no wonder Clark was being so loud," Bruce moaned deeply, his hips only canting faster into you - he really couldn't resist you. Every sharp move in had you keening, head thrown back while Clark seemed lost in the confines of your throat, the hotness pulling deep sounds out of his throat.

"You're so good sweetheart," he praised, "just perfect, aren't you? Don't you agree Bruce?"

Bruce was fighting his own war, before he eventually lost and threw both your legs over his shoulders, pushing you into a nasty mating press and beginning to slam into you with no other thought, "Yeah, you're fuckin' perfect taking it all like this. Good girl." He rasped, your eyes rolling back as Bruce hit every single nerve inside you, making you sob endlessly with pleasure, your moans a never ending symphony.

That familiar coil in your stomach was wounding up tight, preparing to snap as you sobbed and wailed, your throat full of Clark's dick, only pushing faster into you as he slowly came to his own climax.

Bruce panted, squeezing your thighs before he used a hand to wrap around your throat, feeling the way Clark's cock just barely bulged with every move inside, "I'm gonna cum soon." He warned, and Clark nodded, sweating, "Me too, dammit."

The moans, groans and sounds coming from all three of you were lost in a mix, before Bruce's cock hit you hard right in your spot, causing you to practically cream all over his cock, clenching tight and warranting a moan from Bruce, who pulled out and squeezed the tip, cumming all over his fist.

It didn't take long for Clark to follow suite, a loud groan escaping as he shot his load down your throat, a wince leaving as he saw you gag a bit before swallowing without a problem.

He pulled his dick out of your mouth, "Sorry sweetheart," he mumbled, a flush of embarrassment before you shook your head, "It's..it's fine." You panted heavily.

Bruce was busy massaging your stomach, his slowly softening cock resting on your stomach, dripping the remnants of his release on the soft of it, "..Guess you did deserve it," he leaned down and pressed a slow kiss to your lips, "Good girl, hm?"

Clark couldn't help but smile, a breathless chuckle, "Looks like you came around to the idea, huh?" He joked as his big hand ran through your hair soothingly, scratching at your scalp.

You hummed softly, a shaky exhale against Bruce's mouth before you turned, "..Sore."

Clark pressed a kiss to your cheek, smiling wide, "Welp..what can we do huh? You didn't say no."

You huffed, "Still sore Clark." You murmured, and Bruce rolled his eyes fondly, "You two complain about everything."

*

kinktober list , requests here , masterlist , intro ( navigation )

[innorality]

aliendick!clark and pavlov conditioning

summary// you ended up realizing that making clark your lab rat would simultaneously be the best and worst decision of your relationship.

content warning// conditioning, mating press, doggy style, nasty filthy sex, creampie, clark is feral, clark has an alien dick, clark swears, improper use of x-ray vision, kryptonian breeding kink, squirting, clark is pathetic

2k words whew

with clark kent fucking you like that, you don’t think you’re making it out alive.

well, your fault for trying to experiment on a poor, farm-grown kryptonian.

.

on monday, on the evening, you decided that you could begin your sick little experiment of conditioning on clark. after reading an article about it online, you wanted your alien boyfriend to be your lab-rat for it, and saw no apparent downsides to the experiment, so you went on with it.

starting with the trigger, you decided for it to be a duck emoji. weird enough for clark to be confused, not too weird for it to have him worrying like the sweetheart he is. ten minutes before you arrived home after work, you had sent him a singular duck emoji with no context or follow-up to it, which, as expected, had your poor clarkie as confused as ever. you smiled when he immediately texted back with ‘???’—success. as soon as you arrived home, you barely let him finish his questioning before pouncing on him, interrupting his sentence with a kiss he welcomed with open arms.

that night, you rode the man to the moon and back—gave him such mind-numbing pleasure that he couldn’t even bother to remember his previous confusion about the duck emoji.

and so, with the first day being a success, you repeated the process.

every day following that one, you would do the same thing—no texts or news all day, a duck emoji ten minutes before coming home, mind-blowing sex.

after a few days of repeating the process, you began to space out these encounters, opting to send the duck emoji every two to three days—a great way to keep the man on his toes, anticipating, waiting for the next time you'd send him that emoji.

then came the most awaited experiment—your greatest mistake.

it was on a friday night that you had decided tonight was the night. you had sent clark the usual duck emoji, smirking as he had immediately seen the text. however, when you arrived home, it wasn't like usual. usually, upon sending the emoji, you'd pounce on him and drag him to the bedroom. tonight, however? radio silence. well, not quite, but that's it felt to clark. you didn't give him those bedroom eyes you usually did on nights you were feeling particularly needy, you insisted on taking a shower all by yourself (he almost crumbled at that) and after dinner, you lounged on the couch to watch a tv show without even asking him to follow you! you just did!

the thing about clark kent is, he's a gentleman through and through. his ma had raised him to be one, and for christ's sake, he was superman! how could he not be a gentleman? but, he sympathizes with himself, you can't spell gentlemna without man, and clark was a man before he was anything else. a very aroused and hopelssly in love man, at that.

he stands awkwardly in the doorway of the living room, staring at you. you noticed, of course, but this wasn't unusual. clark has always had sort of weird quirks—you had always found them endearing. "is something the matter, honey?" your sirupy voice cut through his stream of thought, and suddenly his eyes focus again, gaze meeting yours.

clark has his phone in hand, and he brings it up to look back at the duck emoji you had sent. duck meant sex. you wanted this. he can indulge. you want this.

he knows you do. you sent the text, and he feels like he can almost smell your arousal and it's driving him fucking insane because he just wants to dive in it and taste it and fuck you everywhere so the entire place smells like you and-

in the blink of an eye, his phone is abandonned and he's on you, lips smashed against yours. you barely have the time to react but you do, arms now hanging around his thick neck. his hand latches itself onto your cheeks, fingers pressing into both of them, urging you to open your mouth. as soon as you do, his tongue, which was inhumanely long, snaked into your cavern, exploring its depths. he moaned at the taste of your saliva, almost melting into you as if the flavor of you was his ultimate salvation.

noticing the lack of air filling your lungs, he pulled away, his eyes softening at the sight of you catching your breath. "c-clark... what's... whta's gotten into you?" you licked your lips, face flushed. he looks at you like a puppy begging for its treat. "the emoji... you sent the emoji but you didn't... i thought..." his mind is a rush, moving at a thousand miles per hour as his entire body is begging him to rip your clothes off and take you.

he gives up, his head falling into the crook of your neck. "i just... i really need to fuck you, sweetheart." and as he's confessing this, his hand is gliding towards the waistband of your bottoms, sliding swiftly underneath it.

you think you could ascend.

you bite your lip, rendered mute at the sheer tension of the moment. "i know you want it, baby..." he scoffs, eyes closed. "can smell it."

curse him for being such a dangerously hot and multi-abled alien.

his hand makes its way underneath your panties, finger running through your slit, collecting the slick you've been trying to keep to yourself for the past hour. "ah..." you let out a low sound, almost imperceptible but clark was so hyper-focused on you that the little moan made him shudder.

he uses his forearm to push himself upwards, his hand escaping your bottoms to rush up to his mouth, and when you look at him, you gasp, feeling your walls clench.

because clark has never looked this feral.

his eyes were half-lidded and impossibly dark, his adam's apple bobbing as he swallows your juices, eyes nearly rolling back at the taste. he moans, his cock twitching and growing inside his sweatpants.

"you're gonna give it t'me, right sweetie?" he asks in that low, sultry voice that he only allows himself to use when he'd rather die than not touch you.

the eager nod you gave him marked the moment you knew you were done for.

.

how long has it been? you don't know. you don't know anything, actually. your brain is fogged with how clark was pounding you into the fuzzy carpet, your eyes crossing when the buds running along his dick grazed against the ridges of your walls, the added sensation making you spasm. "f-ffuck-! clark- oh my god, ohmygod—" you can barely form a sentence, let alone link two words together when he knocks at your cervix, your tits bouncing in rhythm with every thrust.

and clark isn't even listening to you, his eyes laser-focused on the sight of his cock splitting you open repeatedly, a vein bulging on his forehead at his intense use of his x-ray vision. "look at that, b-baby... look..." and you don't even bother, too lost in the ecstasy. he sees it all though, the strings of your arousal clinging to his tip every time he pulls away, the ridged of your pussy hooking onto his buds, the contractions of your muscles.

he finally manages to pull his eyes away from the sight, only to be met with the even prettier, albeit messier sight of your fucked out face. tears and drool glossed your skin, your eyes rolled back nearly to the back of your skull, throwing your head back when clark's hips stutter against yours, a white-hot wave washing over him over the sight.

he stilled when his buds hardened and hooked onto your walls, pulling him impossibly deep as he shoots buckets worth of cum deep into your womb. "a-ah! holy sh- hmm, fffuck, baby- i- fuck!" he sobs, jerking down towards you and you moan at the feeling of him filling you up once more, droplets of his sweat dripping onto your buzzing skin.

despite his orgasm, he doesn't stop, "n-need m-moree- needa fill you up-! ah, fuck!" his voice jumps up an octave when his buds finally relax again, allowing him to keep pistoning into you. "d-don't stop, clark! please dont- oh-!" he suddenly grabs your thighs, throwing them over his shoulders before beeending down, succesfully folding you in half. his face is now slotted right in front of yours, and the eye contact is so intense you almost feel shy under his gaze.

a mating press. clark kent had you in a fucking mating press.

you get lost in his ocean blue eyes, barely able to keep the eye conatct when he fucks you almost like he hated you, digging in your pussy. "you're... you're so beautiful, honey... so fucking pretty- all f'me, yeah? all f'me?" you nod, hands pressing against the back of his head to bring him impossiby closer to you, "all for you, clarkie," you confirmed being hastily pressing his against you, imprisoning him in a feverish kiss. clark moans into your mouth, eyes closing. you jolt slightly when you feel a tear drip down on your cheek, peeling your eyes open to see clark crying.

he pulls away, gasping for air as his throat restricts. "i l-love you, love you s'much— need you so, ngh, so bad... wanna breed ya'..." he sobs, whimpering for you. seeing clark become such a slave to his love for you had an inescapable effect on you, and your orgasm was almost immediate. you came with a gasp, the pleasure being so heavy that your eyes had given up on their function, unfocusing and leaving you with the blurry image of clark's flushed expression. your back arched as cream dribbled out of your hole, creating a white ring around clark's base.

in the midst of your orgasm, he pulls out, making you whine for the few seconds your face isn't smushed against the carpet because in a matter of moments, your world tilted before you found yourself face down ass up for your boyfriend. he pressed a hand on your back, urging a deeper arch. "m'sorry baby, m'so sorry..." he apologizes for the his unceremonial behavior but his apologies fall on deaf ears as you couldn't be happier.

your hands clutch the fluff of the carpet when he slams back into you, kneading the flesh of your ass. "just... just need this. s'your fault for making me wait... so long.. to have you- ngh, gosh..." he's hypnotized by the rippling of your ass, and the way your back bends impossibly for a second each time he rams back inside you, pressing you further into the carpet.

with clark kent fucking you like that, you really don’t think you’re making it out alive.

well, your fault for trying to experiment on a poor, farm-grown kryptonian.

your moans are rhythmic, matching the pace of his hips. leaning in, he wraps an arm around you to squeeze your tits, massaging them and rubbing your hardened nipples. "so obedient..." his comment makes your walls flutter around his fat cock. he begins to roll his hips, not quite thrusting. he presses against you, making you drool. "nghhh... fffuuuck... love you... so much.. c-clark-!" you slurred, going crazy at the sensation of his buds hardening slowly again, hooking onto your insides.

"w-want your cum-! want you to b-breed me!" you egged him on, "yeah? y'want it, baby? oh gosh, i'm cumming, m'cummingm'cumming-" he gritted, spilling into you once more. "oh my god! oh god, sweetheart!" he whined, your name escaping him as his hips bucked again, releasing rope upon rope inside you. his orgasm triggered yours, drops of your release trickled down onto the carpet before his hand snaked down to your clit, rubbing furiously and suddenly an intense stream released itself onto the now soaked carpet, the intensity of both of your orgasms making the two of you collaspe in a heap.

he layed on top of you, both of you catching your breaths. "i feel so... sticky." he remarked, "shit... i ruined the carpet." you groaned, knitting your eyebrows together.

a silence settled in, before you broke it. "i'm glad my experiment worked." a beat passes before he reacts, "experiment?"

