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SKIN

— a blurb from the dadrry universe 🤍

——

Harry's skin must be woven with threads of magic.

There has to be some otherworldly magnetism intricately entwined in his veins that pumps contagious and captivating warmth toward anyone who touches him. Or perhaps there's an underlying spell coursing through his blood that effortlessly soothes any rooted ache or vociferating cry.

It's been said before, but Harry is a natural when it comes to being a lover. He's been by your side through every trial and tribulation that life has cruelly thrown at you. He has willingly taken your pain during grief-stricken times and selflessly put it on his own heart. You've navigated the rollercoaster years of dating, marriage, and parenthood with him, all while watching him grow and adapt into each role with patience and grace.

Witnessing him be a dad has you firmly believing that it's what he was made to do. It was written in the stars.

The house smells of blueberry crepes and homemade bread when you wake from your slumber. A long and uninterrupted slumber at that, which is something that's been a rarity the past few days — well, if four hours of sleep counts as uninterrupted. You'll admit that you haven't missed the lack of sleep aspect of having a newborn.

You slowly pad your way into the kitchen, and you're surprised to find that it's quiet except for the sizzling sound of breakfast cooking. Your tired eyes regard Harry swaying by the stovetop, a spatula in his grasp and his three-day-old baby girl cradled in his opposite arm. She's wide awake, her swaddled body cuddled perfectly in the crook of his elbow as she mesmerizingly stares at him while he skillfully takes a loaf of bread out of the oven. He has on his favorite fleece robe with the sleeves rolled up, and his hair — that's getting quite long — is flatly pushed back from restlessly tossing and turning all night.

It baffles you how every time Harry holds her, she's so content when her skin is touching his. You don't understand it. You're well aware that skin-to-skin contact is important, but it's wondrous how much she loves it with him already.

You stand still in the open doorway and watch him for a few more moments, thinking about how nine months ago, you were observing him from the same spot as he made pancakes with your eldest daughter. Back when the baby girl he's holding now was just a small bump he'd fawn over, growing each month and getting plenty of kisses every day.

Eventually, you refocus to the present and shuffle over to where your sleep-deprived husband is yawning and taking his oven mitt off. You both got a dreadfully short amount of sleep last night, but you think it isn't so bad when mornings look the way they do with him.

"Hello," you greet as you stand next to him.

Harry loosens a golden-brown crêpe with the spatula and sets it on one of three plates. "Morning, baby."

"When did she wake up?"

"'Bout an hour ago," he responds, voice hoarse. "Just little whimpers, so I took her out to the backyard for some fresh air. Then she told me she wanted to make breakfast with me."

You tilt your head, amused. "Oh, she told you that? I didn't know you could translate her baby sounds."

"I can, actually. She also told me she needs milk. Pronto, preferably."

"Here, give me her. She's definitely hungry." You take her from him and kiss her soft, munchable cheeks. "Thank you for making food, by the way."

"That's my job," he sing-songs as you walk over to the couch.

You sit and slide the strap of your silk pajama top down, then remove the white swaddle from her body. She instantly latches onto your nipple, causing you to wince when the dull ache makes an appearance. As you feed her and zone out, you hear Harry plate the food and open the fridge a couple of times before you sense him coming up behind you. He leans his torso over the back of the couch and rests his chin on your head.

Breastfeeding has never been uncomfortable around him. You know he's appreciative of what a woman's body can supply and how draining it is to be the supplier. Often times, like right now, he will silently observe his daughter fall into a state of tranquility as she eats. It's a beautiful thing to be able to nurture another human using your body. Even if it hurts and is terribly time-consuming, the special bond that's formed during it is completely worth it.

"I'm gonna get dressed," Harry says after a while, planting a kiss to your temple.

You turn your head and pucker your lips for the first kiss of the day. He grants you a couple soft pecks that taste like blueberries, each accompanied with an appreciative hum, then leaves with a long and dramatic kiss to your daughter's head.

A few minutes later, Harry comes back just as you finish breastfeeding. He's wearing a patterned jacquard-knit sweater and loose denim jeans with holes by his knees. He stands in front of you and takes her from your arms, kissing and blowing raspberries on her full belly until she's awake and screeching happily.

"Who's ready for tummy time, hm? Is it you?" She coos with a toothless smile and Harry pretends to eat her cheeks. "I think it's you."

He gently sets her on the blanket that's spread out on the living room floor, then gets down on his stomach next to her. You grab your phone from the coffee table and snap a quick picture of them for the sweet memory.

After five minutes of lying with her and tracing every feature of her face, Harry picks her up and begins burping her. Meanwhile, you make your way into the kitchen and grab the plates, then slide the patio door open with your shoulder. You head out to the backyard with Harry following closely behind. You're not too worried about your other daughter since she'll most definitely be cranky if you wake her up this early.

As you set the plates down and sit in the wicker lounge chair, Harry passes the baby over and settles beside you, chewing and swallowing a bite of bread before saying, "Was thinking of going down to the beach later and swimming with the girls. The water is pretty calm today."

You nod and pick at your crêpe. "Yeah, go ahead. I'll probably take a nap or something."

"You don't want to come with us?" he asks, scrunching his eyebrows together. "It's gorgeous out."

"I don't really feel like swimming. I'm not feeling my best."

He leans closer to you and places the back of his hand on your forehead. "What do you mean, love? Are you feeling okay?"

"I'm just tired," you partly lie. "Don't worry about me."

"Hey, look at me." He takes your left hand in his. "I'm gonna worry about you, yeah? You just gave birth a couple of days ago. Gotta tell me how you're feeling mentally and physically, otherwise I can't help you."

"I know, but I swear I'm just—"

A fussy cry cuts you off, and you sigh as you start rocking the baby. Harry soothingly massages the back of your neck, placing a comforting kiss behind your ear.

"We'll talk about it later, okay?" he murmurs.

You just weakly smile and hope he forgets about it.

——

The setting of the sun has just begun, the evening sky a bright, beautiful orange that makes the ocean waves glimmer. All of you are on the beach to spend time together before an early bedtime. Harry had made dinner and is now shaking out a blanket so you both can sit on the sand. Your eldest daughter is distracted with her beach toys, humming and talking to herself as she wanders along the shoreline in her swimsuit.

There's no time for peaceful watching, however, because once you plop down on the blanket with the baby snuggled to your chest, Harry sits right by you and clasps his hands over his bent knee like he's about to give you a lecture.

He jerks his chin up and remarks, "You know what I'm gonna say."

It's impossible not to roll your eyes. "Do I have to?" you mutter with a sheepish grin.

"In my book, you're legally required to talk to your husband and baby daddy."

You just groan and prepare yourself to vent about all the postpartum feelings that have been swirling in your pessimistic mind over the past thirty-six hours. "I'm scared of losing myself," you reveal after a heavy exhale. "I remember the first time I became a mom, some days I didn't even recognize myself. It took so much energy out of me, you know? With breastfeeding, being up all night, and trying to get my body back to normal. I guess I just don't want to fall into that dark place again."

Harry nods understandingly. "Do you recognize yourself right now?"

"A lot more than last time," you respond quietly. "I mean, we're both more experienced with how to handle a newborn. That definitely helps."

He swallows, and his serious expression tells you he sees right through you. "Can I know the real reason why you didn't want to go swimming earlier?" he asks with a certain gentleness that could break you if you dwelled on it for long enough.

You sometimes wonder if your skin is made of glass, or if he just knows you well enough to notice all the cracks.

"If I talk about it, I'll start crying."

He tuts and nudges your foot with his. "And what's wrong with crying?"

Shrugging, you defeatedly mumble, "Makes me feel like a little kid."

"You're my wife, not some stranger to me," Harry stresses with a soft laugh. "I hate that you think crying in front of me will put me off or something. Please be vulnerable with me. I don't want you to keep your feelings bottled up."

Your lips wobble, and a teardrop escapes as you look downward. "I don't feel good when I look at my body. I don't think I could put on a swimsuit and have you see me." Harry immediately scoots closer and wipes your tear away, a sympathetic frown on his face. "And I spent so long trying to accept it last time I gave birth," you continue, "and now having to bounce back again seems exhausting."

"I don't expect you to bounce back," Harry replies gently. "I don't expect anything of you that involves changing your body. It's your body. Do whatever you need to do to make you feel good and do it at your own pace, all right?"

Your heart lovingly falters at his statement. "Once you can finally have sex with me in six weeks, it's gonna be terrible and I'll probably cry."

He laughs, and you let one out too. "Is that really what you're worried about?"

"No." He gives you a flat look with a hint of a smirk. "Okay, maybe. I just don't want you to look at me. I could blindfold you or something."

"Can you look at me right now for a second?" Harry asks earnestly. You adjust the baby in your arms and meet his gentle eyes that sparkle in the golden sunlight. "I look at you and see a goddess," he starts, taking your free hand in his. "A mum to two beautiful girls that make me smile and melt every single day. You're my safety blanket. The body that you think I don't want to see is the one that grew life. That's priceless to me."

He begins tracing his fingertips across the light striations on your thigh as he continues, "The stretch marks on your stomach and thighs are because you grew a human, which to me, is the most special and goddamn powerful thing I could ever watch you experience. You've done it so effortlessly that I can't help but fall in love with you more and more each day."

In that moment, you wonder why you were ever doubtful in the first place; how the man sitting next to you can always drag you out of any momentary insecurity with ease.

Harry suddenly stands and carefully pulls you up with him. He then kneels on the blanket and spreads his arms out. "Look at you," he speaks up over the crashing waves. "You're quite literally glowing in front of me, holding our baby girl that you brought into this world, and making my heart pound just as hard as the first day I met you."

"Stop, Harry," you tell him with spiderwebs of heat expanding across your face.

"No, because look at you!" He exhales sharply and brings his arms down. "I worship you. Everything you do and say, every smile and laugh, every time you look at me... I'm hooked for eternity."

You kneel in front of him with tears threatening to spill over. He cradles your cheeks and kisses you with an intensity similar to the evening waves that pelt the shore. Is there a way to thank the ocean for bringing him to you?

As the sun says its routine farewell, you bask in Harry's glow that cascades from the solicitous words he speaks and the tender touches he grants.

Skin that's unquestionably loved by him, and skin that will be loved by you at your own pace.

——

Danger Noodles

Charles Leclerc x Reader x Max Verstappen

Summary: When asked to describe Formula 1 drivers in a single word, many people would choose “brave” … but those people clearly haven’t seen your boyfriends near a snake

You sink back into the plush couch, wedged happily between your boyfriends. Max’s arm is draped casually over your shoulders while Charles holds your hand, gently stroking his thumb over your knuckles as they both gaze at you adoringly.

“We have something we want to ask you,” Max says, giving your shoulders a little squeeze.

Your heart flutters, wondering what they’re going to propose. The three of you have been nearly inseparable for the past six months, falling more and more deeply in love with each passing day.

“What is it?”

Charles grins, bringing your hand to his lips for a tender kiss. “Well … we were hoping you would move in with us.”

Your eyes widen in surprise. Of course you’ve dreamed about living with them — waking up tangled in bed together each morning, cooking side by side, cuddling on the couch every night. But there’s one major issue that gives you pause.

“Wow, I don’t know what to say,” you stammer.

“Say yes!” Max nuzzles your cheek. “It will be amazing, the three of us together.”

You bite your lip anxiously. “Well, there’s actually something you should know first ...”

But Charles cuts you off, cupping your face in his hands. “We know this is fast but it just feels right, doesn’t it? I can’t imagine not having you with us when we fall asleep and when we wake up every day. We love you so much.”

He kisses you softly and your reservations start to melt away. How could you even think of say no when they’re looking at you like that, so full of hope and devotion?

Max tilts your chin towards him for a deep, lingering kiss. “Please move in with us, liefje. It will be like a dream come true.”

You open your mouth but Charles swoops in for another kiss, stealing your breath. “Imagine lazy mornings in bed, making those blueberry pancakes you love together, playing with our ...”

He trails off, his nose crinkling adorably as he thinks. You take a deep breath. This is your chance.

“Playing with my pets,” you finish for him. “That’s what I’ve been trying to tell you. I have pets.”

Max and Charles exchange surprised looks.

“Pets? What kind of pets?” Max asks.

You hesitate, trying to figure out how to break this gently. But the words stick in your throat.

Charles grins and pulls you against his chest. “As long as they’re not snakes or spiders, I think we can handle whatever furry creatures you have.”

Max chuckles. “Yeah, anything but those two. You know how terrified we are of them.” He shudders dramatically.

You open your mouth but Max barrels on enthusiastically.

“I bet you have the cutest little dog or cat. Maybe even both! Don’t worry, we’ll love them because they’re part of you. Plus Jimmy and Sassy could use some more siblings.”

Charles nods eagerly. “Absolutely! Your pets will be our pets. We can’t wait to meet them and spoil them.”

You try again weakly. “But you don’t underst—”

Max presses a finger to your lips. “No more hesitation. We want you to move in with us and we want to meet your pets. I have a good feeling they’ll fit right into the family.”

Charles tickles your sides playfully, making you squeal. “So what do you say? Are you ready to take this next step with us?”

They both gaze at you with such hope and excitement, you can’t bear to ruin it just yet. Moving in together is a big step, one you’ve dreamed of taking. And they seem so thrilled about your pets, misunderstanding though it is.

Maybe it won’t be so bad. Maybe they’ll come around once they actually meet your snakes and see how sweet and harmless they are. You can ease them into it slowly.

“Yes,” you finally say, breaking into a wide smile. “I would love to move in with you both.”

Max and Charles let out whoops of joy, tackling you backwards onto the couch in a tangle of limbs and ecstatic kisses. You dissolve into giggles, caught up in their infectious enthusiasm.

For now, you decide to just enjoy this moment. The conversation about snakes can wait a little longer. You snuggle into your boyfriends’ arms, thrilled to be taking this step even if you have a nagging worry about their reaction to your pets.

But their smiles chase away those doubts for the time being. Curled between these two men who you love with your whole heart, you feel like the luckiest person alive.

***

You take a deep breath as you look around your new shared bedroom. The movers have brought in all of your boxes. Your clothes are hanging neatly in the walk-in closet next to Max’s Red Bull branded shirts and Charles’ eclectic collection of pants. Your knickknacks are scattered around, blending seamlessly with their belongings.

This really is your home now. The thought makes your heart swell even as your stomach twists anxiously. There’s only one thing left to move in — your beloved pet snakes.

You decided put this off until the very end, dreading your boyfriends’ reaction. But now you can’t delay any longer.

Taking another deep breath, you head down the hall to where Max and Charles are unpacking your novelty mugs in the kitchen.

Max looks up with a grin as you enter. “Is everything all moved in?”

You force a smile. “Just about. There’s, um, just three things left.”

Charles wraps an arm around your waist and pulls you close. “Well let’s go get them! I’m so excited to finally meet these pets of yours.”