"i tried conditioning you into associating sex with the duck emoji. it worked."

clarks hums, choosing not to react any further.

a few days later, minutes after the end of your shift, you receive a text from clark.

a duck emoji.

taglist : @mina-do-malik, @chroniclesofdyingmen, @onlyblackorpheus, @lanavelvetgoldmine, @kaerimango

[thatoneblreaderk]

Damn…. I’m wetter than a damn fire hydrant 🤪🤣🤣

[beskarrd]

EXTRA CREDIT

Pairing: Professor!Ryland Grace x Student!Reader

Summary: Ryland Grace is your both your professor and your doctoral academic advisor. You are his student. Which meant that being anything more than that was soooo unbelievably off limits. …Right?

Word Count: 7k

Warnings: 18+! SMUT! MDNI! P in V sex; inappropriate use of a microscope; also inappropriate use of biology terms (i definitely got something wrong); shameless use of the professor x student trope through reader is a grad student and very much of consenting age; the glasses stay ON during sex!!

GIF from owenhcrper

“Come on, guys. The final exam is next week and I really don’t want to have to fail anyone this time around…again. So let’s show a little more initiative! Yay, cellular anatomy!” 

He lightly pumped his fists in the air in an almost convincing cheer. You think it was meant to be encouraging but, looking around at your classmates, they didn’t seem to get the hint. They returned your dorky professor’s enthusiasm with glazed over expressions and the occasional monotonous click of laptop keys signifying they were likely working on another task all together instead of paying attention. 

You couldn’t exactly blame them. Dr. Ryland Grace’s courses were among the hardest in the university’s advanced molecular biology track. Rumor has it that his exams have made students literally drop out of the program before. It wasn’t exactly his fault, the subject was enough to melt anyone’s brain on its own, but Dr. Grace made up for it by being an amazing professor. 

He was always incredibly engaged, exceptionally witty, and, overall, just seemed to genuinely care for the material. You couldn’t deny that you definitely felt the insurmountable pressure of the high expectations he placed on his students, but something about his passion just…spoke to you. It was like he breathed life back into the subject that you chose to make your career all those years ago. 

Admittedly, you had been a fan of Dr. Grace’s work since you were in undergrad, opting to enroll in this university’s program for even the mere, microscopic chance, that you could study under him. As luck would have it, he was accepting new doctorate students the year you were admitted.

Pursuing a PhD in molecular biology was daunting enough, but you learned fast under Dr. Grace’s caring hand. He made it seem like you were the only student he had ever taught, with the way his eyes lit up at your ideas, doing everything his lab’s budget could afford to make them a reality. 

Over the past three years of your thesis study, you were shyly keen to admit you and Dr. Grace had grown fairly close to one another. After all, he strangely decided to stop taking students after he signed on to mentor your study, which meant that you always had his undivided attention  He was by far the best teacher you had ever had, which is why it made you feel all the more guilty that you also…had not been paying attention to his question.

“Okay.” Dr. Grace let his shoulders slump in a sigh. He looked as exasperated as his students. He ran his fingers through his messy blond strands and readjusted his glasses. “Tell you what. If someone can answer this last question correctly, I’ll let you all out early. I know it’s almost finals and my exam isn’t the only one you all have to worry about, so you guys just do me this one last favor and we can call it a day”.

Your ears, along with the rest of your classmates, perked up instantly. You heard the faint sounds of students adjusting themselves in their seats as they leaned in, eager to earn this rare reprieve from classes. Dr. Grace smirked and clapped his hands together. “Alright, signs of life! So, tell me, what are the three major types of lipids that make up cellular membranes?” 

This time, when you looked around, your classmates were deep in thought. Some of them looked like the act of searching for the information needed to answer the question physically pained them to work through. Not you though. This was something that you had already gone over with Dr. Grace for your research proposal write up. He had coached you through cellular membrane structure semesters ago. You raised your hand, albeit, hesitantly.

Dr. Grace had bitten his lip in anticipation looking around at his students in expectation. When his eyes met yours, his gaze softened. He nodded, waiting for your answer patiently. 

“Uh, I believe they are phospholipids, glycolipids, and sterols?” You knew it was the correct answer but you still held your breath, and Dr. Grace’s stare for that matter, waiting on his confirmation. Something about the intense blue of his eyes just seemed to make coherent thoughts impossible, even when it came to material that you knew inside and out. 

Dr. Grace nodded emphatically and threw up his hands. “We have a winner! Excellent work! That’s exactly right,” he exclaimed. You heard a few small cheers from your classmates in the back, who had already started backing their bags. Dr Grace retreated behind the lecturer’s stand and started to pack up his things as well. “Okay you all, a promise is a promise, you’re free to go.” The few students who had yet to pack up started doing so feverishly, as if they were afraid Dr. Grace would take back his seemingly merciful act of kindness.

Dr. Grace shouted to the back of the room as students shuffled out the door. “I will see you all bright and early next week for the final. Remember that you will need to know ALL of the protein pathways of the cell membrane to be able to answer the extra credit question! Don’t try to name only one and expect me to give you full points…” He smiled and cast his gaze down to his laptop, turning off its connection to the projector that had his meticulously detailed cell diagram thrown up on the lecture hall’s ginormous screen. 

You finished shoving your books into your bag and signaled to your classmates that you would catch up to them later. You had to ask your advisor a question about finalizing a date for your dissertation. It was a little over two weeks away and not knowing all the details was driving you insane. Or maybe it was just the thought of having to present all of your research findings to the very man that basically invented the topic you were researching. 

You had chosen to take an experimental approach to Dr. Grace’s hypothesis that life didn’t require water to survive. You had found some pretty compelling evidence in his favor among local bacterial life, but the thought of explaining his own research findings to the man himself had your stomach in knots. Or maybe it was just that Dr. Grace seemed to have your stomach in knots all on his own the last couple of months. 

You hated to admit it, but you had developed something of a schoolgirl level crush on your professor. Sure it was somewhat embarrassing, but could anybody blame you? He was unbelievably charming, so ridiculously intelligent it was almost intimidating, funny, passionate, sincere, and…yeah. 

He was pretty fucking hot too.

Everytime you walked into his lab, with him in one of those stupid science pun t-shirts that seemed to always be unfairly tight on him, leaving none of his muscular build to the imagination, you felt like your knees were going to give out from under you. Plus, he always seemed to stand right on top of you as he examined your findings through the microscope with you, which was not helpful at all. His forearms would often brush your side as he adjusted the lens settings, sending almost painful shockwaves through your body. Although, it was probably the glasses that sent you over the edge. He always seemed to look straight through your collected exterior you worked so hard to put forth when he peered at you over the rims that delicately balanced on the sharp bridge of his nose.

Who are you kidding? It was definitely the glasses that sealed your fate.

But that was inappropriate! Dr. Grace is your professor, your advisor for fuck’s sake. Nothing more!

 ……Right?

Yes, oh my god! Jesus, yes, of course he was just your professor. What were you even thinking? 

You snapped out of your thoughts and realized that you were soon to be the last student standing awkwardly in the lecture hall. With a grunt, you gathered up your bag full of textbooks and lab equipment and shakily headed up to Dr. Grace, who was still inspecting his laptop up at the lecture podium. 

He looked up from whatever he was poring over at the sound of your footsteps. He grinned at you and crossed his arms, leaning his hip onto the podium.

“Hey! There’s my favorite future doctor of microbiology. Got a nice ring to it, huh? Excellent job on that question, by the way.” He stared at you expectantly, though you know this was just another clever ruse to relieve the stress he knows he’s been putting you under. You laughed softly and cast your gaze to the floor at his praise, heat moving impossibly fast up your neck and onto your cheeks.

“You ready for the big day?” Dr. Grace asked, inquisitively, referring to your thesis presentation. His question quickly put out the flame that was building in your core and reminded you of the anxiety-inducing task you had ahead of you.

You met his eyes again. “Yeah! Totally…” you cringed, not even believing your own words. “Well, almost. I was just hoping we could talk about the dissertation date? I know you’re super busy and you’re going to have a lot of exams to grade and probably a lot of undergraduate papers too…and that I’ve technically already finished my research, really just need to finish writing the presentation slides, but I just really was..” the words seemed to spill out of you faster and faster by the second. Somewhere, in the back of your brain you willed yourself to stop babbling like an idiot but that thought never seemed to bring itself out of your subconscious and make itself useful. Dr. Grace looked at you back and forth hurriedly, trying his best to follow your words, before putting his hands on your shoulders and chuckling. 

“Woah, woah, easy tiger. Slow down.” His grip on your shoulders tightened, causing you to freeze at the sudden contact. God, his hands were firm. You eased up a bit under his touch. 

“Don’t get yourself so worked up. You are going to do fantastic. I know you are. That committee won’t even know what hit them,” Dr. Grace said. As he spoke, his thumbs worked their way up and down on your shoulders, almost as if they were trying to etch his words onto your skin so you would believe them. It did the trick though, you exhaled a bit before Dr. Grace continued.

“I know we have a couple of things to wrap up. Tell you what, I have to run to a faculty meeting in a bit but later tonight, how about you meet me in the lab and we can go over your data one last time, okay? Would that make you feel better?” Dr. Grace had sunk down on his knees a bit to be at eye level with you. His words warmly rushed over you, soothing your worried mind. With your thoughts a bit clearer, you hadn’t even noticed how close the two of you were. He was basically holding your body in place with his hands and his face was so close to yours that you could feel his breath as it fanned over your cheeks. He seemed to notice your close proximity as well as he dropped his hands from your shoulders suddenly and cleared his throat. 

You almost sighed at the loss of contact but caught yourself at the last second. Instead you said, “That would be amazing Dr. Grace, thank you.” He lightened a bit at your agreement. “Great! I’ll probably be in there at around 8:00? Feel free to drop by then.” You nodded and waved him off as he exited the hall. 

You were definitely in for a long night. 

--

You found yourself pacing outside of Dr. Grace’s lab at 8 o’clock on the dot, mentally coaching yourself to go in. Why were you so nervous, even? Dr. Grace was your advisor, you had been working with him for months, this is just an ordinary lab meeting like you’ve done with him countless times before. Before you could lose your courage, you swung open the door and immediately stopped in your tracks. 

Dr. Grace was positioned at the centermost lab table, carefully holding up a glass beaker to the glow of the moonlight that was being cast in through the lab’s window blinds. His brow was furrowed in concentration as he transferred a clear liquid into the beaker with a pipette dropper. He was in another one of his classic science t-shirts, his arm positioned almost at a perfect 90 degree angle holding up the beaker, which exposed every curve and vein of his bicep for your hungry eyes to devour. Bright, blue, latex  gloves were pulled tight over hands that were a stark contrast to his firm arms, instead, skillfully holding the beaker in place to not spill any liquid. His glasses were knocked slightly askew on his face as he wore protective goggles over his eyes, but to you, that just made him all the more endearing. 

Your eyes roved over his form, rigid and unwavering with the confidence of a man precisely in his element. Even though there was nobody else in the room except for you two, his presence seemed to demand attention. His fellow faculty members may have never paid much attention to his work outside of mindlessly recommending his lectures to their students, but, god, would you never get tired of marveling at this genius of a man. Both because he was a leading mind in your field and also because he was insanely attractive while he worked. 

Dr. Grace looked up from whatever he was studying as he heard the door close softly behind you. He greeted you with a smile. “There you are, right on time as always. I would’ve expected nothing less. I’m just about wrapped up with this. Why don’t you grab your slides from the back and get set up while I put this away and then we can get started. Okay, sweetheart?” 

Your heart felt like it dropped into your shoes. Dr. Grace had turned his back to you as he busied himself with something near the sink which gave you some time to process what you had just heard. 

Sweetheart? That was definitely a first. I mean sure, you’ve had teachers call you that before, usually just in an endearing, almost parental way when you were younger. But something about the way he said it left you reeling. It felt…charged. Almost like he was dangling the term of endearment over both of your heads, knowing that there was nothing either of you could do to act on it. You replayed his voice saying it over and over again in your head to convince yourself you didn’t imagine it, when Dr. Grace spoke again. 

“You alright over there?” He had now taken the goggles off and was wiping his regular glasses on the bottom of his t-shirt. He placed them back on carefully and put his hands on his hips, his t-shirt tightly coating his broad chest like a second skin. He raised his eyebrows at you pointedly, waiting on your answer. It was then that you finally noticed you hadn’t moved an inch. 

You choked out a laugh. “Yeah! Yeah, of course.” His eyebrows drew together in questioning. You smiled weakly and hurried to grab your slides.

--

The next two hours were full of calculations and write-ups that made your brain feel like it was leaking out of your ears. You and Dr. Grace worked silently and diligently, double and triple checking your work to make sure you were prepared for your dissertation. It was honestly impressive, the way the two of you moved in tandem, re-examining slides under the microscope and writing up the conclusions on the large whiteboard at the center of the room. You two seemed to glide in and out of your respective areas with ease, Dr. Grace stopping every so often to check in and make sure that you didn’t need help with anything. Busying yourself with your work did seem to help quiet the distracting thoughts you kept having about your professor. Instead of Dr. Grace making you dizzy, it was the goddamn microscope whose viewfinder just didn’t seem to want to work with you that had your vision spinning.

You groaned in frustration and threw your arms up onto the lab counter, dramatically flopping your head onto them with a huff. Dr. Grace spun around from his designated place at the whiteboard. Your eyes were so weak with exhaustion you could barely keep them open anymore but you were able to make out that he somehow had three different dry erase markers in his possession, one tucked into the top of his ear, one in his hand that he was currently writing with, and one clenched between his teeth. He looked downright sinful as he plucked the marker from his mouth, a few drops of saliva following his fingers from where the marker met his lips. Between the microscope, your report writing, and Dr. Grace’s incessant need to unknowingly drive you crazy with want, you were certain you wouldn’t even make it to your presentation day in one piece. 

“Aw, what’s wrong?” He chuckled softly. “Lens settings giving you trouble again?” 

“I don’t even know why they make the knobs this sensitive. It’s like the big science companies actually want to cause me anguish and despair every waking moment of my academic career,” you whined sarcastically. Dr. Grace walked over to you, tilting his head with a small smile at your frustrated state. “Do you want me to show you a trick I learned in grad school? It saved my life a couple of times when I was back in your shoes.”

You bobbed your head up and down excitedly. Anything to make your life easier right now was welcomed with open arms. Speaking of arms, your excitement almost died in your throat as you felt Dr. Grace’s hand on the small of your back, guiding you up and back to the microscope ever so gently. He positioned you in front of the microscope with his body directly behind you. There seemed to be only an inch of space between the two of you. One wrong move and your back would be flush with his chest as he caged you in.

You felt like all of the air just got punched out of your lungs.This was too much. It was one thing for you to admire Dr. Grace from afar, knowing that there wasn’t a chance in hell of anything happening between the two of you. It was another when he had you literally locked in place, his rock solid figure giving you no chance of escape.

This was real. This was painstakingly, agonizingly, undeniably real.

It felt like your world was crashing down, your thoughts empty except for your goddamn professor's frustratingly lean body behind you that almost had you wiping your salivating mouth with your shirt sleeve. I mean seriously. A microbiology professor has no business being that toned. Your breath hitched in your throat and you cast your view down to the microscope, trying desperately to focus on the task at hand. 

Except, Dr. Grace wasn’t letting you off that easily.

Dr. Grace delicately grabbed your right wrist and placed your hand on the fine adjustment knob. Except he didn’t stop there. His hand remained on yours, his fingers were ghosting your own, guiding them into exactly the right position. You felt a slight pressure in the pads of your fingers as he pressed down, swiveling the knob ever so slightly. He nudged your shoulder with his own, prompting you to take a look into the microscope. 

You moved your face down into the viewfinder, placing the bridge of your nose underneath the ocular lens. Dr. Grace followed suit, leaning his head down closer to you so that it was just next to yours. This caused the very top of his chest to connect with your shoulderblades and you tensed. This could not be happening right now. 

His words, a deep whisper that was very unlike his typical teacher voice, almost startled you as they were uttered so close to your ear. 

“You see, the key is to take two fingers,” Dr. Grace said intensely, “and slowly–”

He lifted your pointer and middle finger along with his own, placing your middle finger on the coarse adjustment knob in addition, and slid his fingers over yours so the knob rolled heavily under the both of you.

“--work both the knobs at the same time,” Dr. Grace finished. He leaned his head back and watched you carefully, making sure you understood his instructions. 

You could feel his gaze, hard and unrelenting, so you refused to look up from your slide and meet his eyes. You were almost panting with need now. The lab was usually sterile and cold, but from where you were standing it felt like you were in an inferno. You had never been this physically close to Dr. Grace before and it was setting your insides on fire. Part of you wanted to snap out of his grasp and run into the hall before you did anything you’d seriously regret. The other half of you was dying to find out what would happen if you didn’t. Pushed the boundaries a little bit. Fought fire with fire. 

You couldn’t. 

Could you?

You scolded your mind for wandering so far away from the task at hand and returned your thoughts to the microscope.Oh, would you look at that, Dr. Grace got the image of your slide looking pristine through the viewfinder on his very first try. 

You internally scowled. It also wasn’t helpful that his academic prowess was a major turn on. 

You clenched your legs together to relieve some of the pressure that had settled there, all the while, Dr. Grace still kept you in between his arms. His hands were now flat against the table, no longer guiding you. By all intents and purposes, he had absolutely no reason to still be standing so close to you but there he was, trapping you against him.

“See it now?” Dr. Grace questioned. He was referring to the absolutely gorgeous cell that was now blown up in scale through the viewfinder thanks to his help. You had to admit, you never got tired of that feeling. The feeling of staring at actual life, smaller than the tip of your pinky finger, teeming with blues and pinks and purples of the various organelles inside of it. 

“I do. It’s beautiful, Dr. Grace,” you admitted. You turned your head around on your shoulder and met his eyes. He really was close to you. Truly, you could step a quarter of a foot forward and your foreheads would be pressed together in a forbidden meeting. Something to never be seen by another’s eyes. Yet, standing here, almost fully enveloped by Dr. Grace, it didn’t feel as wrong as you thought it would. 

His gaze dropped down to your lips briefly. It was quick, but you noticed. He met your eyes again and you could have sworn you saw his pupils dilate in real time. The moonlight coming in through the windows earlier was now mixed with the soft glow of the campus lamplights that lined the walkways below the lab floor. The yellow lights mixed with Dr. Grace’s blue eyes, swirled a supernova of color around in his irises. 

And him? He looked transfixed on you, as if you had hung the stars in the sky. 

Could you do this? No. You were sleep-deprived and not thinking straight. Except your body had other ideas.You leaned in slowly, your eyes trained on Dr. Grace’s soft lips. Your hands had a mind of their own, coming up to almost cup his cheeks, like they knew you wanted this, knew you wanted to cross this boundary from which there was no coming back from. 

They were never able to reach their destination.

Dr. Grace jerked back from you suddenly and retreated into the corner of the lab, pacing, his hands thrown up in defeat, folded together to support the back of his neck as he let out a wavering breath. 

“Oh my god I-,” He started to spiral. “I wasn’t, I didn’t-”

He caught your eyes and immediately looked away, as if the simple act of looking at you was a punishable offense. You retreated into yourself, horrified that you would even think to act on your feelings. It was a dumb move, so ridiculously stupid, that you were afraid you just cost yourself your advisor, hell, your entire academic career. 

But Dr. Grace wasn’t looking at you anymore. He was running his hands through his hair feverishly. “I’m so sorry, god, I don’t know what I was doing I-”

He whispered to himself in a tone barely audible enough for you to hear. “She’s your student, Ryland, what are you thinking?”

You realized this wasn’t about you. This was about him. He was trying to keep himself in check. Not do something he would regret. The thought that he might be having the same ideas you were having, filled you with a confidence you had no business having. 

You slowly walked over to him and he flinched when he realized how close you had gotten. 

“Dr. Grace?” you whispered. 

Dr. Grace stilled as if your voice snapped some invisible thread that was holding him together. 

“Your hands are shaking–here let me help you,” you picked up his hands with your own, interlocking your fingers, half expecting him to recoil from your touch, but he didn’t. “I, I don’t know what to say,” Dr. Grace strained. “I’m so sorry, you’re my best student, I have no idea what came over me.” He sounded wrecked. Like you had stolen all of the air from his lungs. It was in that moment that you made a decision. One that was going to seal your fate either for better or for the worst. You took a deep inhale. 

In one deadly move, you surged forward and captured his lips into your own. You felt Dr. Grace tense up immediately but melt into your touch as you tangled your hands into his blond strands. His hands fell onto your hips like they were always made to be there. It was a searing kiss, with both of you putting your entire body weight into the other, as if this was the last chance that you were going to get to make this mistake. He pulled you closer to him, pressing his hands into you so hard you were sure he was going to leave a mark. 

You broke apart, breathless. Dr. Grace squeezed his eyes shut and dropped his forehead onto yours. He shook his head. “I am your professor,” Dr. Grace choked out. “I’m responsible for you, I could lose my job, my title, my reputation,” It sounded like he was trying to make a list of all of the reasons this was a bad idea but you didn’t care. The only person he was trying to convince at this point was himself. He cupped your face in his hands and scanned your expression.

“I need you to tell me to stop.” 

Silence.

“God, I am in so much trouble.” 

He drew you into another kiss and you happily reciprocated. It felt like fireworks were being lit off in your chest. Whatever you had imagined, this was a million times better. He was somehow both gentle and rough at the same time, trying to devour you like you were his last meal. He ducked his head down into your neck and took your skin between his teeth, nipping at the soft flesh.

“You have no idea what you’ve been doing to me” he breathed out. He was working his way up your neck, kissing the exposed flesh as he went. 

“Every time,” Kiss. “You talk,” Kiss. “All I can think about,” Kiss. “Is your mouth on mine.”

He walked you backwards, his mouth never leaving yours. Eventually your back hit the lab counter. It stung a bit but you didn’t care. All you could focus on was getting that t-shirt off of his frame and onto the floor. You were dying to see what was under those stupid science pun prints. 

You moaned into his mouth and tugged at the bottom of his shirt, signalling to him what you wanted. He leaned back a bit, arms still encircling your waist, and smirked. “Yeah? You want this off?” he questioned knowingly. You nodded. 

“Come on, use your words. You want my shirt off?” he asked. 

Oh, he was going to kill you. “Yes, Dr. Grace,” you answered, obediently. Dr. Grace’s eyes almost rolled into the back of his head. He groaned. “Don’t do that.”

“Don’t do what?” you asked. “That thing with your voice,” Dr. Grace said. “Calling me doctor all sweet like you do, you know you can call me Ryland.” You tugged on the hem of his shirt once more. “Okay, Ryland. Shirt. Off. Now,” you demanded. 

“Yes, ma’am,” he snickered. He made quick work of grabbing the bottom of his shirt and ripping it over his head. He made to pull you back into another kiss but you stopped him just short of contact. You pushed him back slightly, leaning back and drinking him in. You couldn’t even believe what you were seeing. Ryland was fucking ripped. 

The evening light highlighted his abs just right, where you could take in every curve and detail, as his muscles seemed to strain against absolutely nothing. You ran your hands down his stomach and he shivered. His stomach intricately curved down into a sharp V that was so defined, you had to do a double take to convince yourself it was real. “Who knew microbiology was such a grueling subject?” you joked. 

Dr. Grace laughed. “Hey, I personally think that understanding cellular adaptation and atrophy is more difficult than any workout.” You shook your head and smiled. Even when he was hot and heavy, he still took every opportunity to make a science joke. You wouldn’t have it any other way. 

This time it was you who pulled him back into a kiss. He stole your move and tugged on the bottom of your blouse. You untangled your hands from his hair and began to undo the top buttons. Ryland followed your hands with his mouth as you worked your way down the shirt. With each inch of skin that was exposed to him, Ryland placed an open-mouth kiss there, leaving wet patches along your chest. As you reached the last button, Ryland’s mouth stayed on your navel but his arms snaked up to help you abandon the offending fabric..

He looked up at you from where he was perched on his knees, his chin on your stomach, those sweet blue eyes still in awe of you. That this was happening. That you weren’t something out of his wildest dreams. His right index finger toyed with the button on your pants. “Can I take these off, sweetheart?” Your eyes widened. Ryland grinned. “I’m going to take that as a yes with your eyes, now I just need your mouth to tell me the same.” 

“Yes”, you rasped. He wasted no time pulling both your pants and your underwear down in one fell swoop, nearly knocking you off balance, but, of course, Ryland was there to catch you as you fell. He steadied you by digging both his palms into the back of your thighs, palming your flesh. He stood up, hands not leaving you for a second, meeting your lips again. 