Your throat goes dry. You should have told them sooner. But there’s no backing out now.

“Yeah, about that ...” you start nervously.

But Max is already eagerly dragging you towards the front door. “Come on, what are we waiting for? Bring in the fur babies!”

Your steps drag reluctantly as you lead them down to the garage where your car is parked. You open the backseat door, reaching for the first snake habitat.

Max and Charles peer eagerly into the car. As you turn, reptile habitat in hand, their faces morph from excitement to confusion to outright horror.

Charles stumbles back with a yelp. “Is that a snake?”

You bite your lip, cradling the habitat protectively against your chest. Your corn snake stares back at them curiously.

“Yes, this is Caramel. She’s my pet corn snake. And I have two other snakes — Cookie and Basil.” You gesture at the other two setups still in the car.

Max’s face has gone pale, his eyes wide as saucers as he stares at Caramel. Charles looks similarly shaken.

“Snakes?” Charles squeaks in disbelief. “Your pets are snakes?”

You nod, feeling awful for not warning them sooner. “I’m so sorry I didn’t tell you. I just didn’t know how to bring it up ... but they’re very sweet, I promise! They would never hurt anyone.”

But Max has already stumbled several more steps away, looking like he might pass out. “You want us to live with snakes? Actual slithering, scaly snakes?”

Charles shakes his head rapidly, hands up in front of himself defensively. “Oh no no no. This can’t be happening. Snakes are my worst fear!”

You cuddle Caramel gently, who flicks her tongue out placidly. “I know it’s a shock but once you get to meet them, you’ll see they’re harmless. Please, give them a chance for me?”

But Charles and Max only continue to edge away, staring at Caramel like she might lunge at them.

“I can’t do this. I can’t live with snakes,” Max chokes out before bolting back to the elevator.

Charles gives you a desperate, apologetic look. “I’m so sorry. We ... we need some time to process this.” He turns and races after Max, pressing the button to close the elevator doors repeatedly.

You stand there, shoulders slumping as you hold Caramel’s habitat close. Your eyes well up with tears. You’ve just moved in with the men you love more than anything and they can’t even stand to be near the pets that you consider your children.

Sniffling, you gently set Caramel’s habitat back in the car next to Cookie and Basil.

“It’s going to be ok,” you whisper to them, wiping your eyes. “We’ll figure this out. I’ll give them some time and hopefully they’ll come around.”

But a sob escapes as you think about the apartment that was supposed to be your new loving home but now instead only feels cold and unwelcoming.

Taking a shuddering breath, you smooth down your hair and lift your chin. You just need to be patient. And maybe do some exposure therapy to help Max and Charles overcome their fear.

You have to believe everything will work out in the end. Because the alternative — either losing the men you love or having to give up your precious snakes — is unthinkable.

***

You sit on a park bench in the middle of Monaco, the sun warming your face. But even the beautiful weather can’t lift your mood. Your heart aches thinking about the disastrous attempt to move in with Max and Charles earlier.

The looks of horror on their faces when they saw your pet snakes are seared into your mind. You really believed they would accept all parts of you when they asked you to move in. Now you just feel silly for ever thinking this could work.

A tear rolls down your cheek as you gaze down at the snake habitats next to you where your precious babies Caramel, Cookie, and Basil are curled up.

“I’m so sorry, my loves,” you whisper to them. “This is all my fault.”

The snakes flick their tongues out softly as if to comfort you. You manage a small, sad smile. At least you still have your scaly companions, even if your dream of living with your boyfriends has been shattered as painfully as possible.

You’re so lost in melancholy thoughts that you don’t notice two familiar figures approaching until they’re right in front of you.

“There you are,” Max says, slightly out of breath. “We’ve been looking everywhere for you.”

You look up with reddened eyes to see Max and Charles gazing down at you remorsefully. Charles holds a small cooler in his hands.

“What do you want?” You ask warily, shifting to try to shield your snakes from view.

Max winces at your defensive tone. “We want to apologize. We’re so sorry for overreacting earlier. It was just ... a huge shock.”

Charles nods earnestly. “We feel awful for upsetting you and the snakes. We want to make things right.”

He sets the cooler down and opens it, pulling out three frozen mice. Your snakes perk up at the sight of their favorite snack.

“We brought peace offerings,” Charles says with an anxious but hopeful smile. “We want to get to know Caramel, Cookie, and Basil. Will you please give us another chance?”

You bite your lip, torn between cautious optimism and lingering hurt.

Max kneels down beside you, taking your hand in his. “We were idiots. We should have handled it better. But the thought of losing you is unbearable. We don’t want to live without you.”

Charles sits on your other side, squeezing your shoulder. “We’ll learn to love your snakes because they’re yours. Please come home and give us a chance to make things right.”

His pleading green eyes and Max’s gentle blue ones melt your resolve.

Finally you nod, a tiny smile breaking through. “Okay. I’m willing to try again if you are.”

Their faces light up with relief. Charles eagerly grabs Cookie’s habitat as Max reaches for Caramel.

“Let the snake exposure therapy begin!” Max declares. They settle the habitats carefully on their laps.

You let out a soft laugh as they lean in curiously. Caramel and Cookie slowly slither closer, flicking their tongues as they examine Max and Charles.

Charles yelps as Cookie boops her nose against the glass right in front of his face. Max laughs, though he looks nervous having Caramel so close.

You scoot over next to Max, putting a hand on his shoulder. “Go ahead, you can touch her. Gentle strokes along her back.”

Max gulps but tentatively reaches out, lightly petting Caramel’s head. His eyes widen in surprise. “Wow, she’s so smooth and soft!”

Charles gains courage from Max’s bravery and mimics him, stroking Cookie’s back. A small grin starts to spread across his face. “This is actually kind of nice!”

You beam proudly. “See, I told you they’re sweethearts.”

The boys relax as they grow more comfortable petting the snakes. All the tension from earlier fades away.

“We really are so sorry,” Max says, lifting your hand to his lips for a kiss. “No more overreacting. From now on, we promise to embrace all of you — even the scaly parts.”

Charles leans in, pressing a kiss to your cheek. “Please come home. It’s not home without you.”

Your throat tightens with emotion. You throw your arms around them in a big hug, snakes and all.

“Let’s go home,” you whisper.

***

Max clutches the steering wheel, brow furrowed in concentration as he races on his simulator. The wheels start to skid and he fights to keep control of the virtual car.

“Nice save,” his teammate Gianni says over the headset.

Max grins, glancing at the livestream camera filming him. “Just warming up the tires, mate.”

As he comes out of the chicane, he feels something brush his ankle. Probably one of the cats pestering him while he’s trying to drive.

“Not now, Sassy,” he murmurs, downshifting to take on the next corner.

But then Max feels smooth scales glide across his foot.

He yelps, hitting the brakes reflexively. The car spins out, the livestream immortalizing every second of his shocked expression.

“You okay?” Gianni asks, oblivious to the cause of Max’s surprise.

Max looks down to see Caramel curling happily around his simulator pedals. She must have escaped her habitat … again.

“Uh yeah, I just had a little visit from one of Y/N’s snakes,” Max says with a breathless laugh. “Nearly gave me a heart attack but I’m alright.”

He hears Gianni cracking up through the headset. “Oh man, I forgot you guys took in those snakes too! They just slither around while you’re racing huh? That’s wild.”

Max carefully picks up Caramel, her smooth scales sliding over his hands. She flicks her tongue out innocently.

“Clever girl, sneaking in here while I was focused on driving,” Max coos, unable to be mad at her. He makes sure the livestream audience gets a good view. “Say hi to the fans, Cara!”

The live chat fills with snake emojis and laughs. Gianni fake-shudders through the headset. “You’re a braver man than me, letting those things just wander around. No thanks!”

Max grins, gently stroking Caramel’s head. “They’re not so bad once you get to know them. Just gotta respect their space. Right, sweetie?”

Caramel bobs her head as if in agreement. The live chat melts over how cute she is.

“If you say so,” Gianni says. “Now put the danger noodle away and let’s get back to racing!”

“She’s not a danger noodle, she’s a sweetheart,” Max protests with a laugh. But he dutifully returns Caramel to her habitat before hopping back in the simulator.

Later that day, you come home from work to find Max laughing at the snippets of his stream that fans have shared online.

“I had a special guest appearance from one of our scaly housemates today,” he says, pulling you down onto his lap to show you the clip of Caramel surprising him mid-race.

You laugh, “She just hates being cooped up.”

“Clearly,” Max says wryly. But his eyes are soft as he gazes at you. “You were right though — they are growing on me. Never thought I would say that about snakes but here we are.”

He kisses you sweetly. You cup his cheek, brushing your thumb over his stubble as you feel your heart swell to triple its size.

“I’m really proud of you. And Caramel definitely got your stream some extra views today!” You tease.

Max groans. “I’ve gone soft! But I guess for you and our unconventional little family, I can make an exception.”

You snuggle into his chest, perfectly content. Having supportive partners who cherish both you and your scaly babies makes all the difference. And you have to admit, seeing your tough boyfriend coo over Caramel was pretty darn cute.

***

Race day morning in Monaco is always a whirlwind. You kiss Charles and Max goodbye as they rush out the door to head to the circuit, matching Louis Vuitton backpacks slung over their shoulders. Little do any of you know, a small scaly stowaway has curled up inside of one.

In the Ferrari motorhome, Charles is changing into his race suit when he hears startled shouts from some mechanics. He turns to see Cookie, peeking her head out of his backpack, flicking her tongue as she takes in the unfamiliar location.

“Cookie! What are you doing here?” Charles asks with a laugh. The mechanics back away nervously.

Charles gently picks her up. “It’s okay, she is perfectly harmless. This is one of my girlfriend’s pet snakes.”

Cookie wraps around Charles’ hand, seeking warmth. He smiles and strokes her scales.

“Well, I guess you’re the team mascot now,” he tells her. “Let’s find you a nice Ferrari bandana to wear.”

He ties the red fabric around Cookie, who seems quite pleased with her new accessory. Charles carefully sets her around his shoulders and heads out to the paddock.

As expected, the other drivers have mixed reactions to the surprise reptile visitor. Lewis grins and comes over to pet Cookie, happy to see a fellow animal lover. Meanwhile Lando takes one look and speed-walks in the opposite direction.

“If Roscoe can attend races then so can snakes,” Charles argues when there are murmurs about animals not being allowed in the pit lane. He scratches under Cookie’s chin proudly. “Right, ma belle?”

When Max arrives for the drivers parade, he bursts out laughing at the sight of Cookie draped around Charles’ neck.

“Y/N will get a kick out of this,” he says, giving the snake a little chin rub. “But I can’t let you outdo me!”

He quickly ties a Red Bull bracelet around Cookie, perfectly sized to be a snake necklace. “There, now she can root for both of us!”

You’re watching the broadcast in hospitality when the camera pans to show Charles, Cookie curled contentedly around his shoulders.

Your jaw drops.

“Oh my god!” You exclaim with a laugh. But your heart melts seeing Charles parade her around like a princely scarf. And her new accessories are just too cute.

In the end, Cookie seems to bring Charles good luck. He takes the chequered flag and snags his first home victory, the curious snake cheering him on the whole time from where she’s cozily curled up in your lap.

On the podium, Charles grins up at the cameras with Cookie snaking her way to wrap around his cap. “We make a great team!” He proclaims, holding up the little snake like she’s Simba in the Lion King.

The crowd laughs and applauds. You watch with delight, shaking your head at this ridiculous man and his new snaky sidekick.

Later, back home after a long night of jumping from club to club, you lavish both Charles and Cookie with praise and kisses.

“I can’t believe our girl got to be part of your special l day!” You cuddle her close. “She must have loved all the excitement.”

Charles grins and slides his arms around your waist. “It was meant to be. She’s my new Monaco Grand Prix lucky charm!”

Cookie bobs her head happily. She’s clearly enjoyed her big day out.

You laugh as Charles spins you around the living room in an impromptu victory dance while Max records the two of you with a proud smile. Having supportive partners who not only accept but celebrate all aspects of you — even the reptilian ones — is a dream come true.

This really is the perfect unconventional family.

***

Sunlight streams through the curtains, rousing you from sleep. You stretch languidly, sandwiched between Max and Charles’ warm bodies. What a perfect way to wake up.

Charles nuzzles into your neck, planting soft kisses along the stretch of skin. “Good morning, mon amour.”

You hum happily, tilting your head to capture his lips in a kiss. His hand trails down your side, fingers dancing over your hip.

On your other side, Max presses up against you, his muscular frame molded to yours. His nose grazes your jaw as his lips find your shoulder.

You sigh blissfully at the sensation of being cradled between them. Their hands wander reverently across your body as they pepper you with kisses.

Then you feel something long and firm nudge against your thigh under the sheets. You smirk, assuming one of them is getting frisky.

“Is that a banana or are you just happy to see me?” You tease.

Max and Charles exchange confused looks over you.

You frown and reach down to grab whatever is poking you ... and feel familiar dry scales. Your eyes go wide.

Throwing back the sheets reveals Basil curled up happily on your leg.

“Basil!” You exclaim as Max and Charles shriek in surprise.

Basil just flicks his tongue out, pleased as can be to have found such a cozy sleeping spot.

You fall back against the pillows laughing while Max and Charles look on with wide eyes.

“So much for a romantic morning in bed,” Max grumbles. But his smile tells you that he’s not truly mad.

Charles runs a hand through his rumpled hair, grinning ruefully. “We really need to snake-proof the apartment.”

You scoop up Basil, giving him a gentle scolding. “What are we going to do with you, silly boy? You just love snuggling, don’t you?”

Basil bobs his head unrepentantly. Max shakes his head and comes over to scratch under his chin.

“Oh you little snake. Gave us quite the surprise!”

Charles joins you both, reaching out tentatively to pet Basil. “I have to admit, the look on your face was pretty priceless, mon ange.”

You swat his shoulder but let him pull you into his lap. Basil winds happily around your wrists as you kiss.

Max presses up behind you, hands wandering your body as he nuzzles into your hair.

“Now, where were we before we were so rudely interrupted?” He murmurs.

You laugh as they topple you backwards onto the pillows, peppering you with kisses. Basil slithers away happily and you lose yourself in your lovers’ embrace.

Later, basking in the afterglow, you glance over to see Cookie and Caramel have joined Basil in exploring the room. You really do need to snake-proof better.

But as Max pulls you against his chest and Charles winds his arms around your waist from behind, you can’t find it in you to care right now.

“Our lives may be crazy with these snakes,” Max presses his lips to your temple, “But I wouldn’t trade it for anything.”

Charles hums in agreement, dotting kisses on your shoulder. You cover their hands with your own, heart overflowing with love.

Is your little family unconventional? Yes. Chaotic? Absolutely. But also wonderfully, perfectly yours.

FBI

Characters: Kelly Severide x Reader, half of firehouse 51

Warnings: Brief mentions of a crime idk.