“Jump,” he stated simply. Without a second thought you hoisted yourself up by digging your hands into his shoulders and felt his strong hands grab the underside of your thighs, lifting you onto the lab table. The coldness of the counter was a stark contrast to the heat that was coursing through your body; it almost made you wince. You made to return Ryland’s favor and undo his jeans, but he caught your hands in his.

“Not yet, I want to make you feel good first,” he said, lips now working their way up the side of your face and under your earlobe.. “Is that alright?” he asked. You shuddered as the breath of his words met your skin. His hands had left their spots on your thighs and fluttered over your torso, tracing the outline of your ribs on your skin. 

“O-okay,” you stuttered. It felt like your entire body was numb, but also so sensitive to every touch that Ryland gave you, all at once. Ryland leaned back and took your naked form in again. “Thatta girl,” the words seemed to drip off his tongue. He tapped your knees in encouragement and dropped to his knees again, parting your legs gently. He met your eyes quickly, a silent ask for permission which you readily granted.

With that, he kissed the insides of your thighs, working his way inwards from the inside of your knees. As he got closer to the spot where you needed him most, you felt the sharp edges of his glasses rims knock into your inner thighs. Ryland leaned back on his calves. “Sorry, sweetheart. Let me get these out of our way,” he plucked his glasses off of his face and made to place them on the counter before you interjected. 

“No!” you startled yourself by how quickly you responded. Ryland looked up at you, puzzled. However, he paused where he was at, glasses still in hand. You sheepishly smiled. “Keep them on. Please.” You internally grimaced, embarrassed by your begging. However, after three years of pining after your professor, you were not passing up the thought of looking down to his glasses-framed face as he fucking ate you out. 

Ryland smiled smugly. “Got a thing for the glasses, huh?” He placed them delicately back on his face. “Tell me,” he said, “Is it the daring Clark Kent vibe that gets you going or the wizened academic look that you like more?” He gestured to his face, mostly jokingly, but you could sense there was a genuine question somewhere in there. You leaned down and pushed the glasses further up his nose. “What can I say, I’ve got a thing for hot, nerdy, men,” you replied. 

He laughed. “I’ll take it.”

It felt natural, the progression. His kisses felt earned, given with adoration, and he made sure that not an inch of you went untouched. After what felt like a million light years of him paying attention to everywhere except where you wanted, he licked a long, wet, downright disrespectful stripe up your folds. You moaned instantly and threw your head back. You didn’t even have any time to recover before he dove in again, his tongue swirling around your clit and sucking gently. 

He didn’t know all of the spots to make you squirm right off the bat, but god was he a quick study. Whenever his tongue brushed a spot that tore a sound out of you, he made sure to hit that spot again. Over and over again. He seemed determined to get as many sounds out of you as he could, and you happily obliged. Not like you had much of a choice in the matter. 

Fuck, he was good, you thought.

“Yeah?” Ryland asked from between your thighs. “You think so?” 

You hadn’t realized you said that part outloud. You were too overwhelmed with bliss to even care. “Fuck yes, Ryland. You feel so fucking good, oh my-”

A finger being pushed into your folds cuts you off instantly. After that, there truly was no hope for you. He set a punishing pace, pumping his fingers in and out while using his tongue to get to all of the spots that his fingers couldn’t reach while preoccupied. You clenched around his fingers and you felt him tense as he jut his hips forward involuntarily. “Ryland,” you gasped. “I’m gonna-” You couldn’t even finish your sentence before Ryland picked up his pace further, if that was even possible. 

“Come on, sweetheart. You can do it, let go,” you heard Ryland say, even though his voice sounded muffled and far away. His mouth returned to your clit, sucking hard, and the coil in your lower stomach finally broke. A loud moan tore out of you and you bit the back of your hand to silence yourself. You were still in the campus lab after all. Euphoria washed over you, from head to toe, and your legs shook with the impact. Ryland’s hand came up to steady you as he slowed slightly and worked you through it. 

“There you go, just like that. I got you,” he coaxed gently. You moved the palm that you were biting down your face as the waves subsided. You couldn’t help it, you collapsed back on the table. Ryland resumed his ritual of kissing up your navel, to the center of your sternum, in between your collarbones, and finally, standing up, to your lips. You returned his kiss, although rather weakly. 

“You okay?” he asked. You nodded. He paused for a moment, seemingly pondering if he should speak again. He decided on another question. 

“You want more?” he asked, his voice deeper this time, lower. 

“Fuck yes,” you cursed.

His words invigorated you with a second wind. You sat up quickly, hands rushing to undo the button and zipper on his jeans as he leaned into your hair and placed kisses to your head. As you fumbled with his belt loops, you could feel his arousal underneath your palm. Just to test the waters, you palmed him slightly, earning a whimper from Ryland into your hair. You hopped down from the counter as you finished unzipping his jeans. Ryland took over from there, sliding his jeans and underwear down in one go. Your eyes immediately cast downward and you bit your lip. 

His cock sprang forward, rock hard and already leaking pre-cum. You would have never guessed in your wildest dreams that he would be this big. It made your mouth water. You slowly began to sink to your knees to show him as good of a time as he just gave you, but he stopped you with a hand to your chest. 

“Please I- I can’t wait any longer,” Ryland searched your eyes. “I need to be inside you.” 

Oh. 

His words almost made you falter. As if you hadn’t had enough life-altering experiences tonight, here was Dr. Ryland Grace, published scientist, respected research and professor, begging to fuck you. 

Ryland seemed to take your silence as a yes, as he grabbed your hips and gave you one last kiss before spinning you to face the lab counter. From your perspective, you could see out the lab’s large windows. The lab was on the second floor of the science building, so all you could see out the window was the tops of the trees on the grounds. Still, all that was running through your mind at this moment was the fact that students could be walking down below, without a clue about all of the filthy things you and your professor were doing in his lab. 

Ryland places a hand on the small of your back and pushed you forward, effectively bending you over the lab counter. Your palms hit the counter, leaving an imprint on the black tops. Ryland kissed your back and you felt words muttered onto your skin. “Is this okay?”

“Yes, Ryland, please just-” He didn’t even let you finish. As soon as the word ‘yes’ left your mouth, he was pushing inside you. His cock stretching you out slow and depraved, making you gasp. Ryland cursed behind you, his hands flying to your hips and digging his short nails into your sides. He pushed slowly inside, inch by glorious inch until he was buried completely inside you. You turned your head slightly to see Ryland’s perfect face. He had his head thrown back, eyes closed, as if the act of being inside you was something that deserved a moment of silent reverence. 

“Ryland?” 

“Hm?” he hummed without opening his eyes. 

“Move,” you demanded. 

Well, you did ask for it. He pumped in and out of you like a piston, building up a rhythm that had you sobbing. Ryland’s hands never left your hips, you think he needed to hold on to them for his own sanity at this point. “Fuck you feel, you’re-” you sputtered. “You’re so fucking tight.” 

His pace quickened as tears squeaked their way out of your eyes and onto the lab counter. You were sure that you had never felt this good in your entire life. You could feel that low simmer in your stomach that you felt earlier. You were close. “Just like that Ryland, I’m gonna cum again”, you croaked. Your voice was gone, all of the air absent from your lungs.

Ryland seemed to sense it too as his once steady rhythm faltered and failed at points. He was losing steam, and fast. “Oh my, oh my fucking god,” he growled. “Come on, cum with me, that’s my girl.” 

The praise sent you over the edge. As your second wave rocked your body, you felt Ryland following suit. His hips stuttered as he spilled inside of you with a broken moan. His head fell forward onto your back as you felt his last few strokes, slow and intimate, pushing everything he gave you back inside, not letting a drop of the evidence of both of your choices drip onto the lab floor. 

You could barely breathe. It was the best feeling in the world. Ryland stroked your hair and slowly pulled out from you, with you whining at the loss of contact. You rolled slightly on to your side, looking at your professor, a sheen of sweat gracing his gorgeous body, glasses askew on his nose. Ryland leaned back onto the lab table and brushed his fingers through his hair, a deep sigh leaving his cheeks. He turned over to you. 

“So professor,” you teased in a sultry tone. You batted your eyelashes innocently. “Does this mean I get extra credit?” 

Ryland rolled his eyes. “Don’t start with me.”

[lilsweetbabyy]

if you’re a man dating a bi woman, u gotta understand she chose YOU over a woman. have u seen women? exactly. start stepping the fuck up or you’re gonna be counting your days lmaoooooooo

[whatisstevenabt]

Jane and Kali died in a hell dimension created by their abuser. Robin’s only arc this season was propping up Will. She got together and broke up with Vickie offscreen. The only thing mentions for Max in the ending is that she’s still with Lucas. No one looks out for Erica because she’s “tough”. You can’t convince me this show doesn’t hate women.

[rickgrimes-cupid]

babes…. could you pls write a robin x nancy x reader fic 🫣

maybe they’re having a little slumber party or something and someone says something abt never having been with a girl and the rest is history…

Sorry this took me so long to write 🫣, I hope you like it 😏💓

Warnings: 18+

SMUT!! - face riding, nipple sucking, threesome, pussy grinding, scissoring, cunnilingus, touching, dirty talk, vibrator use, female masturbation, clit spanking.

Fluff- Film watching, hand holding. Sleepover themes.

After leaving school, the girls disappeared to assemble their stuff for your slumber party that evening. It was a relatively common occurrence, you enjoyed spending time with them out of school.

You were all quite close, people called you the 3 musketeers since you were always together.

The doorbell rang as you were applying the finishing touches to your appearance, you would never tell them but you had the biggest crush on them both.

You had shared drunken kisses with them but never experienced anything more.

They walked into your house as you had just placed together their mattress on the floor. Throwing their things by your desk, they collapsed onto the bed next to you.

Robin brought out a selection of films from her bag, Nancy was clutching onto some snacks with a smile. After a long debate on what film to watch, you decided on Desert Hearts a 1985 lesbian movie.

It was their mission to introduce you to more lesbian films. Robin excitedly placed it into the VHS and with you in the middle, the film had you hooked.

As the film progressed, your clit began pulsating at the romantic sex scene that appeared on screen. You began squirming in your seat, Robin looks at Nancy who nods and edges closer to you on the bed, her hand touching your thigh as her other hand stroked your face.

Her lips hover over yours before kissing you softly, her lips slowly begin to move with yours.

Your nerves calm down as her hand slides further up your thigh, Nancy moves closer to Robin and pulls her off you. Kissing her roughly as you watch, getting turned on by their passion.

Nancy moves next to you, her hand touched Robin’s on your thigh. Together they edge closer to your waist, Nancy slipping her hand under your trousers first. Making you gasp as her cool hands graze your cunt, sliding down until her finger circles your clit.

Robins lips are back on yours alternating with Nancy as they both desperately want a piece of you. Nancy’s hand rubs between your folds, feeling you grow wetter and wetter.

“Have any toys we can play with, little one?” Nancy pauses, looking at you mischievously.

The film was still playing in the background as your shakily looked towards your bedside table. Nancy smirked and reached over, fumbling around inside until she found your vibrator.

Testing it a little in her hand, she pushed you hard onto the bed. Robin straddled you, holding you hard as she ripped down your trousers. Exposing your wet cunt, your hips bucked against her thigh.

“Not yet little one” She commanded, prodding her finger into your chest.

Your bra was firmly on your chest as Nancy moved the vibrator up your thighs until it reached your clit, you gasped loudly.

Robin clutched onto your arms above your head as she kissed your tits, Nancy rubbed the vibrator between your wet folds. Letting go of your hands slightly to unclip your bra, your tits bounced out in front of her face.

Her tongue circled your nipples making you shiver, slowly beginning to suck on them. Your gasps turning into moans, Nancy removed the vibrator for a second making you whine.

“More pls” you sounded pathetic as Robin sucked roughly onto your nipples.

“No baby, I think we should Robin fuck you with her cunt. Would you like that?” Nancy soothed your whining with a kiss.

Robin looked at Nancy in slight surprise but climbed off you and kissing Nancy who removed her underwear. Sliding her hand down to touch her dripping cunt, you lay on the bed watching them together.

When you think they aren’t looking, you move your hand down to touch your clit. Groaning as your hips buck against the bed, the sounds of both girls kissing makes you wetter.

Nancy snapped out of the kiss, pushing Robin aside as she noticed that you were spanking your clit desperately.

“Oh I see someone likes us kissing Rob” she sneered at you, pulling Robin in for another kiss and sliding her hand between her thighs.

You whimpered and spanked your clit harder as you continued watching. Robin pulled herself away from Nancy’s grasp and straddled you.