Summary: This wasn't exactly what they were thinking when an fbi agent strolled into their firehouse.

A/N: I had such a nice plan for this little beauty but then I messed up and then I remembered I had homework due tomorrow that I haven't done so please enjoy this ugly piece of writing. Kinda don't want to publish this but I need to feed you lot before I get swamped in holiday homework.

"Hey, I'm looking for a Kelly Severide."

You said, asking the first person you found. It was your first time in the firehouse and this definitely wasn't how you planned it to be but you could make this work.

"Lieutenant Kelly Severide?" The woman rose her brow, her voice coming across as soft as she looked. You couldn't deny she was pretty and taking into account her blonde hair and the word paramedic on her uniform caused your brows to rise ever so slightly.

"Oh! You must be Sylvie Brett." You smiled, holding out your hand for the paramedic to shake which she did with much confusion and slight fear. "Agent Y/N Y/L/N."

"You work for the fbi." She stated, fidgeting with her fingers once your hands were released. It was clear she was shocked and you could understand why; your gun in its holster, your shiny golden badge and the bold yellow letters printed on the back of your government issued jacket.

"Yes I do." You replied with a tight lipped smile, annoyed that your job was the first impression everyone at the firehouse would be getting from you; these men and women were family to Kelly and greeting them for the first time ever in your uniform wasn't what you wanted.

Before Sylvie could fully shake off her shock, someone butted into the conversation, having spotted and recognising you.

"Y/N, you're back." Matt smiled, his arms wide inviting your for a hug which you immediately accepted. The captain was the one person in Kelly's life that knew of your existence since there was no hiding you from his roomate, especially since your stay became more permanent.

The hug was what caught everyone's attention. Sylvie talking to someone was normal but Matt hugging a stranger wasn't, hence all the heads turning and when all their eyes widened, you weren't surprised.

"Feds." Two men whispered in sync upon laying eyes on you, the others stood out of their seats and came around to you in the middle of the common room.

"What do the feds want with us now?" One man asked, crossing his arms with an attitude that you could smell from a mile away. Maybe it was his accent or it could've been his snarky tone which got him a quick reprimand from the captain but you knew his name.

"Christopher Herrmann, right?" You pointed at him, your smile brightening when he did a double take at the name you guessed correct.

"It's probably creepy that I know all your names and I really wished that we could've met under better circumstances but I will explain everything." You said, sheepishly smiling at the very confused group of firefighters.

"Y/N! What are you doing here?" Kelly noticed you from afar, it was hard not to recognise the three yellow letter the second he turned the corner.

Within seconds, Kelly enveloped you into his arms and despite the reputation that you wanted to maintain, you folded and accepted the hug, wrapping your arms around his waist, contently inhaling the comforting scent that always followed your boyfriend.

"Okay I'm sorry but who are you?"

"Agent Y/N Y/L/N." You replied automatically, not even thinking about leaving out the agent. Biting the inside of your lip, you internally cursed at yourself.

"She's my girlfriend." Kelly smirked, his arm happily resting across your shoulders where he could keep you close to him. "Whose actually supposed to be in Texas right about now, what happened?"

"Everything's fine. We apprehended our guy earlier than expected and there might've been a gunfight and there's a small possibility I was in the middle but a graze is nothing." You said with ease since it was your job and you loved everything it entailed but to your crowd, you seemed like a lunatic and a hero combined in one.

"You're kidding." Kelly looked down at you in concern, his heart rate picking up at the mere thought of you getting hurt, even if you brushed it off as a papercut.

Before you could explain further that a graze inflicted zero pain, a man you could name purely based off the aura that surrounded him entered the common room.

"Agent, what can we do for you?" The tallest man came forward and asked, his hands shaking yours before they were on his hips. From his stance and the way his voice was so gentle but commandeering made it easy for you to deduce his position in the firehouse; it also helped that Kelly continuously boasted about the men and women of 51.

"I'm sorry for interrupting your day chief." You firstly apologised, sheepishly smiling at the firefighters who were shocked at Kelly's arm still wrapped around your waist. "I need nothing but a few minutes with lieutenant Severide and I'll be out your hair."

"Don't be silly." Kelly shook his head, looking down at you with a slight frown. "Why don't you stay for lunch, you can't just appear out of nowhere and not eat with us."

"I have so much paperwork I left behind. My boss will have my throat if they're not done." You tried fighting Kelly but he looked at you with such big eyes that you wanted to drown yourself in and a slight pout was making itself known and before you knew it, you were caving in.

"Alright, just a few bites and then I have to go."

It was safe to say, some feds were okay.

Undercover

Angela Lopez x female reader (The Rookie)

“Officer Y/L/N,” Sergeant Grey calls, “Detectives Lopez and Harper want to see you.”

Your eyebrows rise in surprise. “Yes, sir.”

You make your way to the detectives’ desks, swallowing your nerves at the sight of Lopez before standing at attention. “Morning, detectives. Sergeant Grey said you wanted to see me?”

“Morning,  Y/L/N,” Harper greets. “We’ve got a case. We could use your skill set.”

“My skill set? What exactly do I have to offer that you don’t, ma’am? Hard to believe you need a patrol officer’s help. Big case?”

“Don’t undermine yourself,  Y/L/N. You’re smart. You’ve got good instincts. And you know this case inside and out,” Lopez cuts in. You swallow thickly at her praise, forcing the blush off of your face.

“The Tijuana Cartel?” You guess.

Lopez confirms it. “We’ve got an in. You and I are going undercover,” she smirks.

You nod, forcing yourself into business mode. “When are we doing this?”

“Tomorrow night. Which means we have today to prepare you.”

“This isn’t my first undercover op, Detective Lopez.”

“I know. We wouldn’t risk the case if we didn’t have faith in your abilities.”

You nod firmly. “I appreciate the vote of confidence.”

“You’ve earned it,” Harper assures. There’s a glint in her eyes that rouses a curiosity in you. She knows something.

You pull a chair up to their desks and review the case with the detectives. Several hours are spent delving into cover stories and planning before it’s time for a break. As Lopez and Harper bicker over what to get for lunch, you let your eyes trail over to Detective Lopez. Her eyes shine as she smiles at Harper, arguing that they get burritos way too often. Dark hair frames her face as she arches a brow at Harper’s claim that they hadn’t gotten burritos all week. 

“What do you think, Y/L/N?” Harper asks.

“Huh? Oh, uh—I, yeah, I’m fine with whatever.”

“That’s what I thought,” Harper says with a vaguely accusatory look as Lopez shoots you a lopsided smirk. 

“Y/L/N and I will go pick up the tacos,” Lopez says, motioning for you to follow her. You scramble out of your seat after staring for a moment too long, ignoring Harper’s laughter behind you.

“You ready?”

“As I’ll ever be. After last time…I can’t mess this up. Diaz needs to go away,” you mumble, remembering the barrel of his gun against your temple the last time you saw him.

“He won’t be there. Don’t worry. We’ll get him. If this op goes as planned, we’ll have enough to issue a warrant for his arrest.”

“Thank you, Detective Lopez.”

“You can call me Angela. We’ll be working together pretty closely the next couple of days.”

“Right, of course. In that case, call me Y/N.” Your eyes meet hers across the center console and your stomach flutters. You do your best to ignore it.

You nervously adjust the black blazer that rests over a lace corset top and black pants. As silly as it is, you’re almost nervous for Lopez to see you in something other than your uniform.

A knock on the door jars you from your thoughts. You open the door and smile in greeting before the grin drops entirely off your face.

Angela stands there in a long sparkly black dress. A deep V-neck and long leg slit leaves little to the imagination. Your eyes get stuck at the top of the slit where the beginnings of her hip are exposed.

She clears her throat and your eyes dart up to hers, finding an amused smirk on her face.

“You clean up alright, Y/L/N. Ready to go?” 

“Uh, yeah. Yeah, I’m ready. You ready?”

“Always. Come on. We’ve got a party to attend.”

The two of you were undercover as girlfriends—not that anyone would even notice you at this huge party. Lights flashed and music pounded. A couple was having sex in one corner and a group of guys were playing poker in another.

You kept your arm wrapped securely around Angela’s waist—for the sake of your cover, of course. Her hand came to rest on an exposed sliver of skin on your stomach as the two of you stood near the bar. To anyone else, you looked like a drunken couple lost in their own world. But in reality, it was the perfect vantage point to keep an eye out.

Angela’s fingers pressed firmly into your stomach to get your attention. “There. Carlos. Diaz’s right hand man. Let’s go.”

Quietly, the two of you make your way across the dance floor—getting shoved against each other several times—and make your way down the hallway that Carlos disappeared into. The two of you stop outside the door he went into, leaning against the wood to hear what he was saying.

“Next week’s meeting is crucial. We can’t fuck this up. Anyone strays from the plan and Diaz will gut you like a pig, got it?”

You meet Angela’s eyes as another voice speaks too quietly to make out his words.

“Now if you’ll excuse me, I was in the middle of something before you interrupted me. And she was hot.”

Your eyes widen as Carlos’ footsteps approach the door, and you grab Angela’s hand and drag her quickly down the hall. You slow to a semi-casual stroll.

Footsteps coming from the other direction pull a cuss from your lips as you realize that you’re being boxed in.

“Shit, we should call for backup,” Angela mumbles, her eyes darting around in search of an escape. The footsteps are growing close enough to have your heart thrumming.

“Do you trust me?”

“What? Of course I do,” she answers with confusion. Swallowing your nerves, you duck your head down and bring your lips to hers, pushing her back into the wall. She doesn’t kiss back at first, but then she understands your intentions and reciprocates. 

Her hands run down your sides, pulling you closer into her body. The footsteps fade to the back of your mind as you run your tongue over her bottom lip, moaning lowly when she grants access. With one hand against the wall next to her head, the other hand grabs her hip and brings it into your own. Her hand tangles in your hair as she tilts her head, finding a new angle that has the both of you moaning and pushing desperately for more.

“Who are you? You can’t be back here,” a deep, grainy voice cuts in. The two of you break the kiss but your hands remain on each other and your bodies against the wall.

“Uh, sorry, just got distracted,” you tell him with a laugh. “This dress should be illegal,” you add as your eyes rake over it.

“We just wanted some privacy. Only so much you can do before people begin to notice your hands under the table,” Angela says with a smirk. Holy fuck, I’m gonna die right here, right now, you think.

“Well you can’t be here. Get out. Now,” he grumbles.

“Of course. So sorry,” she giggles before pushing off the wall and dragging you down the hallway. You turn around and give the burly man a half-sorry shrug.

The two of you make it back to the car in silence. Adrenaline lights your bodies aflame and arousal has your hearts beating rapidly. Once seated in the car, the air turns thick and awkward.

“Um, I’m sorry if I crossed a line back there. I understand if you need to write me up, or–”

“Stop right there. It was good thinking. If we had been made, we might not be alive right now. Nobody’s being written up,” she promises. “Plus, it was a pretty good kiss,” she adds with a smirk.

“Just pretty good?” You laugh.

“Yeah, not half bad.” Her eyes dart down to your lips and your stomach tightens.

“Is it bad that I want to kiss you again?” You whisper.

“Yes. Definitely. But I think you should do it anyway,” she urges you.

Without hesitation, you lean in and meet her lips once more, sucking her plump bottom lip between yours and drawing a moan from her throat. Her tongue slips into her mouth as your hands roam desperately over her body that's separated from yours by the center console. Her hand dips beneath your blazer, toying with your waistband as her thumb slips beneath it. Her hand moves to the button of your slacks.

“Can I?” she breathes.

You nod, whispering “please” before a knock on the window interrupts your actions. Your bodies jolt apart at a speed that you briefly think might be inhuman. When you see the face that’s smirking outside the car window, your body fills with fear. “Oh no.”

Angela opens the window and Harper leans down, smiling evilly at the two of you. “So. You two have fun? What am I saying? Of course you are. Enough fun to forget that I could hear everything over comms.”

“Nyla–” Angela starts.

“Don’t. Your little secret is safe with me. It’s about time you two stopped making heart eyes at each other and actually did something about it,” she smirks.

😂😂

Find your name with the gif button and add the one that is the most relatable

Find your name with the gif button and add the one that is the most relatable

Me: aw cute photo , yuki smiling happy as ever

My reaction when i read the other tweet:💀

💀😭😭brooo

New Tricks

Pairing: Virgin!Bucky Barnes x F!Reader

Word Count: 9.5k

Summary: After your brother has to cancel movie night, you’re ready to resign yourself to an uneventful evening back at your dorm, alone and dejected. But what you didn’t count on, is your brother’s best friend and roommate, bursting through the door and asking you to stay; to spend the night with him, instead

What unfolds, however, while you spend time with the star football player, both shocks and astounds you — one confession in particular. 

Bucky Barnes, the Prince Charming of campus, the man you have been crushing on for an eternity, is a virgin.

Warnings: first kisses, fluff, smut, grinding, making out, big brother!steve, college!bucky, shy bby bucky, mutual pining, swearing, pet names, huge ton of reassurances, lots of praise, big hints of subby bucky

Author’s Note: beta’d by my baby @rookthorne

Okay, so where to start with this… the idea for this fic sprung from a certain someone 👀 and I just had to write it. Thank you to my girl for being a huge support through this, I love you 💗

These two have my whole heart and who knows? Maybe more will come of them 😌 for all my playlist lovers, you’re welcome - new tricks playlist ❤️

I hope you enjoy this as much as I’ve loved creating it 🥹

Standing outside of your brother’s apartment, your impatience starts to wane thin. For ten whole minutes, you have been waiting for Steve to open up. And knocking like a crazed woman is beginning to get old; so is waiting on the doorstep to his front door. 

“Oh, for–” You grumble, and you lift your arm up to bang against the door for the umpteenth time,  when your hand misses it entirely, owing to the fact it swings open to admit you with such enthusiasm, it creaks and threatens to bounce back off of the wall.  

Bucky — your brother’s roommate, best friend, and your crush — sheepishly smiles and scratches the back of his neck. 

The line of his shoulders slump when he lowers his arm, and you notice (and appreciate) just how broad and muscled he is. He must have just been working out, or you interrupted him — nonetheless, you’re thankful for the sight before you, and how it makes the crush you harboured for the brunette for years roar to life all over again. 

Excellent, you inwardly sigh.

“Buttercup,” Bucky says — the affectionate nickname born from his sappy personality always makes you swoon, and his hesitant smile morphs into a wide one. You’re left fighting  internally to keep your giddiness at the sight of him to a respectable level.  “Hey, you. Sorry I didn’t hear you; I was listening to music.” 

Your gaze continues up to his hair, finding it tied back with an elastic at the nape of his neck.  Oh, how you wished you could run your hands through–

“Hey, you okay?” he asks, furrowing his brows. 

Embarrassment floods you and you realise far too late that he probably has asked you a question, or several, while you were daydreaming. “Sorry, Buck,” you squeak, praying that the heat crawling up your neck was not as obvious as it felt. “What was that?”

His soft, puppy-eyed expression brightens when you meet his gaze. “It’s fine, doll. Everything okay?” 

No matter how badly you want to stand and unashamedly stare at your brother’s best friend and roommate, your true intention behind your visit comes to mind. 

“Can I come in?” you ask, lifting the bag of snacks you brought up higher. Bucky’s eyes glance down at the bag, and then back up to your face. “Stevie planned our movie night and he isn’t answering his phone — I told him I was on my way and I asked him if he wanted anything else.” 

The confusion that creases Bucky's brows and downturns his lips in a small frown makes you narrow your eyes. 

“Surely he didn’t forget,” you accuse, still staring into Bucky’s face. “I make the trip down from campus every two weeks. It’s been two weeks.” A sudden, encompassing guilt fills Bucky’s eyes, and he starts to worry his bottom lip with his teeth — a sight far too hard to ignore. “Why are you looking at me like that?” 

“Um– I just–” Bucky stutters, and you watch as his fingers twitch and fidget — a nervous tic. If he didn’t look cute while stumbling over his words, you would feel sorry for being so blunt. “I just thought that– Uh, I thought it was cancelled. The movie night, I mean.” 

You step forward slightly, and Bucky opens the door wider. A wordless invitation. 

Bucky rushes to clear a space on the entryway coat rack for you, when he suddenly says, “You know, because of his date, an’ all.” His words falter at the look you shoot him. You stop taking off your coat, and you drop the bag of snacks to the floor, ignoring the crinkle and rustle of plastic. 

“What do you mean date, Barnes?” The use of his last name causes a flush of deep red to pattern his cheeks, but you don’t let up. There’s music playing from down the hall of the apartment – right where Steve’s bedroom is. “What’s going on?” 

Bucky skittishly fidgets and glances around the apartment, before meeting your heated gaze. “I– Look, I didn’t know–” 

You silently mouth a curse, beyond frustrated with your older brother, and with yourself for taking just a second to indulge and admire just how sweet Bucky is when he is unsure. “Fine,” you huff, and you turn to walk straight towards the source and to investigate it yourself.

Bucky’s frantic footsteps behind you don’t deter your haste. “Wait, stop — Buttercup, wait!”

Forgoing a courtesy knock — having had enough of banging on his front door — you barge straight into the room with as little as a greeting call or warning. 

“What the shit–“ 

The door to Steve’s bedroom slams against the wall, and you come face to face with the blond in the middle of a dance off with himself in the mirror. “Sis! Hey,” he gasps, holding his hand over his heart in fright. “What’re you doing–?” 

In lieu of an answer, you cross your arms and stare at him, unimpressed and exasperated with his antics. “Don’t you hey sis me.” The fear in Steve’s eyes as you stomp towards him almost vindicates your indignation of being uninformed. “What do you mean you’re going on a date? It’s movie night!” 

Steve has the decency to look ashamed. “Flower, I swear, I’m sorry,” he rambles, and he takes your hand, directing you to sit down on his bed. “I would’ve called to let you know but everything was so last minute.” 

The grip he has on your hand is firm, assuring you of his true intentions, even when he turns the Roger’s charm up to an eleven to worm his way back onto your good side. “I swear sis, I wouldn’t bail on you without a good reason.”

“Okay,” you say, staring into his face — still not wholeheartedly convinced of his graces. A line of questioning is in order, you decide. “So, who is this good enough reason?”

“Natasha Romanoff.” The dreamy, love-struck sigh that leaves Steve’s lips after her name is uttered has you reluctantly trying to hide your giggle; the righteous anger and frustration slowly leaves your body in his admittance.  

The fact that he has been obsessed with the college’s most popular redhead since forever, was a balm to the annoyance. You truly did feel happy for him underneath it all. 

And, in the end, it’s how you decide to let him off the hook — though not without teasing him, first. “No way, the Natasha Romanoff? How the hell have you managed that one?” 

Steve pushes your shoulder, and the force of his shove knocks you sideways onto the covers of his bed. “Fine,” you grouse, sighing heavily and resigning yourself to a night on your own. “I’ll let you off this time.”

“I’ll make it up to you, Flower,” Steve promises. And you believe him. He has always kept his word; ever since the two of you were kids. 

“Good,” you say, smiling softly. “I expect an apology at my door in the next few days, though.”

Laughing, Steve nods, and then he stands from his bed. 

“I’ll leave you to it then, I hope you have fun, bro.” 

It is an impossible task for you to hide your dejected hurt from Steve, though. Clever and perceptive as he is, he detects the subtle sombre undertones underlying your reassurances, narrowing in on them like a dog to a bone. 

You get to your feet with a quiet sigh, and as you move, you miss the thoughtful expression on his face; the perk of his ears at the almost indistinguishable shuffling of feet just outside of his bedroom. “How about you have a movie night with Bucky, instead?” 

You stop in your tracks, frozen in shock at the sudden and downright surprising suggestion. “Stevie,” you admonish, “Bucky does not want to waste a Friday night with me–“

“I don’t mind!” Bucky shouts eagerly from the doorway, and you spin around to face him. The nervous fidget of his curls his fingers and hands around one another, over and over. 

Had he been listening that whole time? 

Guilt begins to flood you. Imposing on any plans Bucky  may have made was a burden you did not want to bear,  and you couldn’t fathom who would want to spend the night with their best friend’s little sister. “Thank you, Bucky, that’s really sweet of you,” you placate, smiling at him. “But I know you’ve probably got better things to do on a Friday night than be with me.”

Bucky seems to swell in the doorway, his chest puffing up and he sets his jaw, a determined glint in his eyes. “Actually, Buttercup,” he retorts, crossing his arms in a decisive move. “A movie night with you sounds perfect.” 

The confidence in his tone takes you by surprise, and you flounder for a second while you stare into his steel blue eyes. “Really?”

“‘Course,” he replies easily, shrugging his shoulders. “It’ll be fun.”

His words, and charming smile, ultimately win you over.  

With your attention wholly focused on Bucky as he begins to talk about what movies to watch, you miss the knowing, victorious smirk that curls Steve’s lips.  

“Okay,” Steve calls from the doorway, looking back at the two of you, and you can’t help but be frustrated by his stalling. “Be good and behave while I’m gone. Oh, and, no staying up past your bedtimes — Bucky, her bedtime is ten o’clock sharp.”

The scowl on your face only serves to make him laugh, and you huff your exasperation before your hands grip his biceps; the only way to get him out the door is brute force. “Get out, Stevie,” you grunt, pushing with all your might, but it is to no avail. Steve is as immovable as a statue made of marble. “Don’t you have to go see Natasha?”

“Yeah,” Bucky agrees, and you hear the rustling sound of fabric. “Don’t you?”

Instinct tells you to duck, and you do so, just in the nick of time to avoid the pillow Bucky launches across the room from his place next to the couch. The pillow hits Steve square in the face with a comical thump. 

You burst into laughter at the stunned look of disbelief on Steve’s face, and you look over at Bucky, who is leaning against the sofa; a smug grin pulls his lips up and scrunches his nose.  “Get the hell outta here already, punk.”

With Steve distracted by Bucky’s betrayal, you take the chance to shove him out of the front door and watch delightedly as he stumbles in the hallway. “Hey–!” The door slams shut behind him, cutting him off. 

Giggles shake your shoulders as you put your back to the door, leaning against it with all of your strength as Steve turns the handle — evidently not finished in the war of quips. 

Bucky’s laughter from his place by the sofa makes your stomach flutter, and he walks closer, just as Steve stops attempting to break down the door. 

With the end of Steve’s attempts to forcefully open the door, you turn and face the wood and peer out of the peephole. A blond mop of hair is just within view. “Bye Stevie!” you call through the door, “Have fun, wear protection!”

Steve’s reply is muffled by the wood, and he flips you off before walking away.  

Shaking your head, you turn back to face the living room, and you see Bucky fussing around the sofa and coffee table. The strong aroma of a sweet, spicy scent fills your senses and you inhale deeply, letting the tantalising smell fill your lungs, before you ask, “Bucky, what are you doing?”

He sends you a furtive glance before looking back down at the snacks laid out on the coffee table, neatly placed next to two already filled glasses of drink. A bag of popcorn threatens to spill from his arms. “I’m, uh– I’m setting up? For the movie–?”

You could not help but notice how fast the bravado and confidence he displayed in the presence of Steve vanishes when he was with you, and you alone.  

“Oh, sweetie,” you coo, walking closer. “I thought we could watch the movie in your room, instead of out here. It’ll be more comfortable, at least, and we can spread out. Is that okay?” 

The popcorn bag that threatened to spill from his arms bursts instead, scattering the popped kernels all over the floor, making him yelp. “Ah! Uh– Okay, we… We can if you want?”

You nod once. “Absolutely. I’d rather be in your bed any day, then out here,” you tease, amused by the way Bucky’s eyes bulge and his cheeks flush. Then you look down at the popcorn all over the floor, and add, “But first, let’s clean this up.” 

Bucky starts to clean up the mess, and he tells you to grab the movies you agreed upon from the collection in the bookshelf. 

The selection to choose from is packed, as it always is. “Why don’t I grab a couple?” 

“Sure,” Bucky answers, sweeping the popcorn into a dustpan. “I mean, why not? May as well go all out.”

You grin and grab a couple of cases. “Do you need some help–”

“No, I’ve got it, Bubs,” Bucky interrupts. You look over your shoulder at him to see the blankets bundled high in his arms, and before you could protest and insist you help carry them, he shuffles off in the direction of his bedroom. 

Then, you glance down at the coffee table to see that the snacks and drinks are missing. “Did you grab the snacks?”

“Yeah!” Bucky calls back, muffled by the walls between the two of you. 

A fond sigh falls from your lips and you follow after him, DVD cases in hand.  

The tension in the air of his bedroom is charged with something you could not quite describe, and the butterflies in your stomach roar to life for it. You square your shoulders, and smile through it. “It’s no different, it’s no different,” you mutter under your breath; a mantra for confidence. 

Though, it is short lived. 

Bucky throws the blankets onto his bed with a grunt, and both the TV and DVD player switch on, ready to accept one of the disks you held in your hand. 

A shuddery breath falls from your lips, and you make your way to the player to place the first disc in. It whirrs to life as you turn to look at Bucky, who is placing the snacks on a tray table, his tongue between his teeth as he works. 

“Okay,” he hums, turning to face you, a shy smile on his face. “You ready, Bubs?” Without waiting for an answer, he walks past you to the light switch, his index finger poised to flip it off. 

You look down at your body, the warm outerwear you had thrown on to get to Steve’s apartment suddenly becomes scorching hot against your skin, and an idea comes to mind — flustering him has given you a rush of confidence before… 

“Almost,” you say, a hidden smirk on your lips. The layers of warmth are soft in your hands while you take them off, and you’re left in a thin tank top and soft, cotton shorts. “Now I am.”

A faint choking noise comes from the doorway behind you when you place the warmer clothes on Bucky’s desk chair. Inwardly, a coy smirk lifts the corner of your lips; outwardly, you look over to him, concerned and ever curious. 

His face, normally soft and kind whenever he looked at you, is taut with embarrassment; blotchy and red. His eyes are frantically looking anywhere, and everywhere around the room but at you. 

“Buck?” you say, getting his attention. His eyes meet yours. “You okay?”

The fidgeting is your first clue that he is struggling with something, and it is a battle to keep the teasing smile off your lips when his hands run constantly through his long hair and or come to a stop in the pockets of his grey sweats. 

Patiently, you watch while he repeats the same actions several times, each pass of his hands only serving to make him even more flushed. “Yeah. Yep,” Bucky coughs. “Mhm. Just great, thanks.” He looks up to the ceiling and gulps loudly. “You’re really wearing those? Uh– Just those, I mean?” 

You thin your lips to try and hurriedly fight off a smile as you grab your warm, fluffy socks from your bag. “Of course, silly,” you tease, shaking your head once. “I always wear my comfy clothes on movie night.”

The room turns deathly silent when you bend at the hip to pull the socks up your feet. 

Peering up from your task, you see Bucky staring at your legs, evidently thinking he hadn’t been caught and his eyes begin to trail upwards, towards your chest. The slackjawed expression amuses you, though you feel the beginning sparks of your own shyness come to life.

“Buck?” A nervous laugh bubbles in your chest, and you play with the hem of your tank top at the heat in his gaze. “Bucky?” you try again, “Are you ready?”

“Uh– Yeah, yes,” he rushes, quickly flicking the light off so his face is cast into shadow. You could have sworn he looked like a kid getting caught stealing a cookie from the cookie jar — wide eyes and a deepening blush that spread down his neck.  

Bucky had always been a little shy in your presence, this you knew. Whenever you come over to visit Steve, or you bump into Bucky on campus, you always notice a remarkable difference in his normal, unwavering charm that he had in familiar company. 

This lack of swagger gives you the impression that you unfasten the young, boyish version of him; the one ruled by nerves, and hindered by a severe lack of confidence. 

Sure, you enjoy spending time with him here and there when you hang out at your brother’s apartment, but never before have you been this close to him, and alone. 

“Why don’t we–?” You gesture towards Bucky’s bed, and before he could either protest or agree, you jog to the edge and jump onto the plush mattress with a squeal of laughter. The blankets cover you easily as you roll yourself in them. “This is perfect,” you sigh, happy and content. 

“And where am I meant to sit?” Bucky laughs, appearing in your eye line with a bright, amused expression. “You blanket hog.”

“Fine,” you drawl, and you disentangle yourself from the cocoon of blankets. 

“Why, thank you, madame,” Bucky says, extending his hand in a mock salute, and he sits down in the now available spot, before sidling up the mattress, to rest his back on the headboard.

The broadness of his shoulders don’t leave much room between the two of you, and you decide to snuggle up to his side in a bid to get comfortable. You feel him tense with the proximity, but he doesn’t push you away or say anything.

“Are you ready now?” you ask, reaching for the remote. “For the movie?”

“Yeah, go ahead,” he rasps, nodding quickly.

Despite his initial nerves, Bucky settles comfortably in your presence — half of the movie goes by undisturbed with only the occasional shuffling to get comfortable after getting a snack, or a drink.  

That all changes the moment Bucky becomes restless,his leg twitching against yours constantly, and he repositions himself every couple of minutes. From the corner of your eye, you see his mouth opening and closing; the courage building within him to speak up. You bite your tongue against the urge — let him speak first, you chided yourself. 

“So,” Bucky eventually says, his voice quiet. “How are your classes going, Buttercup?” 

You take your eyes off the screen and face Bucky, but he’s already looking at you, his eyes bright from the glow of the TV. 

“They’re going good,” you reply, just as quietly. “Yeah, they’re busy — hectic, even, but good.” 

The fabric of the comforter ruffles as you turn your body towards him — your shorts ride up with the movement, and your bare thighs brush against his sweats. Bucky tenses while you settle in and only relaxes when you stop shifting in place. “This time of year is always busy, the coursework and exams,” you continue, shrugging your shoulders. “But I’m managing okay, thanks.” 