Moving your hand away from your throbbing clit, the sensation of another girls wet cunt on top of yours was intense. As she began to grind on top of you, you nervously placed your hands on her cheeks and helped her move.

She lifted up your head so that you were forced to look at her, moaning softly as you moved her faster and faster on top of you.

Nancy sat on the top of the bed, leaning closer to Robin and whispered something in her ear. They both nodded and you watched as Nancy stripped in front of you, your eyes widening at the sight.

“I’m going to fuck myself on your face, would you like that little one?” She whispered, kissing your ear softly. You nodded between moans.

Gasping as she slowly climbed between your face, her cunt was wet as she began to ride on your tongue. Her moans rippled across her body.

Your eyes closed tightly as you edged closer and closer to your orgasm, Robin and Nancy leant forward until their lips met.

Kissing passionately as they rode you, both of their wet cunts growing wetter by the second. Their moans were something you had never heard before, your legs shook quickly as Robin pounded her clit hard against yours.

You felt Nancy’s clit twitch on your tongue as she aggressively rode your face, her moans turning into pants. Sucking onto Robin’s tongue, Nancy was wetter than you had expected.

“Fuck little one, you’re going to make me cum” she whined loudly into Robin’s mouth.

“Cum for us baby” Robin moaned, slowly down her own speed against your clit.

You moaned onto her clit, sending vibrations which made Nancy’s body shake. Her eyes rolling back as you felt her cum, taking it all into her mouth.

She climbed off slightly and shook her dripping cunt over your face, making sure every bit of cum covered your face.

Collapsing onto the bed, she kissed Robin before bringing her lips to yours and kissing you roughly. Squeezing your nipples tightly as she nodded to Robin who continued to move on you.

Panting as your hips thrusted against her wet cunt, your legs were tired as she began to shake on you.

“Will you cum with me little one?” She panted, there was desperation in her eyes.

“Uh huh” you gasped, you were close as your clit throbbed on top of her.

She gripped hard onto your sides, digging her fingernails into your skin as you both edged closer to your orgasm. Her eyes burning into yours, biting your lip hard.

Robin looked hot as she humped her tired wet cunt on yours.

“Oh fuck, I’m going to cum” she moaned loudly, twitching hard as you felt her cum hard.

Your own body shaking as you came with her, still thrusting each others cum together until you were both overstimulated. Your lips and neck were sore and red from Nancy.

She fell heavily onto yours and kissed you soft, smiling as your sweaty bodies met. Your clits still twitching from relief.

“That was so fun” you smiled, still catching your breath with Robin on top of you.

“Maybe we should rewatch that film” Robin joked, winking at you both as her body glistened like you all with sweat.

[iluvemobitches]

18+ threesome w/ ronance

Nancy's fingers tangled in your hair, guiding your head down toward her chest as she leaned back against the pillows, her blue eyes dark with desire. "That's it, sweetheart," she murmured, her voice soft but commanding, laced with that gentle authority that made your core clench. "Suck on my nipple. Make me feel good while Robin takes care of you."

You obeyed, your lips parting to take her hardened peak into your mouth, tongue swirling around the tight bud as you hollowed your cheeks. Nancy arched into you, a low moan escaping her lips, her free hand cupping the back of your neck to hold you close. The taste of her skin—salty and warm—flooded your senses, and you felt Robin's presence behind you, her hands sliding up your thighs with deliberate slowness.

"Look at you, already so eager," Robin whispered, her breath hot against your ear as she pressed her body flush against your back. Her fingers traced the edge of your panties before hooking inside and tugging them down, exposing your ass and pussy to the cool air. "Nancy's tits are perfect, aren't they? But I bet your pussy's even sweeter. Spread your legs for me, baby. Let me see how wet you are."

Your thighs parted instinctively, a shiver running through you as Robin's hand cupped your mound, her palm grinding against your clit in slow circles. You whimpered around Nancy's nipple, the vibration drawing a gasp from her. Nancy's hand tightened in your hair, not pulling hard, but enough to remind you who was in control. "Good girl," she praised, her voice husky. "Keep sucking. Robin's going to finger you now—make you drip all over her hand."

Robin chuckled softly, her middle finger dipping between your folds to collect your slickness. She teased your entrance, circling it without pushing in, watching as your hips rocked back toward her. "Fuck, you're soaked," she said, her tone affectionate yet firm. "This pussy's begging for it. Tell us you want my fingers inside you."

"P-please," you managed, pulling off Nancy's breast just long enough to speak, your voice breathy and needy. Saliva glistened on Nancy's skin where your mouth had been, and she immediately guided you back, pinching her other nipple between her fingers to offer it up.

"Louder, sweetheart," Nancy coaxed, her thumb stroking your cheek. "We want to hear how much you need it."

"Please, Robin—finger me," you begged, the words tumbling out as you latched onto Nancy's other nipple, sucking harder this time, your teeth grazing the sensitive flesh.

Robin's response was immediate: two fingers slid into your pussy, stretching you with a slow, deliberate thrust. She curled them upward, stroking that spot inside you that made your walls flutter around her. "Like that?" she asked, her free hand gripping your hip to steady you as you bucked. "You're so tight, clenching on me already. Nancy, feel how she's squeezing—our girl's a natural."

Nancy hummed in approval, her hand leaving your hair to trail down her own body, fingers circling her clit as she watched Robin work you. "She is," Nancy agreed, her voice soft but edged with command. "But don't let her cum yet, Robin. I want to taste her first. Bring her up here."

Robin withdrew her fingers with a wet pop, making you whine at the loss, but she soothed you with a kiss to your shoulder. "Patience, baby. Nancy's mouth is worth the wait." She helped maneuver you onto the bed, positioning you on your back between them. Nancy shifted down, her hands pushing your knees apart as she settled between your legs, her breath fanning over your exposed pussy.

"So pretty," Nancy murmured, her eyes locked on your glistening folds. She leaned in, her tongue flicking out to lap at your clit in a single, teasing stroke. The sensation was electric, your hips jerking up, but Robin was there, her hands pinning your shoulders down gently.

"Stay still for her," Robin instructed, her voice a soft growl as she straddled your waist, her own panties damp against your stomach. She leaned forward, capturing your lips in a deep kiss, her tongue mimicking what Nancy was doing below. You moaned into her mouth, tasting the faint hint of toothpaste and her unique flavor, your hands roaming up to squeeze her breasts through her shirt.

Nancy's mouth sealed over your pussy then, sucking your clit between her lips with gentle pressure, her tongue swirling in tight circles. She hummed against you, the vibration shooting straight to your core, and you broke the kiss with robin to cry out. "Nancy- oh god, you're tongue-"

"Shh, just feel it," Nancy said, pulling back briefly, her chin slick with your arousal. She dove back in, her tongue thrusting into your entrance, fucking you shallowly while her fingers spread your lips wider. Robin took the opportunity to strip off her shirt, her breasts free, nipples hard and begging for attention.

"Suck on these now," Robin said, guiding one breast to your mouth as she ground her hips down, her clothed pussy rubbing against your abdomen. You latched on eagerly, tongue laving over her nipple, teeth nipping lightly as she moaned above you. Her hand reached back, joining Nancy's between your legs—Nancy's tongue still buried inside you while Robin's fingers teased your entrance alongside it.

The dual assault had you writhing, your body arching off the bed. Nancy pulled her tongue free, replacing it with her own two fingers, thrusting in rhythm with Robin's teasing probes. "You're taking us so well," Nancy praised, her free hand kneading your thigh. "Gonna make you cum on my fingers while you play with Robin's tits."

Robin nodded, her breath hitching as you sucked harder, your hand pinching her other nipple. "Yeah, cum for Nancy—then it's my turn to fuck you with my mouth."

The pressure built fast, Nancy's fingers curling deep, hitting that spot relentlessly while her thumb rubbed your clit. Robin's grinding added friction, her wetness seeping through her panties onto your skin. You shattered with a muffled cry against Robin's breast, your pussy spasming around Nancy's fingers, gushing slickness that she lapped up greedily.

"That's our girl," Robin cooed, lifting your chin for a kiss as Nancy worked you through the aftershocks, her fingers slowing but not stopping. "One down—now switch with me, Nance. I want to feel her tongue on my pussy."

Nancy withdrew, licking her fingers clean with a satisfied hum before crawling up to take Robin's place. She kissed you deeply, letting you taste yourself on her tongue, while Robin stripped off her panties and straddled your face, her pussy hovering just above your mouth. Her folds were pink and swollen, arousal dripping down her thighs.

"Lick me, baby," Robin instructed softly, lowering herself until your tongue could reach. "Just like that—flat and wide, cover all of me."

You did, dragging your tongue through her slit, savoring the tangy sweetness of her. Robin rocked against your face, her hands bracing on the headboard as she moaned. "Fuck, yes—your mouth feels amazing. Deeper, use your tongue to fuck me."

Nancy watched for a moment, her hand sliding between her own legs to rub her clit, but then she turned her attention to your body. Her mouth latched onto your breast, sucking the nipple hard while her fingers trailed down to your still-sensitive pussy. She inserted two fingers again, scissoring them to stretch you, her thumb pressing against your clit in firm circles.

"Keep eating her out," Nancy murmured against your skin, her teeth grazing your nipple before soothing it with her tongue. "Make Robin cum on your face while I finger this pretty pussy."

The command spurred you on; you thrust your tongue into Robin's entrance, feeling her walls clench around it as she ground down harder. Your nose bumped her clit, and she reached down to hold your head steady, her thighs trembling. "Right there—oh shit, you're gonna make me—"

Nancy added a third finger to your pussy, the stretch burning sweetly, and pinched your other nipple between her fingers, rolling it roughly. The overstimulation from your recent orgasm made everything sharper, your body coiling tight again as Robin's juices coated your chin.

Robin came with a shuddering cry, her pussy pulsing against your tongue, flooding your mouth with her release. You swallowed what you could, lapping eagerly as she rode out the waves, her soft dom facade cracking into breathless praises. "Good job, baby—so fucking good."

She lifted off you carefully, turning to kiss Nancy over your body, their tongues tangling in a heated display that made your core ache anew. Then Robin slid down, her mouth replacing Nancy's fingers at your pussy. "My turn to taste you properly," she said, her tongue plunging into you without preamble, fucking deep and fast.

Nancy shifted, straddling your chest now, her pussy grinding against your sternum as she leaned forward to kiss Robin. "Eat her out like you mean it," Nancy ordered softly, her hand reaching back to spread your folds for Robin. "I want her screaming."

Robin's tongue worked miracles—thrusting, swirling, sucking your clit into her mouth with wet, obscene sounds. She added her fingers too, three now, pumping in time with her licks, while her other hand teased your ass, a finger circling the tight ring before pressing in gently.

"Relax for me," Robin murmured against your thigh, her finger breaching your ass shallowly, the dual penetration making you gasp. "Feels good, doesn't it? Filled in both holes."

Nancy nodded, her own arousal smearing across your skin as she humped your chest. "It does—look at her face, she's loving it. Pinch her nipples, Robin. Make her cum hard."

Robin complied, her free hand tweaking your breasts, pulling on the nipples until they throbbed. The sensations overwhelmed you: Robin's tongue on your clit, fingers in your pussy and ass, Nancy's weight and heat above. Your second orgasm ripped through you, stronger than the first, your body convulsing as you cried out, pussy and ass clenching around Robin's intrusions.

They didn't let up, Robin licking you through it while Nancy ground harder, chasing her own release on your body. "Fuck, that's hot," Nancy gasped, her fingers digging into your shoulders as she came, her wetness soaking your skin.

Panting, they both moved to either side of you, hands roaming your body in soothing strokes. But the night was far from over. Nancy kissed your neck, her hand cupping your breast. "Think you can handle more? We want to make you cum again—together this time."

You nodded weakly, and Robin grinned, positioning herself between your legs once more while Nancy knelt beside your head. Robin's mouth returned to your pussy, softer now, lapping at your oversensitive folds, while Nancy offered her breast again. "Suck while she fingers you," Nancy said, guiding you.

Robin's fingers—two in your pussy, one in your ass—thrust steadily, her tongue flicking your clit in lazy patterns. Nancy's hand joined, pinching your free nipple, and soon you were building toward a third peak, the pleasure drawn out and intense.

"Cum for us, sweetheart," Nancy whispered, her lips brushing your ear. "Show us how much you love this."

With a final curl of Robin's fingers and a suck on your clit, you tumbled over, sobbing their names as waves of ecstasy crashed through you. They held you through it, kisses peppering your skin, until you were limp and sated.

"Our perfect girl," Robin murmured, curling against your side.

Nancy nodded, pulling you into her arms. "Rest now—but we're not done with you yet." Her hand trailed down teasingly, promising more rounds of their soft, commanding touch.

[littlefreaklue]

i just came so hard i passed out—WHO SAID THAT?!

[barbiegrl1-deactivated20260724]

Soft spot | Nancy wheeler x Fem!reader ഒ

Summary - Sleepover at your girlfriend Nancy’s house turns into you grinding your pussies together :)

Warnings - Smut, 18+, making out, cursing, dry humping, grinding, mommy kink, soft dom!Nancy, bottom!reader, praise kink, both of you being really needy for each other, Nancy is obsessed with you, shy!reader, tiny bit of aftercare

A/N - she’s so hot bro i was getting pent up and had to goon halfway so i could finish writing 😹✌️

on a real tho i want her so bad i’m so pathetic when it comes to Nancy Wheeler. also writing smut is so hard ugh i lowkey am over it.

────── ꒰ ᧔ෆ᧓ ꒱ ──────

The TV murmured quietly in the background, its glow washing the pink walls silver. Nancy’s bed smelled like her, fresh and faintly floral, and a few berry scented candles flickered gently on her nightstand. You were lying across her chest, her heartbeat steady under your ear. Her fingers moved lazily through your hair, tracing soft patterns that made your eyelids flutter.

You could feel her breathing, slow and even, and the way her thumb would occasionally brush against your temple in that tender, absentminded way she always did when she was focused on you more than whatever was on the screen.

She was so beautiful like this. The faint light caught the curve of her cheek, the slope of her nose, the softness of her lips. You wanted to look away but couldn’t. Every small detail, the way her fingers toyed with your hair, the way her lashes framed her soft eyes, pulled you deeper into a quiet trance. No matter how long you’d been with Nancy, she never failed to take your breath away. She never failed to make you so nervous you couldn’t function.

Your chest felt warm, almost heavy, the way it always did when you looked at her for too long. You could feel your pulse quicken, a small flutter beneath your ribs, and you didn’t even know what to do with it except hide it, tuck it behind a small whimper.

Nancy noticed, of course she did. Her eyes flicked down for just a second, catching the way your breath hitched before you turned your face slightly, pretending to refocus on the TV. A knowing smile tugged at her lips, soft and faint, and her hand didn’t stop moving through your hair.

“Hey,” she whispered, voice barely above the sound of the TV. “You okay, sweetheart?”

“Mhm.” You hummed, pressing your eyes on the screen, like you were trying to move it with your mind.

She smirked but didn’t press, going back to stroking your hair. Her touch stayed gentle, deliberate. Her fingers moved slowly along your skin, tracing faint, lazy patterns across your neck and down to your collarbone. She watched the way you reacted to every brush of her fingertips, the subtle rise of your chest, the tiny shiver that followed wherever she touched.

She noticed the way your breath hitched slightly when her fingers hovered near your lips.

“Your mouth is so pretty baby…” she breathed, her voice barely above a whisper as her fingers ghosted over your lips.

She noticed the subtle way your hips bucked at her touch, and it nearly made her lose control.

With careful, calculated movements, she sat up, placing her legs underneath you, watching as your breath caught as she shifted her legs beneath you. Her lips placed soft kisses along your cheeks, your jawline, the delicate arch of your brow, and the warm curve of your neck.

“Mmm… sweet girl,” she murmured against your skin, her voice low and steady with affection.

“N-Nance.” you whimpered.

Hearing her name fall from your lips in that soft, needy tone nearly made her come undone. She pressed her lips to your collarbone, kissing slowly, then trailed open-mouthed kisses down the side of your neck, marking you with gentle, careful bites. One hand rested firmly on your hip, holding you in place, while the other tangled in your hair, her fingers tightening just slightly as she whispered, “Shh… baby…”

She could tell you were getting worked up, your body squirming in her lap, every small movement pulling a quiet, shaky breath from your lips. She loved seeing you like this, needy, restless, desperate for her touch.

Her lips continued their torture on your neck, leaving a slight dampness as she trailed her way down, a dampness that could also be found in your pretty white panties. You squirmed against her and her breath brushed warm against you as she murmured, almost to herself, “So sensitive…” Then, softer still, her lips curved into a faint smile as she whispered, “Such a good girl…”

She noticed your hands reaching to grasp at her shoulders, fingers curling against her skin like you were desperate to pull her closer. It was so unbelievably cute, the way you reached for her without even realizing it, all soft and needy.

She pressed a few tender kisses along your jawline, her lips lingering against yours “You want something, sweetheart?” she murmured, her voice low and teasing. “Use your words…”

You shook your head shyly, your voice barely above a whisper. “N-Nance…” you whined, hiding your face in her neck.

She smirked, gently lifting your head up with her delicate fingers, completely undone by how shy and needy you looked. She already knew exactly what you wanted, but she wanted to hear you say it. “Poor thing” she teased softly, pressing a gentle kiss to your cheek before pulling back just enough to take in your flushed, trembling face. “Come on, sweetheart… tell me what you need.”

You whimpered, voice trembling. “P-please…”

She let out a quiet giggle, warm and low, before kissing your ear and catching the lobe gently between her lips. She adored seeing you this desperate for her, so soft and helpless under her touch. Her lips trailed down your jawline, slow and steady, before finding your neck once more. “Mmm… please what?” she murmured against your skin.

“Mm—Nance…Feels s’good when you suck on my neck.” You whined desperately, your wetness already soaking her thigh.

“Mm I bet it does.” Her brows contorted as you whined her name. She thought you looked so pretty, eyes darkening, heavy with want, every blink a silent plea.

She felt your hips buck harder against her thigh and it sent a jolt of desire through her. She brought her hands to your waist and guided you gently, her kisses becoming more urgent on your neck. “Fuck. That's it baby... Take what you need..."

She kept her hands steady, her hips slightly lifting instinctively as you grind against her through the fabric of your shorts. Her hands roamed your body desperately, like she couldn’t get enough of touching you. She buried her face in your neck, biting and sucking marks onto your skin. "That’s it sweetheart..."

Without hesitation, she slid one hand up under your shirt and found your nipple immediately, pinching gently through your bra. Her other hand moved to your other breast, squeezing it gently as she started sucking hickeys onto your collarbone. “Such a good girl.”

Your legs shook as she sucked, toes curling as you tried to keep steady, the fabric of your shorts rubbing so perfectly against your clit.

“Does that feel good baby?" She groaned softly.

“Uh huh—feels s-so good mommy” You whimpered, your hands clutched her shirt, squeezing as her hands traveled all over you, her gilded ring cool against your warm skin.

“Fuck baby…you’re makin’ me so wet my love.” Her hips rolled up against your stomach slightly and you almost came on the spot as she tried to stifle a moan.

“Mommy” You whined, like she was teasing you on purpose.

“Sorry sweetheart…fuck.” She panted, trying to keep her composure as your shorts got wetter and wetter against her bare flesh.

You shook your head insistently, eyes hovering at her lower half, your hands already reaching to unbutton her shorts.

“Baby wh—“

“Can you grind on me please? Wanna feel you.” Your eyes would usually gleam with embarrassment from asking something so direct, but you weren’t ready to beat around the bush today, especially not when Nancy looked at you like that.

Her eyes widened at your request, her hips jerking up sharply at the thought. She was so turned on, barely able to think straight. “Fuck baby, yeah...” She kissed your lips, biting softly before pulling away, tapping your leg lightly so she could get up and you could both pull your shorts off.

She quickly unbuttoned her pyjama shorts and pushed them down just enough to expose herself. “C’mere.”

She immediately flipped you onto your back, settling between your legs. She grabbed your thighs and spread them wide, positioning herself directly over your bare pussy. “Like this baby?”

You nodded and she kissed your neck gently, feeling your wetness soak into her. She ground down on your clit slowly, making you whimper loudly. “Fuck... you're soaked...” She kissed your neck again, her lips pressed against your pulse point. “So fucking needy for me...”

“Uh huh…so wet f’you Nance.” You nodded pathetically, her heat against yours the only thing you could focus on.

She applied a little more pressure as she rotated her hips against yours. Her hands gripped your hips tightly as she used you for her own pleasure.

“Fuck…p-please don’t stop…your pussy feels s’good mommy.”

Nancy kissed you passionately as she ground her pussy against you, harder and faster. She reached down to spread your lips apart with her fingers, allowing your clits to slide directly against each other. “Such a pretty little thing.” She moaned softly, tits bouncing as her hips jerked back and forth.

She leaned down to kiss you deeply, swallowing your moans as she ground harder. Her hands gripped your thighs tightly, spreading them wider apart as she used her hips like a machine. She broke the kiss to watch her pelvis slapping against yours, making wet sounds with each thrust.

You rolled your head back, lips parted as you whined with intense need, stomach sinking and rising as you got closer and closer to the edge.

"There it is baby... Mommy loves hearing you whine for her pussy..." She moaned deeply, your needy noises sending heat straight to her core. She started grinding even more intensely, her hips moving like a piston as she fucked your pussy with hers.

Your legs began shaking violently as you got closer to your release. She held them tighter, spreading you wider and pressing deeper with her hips, making you whimper into her mouth. “Shhh..."

Seeing you reduced to just soft moans and whines was driving her wild. She started moving her hips in quick, shallow thrusts, rubbing your clits together intensely "Spread your legs wider baby..." She commanded softly.

“F-fuck…Mommy” You panted breathlessly, her hands wrapped around your throat gently. “Gonna come…”

"Yeah baby?" She asks softly, her words soaked in desire, pussy aching with want.

You nodded breathlessly, forehead damp as your head turned to mush, your vision blurring as the pleasure intensified.

She moaned softly, feeling your pussy start to clench and pulse against hers, her hips moving in quick thrusts against your you.

“Come on baby. Come for me.”

“F-fuck…need you mommy” You cried and she loved seeing you so helpless and needy beneath her, completely at her mercy. She hummed as she watched you fall apart, moaning her name, your hands lifting her shirt up, squeezing her soft flesh.

"Holy shit..." She suddenly stilled against you, her body tensing as she reached her own peak. She bit down on your shoulder to stifle her moan as she came, grinding against you even harder as she rode out her orgasm. She stayed pressed against you, breathing heavily.

After a few seconds Nancy titled her head up, her hand immediately coming up to move the hair out of your face. Her face softened when she saw how blissed out you look, eyes slightly glazed, legs trembling weakly.

“Aw, my sweet thing” She pouted tenderly, moving off your lap.

“Wanna rest a little?”

“Yeah, please.” You responded feebly, hands reaching for her shirt again.

“I got you baby.” She smiled sweetly as she lifted the covers, motioning for you to get under.

When you were both under, your head resting delicately on her chest, her hands resumed its gentle stroking on your hair. She pressed a soft kiss to the top of your head, her thumb tracing slow circles against your shoulder. The quiet hum of her breathing filled the room, steady and warm, grounding you.

“Better?” She murmured, her voice low and velvety against your hair.

You nodded, too content to find the words, your hand curling lightly into the fabric of her shirt. The steady rise and fall of her chest lulled you closer to sleep, your body melting into the safety she carried so effortlessly.

“Good,” she whispered, her lips brushing your temple. “You just rest now, my love. I’ve got you.”

And she did. You felt it in the way she held you, gentle but sure, like she was keeping the whole world at bay just so you could breathe a little easier. Her fingertips threaded through your hair again, patient and tender, until your eyelids fluttered shut.

The last thing you felt before drifting off was the soft press of her palm against your back, and the faint hum of her voice, barely above a whisper, promising you, again and again, that you were safe right here.

A/N - Hope u liked. I made a Nancy edit yesterday if u wanna watch <3

[feelingdozy]

IRRESISTIBLE - Nancy W.

Summary: You're calm and content before the door clicks open, knowing Nancy has finally come home from a hair appointment. A few days before the kids grad she had decided she needed a change of style, one mainly focused on her hair. And your reaction? You're already begging her for more.

Warnings: 18+ hair pulling, kissing, marking, mean-ish dom!Nancy, handcuffs, light bdsm, fingering, praise kink, strap use, cunnilingus, oral, petnames (honey, sweetheart, good girl)

req: Heyy! Can you write post-canon Nancy Wheeler x fem!reader where reader practically throws herself at Nancy when she shows up with a new hairstyle? read full...