Bucky nods his head thoughtfully. “Yeah, all those art projects you’ve gotta finish, it must be tiring.” 

Shock slackens your features and you reel back — you could not recall telling him what you studied. “How do you know what major I’m taking?”

“I– um,” Bucky stutters, suddenly overwhelmingly shy. “I hear you talking to Steve about it. Y’know, when– When you come over, on movie nights, and other nights.” 

You can sense Bucky is not done explaining; he licks his lips and stares at his lap, where he fidgets, again. Quietly, as if embarrassed, he continues, “I see you lugging your big canvases across campus sometimes, too. From class, and– And from the window, when I’m actually studying.”

Warmth creeps up your neck again and you blink rapidly. You hadn’t noticed that he took so much notice of you before now, and you couldn’t help but feel endeared over it. 

Desperate to shift the attention away from yourself, you blurt, “How’s, uh– How’s training going for football season this year?”  

Bucky freezes for a second, then trips over his words, “Oh, it’s good– Yeah, it’s great. Coach says I’m progressing well, so I’m doing alright, I guess.”

“So modest, Buck,” you tease. It was common knowledge on campus that Bucky is the star player of the college football team, while also being scouted to join the professional leagues. You place your hand on his arm and squeeze his bicep reassuringly, lending him a bit of your confidence. “Don’t you sell yourself short, I’ve seen you play — you’re amazing!” 

He inhales sharply and grimaces, an expression that contorts his handsome face. “You really think so?” 

“Bucky,” you say slowly. The tense line of his body is obvious as you shuffle closer, but you are determined to prove your point; assure him of his talent and abilities, for all of a shy puppy that he is.  

“Listen to me, honey,” you continue, and Bucky refuses to meet your gaze, instead focusing on his hands. “Everyone can see it, all of us — all of the women in the crowds, all of the kids that watch you from the sidelines. We’re all screaming for you.”

His skin is warm under your palm, but you don’t remove your hand. Instead, you grip his arm and shake it a little. “You’re amazing.”

Bucky stays silent — contemplative of your words, and you take the opportunity to think over the reason why Bucky chooses to stay in on a Friday night. 

There is no questioning the fact that Bucky Barnes could pull anyone he wanted, whether it was to party, or to fuck, but to your recollection — and from what Steve had slipped in the past — no one has ever witnessed Bucky bringing anyone home, drunk or otherwise. No partner he could call his own, either, and he didn’t brag about the obvious charm he held over the many women on or off campus. 

Cautiously, you venture towards the subject of your curiosity. “Speaking of, shouldn’t you be going out on dates on a Friday night, like Stevie? Surely you’ve got tons of girls lined up for you.”  

Bucky’s silence turns deafening, unnatural. His body becomes stiff and he looks to be barely breathing. 

“Buck?” You sit up and look into his face. It’s pulled taut with what you could only guess as shame, but that made no sense, and with a mounting, swelling horror, you realise you may have pushed him too far; teased beyond the point of what is acceptable between friends. “Hey, did I say something wrong? I’m so sorry–”

“No! No– I… fuck.” Bucky throws his head back against the headboard and covers his face. “Oh, God,” he groans, muffled by his hands. “Shit.”

“Bucky–” You hesitate, unsure of what to do or what to say. You’ve never seen Bucky behave like this, so anxious and uneasy. “I– I’ll go, it’s alright, I’m sorry,” you say quickly, and you start to shuffle off of the bed when you hear his muffled voice say something behind his hands. “What was that, I didn’t–?”

A heavy sigh lifts his shoulders, and they slump back down as he exhales. “Ihaventevenhadmyfirstkissyet.”

“Sweetheart,” you say quietly, and you shift back towards him. The curtain of hair he’s so fond of covers and conceals his eyes from view, but you refrain from tucking it behind his ear. “I did not understand a word of what you just said.” 

Bucky clears his throat and shifts uncomfortably, looking up at you with a great effort. “I– uh.” His hands land on his thighs with a finality not unlike the final siren at his football games, and he utters a reluctant, “I haven’t even had my first kiss yet.” 

His bedroom is quiet enough you would hear a pin drop. The TV had long powered off, since the movie finished while you talked, and the tension was palpable; a living, breathing encumberment that could not be cut with a knife. The flickering light from the still burning candle on his bedside drawers makes shadows dance across Bucky’s face. 

Okay, you think privately, so what? 

Bucky hasn’t kissed anyone before. It was justifiable — too busy with life, training and keeping up his GPA. You didn’t have to make a big deal out of this. “That’s okay–” Then the reality of the situation hits you, and your mind screeches to a halt. 

If Bucky hasn’t had his first kiss… “Does– Wait, does that mean–?”

“Yes.” Bucky squeezes his eyes tight and refuses to look at you — it is obviously a painful confession, yet he still forces himself to spit it out, putting voice to the doubt in your mind. “I’m a virgin.”

Now that catches you off guard. 

Bucky… is a virgin? 

Bucky, the star football player; built like a Greek god with the charisma to match. 

Sweat beads on his forehead and he looks like he is about to bolt from the room in his fear, and you realise all of your thoughts had shown in your expression. 

“Oh,” you manage, blinking slowly. The hand that was gripping his arm had moved without you realising, and you hastily place it back on his bicep. “Oh, Bucky.”

No other words come to mind. 

When you came to visit Steve for movie night, a calm, easy tradition in your routine, you never expected to end up in this kind of situation; on the other side of a confession that has left you speechless with shock, all while a strange confliction brews deep within your guts. 

You had been there once, and what you wouldn’t have given to have the opportunity to experience it with someone you trusted wholeheartedly — like you did Bucky, your mind supplies not-so-helpfully. 

The realisation hits you harder than you expect, and you gasp quietly, still gripping his arm to reassure him. 

Bucky moves his hands to cover his face again, and his chest rises and falls with a sharp hitch. The nervous pants for air that part his lips bring you back down to earth and away from that revelation. You know he’s embarrassed; ducking his head to his chest and glancing up as though you had scolded him. The entirety of his toned body is rigid with fear, each muscle clenching and poised to run, to save what dignity he feels he has left after such a confession. 

It’s difficult not to stare at the veins that line and bulge from his forearms down to his deft hands,  and you almost feel guilty for it; he’s in distress, fretting over the reveal of his lack of sexual prowess, but you cannot help the lingering gaze over his body. He just looks so pretty. 

From the get go, ever since you had met the star football player, you have always fantasised about him. The silent crush on Bucky had developed into such a deep attraction you almost couldn’t bear it any longer. 

Having convinced yourself of the non-existent reciprocation kept your tongue at bay, in the past.  And while Bucky’s virginity is a surprise, it did not hinder or lessen your feelings for him, quite the opposite; the heady weight of it settling over your mind like a blanket. 

What was stopping you now? What would be the harm in testing the waters?

To hell with it, you decide. The springs of the mattress creak as you move to shuck the blanket off of your body, then your legs. 

Bucky audibly gulps behind his hands when you move closer, and he positively freezes, like a deer in headlights, as you lift your leg up and over his thighs to straddle him. The soft brush of his sweatpants over your legs sends a shiver up your spine, and you sit down, settling your body comfortably on his thighs, just above his knees. 

“What– What are you doing–?” Bucky whispers, and his words are muffled behind his palms. You grin, unseen by your quarry, and you shuffle up his thighs to his hips, your clothed cunt just below the seam at his crotch.  

The sound of Bucky choking on his own spit is comical. 

You pull his hands away from his face, the urge to kiss each palm overwhelming; feather-soft brushes of your lips against the soft skin sends the pulse in his throat racing. “Buttercup, please– This is embarrassing enough–”

“Bucky,” you whisper, cutting him off. “Look at me.”

Blue eyes meet yours, and you pour all of the unspoken words between you both in your soft gaze, willing him to feel the yearning. “Kiss me.” 

“But–” He hesitates, a fish out of water again. His mouth hangs slack from the shock of such a bold request, and you place your pointer finger over his lips, shushing him before he can carry on protesting. 

You pout, placing a hint of pleading in your tone, “Please?”

He looks at you as though you’ve grown two heads. “I– What, I mean,” he flounders, arms hovering at his sides, hesitant to touch you — terrified of taking it a step too far. “I don’t know–“

“Aw, Buck,” you coo, smiling softly. Carefully, you shuffle further up his lap until your knees brush against the headboard of his bed. Gently, you place your palms on Bucky’s toned chest, just above his beating heart hammering away — not wanting to frighten him. “I’ll show you, okay?”

“Yeah.” The tremble in his voice makes your heart ache, but you smile encouragingly.

“Here we go,” you soothe. He smiles weakly back, eyes still wide with shock. “I’ve got you.”

You slowly and steadily move closer to Bucky’s face. A shudder racks through his whole body when he feels your breath against his neck, and you peck his stubbled cheek before sitting back upright to face him.

“Okay,” Bucky shakily says, fisting the blankets in his hands. “Okay. That was okay.”

“See? It’s not so bad,” you tease, and you tilt your head to the side, sticking out your cheek. “Your turn.” From the corner of your eyes, you watch his eyes sweep across your face, still hesitant and nervous, but a slither of curiosity now shining through. 

Broad, strong shoulders lift in tandem with his deep, grounding breath, and he steadily leans in before he second guesses himself. He resolutely does not touch your body, but he manages to find the confidence to gently press his lips against your skin, kissing your cheek. 

This time, he sits back and looks up at you for direction and reassurance. 

You consider it, ignoring the fluttering of your heart. His touch was sweet, but polite; a kiss on the cheek that you would give a friend after such a long time apart. And, in the end, you want Bucky to gain more confidence and actually enjoy kissing — he shouldn’t have to be ashamed to want it. “Good, that was good,” you say, keeping your tone mellow so as to not spook him.

He is making good progress, and gentle encouragement is the way to ensure it continues, you reason with yourself. “Now, I want you to do the exact same thing, but start gradually moving towards my lips.”

“Oh– Okay, okay,” he breathes, and his eyes widen slightly before they dart down towards his lap. 

That needs to be rectified immediately, before he shuts down, you hastily think, and you react swifty, your hands roaming from his chest and up to the sides of his neck, adding a little pressure to bring him back down to earth. 

There was an innate need for him to know that he could trust you; that you would treat him with the respect he deserves. 

Gently, you lift his head up, forcing him to look at you, and the downturn of his lips makes your heart ache. All you want to do is soothe the fear and rid the worry from his pretty eyes that pierce you, even through the strands of hair that have fallen in his face. 

“You’re okay, Buck,” you soothe, rubbing your thumbs over his warm, rosy cheeks. The movement and assurance seem to do the trick. “You’re okay. I’ve got you.”

A minute passes, and you watch as the confliction flitters across his face; an inward battle to assemble his courage to bridge the gap between you both.

There is another minute of silence, when he slowly advances, leaving his palms flat on the covers of his bed as he kisses you on the cheek. 

“That’s it,” you praise, sitting still in his lap, but smiling softly in encouragement.

Bucky hesitantly returns the smile, and he doesn’t move away, rather, he decides to stay close. “You did good,” you say, still smiling, and he takes you by surprise when he moves forwards again to place another tiny kiss even closer to your lips. “Oh–”

The soft brush of his lips makes you freeze, and he takes his time, building his confidence with each peck he makes. 

Finally, he reaches the corner of your lips, and he stalls; confidence wavering and faltering with the daunting task. You go to part your lips to speak on instinct, to encourage him, when he suddenly moves even closer to your face, making you hastily shut your mouth and brace for what was to come; willing for your heart to slow down the tattoo it beats against your throat.  

“Okay,” Bucky whispers more to himself, and he clears his throat before licking his lips. “Okay, okay. Just–” His lips connect with the curve of you own, the brief and fleeting connection enough to tell you that his lips are plump; ripe to swell and redden with a passionate make out session. 

Hastily, Bucky withdraws, but not all the way back — he lingers and only allows the tiniest space between your faces.

“You did it, sweetheart,” you coo, keeping your voice low. “I’m so proud of you.”

“Th– Thanks,” he stutters, and the rosy blush he sported turns a splotchy crimson. Interesting, you think.  

You turn your head to look at him, and the proximity of his face makes both of your lips brush against each other. The intoxicating softness consumes you, and you cannot deny the reality that Bucky is there, he is right there. A torture that intensifies in the billowing silence, while a burning, reckless spike of adrenaline rushes through your veins.

“Do you want more?” you ask quietly, breaking the silence and shattering the tension. 

A harsh breath falls from Bucky’s lips, and he presses forward to kiss you properly for the first time. 

Whatever you had been expecting for a first kiss from the inexperienced, sweet, charming man beneath you, flew out the window. Your lips slot perfectly over his, a chaste kiss that held enough need and want to be something far more; it could not hold a candle to the sex you had with past flings.  

The kiss, unexpected as it was, lasts only for a couple seconds longer before Bucky pulls back from it, panting lightly — puffs of air fanning over your slightly parted lips. He lingers, bumping his nose into yours to keep close. 

But eventually, Bucky pulls all the way back to rest against the headboard. 

The silence is not deafening — not like it was before, and you open your eyes, blinking slowly. 

Bucky is already staring at you. His eyes are glazed over with hunger, and he's out of breath, the rise and fall of his chest faster than before. 

You fare no better. Your heart pounds heavily in your chest, but it still feels like it’s lodged in your throat. No words are spoken between the two of you; just an invisible string that keeps you entwined to one another. 

It’s difficult to find the words to say, especially after something so raw and vulnerable; so new and budding. You want him to feel safe, like he had done good, though; you want to tell him he has nothing to worry about, not with you. 

And just as you open your mouth to speak, to praise him for how well he had done, Bucky slides his hands up your thighs, over your waist, and up to your neck, cupping the back of it in his large palm. “I want–” 

To your utter shock, he drags you closer, his lips greedily slotting over yours for a far deeper kiss.  

Bucky can’t get enough of you; already addicted and demanding more. You can’t be mad for it, not when he’s a sensational kisser — he’s good, far too good. The basics have you dizzy with want, and you decide on a whim to challenge him, to push him a little further and test the boundaries. 

You part your lips as Bucky pulls back, and before he could kiss you again, you tentatively tease your tongue against his lips. The sensation makes him sit rigid again beneath you, and he chases your tongue, the surprised moan he lets slip vibrates into your mouth.

The power of such a move has you smirking into the kiss. 

You only plan to stoke the fire by pushing him into the deep end a little — the prospect of overwhelming him too risky, but when you feel the effortless slide of Bucky’s tongue entering your parted lips to dance with your own, it leaves you physically stunned and unable to move. 

Bucky compliments you perfectly, as though he is a natural, and someone so timid should not be capable of that — it’s dangerous. 

It escalates — tongues dance and lips clash, and Bucky’s breath is heavy on your lips, as yours is on his, when he pulls back for air. There’s a pull that you can’t ignore, not any longer, and you bring your hands up from his neck to his hair, threading your fingers through it, making him moan quietly against your lips, “Bu–”

Your nails scrape against his scalp while he speaks, and you squeak in shock as Bucky’s hips surge upwards, forcing his hard cock against your clothed cunt. “Oh, fuck–” he gasps, and his body turns rigid with fear again while he pleads for forgiveness. “I’m so sorry, so sorry, Bubs– I–”

Quickly, you place your index finger over his lips. “Hush, you. It’s alright. I loved it,” you reassure, and suddenly, it turns into a game for you — you are desperate to see how Bucky plays along, how close to the edge you can get him. “Let it go, it’s okay.”

Bucky’s breath hitches as you grind down hard against him, and his hands rush down from your neck to grip your waist. The unabashed moan he lets slip is sinful; a delight to be the cause of, and a Cheshire Cat grin splits your lips. You’ll be damned if you don’t get more from him, you decide.

“Fuck,” he grits out, the grip of his hands on your waist turning painful. “Fuck, yes.” 

You moan and allow him to move your body where he wants it — predictably, he perches you straight on his crotch and his hands wander, slipping beneath the tank top you wear to brush against your skin. 

The resolve he had held onto so strongly is starting to slip, and you inwardly scream with joy at the dilation of his pupils, the heavy pants of his breath — a poor, virtuous man is melting into a puddle at your feet. 

The position of your body gives you an impression of just how big Bucky is, and with his cock hard, you can feel the girth and the size of him against your cunt  — a crime, you think, that it wasn’t inside you.

Your motions of grinding down into him have the tip of his cock catching on your clit through your shorts, and the thin material has no pretence of protectiveness, and you greedily lap every single, last sensation up while shamelessly taking more.  

“Bucky,” you whine against his mouth, and in turn, he nips at your swollen bottom lip before sucking on it. “Fuck– S’good.”

“Buttercup, baby,” Bucky slurs, and his fingertips dig into your skin, unknowingly marking you in his lust-fuelled haze. “Fuckin’ feel good, please,” he whimpers, unable to keep kissing you with the way his moans and litany of quiet cries fall from his lips, longing for more; too far gone, he can’t help himself anymore. “Need more, please.”

You’re all too pleased to listen to his cries for you; begging would taste so much sweeter, though. Next time. “Okay,” you soothe, pecking him on the nose. “I’ll give you more, sweetheart.”

The bed creaks as you shuffle up Bucky’s lap, and you move your hands to grip the headboard. “Don’t keep quiet on me,” you warn. 

“Wha– Fuck!”

You pant as you grind down on Bucky’s cock, the effort of making your hips work this hard and fast steals your breath, but the sounds — oh, the sounds falling from his pretty lips make it all worth it. 

The added friction of your lace panties against your soaked clit only amplifies the pleasure for you, and it’s all you can do to keep going.

Bucky throws his head back and groans to the ceiling, but you follow him, leaning over and panting into each other's mouths and kissing messily, barely able to put anything behind them as you work the both of you closer to release. 

You pull back to look at him, and the slope of his neck is too tempting to leave alone — the  loose strands from his hair are sticking to the sweat gathering on his skin, and you watch a bead of it roll down a curve of corded muscle. 

Of course, you weren’t going to let it go — you want him to crack.

Bucky moans, his breath stuttering as your tongue chases the bead of sweat, and you latch onto his skin, sucking steadily at his pulse point. “Baby– Baby, please, fuck,” he babbles, forcing his head back further to expose more of his neck. 

You oblige, all too willingly and with a giddy enthusiasm; the bow of your lips trace over his Adam’s apple and down to his collarbone, where you bite down gently. 

“Shit, shit,” Bucky suddenly exclaims, his words slurring together. “No– No, please, I ca– Can’t,” he begs, and you pull away from his neck, brows furrowing in concern. “Please, I don’t want to– To, shit–”

Words seem to be out of his grasp, and you wait patiently for him to gather his thoughts while you watch the thread of his restraint wearing thin, so close to snapping when he’s this overwhelmed with the pleasure you are giving him. 

You can’t have that, though. 

Bucky was torturing himself, not allowing himself the pleasure of giving into his base desires - what he needs. “Can’t what, sweetheart?” you ask. “You can’t cum?”

Bucky nods his head frantically, his eyes widening. You consider him, the sweat on his brow and upper lip, the way his eyes plead for something more; he’s so desperate to not cum, to let go. 

It’s plain as day that he is holding himself back, when you knew deep down that he is itching to relinquish control and give in. 

You decide then to push, to throw caution to the wind and make him take it. “Why not?” you whine, grinding back and forth, back and forth, over his painfully hard cock. “Doesn’t my pussy feel good, baby?” 

Bucky whimpers and scrunches his face up, cock throbbing as he grows closer to finishing. You don’t think he realises how he rambles to himself, “Fuck, yes! It does—fuck, it does baby.” 

“Think for me, sweetheart,” you say, leaning close to his face. “Just think for me, how good being inside my pussy would be.” The lure of being inside your cunt cracks the last of his resolve; control slipping through his fingers before he can grasp hold of it.  

You smirk, watching how his brows furrow and his eyes squeeze shut. “Just think, Bucky,” you repeat, “How wet and tight I’d be for you. How I would scream for more; beg for more of your cock and what you give me.” 

The sound Bucky makes is close to a wounded animal, and his grip on your waist is sure to leave bruises. “Oh, sweetheart,” you coo, mouthing softly up his neck until your lips brush over the shell of his ear, and you whisper, “Doesn’t that sound good, baby?”

Something snaps within him. 

The headboard of the bed thumps against the wall as Bucky tumbles over the cliff, his restraint long gone, and he wraps his arms tightly around you, curling them around your waist to hold you impossibly close. You feel something wet on your neck, and you realise belatedly that Bucky is crying silently, overwhelmed with the pleasure. 

To reassure him, you thread your fingers through his hair again to scratch at his scalp. You feel his lips move up and down your neck, placing open mouthed kisses over the skin “Are you okay?” you ask softly, careful to not move in his hold. “Bucky, baby?”

“Mhm,” Bucky hums, and he buries his face further into your neck, nodding frantically. “Pleasepleaseplease.”

A victorious smirk pulls the corner of your lips up. You know you have him — Bucky’s too far gone to come back down now, and he won’t be able to stop. 

“Go on,” you purr. Bucky hungrily grinds up into your heat, seeking it out and forcing a gasp from your lips with the pressure. “That’s it,” you push, and your last deadly blow has the dam breaking, once and for all: “Cum for me then, pretty boy.”

“Oh, oh, fuck– Baby–” Bucky moaned, but you keep steady pressure over his cock, and his hips start to stutter in rhythm. “Shit!” 

“That’s it, that’s it, sweetheart,” you coax, just as a damp patch stains the crotch of his sweats, and his legs tremble under your thighs. There’s a loud thump as his head hits the headboard of his bed. 

“Fuck–” Your own climax begins to mount, the tension of it unbearable, and just the band snaps, you cry out to the ceiling, “Bucky!”

The room is full of pants for air, the synchronised rise and fall of your chests in tandem with the twitching muscles of your body; the rushed gasps for breath a symphony to your ears.

“Holy shit,” you murmur, and you finally look at Bucky — only to be taken aback with the awestruck expression on his handsome face. His lips are stretched wide in a dopey grin, and his eyes, while normally so bright and soft, are glazed over with post-orgasm bliss. 

“You’re so beautiful, baby,” he whispers. You feel the brush of his fingers over your waist and thighs, a soothing touch that in combination with his words sends another wave of heat up your neck. “So fuckin’ beautiful.”

You smile nervously, suddenly speechless with the earnestness and fondness in his voice. Instead, you shuffle down his thighs to rest your arms on his shoulders more comfortably, and you play with the hair on the nape of his neck — the soft locks damp with sweat. 

The two of you stare into one another’s eyes, then, you rest your forehead on his to whisper, “Well, handsome, not so bad for your first kiss.”

Bucky starts to laugh, then giggles take over as he faceplants into your chest, nuzzling himself against your tits in shyness. 

After a while, Bucky starts to shift in place, and you start to rise up off of his lap, when his sudden stiffness alarms you. “Bucky? What’s the matter?”

“I— I don’t, I didn’t mean to—“ He stutters, looking down at his crotch. You follow his gaze, utterly confused — there is nothing abnormal, only the wet patch of cum staining the material. 

Your confusion only increases, and you look back to Bucky’s face. It’s blotchy and red from embarrassment. “Bucky?”

“I– Oh, goddamnit,” he mutters, and he looks down at his lap again pointedly.

The realisation washes over you; a lightbulb suddenly going off in your head. He was embarrassed over coming in his pants. “Bucky, sweetheart,” you say, moving to cup his cheeks and force him to look at you. “Listen to me, okay?”

Blue eyes meet yours, his gaze pensive. You muster the warmest, kindest smile; no judgement apparent in your own eyes as you stare at him. “There is no need to feel ashamed.”

“But–” Bucky tries. 

“No, listen to me,” you interrupt, and you lean in closer, bumping his nose with yours before reassuring him, “There's no need to feel ashamed, sweetheart.”

His pure, innocent gaze doesn’t fail to make you swoon even more over him. “It doesn’t?”

“Of course not, you know why?” Bucky shakes his head, eyes wide and intent to listen to anything you have to say. Your lips hover over his as you whisper, “Because I love you making a mess for me, baby.”

The weekend passes by swiftly, a tangle of bedsheets and limbs; kisses and fleeting touches that turn into passionate embraces. 

It was only when Steve came home on the Saturday night did he kick both you and Bucky out of the apartment with a yell of, “Bye! Have fun, kids!”

You decided to take Bucky back to your dorm-room — an easy decision when you get to watch how his eyes trail over your body as you walk down the halls holding hands. 

And on Sunday morning, bright and early, a series of knocks on your dorm-room door wakes you out of your slumber. “Damn,” you grumble, blinking slowly into the dimly lit room. The curtains are drawn, but a slither of gold peeks from behind the fabric; right over Bucky’s face and the mess of his hair. 

You sigh and tiredly throw the covers off you, mentally preparing yourself to get out of bed, but before you can get up, two arms curl around your waist and tug you backwards into a muscled chest. The warmth of the embrace makes you sigh contentedly.

“No,” Bucky groans before burying his face into your neck and smothering you with his body; trapping you with his arms and winding his legs around yours. “Dun’ get up.” 

You giggle as he starts kissing your shoulders and nibbling at your neck — the stubble of his jaw tickling the soft skin while his lips soothed over it. “I have to,” you say quietly, and you grab his arm to pull it off, only– 

“Nuh-uh. Where y’think you're goin’, Buttercup?” The deep rumble of his morning voice has you inner self trembling, memorising your antics of your weekend together. “Can’t leave me.” And to solidify his claim, Bucky clings onto you like a koala. 

“Bucky, you big goof.” You slap his arm, but he just grunts his protest, clinging to your body tighter. “Come on,” you say, wriggling — it’s met with no success of him releasing you. “Get off of me so I can answer the door.”

But you should have known that he is far too stubborn to let up that easily — a stubborn puppy that refused to give up his treat. “No. Tell ‘em to fuck off.”

“Fine.” Your only hope is an attempt to bribe him, you decide, and you look at him to find he’s staring at you through a half-lidded eye, the other eye obscured by his pillow. “How about you let me go, and I promise to give you unlimited cuddles for the rest of the day, no moving whatsoever?” 

That gets his attention, and he perks his head up to lean closer to yours. “I wan’ unlimited kisses, too,” he negotiates, pouting his lips and narrowing his eyes. 

You cannot help but chuckle. “Deal, handsome.”

Bucky plonks backwards onto the bed, star fishing in his sulking — the treat now successfully taken away. 

With your newfound freedom, you sit up and stretch, ignoring the grumbles and quiet whines of, “Bein’ left alone ain’t right,” and, “Tell whoever it is to fuck off, I mean it.”

The bedsheets rustle under you when you scoot to the edge, the warmth of Bucky’s body and the softness of the covers already sorely missed, especially when you stand up and slip into your fluffy, warm gown and slippers. The brush of Bucky’s shirt over your skin makes you smile, the fabric soft and worn but oh so perfectly Bucky. 

“Hurry back, Buttercup,” he calls after you as you walk slowly out of the room. “Please—don’ leave me too long.”

“Drama queen,” you whisper, quiet enough he wouldn’t hear. The knocking comes again and you curse the cause — if it’s your friend from class asking to borrow your notes again, you were going to slam the door straight back in their face. Aloud, you say, “I’m coming, I’m coming. Don’t bust the hinges.”

You prepare the speech to scold your friend as you walk to the door, and you grab the hand;e — the metal of it cold from the chill overnight. The door swings open with a loud creak, and you start saying, “What are you–”

The lack of a presence, or anyone at the door, stops you short — not even a shadow of someone running away down the hall.  “Fucking door dashers,” you groan, and you turn on your heel to go back inside when the toe of your slipper bumps into something on the ground. “What–?”

A gift basket, filled to the brim with an assortment of chocolates and scattered gift cards to your favourite stores, is innocuously sitting there. In the middle of the basket, poking its head out next to a bouquet of your favourite flowers, is the head of a stuffie Golden Retriever, the fur irresistibly soft and the eyes bright — much like Bucky’s. Its mouth held a note scrawled in messy cursive. 

“Okay,” you mumble, and you kneel down to look at it closer, worried that there had been a mix up or confusion of a dorm number. As you near the letter, you realise that the messy scrawl spells out Flower. “Wait.” 

That meant only one person was responsible. 

Your fingers tore open the letter and unfold it; the messy scrawl continues on the inside, too.  

Flower, I’m sorry for bailing on our movie night. 

I know you’re pissed, but I hope this and the beefcake attached to your back makes up for my mistake. 

Love ya squirt, 

Your big bro.

“Stevie,” you say, eyes darting over the lines of script. “You sneaky bastard.” There is a post script just below his sign off, and you continue to read.

P.S. Date went well, tell you all about it on movie night next week? I’m sure we’ll have guests joining us x 

Shaking your head in amusement, you place the note back with the stuffie, and pick up the rest of your basket. “What am I going to do with you,” you mumble, stepping back into your dorm to place the basket on the entry table to admire it again. 

“Wha’s happenin’?” a voice rasps behind you, and sure enough, the aforementioned beefcake in the letter from Steve plasters himself to your back; arms around your waist and his face tucked into your neck again. “Back to bed, c’mon.”

Bucky drags you backwards, chuckling deeply at your squeal of laughter that echoes down the hallway to your bedroom. “You made me a promise,” he grunts, and he pulls you back into bed and underneath the covers, intent on making sure you fulfil your end of the bargain. 