₊⊹⁀➴ w/c: 2.1k ･ a03 ･ prompts ･ ST masterlist

You've been nursing a cup of cold coffee for who knows how long. The only word to describe it? You're bored. The absence of your girlfriend is pitiful, and in your mind, a huge period of longing. You can't say you're bored, no, you're actually pretty occupied.

It's the usual stuff— chores, washing the dishes and putting them away, folding laundry that made it's way to the backs of chairs or was lost around the carpet after long days and longer nights. Anything that was able to give you a sense of accomplishment, and not remind you of the way Nancy had gone out for a haircut.

Being the epitome of a stage five clinger, you pouted your way through snacks in the cupboard, longing for the warmth of her hands roaming your thighs in thought, the shiver her voice sent down your spine when she talked in that voice that sent you spiraling. The way she let you nuzzle into her chest on the days that were too much.

Maybe you were down bad. Maybe it was because you were dating Nancy damn Wheeler. You had experienced everything with her by your side. Literally. Monsters. Teenage years. Teenage boys. Puberty. Death. What a life, huh? A fucked up, crazy life.

But.. when you found Nancy inbetween those ragged edges and the tension finally broke? It was like a sense of love was always lingering on the backburner without even knowing. The AC in the corner of the room hummed to life as you reminisced about the start of your flourished relationship— like grasping the simmer of shared gazes and flushed cheeks that never came to light.

You first came to each other for comfort. What was seen as innocent movie nights and sharing dinner with her family soon turned into what you truly started to understand as a deep unfurling bond that built through hardships and the turning points of life, young adulthood.

On new years of '89, you shared the first of many kisses with Nancy, letting the fireworks and cheers and voices turn to static when you felt the sturdiness of her hands and the softness of her lips caress hers in a way that had you frantic. Crazed.

And after that? You were in trouble. Dating Nancy Wheeler was like finally letting yourself seep into a field of multicolored flowers, soft and easy— loving Nancy was always easy. And now? Now you had permission to cradle it. Nourish it. Enjoy it. In a way that spoke of years going on years of shared secrets and finally moving in together.

That spoke of familiarizing her coffee order when she pulled an all nighter, too tired to remember because her journalism was too important. Hand washing her favorite blouse so it didn't crumple in the washing machine. It meant you could kiss her without judgement—

Without feeling like it wasn't ordinary. Without feeling like an outcast to what had caught inside you. It felt like freedom. And now you were able to share yourselves with the rest of your friend group as well. And suddenly— so much time had passed. For God's sake, her brother was graduating!

You knew that your whole friend group was going to rejoice back together for another meet-up within the couple months you had planned them out, and Nancy had decided it was the perfect time for a redo.

And that's when it happens; the door clicks and the outside light from the eery hallway follows hot on her trail, the door shut with a switch of the lock and your girlfriend in a stunning long brown coat that has you trailing all the way up her body until you see it.

Your gaze lands on the way her hair bounces when she smiles and god is she insatiable.

"Hey, baby— woah hey!" She says as you practically jump into her open arms, her bag slowly slumping off to the ground in a light woosh.

"How was your day, Hun? You alright?" She asked, letting you hang on just a while longer as you took in the familiar sweetness of her floral perfume and the delectable twinge of rich shampoo from what you presumed was a thorough hair wash at the salon.

"Mmhm" you hummed in return, kissing her jaw as she chuckled. It escalated when you managed to reach her lips while on the tips of your toes, courtesy of her leaning down just the slightest to let them actually catch. Your hand tangled in her nape, which now had less hair to grip onto, letting out a strangled whine at the loss of the patch.

She giggled into you, the vibration making the kiss even deeper when you pushed back into her aggressively as you couldn't help yourself hearing her little habits of unlimited laughter. She got you to let her go when she pushed a little, heavy breaths racking her chest while touching foreheads.

"What's gotten into you?" She questions, mockingly— you can see it in the corners of her mouth lifting.

"My hot fucking girlfriend standing in front of me" you huff, but before you can continue, she grabs your wrist to stop you from exploring her. With a cocked eyebrow, you're letting her lead you into your shared bedroom, now understanding exactly where this was going to go because you had gotten her in a mood—

A lust-driven, dominant mood.

One that included you, on the bed and not allowed to touch her. Because she was devilishly mean. And unfair.

She tsked at you disappointingly, mocking the way you couldn't resist the squirmy movement through unintentional jerks of your hips into her touch.

"Do you need me that bad, hm?" The nail of her finger dragging along the width of your thigh, stopping just short of where you really desired her.

"Maybe— you don't deserve it yet." And before you could even utter a response, she was opening one of the draws of your side table and pulling out the cheesiest pair of handcuffs that you had honestly forgotten over a night of giggles and horny-tinted fun had brought your way.

Perfectly pink and fuzzy, she looked very content with herself as she saw the look on your face.

"Up" she commanded, darkly, before having her way in tugging your hands together. Above your head, a click recited through the room before she sat back on her heels to admire you, bra still on and underwear pathetically soaked through.

But you looked oh so cute in your polka-dotted trim. And a matching bra? How lucky was she today. You're practically purring from the little amount of friction that you manage to receive. And when she decides to finally let herself dip into your panties?

Your keening, already pleading for her to keep going.

"Nance— oh mmffuck please nance—" she rubs your puffy clit, running her fingers through your folds to gather your slick all the way back up to tease you with a devilish pinch to your nub.

"Tell me sweetheart, how much do you want it?"

"ssoo much Nance, god please, you're so mmm pretty" you felt her fingers find your entrance, pushing into you with hardly any resistance as you bit your lip down. She coaxed you open with one finger, mouth widening with tiny moans that slipped out.

She had her eyes set on you darkly, admiring the quick rise and fall of your chest she couldn't help but to run her free hand down, grabbing the peak of your nipple and holding it roughly. With surprise, you jerked up into it, feeling her slow down the already-slow curl of her inside you.

"Nance please, need you" she stopped for a second, taking herself out of you all together before humming in thought— then walked to the closet.

And when she came out, your eyes practically rolled back into your head. What she had been waiting to use on you, a decent sized strap with everything already prepped, just needing to adjust it to her waist as you trembled in anticipation.

"Since you want me so bad," she rubbed the silicone down your folds, collecting your juices on it. " Why don't I give you everything I have to offer?"

Towering over you, you felt small, overpowered, and so damn turned on as she kept running the tip over your sore, neglected clit.

Now down by your ear, she bit your earlobe, mouth teasing all around the column of your neck before whispering "you can take it, can't you? Be a good girl."

Feeling the stretch of the dildo, you leaned into her, still unable to do anything but take it as she kissed your sensitive nipples. She chuckled as she played with them, biting down and twisting with her teeth to hear you squeal.

The sound you made when she was fully sheathed in you was ultimately better, though both were music to her ears, she liked the way you sounded so roughed up and naughty for her as you chanted her name.

Nothing could top the way your breath stuttered with the pace of her thrusts, a laid-back in and out, the fleeting feeling of her reaching the limit of your cunt before draaagging painfully slow, until she had almost left your hole completely.

"Do you deserve it, honey?" You nodded eagerly, eyes lidded and fucked-out already, tears glistening in them so innocently. This time, she did leave you, empty and crying. Before you could protest,

"On your knees." She commanded, which had you posed nicely on the ground, tripping over yourself to take her jeans off. Her good girl, willing to postpone her pleasure just to be played with a little longer.

Scrambling, you yanked her underwear down, reveling in the scent of her as you let yourself take the view in.

The dildo stayed on above her pussy, your hand clinging to, and stroking it as you dived in, sighing when you heard her finally relax onto your tongue. You sucked her clit eagerly, pathetically forcing your fingers into her and curling them as well as you could, wanting every bit of her praise and approval.

Praise never came as she yanked you by the hair back up onto your feet, throwing you back on the bed. Your tear-streaked face was pushed into the pile of pillows, ass pulled up nicely for her to see before smacking it lightly, like she was testing you out.

"I got too bored— decided fucking you again was more exciting than I thought." And with that, she pushed in again, a scream making its way up, gutturally forcing her name past your lips. She had no remorse as she dug viciously into your g-spot, watching your white knuckles grip the bedsheets for remorse.

"ooohhhmm— Nancy, fuck, Nancy—" forged it's way to her ears, muffled but definitely there as she kept on, feeling you clench around her as your orgasm neared.

"Yeah? You been a good girl, honey?"

"Yes! Yes, fuck yes—"

Your legs started to give, trembling as she held your hips up and slapped them together with hers, cruelly digging into you one last time before you shook. You blacked out, succumbing to the numbing white pleasure that ripped all through your body as she let you tremble.

You don't remember when she cleaned you up— all you remember is smiling dumbly at the singular curled bang of short hair that was now a little messy, frizzled in places that made her look even cuter up close.

"Hey Hun" she muttered, rubbing your cheek with the utmost care. "How're you feeling?"

You shifted, feeling where she had, ahem, hit you so harshly, only to chuckle at her.

"A little numb, maybe. Other than that? Up on the moon looking at you and that haircut."

She slapped your shoulder a disbelieving sigh huffing from her.

"Can't believe you're so obsessed with it. It was just for Mike's grad tomorrow"

"I know— doesn't make you any less hot" you smirked as she flushed, her ears warm and red.

"But seriously" you added, "I love it babe"

She kissed your nose, grinning as you pressed one hastily to her cheek in return.

"I think I might've been able to tell" you collapsed into the pillows at her words, linking an arm around her in comfort as you snuggled up like a koala to a tree.

And then, you froze.

"Nance" you questioned as she looked up in concern.

"What?"

"You—" wagging a finger, "didn't cum"

"Hun—" she couldn't stop you fast enough, rustling the sheets to get between her legs.

"Too late!" was the last thing she heard before she was the one pushed down with a submissive huff, letting you escape underneath the blankets.

Thanks for reading :) send in a request for ST if you'd like :))

[formallery]

about: max hates the way billy treats girls, steve is nothing like billy 

c.w: mentions of sex but nothing explicit, billy being awful to women but again nothing explicit, soft fluff because steve is a girl dad, some canon divergence with how the fight with billy went in the s2 finale, angsty with a tooth-rottingly fluffy ending, no pronouns for reader but mentions of reader wearing makeup

a/n: max is my daughter i love her so much, i wish they elaborated more on her and steve’s relationship in the show because i just know she wishes he was her older brother instead of billy, divider by @cursed-carmine

Billy is weird with girls. Sometimes they call the house asking for him and Max hears Billy say crude words on the phone, words that would have her mouth washed out with soap if her mom heard her say any of them. More often than not there’s a girl in his passenger seat when Billy drives her home, very obviously displeased by Max’s very existence.

And sometimes her mom and his dad— not her dad because he’s back in California— go out late and Billy will bring a girl over, never the same one. He never tells her to get out or leave because he doesn’t care, but Max quickly realizes she should with the disgusting noises they make. She usually goes outside, skating up and down their street until the girl leaves.

He never drives them home and they leave the house with makeup ruined and walking funny. He never lets them stay the night either. Some of them look upset when they leave, others don’t really care.

There’s been a few girls who walk outside and cry on the curb in the dim streetlight. It’s never loud sobbing, just quiet sniffles as they hug themselves. Max never talks to them, she has no idea what she could ever say to them.

Today it’s one of those nights again. His dad booked a fancy dinner in some restaurant across county lines so he won't bring her mom home until the early hours of the morning. This also means whatever girl Billy brings over is going to be there for a long time.

Under usual circumstances this would be fine, Max would just skate downtown to kill time, except it’s the middle of June and a storm is rolling in.

She thinks it’s ridiculous, why is there rain in the middle of summer? It was never like this in California, they had some bouts of rain in December and April but never the summer. Even when it did rain it never lasted long or was bad enough that her mother invested in proper rain attire.

Which is how she finds herself walking down the street, her jeans and converse completely soaked. The crappy poncho her mom bought at Melvald’s was in the clearance section for a reason because her hair is soaked through and she can feel water soaking her shirt.

She wants to go home. Not that dump on Cherry Lane but San Diego.

She feels hot tears welling up in her eyes when her shadow starts to elongate in the puddles and she hears the rev of a car engine behind her. Great, some asshole is gonna splash water all over her. Instead the car slows to a gentle stop next to her and when she turns her head she sees a familiar red BMW, Steve’s already rolling down the window to talk to her.

“What are you doing?” he frowns, and she can see you in the passenger seat craning your head to look at her. “It’s pouring out here.”

Max’s mouth goes dry, what is she doing out here?

“Walk,” she finally says, hoping the lump in her throat isn’t obvious.

“C’mon get in,” Steve replies without missing a beat, nudging his head toward the passenger side. “You’re gonna get yourself sick.”

“I’m fine,” Max insists, because she really is about to start crying and she doesn’t want to be in his car when that happens.

“Max get in,” your voice cuts in, frowning at her and exchanging a glance with Steve, like you two can communicate without speaking.

She does, only because you’ve been the coolest person ever to her since you stabbed Billy with a tranquilizer syringe and threatened him with a baseball bat.

She gets in the backseat, probably ruining Steve’s fancy leather seats with how soaked she is, and immediately notes the grocery bags. Not junk food but actual ingredients, great Steve was gonna cook you dinner and now she’s crashing your date night.

Steve is already slipping off his knit sweater and cranking up the heater. He sets the car in park in the middle of the road before turning around so he can hand her the sweater.

“You wanna actually tell us why you were walking around in the rain?” He has a disapproving frown on his face but for some reason Max doesn’t feel like it’s directed at her.

She wants to refuse the sweater but she’s shivering in the backseat and it feels warm in her hands. So she takes her crappy poncho off and slips it on, hoping the two of you mistake the few tears escaping her eyes for rain.

“Hey we’re not gonna tell your parents,” you say gently, reaching out to smooth down her soaked hair. “We just wanna know, I promise.”

“My parents are out for the night,” her voice cracks when she talks and she really hopes you two just think she’s cold. “So Billy invited a girl over.”

She’s looking down at her soaked shoes because looking at either one of you feels scary right now. Even then she knows you two are exchanging glances, communicating without speaking again. She remembers her mom and dad doing that, when she was younger and they still loved each other.

“Okay,” Steve says after a beat, his voice softer and reaching out to fix the sweater so it sits evenly on her. “You’re gonna come back to my place with us, and then you can use my phone to leave a message for your mom that you’re sleeping at a friend’s house. Sounds good?”

Max nods, trying to rub her hands and warm them up. Steve takes the car out of park and starts driving back to his place. The two of you are quiet throughout the drive and she doesn’t feel like starting a conversation. Every so often her eyes dart back to the grocery bag, the thought of Billy making a girl dinner is so laughable it feels absurd.

After a few minutes the BMW rolls into the driveway and you come over to her door with an umbrella while Steve grabs the grocery bags from the other side. It’s ridiculous for you to walk her twenty feet over to the door with the umbrella but she humors you anyway.

She follows suit when you and Steve slip off your shoes by the front door before walking in. The two of you actually own proper rainboots and Steve gives a glance at her thoroughly soaked converse.

“Alright I’m gonna start cooking dinner,” Steve tells her, gesturing to the grocery bag. “Why don’t you go take a shower?”

“I don’t need–”

You both give her a look.

“...Fine,” she relents after a moment, because it does feel like her bones are rattling inside her body.

“Perfect,” you take her hand, leading her over to the staircase. “I’ll show you where it is and get you some clothes.”

You take her upstairs, stopping by one of the cabinets in the hallway to grab some towels before leading her into Steve’s room. It’s mostly what she’d expect from a teenage boy, some movie posters, a basketball laying around, and a desk that obviously has seen very minimal studying.

She does catch the fact that there are multiple pillows on the bed and the sheets are a nice cream color instead of bachelor navy blue. There’s some books and a candle on the nightstand, along with two mugs holding the remnants of last night’s tea in them.

“Here we go,” you say, finally looking up after having rummaged through the top dresser drawer. Based on the clothes Max can see in, it’s your designated space in Steve’s room.

You hand her the towels along with some fluffy pajama pants, they have little teddy bears on them, along with an oversized t-shirt.

“Bathroom’s down the hall on the left, just yell if you need anything.”

She mumbles acknowledgment and you turn to leave, then Max calls out your name before she realizes it.

“What’s up?” you turn around. Her chest feels tight, everything feels wrong and right at the same time. This is how things should be for her, but they’re not and she’s terrified this brief moment will be stolen from her in seconds.

“You’re not gonna call my parents… right? You or Steve?”

Your face softens and you walk over to her. Wrapping her in a hug and pressing your lips to the top of her head.

“No we’re not,” you murmur and rub her back. “You just have to promise me one thing, okay?”

Max’s shoulders are shaking as she cries into you. Quiet sniffles like the girls who sit on the curb outside of their house after Billy decides he’s done with them. “What is it?”

“Next time something like this happens,” you whisper, still rubbing her back. “Call us, we’ll come get you.”

She nods against you and you hold her for a few minutes until the crying subsides. When she pulls away you press a kiss to her forehead before leaving.

She follows your instructions, going down the hall and to the left to find the bathroom. There’s two of everything. Tooth brushes, towels, body washes, and shampoo and conditioner sets. She can’t resist being nosy and taking a peek in the bathroom drawer. She finds a makeup bag and inside all the products look minimally used.

Steve must have bought it so you wouldn’t need to bring yours back and forth.

The idea of him standing in your bathroom carefully writing down the products and their shade names to buy them is so silly and sweet enough to make her giggle quietly.

Max takes her time in the shower, letting the steaming hot water warm her body. She also wants to make sure she’s fully composed because it’d be way too embarrassing if she started crying again.

She steals your body wash and washes her hair with Steve’s shampoo and conditioner because she thinks it’s funny. The boys make fun of him for preening with how much he invests in his hair products. It’s stupid considering how nosy they got when Dustin revealed he knew Steve’s hair routine. He never actually told any of them.

She dries herself off thoroughly after the shower and examines the skincare products on the counter. Not the cheap soaps she convinced her mom to buy after her face started breaking out. Fancy expensive ones that you need adult money to buy. Two of everything again, things Steve bought to make you more comfortable in his space.

She uses your facewash and dabs on a little moisturizer out of curiosity, it smells like clay and she likes it a bit. After wrapping her hair in a towel she heads out of the bathroom and walks over to the stairs. 

The smell of garlic hits her nose and just as she’s about to head down she clears the click of the front door. Then your feet padding on the floor as you walk into the kitchen and tell Steve: “She’s a size six.”

“Hmm you think red rainboots are a little too on the nose?”

“She likes the color so it’ll probably be fine. Just maybe make the pants and coat a different color?”

“How about all yellow? She can look like the Morton Salt girl.”

“Well she would look adorable, but she’d also probably kick you.”

“Red boots it is. I’ll get a small for the pants and a medium for the coat.”

“Steve, that jacket is stupidly expensive.”

“Which is why I’m getting a medium so she can grow into it.”

Max doesn’t tell herself it means anything, she never does, but the next morning she finds a bag of rain gear on her porch.

[meicain]

BACKSEAT. — r.buckley

— a/n: ngl i haven’t written in SO LONG but one of my new year’s resolutions is to start writing again so… here’s this mess!! i wanted to write for robin superrr bad. im literally a slut for her rn. rewatching st has got me FUCKED UPPP, literally gripping the arm of my chair everytime she’s on screen. so anyway enjoy ur porn!! no plot here it’s too much effort rn :p it’s short af and idrc if there’s any mistakes… sorry!

summary: car sex car sex car sex!! U and robin r freaking it out in the back of the car,… how either of you got into this situation you have no idea, you’re meant to hate eachothers guts. right??????????

⤷ warnings: harrington!reader, reader is mean lowkey :/, porn with zero plot, robin tops :p, car sex!, pussy eating, fingering, hickies are given and recieved, hooking up for funsies, open to writing a part 2 but don’t expect much from me…

robin’s hands fumbled around your lower stomach, searching for your jean zipper while your pulled your shirt over your head, throwing it into the front seat of the car. you reached forward slightly, flicking a switch to turn on the overhead light — finally illuminating the dark backseat — letting robin be able to see what she needed to. she leaned forward and found your zipper, burying herself between your breasts and lacy bra, peppering kisses in your cleavage. she pulled your jeans and matching panties down halfway, letting you do the rest, your legs fighting to kick them off and discarding them into the backseat foot space of the mustang.

“get all dressed up for me, did ya harrington?” her whispered words vibrated against your chest. one of her hands moved to hold your hips down against the leather seats, the other now massaging your outer thigh. robin’s soft kisses turn quickly into hungry sucks, leaving ropes of saliva and red bruises all over your chest. the heat radiating from between your legs motivating her sloppy actions. she carefully lowered herself down your body, kissing from your collarbone all the way down to your stomach and lower; repositioning her body so she was lay comfortably on her front between your legs. the sight of your glistening cunt making her thighs clench together.

“please robin— please.” your whining drove her crazy. she barely knew herself when she was with you. it was like all her actions were motivated by the taste of your cunt. robin lowered her face down, pressing a gentle kiss to your swollen clit, the feeling instantly causing your toes to curl and kick against the inner door of your car. “you know what i fucking want.” your hand found its way to grip her hair, holding it like a vice as she began to suckle gently on your bundle of nerves. the taste was like heaven to her, the instant your juices hit her tongue, robins whole body relaxed. her hands moved to wrap around your thighs, squeezing your soft flesh.

she continued her attack between on your cunt, her movements becoming sloppier as she rocked her clit against the padding of the backseats, both your orgasms growing closer and closer. the friction caused by her jeans making it almost impossible to focus on anything else. she finally opened her eyes, looking up at you, relishing in the sight of your fucked-out face in this light — her eyes softening instantly. yours were slammed shut, eyebrows tight knit, the pleasure of robins mouth on your cunt unlike anything you had ever felt.

robin un wove her right hand from the grip she held on your thigh, using two fingers to tease your entrance. you finally opened your eyes to look down at her, trying your best to hold eye contact as you nodded, giving her consent — wanting to watch as she pushed inside. your eyes fluttered as she entered, your head rolling back to rest against the fogged window of the car; sweaty hair leaving streaks against the glass. she gradually thrust her fingers deeper and deeper until her knuckles met your entrance, then she pulled them out, slamming them into you again and again. each time her knuckles hit the wet skin of your cunt she curled her fingers, letting them reach that sweet spot with each pump. robin used her other hand to push herself higher up your body, burying herself into the crook of your neck as she thrust herself inside.

“does— does that feel good?” robin panted, you barely even waited for her to finish the sentence before nodding at her words. a small smile spreading across her face at your eagerness. she continued her movements, rolling her hips to match each thrust and curl of her fingers inside you — matching her pleasure with yours.

each moan made it harder to hold back from climax, robins movements becoming irregular and sloppy with every noise that escaped your throat. your cunt clenched around her fingers, practically stopping her movements as strings of curses and moans fell from your pretty lips. hot liquids coated robins fingers, her own climax now pooling in her boxers. “fuck— fuck— fuck yes yes!” her movements slowed as she helped you ride out your high, pulling herself out from your cunt slowly until you heard the pop of her fingers leaving you. ropes of white leaked from your hole, spilling out and onto the seats. robin pulled back, moving so she now sat on her knees, her free hand coming up to cup your face. her thumb rubbed circles on your cheek as she sucked your juices from her fingers, a throaty moan erupting from her lips at the taste of you.

the two of you continued to sit in silence, the only noises were the sound of your quieting pants and occasional whines filling the empty car. robin finally reached down, picking up your previously discarded jeans and panties and holding them out for you. eventually, you sat up at the noise of her movements, your back slightly stuck to the leather due to the layer of sweat that coated your body. you snatched the clothes from the girl, pulling your panties up your legs and settling them on your hips, unable to pull up your jeans due to the lack of space. one at a time you both clambered into the front seat, robin passed you your shirt from her her foot space, her eyes roaming across your chest and admiring the bruises she had left all over you. she honestly felt quite proud of herself.

“are you just gonna stare at me?” she hadn’t noticed how wide her eyes had gone, or that fact that you were no longer naked. meaning that she just looked like a creep now. robin frantically shook her head, averting her gaze and staring forward through the front window now looking out into the darkness of the forest.

“i wasn’t staring, just merely admiring.” the keys turned in the ignition and the low rumble from the engine started. you tapped your fingers on the steering wheel to the rhythm of time after time, both of you settling into a silence. you began to pull the car out of the parking spot, which was really just a dead end dirt road off of the main street that ended abruptly in the middle of the forest. “if it’s any consolation, i do think you’re pretty. i’m not just some creep.”

“and if it’s any consolation, that just made you sound more like a creep.” the car had come to a halt, the voice of cyndi lauper fading from the speakers. you looked over at robin, her eyes darting around the car and the forest — anything to avoid the dreaded eye contact. without thinking you placed your hand onto her thigh, comforting her with soothing circles drawn by your thumb. “thank you. thank you for calling me pretty.”