Claim Her Name (Caitlin Foord x Reader x Steph Catley)

A/n requested smut

Star marks the start of smut 18+, Minors DNI

Also apologising in advance

There's a small breeze that blows through the house on a hot summer afternoon. The heatwave had been practically killing any effort to try and get anything productive done, but the cool air was a nice turn.

So you'd opened up the house and started on the list of chores you hadn't touched yet.

Clad in one of Steph's black arsenal jerseys, and just underwear, you clear out most of them within a few hours.

Midway through scrubbing down the benches in the kitchen and cooking, your ears perk up enough to hear a car pull into the driveway, and two doors slam shut.

You continue to hum with a small smile, knowing it was just Steph and Caitlin.

What you aren't expecting is the bickering coming from the two. And what you definitely aren't expecting is the conversation they're having.

Lord knows they didn't have a filter when they got like this.

**

"Oh come on Caitlin, like she cums any harder in your jersey than she does in mine."

"She does! Thank you very much. That was proven a week ago."

"How? She wasn't even in your jersey. She was wearing a plain Arsenal 22/23 kit."

"Still counts."

Theres a huff.

"If that counts, that means she was technically wearing my jersey too!"

"Like shit! I was the one to make her cum, therefore it counts for me, not you."

You shake your head as you hear them slowly approach the kitchen. Only then do you realise there's a name on the back of your jersey, and you quietly curse, knowing you won't hear the end of it from either of them.

As they approach the kitchen, Steph pauses mid argument, spotting you standing with your hands leaning against the bench, watching the doorway.

"Alright babe, who do you think is right here? Who makes you cum the hardest in who's jersey?"

"Wooow, 'Hey baby, we're home, we missed you so much, wow, what smells so good? Thank you for cooking dinner. We love you.' Aww, thanks, my loves, I missed you both so much as well, I hope training went alright, I love you too!"

Caitlin bursts out laughing, and Steph slaps her palm against her forehead before shuffle jogging over silently to apologise. Her hands find your waist from behind, turning you to her, and she mumbles a soft apology against your lips, noting your lack of pants.

"Hey baby, sorry, you know us getting into it. Dinner does smell really good. Thank you for cooking. And might I say, you do look absolutely ravishing with my name on your back."

You glare playfully at her, poking her in the shoulder.

"Kiss-ass."

A cheeky grin crosses her face.

"I'd definitely do that."

You roll your eyes and turn to the now pouting Caitlin.

"What's up with you?"

"You're wearing her number over mine."

Your brow raises.

"Babe, I was wearing yours yesterday... and the day before that... and five out of seven days last week."

Her cheeks flush a little, and she huffs.

You just chuckle and shake your head at her. While you're having this conversation, Steph slides her hands down to your hips, admiring the sight of her name on your back.

One hand slips up your back again and gently rubs at your shoulder, and she presses into you, nearly pinning you against the counter.

"God baby, you're killing me here." It's muttered next to your ear.

"Oh, I'm killing YOU, am I?" It's said with a soft giggle that escapes your lips.

Your head tilts to the side regardless, and she takes the opportunity to make eye contact with Caitlin as she presses soft kisses to your neck, looking her dead in the eye with a daring gaze.

Before they get too far, though, you shake off the slight haze and duck out from Steph's grip to continue watching the pans on the stove.

Steph huffs, but you silence her with a 'look'.

"Set the table goofballs, dinner's nearly done, and enough with the bickering about my orgasms."

They both quickly rush to do as they're told, always swift to outdo the other. They do love each other, and you can swear they were intimate in their own right, but jesus, were they competitive.

This definitely isn't the first time they've been caught bickering about you, and you're sure it certainly won't be the last.

In the past, it's usually been about who can get you to laugh first or who buys the food closest to what you're craving when you're on your period. But orgasms?

That was a new one. Even for the ever horny Caitlin Foord. You swore her sex drive was through the roof at all times of the day.

Her challenging Steph like that wasn't new, but doing it while walking in the door from training was just taking it to a whole other level.

So you were certainly on guard for the possibility that you were getting jumped tonight. You'd already completed most of the stuff you needed to anyway.

As you all sat and ate at the square table in the dining room, Steph and Caitlin sat either side of you. Occasional chatter comes up, you prompting them about training and them asking if everything went alright today, and if there was anything they could help with after dinner.

That was something you would forever be grateful for. They had one of the busiest careers out there, playing, training, doing media, and prepping for national team duty. Hell, Caitlin had a second job working as a physio.

Then there was you. You worked from home and did most of the chores around the house, and they still insisted they help you with that.

Sure, it was a decently paying job, and you were thankful for that opportunity, but... was it enough? They certainly deserved so much better than what you could give them, right?

Funnily enough, you'd made the mistake of having that same thought about two months ago. You'd expressed that you felt a little lacking in terms of how much you did and nearly took on a second job.

It's not like you needed it. You just felt like you weren't working hard enough.

Of course, Steph and Caitlin were quick to tell you otherwise and prove it. You made sure there was always company at home. You were there for them in ways any other person couldn't be. You always had a fresh, cooked, healthy meal for them.

You still worked your butt off with your current job. You earned nearly half the income in the house. On top of that, the house was always in top shape. You did maintenance, yard work, cleaning, organising, laundry. To them, that was more than enough.

So you kept that one to yourself, knowing you'd only be told otherwise and made a promise to yourself to work on that one later. Maybe a volunteer position might ease that?

Everything you did, your girls were right there with you when they could be.

God, you loved them.

As dinner slows to soft chatter, and as soon as you put your fork down, about to stand to clear the table, both of them stand up, Caitlin grabbing the leftovers to container them and put them away for later, Steph grabbing the dishes to put in the sink to wash.

You watched them move around the kitchen with ease, occasionally ribbing each other lightly, playful banter in the air as they cleaned up.

This was just a routine you'd have to get used to. You get scolded every time you try to do the dishes after dinner.

"Nuh uh, you cooked for us and cleaned all day. Pretty butt in chair baby, we'll finish this."

You took the opportunity to go and start the next load of laundry while they did that, not wanting to sit still for too long.

You hear footsteps pad from behind you into the laundryroom. And you turn to look at Steph, who's now leaning against the doorway, watching you.

"What's up?"

"Nothing, just admiring." A small smile pulling at her lips.

You shake your head slightly and bend down to pick up the next basket to move it, but a pair of hands pull you up, spin you around, and press you against the washing machine.

Steph quickly takes your lips with her own, and it just about knocks the air from your lungs. She lifts you to sit on the machine, and her hands are hot on your thighs, keeping you as close as possible.

Your legs wrap around her, and you chuckle softly as she immediately goes for your neck again.

She had a thing for leaving marks on you. Not that you minded. You never really had anything to do in town and were easy enough to cover when you did. Plus, you enjoyed the feeling of both of them claiming you like this.

Her mouth trails over the junction of your neck and shoulder, teeth pulling at the skin and lips soothing the ministrations. Your hands slip up the back of her shirt, gently scratching the skin where you know it riles her up.

Her grip on your legs tightens a little as you do so, fingers digging into the skin, leaving you keening as she kisses you again.

Her tongue dips between your lips, leaving you whimpering softly, melting completely into her.

"You're so fucking sexy dressed like this baby. You have no idea how much I love seeing my name on your back."

You breathlessly chuckle as she returns to work on your neck.

"Oh, I think I have a little idea."

At that, she pulls you to the edge of the machine, nudging you to lift your hips as she pulls your underwear off from beneath you.

"I'm sure we can remedy that then and give you the full idea."

She drops to her knees, pulling her hair back with a hair tie and a small wink that, if you'd been standing, would have taken your knees out from under you.

Thankfully, the window in the laundry room is frosted, so it's not entirely obvious to the outside world what you're doing.

"Jesus baby, you're killing me."

Her breath fans your centre as she pulls you right to the edge of the machine. Her eyes meet yours as she wiggles her brows at you and you laugh.

"All in a days work."

"Yeah, yeah, now hush and fuck me."

Steph kisses at your inner thigh, a teasing smile on her lips. "So demanding."

With that, she kisses at your clit, tongue peaking out to swipe up your slit.

Your head lulls back, and you lean back fully on your hands with a soft moan. One hand moves to grip the back of her head as she moves her tongue in zigzags, moving just enough to work you up, but in no way near enough to finish from it.

"Steph." It comes out as a soft sigh, almost pleading with her.

"Shh baby, we've got time."

Her tongue lazily drags up your taste into her mouth as her lips wrap around your clit to suck gently.

You look down to make eye contact with her, fingers running through the loose hair, gripping it slightly. It makes you moan a little louder this time as she dips her tongue inside you.

"And to think, you told me you were just helping her do laundry."

You meet Caitlin's eye in the doorway, wondering how long she'd been standing there off to the side.

Steph pulls away for a moment, making you whine softly.

"Was wondering when you were gonna get in here."

"Baby, please." You urge Steph's head back towards you.

She tuts playfully at you, hands pressing your legs wider, as she signals your other girlfriend to join her. Caitlin just shakes her head.

"You said you could make her cum harder. Prove it."

"Technically, you said that, I only said it wasn't true in your case."

You groan out, a little frustrated now.

"Guys, fuck the techinicalities, can one of you please just continue, your head is between my legs, you should be making me cum, not arg- shiiitt"

Steph dives in just about straight away. This time, it's much more aggressive and leaves you bucking your hips against her face.

One hand slips away from your inner thigh and moves to press two digits to your entrance. Her fingers dip inside slow, teasing, and it sends tingles up your spine.

Her arm moves with her thrusts, bicep tensing with each stroke. Steph feels you clench around her fingers and speeds up her strokes to match your hips thrusting against her.

Her other arm has to eventually move to hold you down, though, in order to keep her mouth where you need it.

Your hips start to jerk a little more, and as her fingers curl just right inside you, you clench tightly. She knows you're close and speeds up a little, tapping your g-spot, throwing you closer as your chest starts to rise and fall rapidly.

Her tongue zigzagging harshly over your clit is what sends you over with a squeaked cry, curses tumbling from your lips.

Your toes curl, your eyes are clenched shut, and your fingernails bite into your palms as your orgasm crashes through you.

What Steph hadn't seen as she fucked you was Caitlin leaving the doorway and returning a second later. With something in hand.

She spots the forward, now wandering into the room with a short sleeve black away jersey.

As you come down from the high, a little hazey from the impromptu orgasm, you see Caitlin and spot whats now in her hand.

"We're gonna run a little experiment, baby, tonight is all about you."

You lift your head off the wall with a slight kink in your brow.

"Like y'all don't do that ceremoniously every other night."

Her hand comes up to rest on your cheek, thumb tugging gently at your bottom lip.

"But, if you let me finish, we see who can make you cum harder in who's jersey."

You whimper slightly, at the same time Steph removes her fingers from you and stands to your level.

"You get to cum as much as you want, but, at the end of each orgasm, give us a rating."

"Seriously?" You look at them a little unimpressed, you weren't physically prepared for tonight by any means and plus, they know well and true that you won't be able to answer them after the fifth or so orgasm.

Steph moves back to stand between your legs and kiss at your neck, mumbling into your ear.

"We can take it easy, and take as long you like baby, but you'll be cumming later either way."

You huff slightly before nodding.

"Jesus, you're both gonna be the death of me." You murmur, closing your eyes as her teeth nip at the new unmarked skin.

"Then, 7/10, the mouth work was 10/10, but the location was questionable. My ass hurts now too."

Her lips detach from your neck, and she pulls away with a pouty look on her face. "Sorry baby, rating's a rating."

With that, you feel a new pair of hands grab your legs.

You sit up to kiss Caitlin as she hikes you into her arms, lifting you off the machine completely and walking you to the bedroom, Steph trailing behind.

Your arms tighten around her neck, pulling her down with you as she tries to set you down, and you giggle softly at the look on her face when she lands on top of you.

She's nestled between your legs, and her hands keep her from entirely leaning on you, though you put an end to that and pull her down onto you, keeping your legs tight around her to take her full weight.

She smirks against your lips, and her hand slips between you, riding up under the black jersey. She grabs at your chest, palming it as she leans off to the side slightly to get more access.

You moan as she works at your chest, kneading and pinching at your nipple.

Suddenly, her weight disappears off you as she sits up and pulls you with her. You barely register her hands, pulling one jersey off and replacing it with her own.

The moment it's back on, you're pushed backwards again. This time, she's settled on either side of your left leg, straddling it. Her hands pull her own shirt off with you staring at her stomach as she does so.

She chuckles at your expression and leans down to capture your lips again.

Caitlin's hand moves between your legs, and you jolt slightly, still a little sensitive. Her finger rubs slowly at your clit, making you sigh softly into her mouth.

She pulls away with a small nip to your lower lip and kisses to your collarbone and slips down to level with your pussy.

You feel the bed shift to your left. It's Steph, but she doesn't move to touch you. You beckon her over, but she doesn't move, only shakes her head no at you.

You whine softly, "Why not?"

"Because we're not allowed to touch you while the other is doing her thing, those are rules, sorry baby."

You huff slightly, "Fuck the rules."

Caitlin raises a brow at Steph.

"Or you could let her do her thing and fuck you instead?"

You almost protest, but Caitlin's tongue interrupts you.

Her first swipe makes you let out a breathy sigh. Her next is much harsher, and you moan into the cool night air. She dives straight into you after that, and your head drops to the pillow beneath it, eyes clenched shut.

She works you up the same as the defender had, but when she sneaks two fingers into your entrance, you notice she's paired it with something else and it sends heat straight to your gut at the thought.

It's a vibrating ring.

When she snuck that on, you had no idea, but that thought quickly gets wiped away, as she fully pushes the first two fingers in and holds her third tight to the other two.

You can hear Steph protest from next to you.

"Cheating little shit."

Caitlin just winks cheekily at her and doubles her efforts. To your credit, you hold off for as long as you can, but in the end, her lips sucking harshly at your clit is what sends you over. And fast.

Caitlin has a smirk on her face as she brings you down. And when she pulls away, you give her a joking thumbs up.

"8/10, sneaky choice with the ring, but didn't it last long enough. Great mouth work, still wearing pants, though."

Steph growls at that.

"What happened to no outside influence?"

Caitlin shrugs, a cheeky grin on her face.

"It was technically inside her."

Steph huffs, crossing her arms over her chest.

"Fine, how about we rework the rules since you so clearly won't stick to them. We'll make so we can use any toy to make her cum."

She turns to you, which you'd been watching them with hooded eyes and a small amused smile on your face.

"What about you, baby? Any input?"

"You know I'm not gonna have input, babe, I'm here for the orgasms and the entertainment."

She rolls her eyes and turns back to Caitlin.

"Well? What's your input?"

Caitlin taps her fingers on her chin, pretending to think for a moment.

"We can use anything?"

Steph sighs and nods.

"Within reason and at the discretion of Y/n."

Caitlin immediately sticks her hand out.

"Deal."

Steph raises both brows at her before shaking her hand and her own head at the girl. You giggle at the two. Your goofballs.

"Alright, back in a second."

She steps off the bed and heads into the walk-in wardrobe, pulling out a box you know all too well. She pulls off the lid and tosses it, setting the box down at the end of the bed before kneeling to dig through it.

You wiggle your way down, leaning on your elbows to look over at what she's pulling out. She goes to grab a small vibrator but stops when she notices you watching her.

She quickly shoos you back up the bed, and you whine but do so. She pulls out a few objects that you can't see and leaves them layed out on the carpet where you can't get a glimpse from your position.

The first thing she does is grab the blindfold and shift up the bed, straddling your waist. Damn, you were banking on her not doing that.

You sit up obediently, and she ties it around your head tightly, making sure to shift it so there's no chance for you to peak.

"This stays on for the rest of tonight, so there's no chance she sees what we're about to do. Senses heightened kind of thing. Tends to make you cum harder."

You hear Caitlin speak up from beside you.

"Eye contact is pretty hot though."

Steph scoffs.

"Good luck getting her to keep it."

You make a mock offended noise.

"Excuse me." You huff.

"Yeah, no, sorry babe, you kind of make it difficult when you won't sit still long enough." Caitlin chuckles slightly.

"Seriously?"

"Yup." Is Steph's answer and you pout softly.

She shifts off you and the bed moves as she steps off it. You hear some rustling for a bit before she gets back onto the bed.

"Turn over on your stomach."

You do so carefully as to not just fall off the bed, and Steph's hands guide your hips up slightly to slip a pillow beneath them.

A bottle lid is cracked open, and you assume it's lube.

"We agreed no butt stuff, right?"

Two seconds of silence.

"Baby, we talked about this, and been there done that was a big no, so yes, it's a no, no butt stuff."

"Just double checking" There's a little tone behind it. Steph sighs slightly, and Caitlin stifles a laugh.

"Alright, so the brat tone ends now."

"Geez sorry." You work out why she says it pretty quickly.

A smack to the left cheek makes you jump slightly.

"Yes."

Another smack to the right cheek.

"Yes Ma'am."

You can hear your other girlfriend snort behind her hand and your cheeks burn as you realise what you said.

"Not what I meant, but that's a better answer." You hear the surprised but amused tone behind it.

Steph continues, and you feel her fingers dip into you, the lube cold, and it sends shivers up your spine, and you sigh into the pillow.

There's some more rustling as Steph leans back off you for a second.

"God, Steph, you're gonna kill the poor girl."

That makes you perk up again suddenly.

"Babe..."

"Babe."

"Caitlin." It's said in a more stern tone.

"Steph."

"Shut the fuck up."

"Yes, Ma'am." She says it jokingly, and your cheeks only go redder at that.

You whine into the pillow lightly.

"Can we please drop that? It was in the heat of the moment."

"I'll think about it." Yeah, no, she's not gonna let that one go.

"Oh for the love of fuck Cait, please?"

"I said I'd think about it." Her tone is mocking yours now.

"Will you stop shit stirring?" Steph's a little annoyed by now.

You snort.

It's a not so soft smack now. And you yelp.

"Okay, sorry...Ma'am... Sorry, Ma'am."

"Are you done?"

"Caitlin." It's her final warning tone.

You assume Caitlin at least acknowledges that silently because you feel Steph's hands move your legs apart, and she kneels between them.

At first, you think it's the vibrator she went to grab earlier, but it feels much bigger than that, and it's definitely not any dildo you own or the red and white strap you have for that matter either.

You can tell it's a strap, though, judging by the fact you can feel Steph lean over you as she pushes the tip in.

It stretches you out enough that you have to gulp in air as she moves in slowly, eventually bottoming out, hips against your own.

"That's it, just breathe baby, you're doing so well. You can take it. I know you can." That has you whimpering as you grit your teeth and bury your face into the pillow below you.

You wiggle your hips a little to adjust to the stretch of it.

"That's a girl. Take your time."

Your hips push back a little, and you relax a bit more to take it better.

"Good girl." It's a little breathy now, and it sends goosebumps up your arm, and you keen under the praise. Her lips press soft kisses to your back and shoulder, a comforting touch when you need it.

She slowly pulls out and pushes back in. Her hips move carefully, letting you feel it drag against your insides as you calm your breathing to relax more and let the strap in better.

Her thrusts speed up a little, hips slapping against yours a little harder now, and you moan softly into the pillow.

The thrusts start moving faster, into more of a pounding motion, and she grabs your hair to turn your head to the side, away from the pillow muffling you.

"No hiding those noises from us, baby. Let them out. We want to hear you nice and loud."

That's paired with a particularly harsh thrust, and you cry out. She readjusts her hips, thrusting in at the new pace, and her arm wraps around your neck, pulling you back into her body while the other holds her up beside you.

The new angle makes the strap hit and brush against your g-spot and with a renewed vigor at that. You're moaning loudly and in time with her thrusts now.

She's fucking you so hard, the bed starts to shift a little, the frame rocking in time with you both.

Your legs start to shake around her, and she feels the resistance with every thrust.

"Taking my strap so well for me, baby, you wanna cum?"

Her voice is murmured next to your ear, breath hot on your skin.

"So c-close, p-please!"

You stutter each time her hips slap against your ass.

Steph sits back slightly, hand now pushing against the back of your neck, holding you against the mattress.

"Go ahead then, baby girl, cum on my strap, cum for me."

It only takes a moment, and her words make the knot in your stomach snap. Your vision goes white under the darkness of the blindfold, and your mouth drops open with a loud cry.

Steph's thrusts become a little ragged, but she pushes down her own orgasm and slows her high, instead continuing to help bring you down with slow thrusts.

She stops when you whine a bit. Your back rises and falls rapidly with your head buried back in the pillow.

A moment passes, and you're still silent.

Caitlin is now leaning forward on her elbows, sitting in a chair facing the bed, and her pupils have dilated from watching you both.

She watches as Steph leans down carefully, so as not to move her hips. She kisses your shoulder softly.

"You okay?"

You don't move, and you're silent for a second.

"...gimme a minute..."

A smug smile crosses Steph's lips.

"Take all the time you need, sweet girl."

You don't even have to see her face to know it's there. Her voice is enough to know.

"...I think... my deaf grandmother could have heard the smugness in your voice then."

Caitlin recovers enough to snicker at that.

Steph shoots you both a glare, you can feel it burning into the back of your head, and she purposefully jerks her hips, which makes you yelp slightly.

"Baaabe, geez, you just made cream on your cock, be happy."

Caitlin has to hold in a bigger laugh.

"Baby, from my perspective here. If you want to be able to sit on your ass tomorrow, I suggest shutting your mouth. Just, ya know, if Steph's expression is anything to go by."

Steph rolls her eyes.

"Fucking brat."

"Me? Pft never." There's a small smile pulling at your lips now.

Dead silence.

You feel her lean down, her breath fanning your neck, and you tilt your head slightly.

"Sorry.. I love you? 9.5 out of 10, couldn't watch you fucking me but I'm very grateful you made me cum. In fact so grateful, I'll be a good girl for the rest of the night...?" You let out a nervous laugh with it.

...

A soft chuckle in your ear.

"That's what I thought."

She sits up again.

"Still could have gone without the blindfold, though."

"Babe, oh my fucking god. Mouth." There's laughter behind it.

Steph just sighs... and pulls out without warning. Fast.

It leaves you shakingly empty, and you release any air you have left in your lungs.

"Jeeeesus fucking christ."

Two spanks to the left and right cheeks swiftly make you close your mouth.

"Alright, my turn." A thud where Caitlin suddenly gets up and goes to the end of the bed. Steph moves away from you and off the bed with a shaky wobble.

You sit up and pull Steph's jersey off, knowing the course of action now. You hold it out in the direction you think she is, and you hear her laugh from your other side.

Your face flushes.

"Sorry." And you hold it out in the direction of where she was laughing from. She takes it from your hand.

"That's okay, baby."

You can hear Caitlin moving things around in the crate. A couple of items drop onto the bed. One of them jingles slightly and you have a feeling you know exactly what that was.

"Okay!" And she claps her hands together.

"You good?" You ask, mainly concerned she might have lost it somewhere between Steph railing you and finding the handcuffs in the crate.

"Perfect, why?". "Also, you can turn over for me. Leave the pillow under your hips." You can hear the evil grin on her face as you do so.

"No reason." You flash your best innocent smile.

"Jesus, Caitlin, if I didn't end the poor girl, you will."

"Oh, don't you start." You laugh at that.

You hear Steph get up from her spot on the chair. And a small kissing noise.

"I'm sorry baby, proceed."

She returns to her seat.

"I'm gonna combust here if you wait any longer."

"You don't start with me either, because I can make this very complicated for you if you decide to get bratty with me."

"I can't help it. The 9.5/10s bring it out in me."

You hear Steph spit take. You were gonna get it now.

-------------

It took about three hours overall. But it finally comes to an end. In the end, it's Steph who lasts the longest, but you nearly called it quits three orgasms ago.

Caitlin ends up with a leg cramp and has to throw in the towel. Your stubborn girlfriends finally managed to get it out of their system for the night.

Though they do end up bickering about who's jersey you should sleep in and you just sigh and order them to just grab you a plain Arsenal hoodie. They're more comfy anyway.

They're idiots sometimes, but they're your idiots. Your extremely territorial, competitive idiots.

You never did end up telling them who won.

--------------

Oh god it's so fucking long, im sorry 😭

a proposition: masterlist

poly!marauders

ᕯ: smut

a proposition

a proposition: accepted ᕯ

a proposition: exploration ᕯ

a proposition: a return ᕯ

PDA - Logan Sargeant

Words: 1,127 Summary: Logan and his girlfriend like PDA.

Taglist | Masterlist

Alex watches as Logan, his new teammate, kisses his girlfriend, one of his hands that had been resting on her waist drifting down to her ass, before sliding into the pocket there and giving a squeeze and he can feel himself nearly choke on his drink. “Fuck,” he coughs and he can feel George slam his hand on his back once then twice.

“Alright, mate?” He nods, giving another cough before clearing his throat. “Yeah, just watching the rookie feel up his girlfriend.” He watches as George’s eyebrows furrow as he looks over at Oscar who’s sitting at the next table. “Other rookie.” George looks over at where he had and his eyes widen. “Jesus. They do know that they’re in public and we’re all here right?” He looks back over and face twists. They weren’t kissing anymore, but Logan’s hand was still in her one back pocket and his mouth is practically glued to her ear as he whispers something with a smile that Alex doesn’t think he likes one bit and dread for the rest of the season starts to fill him.

They both look away at the sound of Oscar’s voice. “They know.” “What?” Oscar tilts his head over to where Logan is and now the rest of the drivers that had decided to all go out together are looking at the couple. “They know they’re in public. I’ve known Logan for a couple years now. They’re always like this.” “Always?” Alex is hoping that Oscar is fucking with him, joking with him. “Always. They’ve been together like two years now?” He shrugs, “We all thought at Prema it was just the honeymoon stage.” Alex turns to look at George, horror in his eyes. “I don’t think I can do this.” “It’s just a bit of kissing, mate. You’ll be fine.” George pats him on the shoulder and he can see from the corner of his eye Max silently laughing. “She’s going to be traveling with us. Coming to all the races.” George’s hand drops. “Well, your fucked then.” Alex groans, dropping his head on the table with a loud thunk.

“You know, I think I like the american. He broke Alex.” Max says, chuckling and Alex is grateful when he hears the dutch driver let out an oomf. “Thank you, Charles.” “No problem. Though I do think it’s a bit funny.” Alex groans, letting his head drop back down when he had just started to lift it up.

“Seriously?” Charles shrugs, “I don’t understand why there is a problem. So they don’t uh, hold back in public. It is not like they are fucking. It is just a bit of kissing.” He then looks back at the couple and shrugs again. “And ass grabbing. Could be much worse.” Alex lets out a groan when the rest of the drivers make agreeing sounds.

“What’s wrong with Alex?” Is the next thing that he hears and immediately groans again at the American accent.

—

Logan was aware that most people didn’t like seeing him and his girlfriend together. Not because they didn’t like her or him or them together, it was more how they acted. Which Logan was absolutely unashamed about. If he wanted to kiss his girlfriend he was going to. If he wanted her in his lap, she’d be there. It didn’t matter how many fake gags his or her friends made or that time he got told off by Prema’s PR team to lay off because what if the press picked up on it?

The memory nearly made him scoff. Drivers got a bad reputation. If they weren’t knowing for fucking anything that walked, one night stands only, they seemed to be know for cheating on their partners. If not by press and fans than at least by other drivers and the like. Logan still struggled a bit with that part of being a driver. The way you’d see a fellow driver fuck someone and then a day later be bringing their partner around the paddock.

He would’ve figured that they’d be thrilled with a driver so into his girlfriend that he literally couldn’t keep his hands off her. Meant they had one less driver to worry about with a cheating scandal.

“It’s the european.” His girlfriend had said when he told her about it and the response had made him laugh in the moment, but he did wonder if there was some truth to it.

“You alright?” Her breath ghosts over the shell of his ear and he squeezes her hip. “I’m all good, baby.” He grins at her. “Just wondering when Williams is going to give me the talk.” She laughs and he can see Lando look over at them. “Any day probably.” “Probably.” He chuckles. He was surprised that after the first race he hadn’t gotten it. Didn’t mean he didn’t think it was going to happen.

Tilting his head up, he puckers his lips a bit and she immediately kisses him. His grip on her hip tightens when she pokes her tongue out teasingly, wishing that she wasn’t sitting on his lap sideways, but straddling him.

He’s about to move her into straddling him when Lando drops into the seat next to them. So he settles for pressing another kiss to her lips before turning his attention to the slightly older driver.

“You all good, man?” Logan’s grin widens at the way Lando’s nose wrinkles at the word man. Him and the other brits all acted the same way when he said it instead of mate. “Yeah, just thought I’d come over, get to know your girlfriend a bit since apparently she’ll be traveling with us.” His voice goes slightly at the end, clearly wondering if it was true. He nods, “yeah. Finally got her to quit that job of hers,” he starts to tease, laughing when she hits him gently on the chest. Lando looked at the two with wide eyes. “I did not quit my job for you.” She says to him before looking at Lando with a sorry expression. “Ignore, Logan.” He pouts a little at that, but keeps quiet. Not minding her taking over the conversation. He traces her name on her hip as she says it to Lando, before repeating her statement.

“I didn’t quit my job for Logan.” He snorts, but other than that, keeps quiet. “I quit my job so I could go full time with graphic design.” The other driver perks up a bit. “Graphic design, really?” “Yeah, I’ve been doing it for the past like five years.”

He somewhat tunes the two out as they start talking more about graphic design. Only really paying attention to her voice and the cadence of it, as he closes his eyes and relaxes.

---

Tagging: @gemofthenight @peachiicherries and also @yellowyoonglescibe & @heesvers who commented on my post when I mentioned wanting to write this.