#HIT ME OVER THE HEAD WITH A BIG HAMMER

[okerum]

hyperventilates help .me tumblr dragged me into a hole i shouldve seen coming

[specialmouse]

You know .

[devilboyblues]

it is so easy not to include dangerous triggers to photosensitive people but games and movies (and ads) keep doing it!

[catdia]

Lost in a Wild Rune

“Jayce— p-please slow down.” You whined. Throat straining against his hand.

He had you pressed against the wall of his abandoned workshop. Entering you with one thrust of his hips.

You came to his workshop to mourn his memory. Walk around the now ice cold fire pit and touch all those unfinished projects he had laying around.

Instead you found a broken Jayce, longer hair and full beard. Beautiful amber eyes uneasy and intense like never before. Talis hammer distorted with a Gem stone no longer blue.

A short emotion filled reunion. Hands grasping his dirty ruined coat. Nails digging into his clothing to see if this all was real. That he was flesh and bone.

You had so many questions about what and why. Before you could even get them out your mouth he claimed you with a kiss. Stripping you of your bottoms and shoved into a cold wall.

“I missed you so much, baby. I’ve become crazy without you.” He moan into your ear. Teeth sinking into your neck. Marking your skin red.

What happened to the man that used to make love to you so tenderly? The one that would give and give, and never take.

You refuse to believe that the man that was fucking you so hard was your lover.

He was pounding away at your entrance. Leg brace scrapping the outsides of your thighs. Your ass bouncing against his pelvis each time he thrusted into your weeping cunt. Other hand holding your arms behind your back making your wrists hurt.

He was so hairless before. Claiming he liked to be groomed for you. But seeing him shirtless with hair on his chest and a happy trail pointing to his cock made your cunt drool.

Jayce smelled of musk. The hand on your neck calloused by the lack of gloves. He wasn’t the council member you last saw.

He was just a man with the primal urge to fuck. And that made you unbelievably willing.

“Jayce, please, i-it’s too much!” tears were escaping your eyes. Your moans and cries echoed through the workshop walls. As if those walls were mocking you.

“My beautiful girl.”

He growled like an animal, having your velvety walls contract on his shaft was pure heaven. After months of pain and mental strain your skin was a much needed pill.

Balls slapping against your little abused clit deliciously. They were so backed up and heavy. Full of creamy seed. Head of his cock hitting your sweet spot just right. Squirming to get out of his hold, fearing of cumming too quickly. You wanted to savor his lust.

You almost forgot how big he was. Without any prep the shock of having him inside you was great, the burn was mouthwatering.

“How I’ve missed this pussy. Fuck, can’t wait to breed you.” He moaned between hollow breaths.“Should have done it sooner. I need to make you mine, baby.”

You were his the moment you met. Forever and always.

“Make me yours, Jayce. Fuck me full with your fat cock!”

He let go of your arms and neck. You braced yourself on the cold concrete. Palms violently grabbing the flesh of your hips, dragging them to meet the start of his shaft and all the way to the tip.

“Give yourself to me, muñeca—”

He came screaming your name, coating your cervix in white.

“Ohhh, fuck.” Jayce pulled you flat on his chest.

His hands pressing on your lower tummy. The pressure made you see stars, throwing your head back on his shoulder. Arching your back. Jayce captured your lips in a kiss, beard scratchy against your chin.

He made quick work of your clit with his fingers. Slapping her a few times making your body shiver and whine out.

“Jayceeeeee— I’m gonna cum!”

“Cream all over my cock, baby.” You came on his shaft. Body convulsing by the lack of release you haven’t had in months.

“That’s it, that’s it…” Jayce slowly pulled out with a hiss. Spreading your cheeks apart to see his cum dripping out of your swollen lips.

Your legs were like jelly, if it wasn’t for him turning his back against the wall and sliding you down to the floor your knees you have been bleeding.

Jayce wrapped his arms around you. They were more muscular than you remembered. You were all fucked out. Hair in every direction, sweat coating your brow. But this Jayce didn’t care.

He was smelling your body, nuzzling his nose into every crevice of your skin. Licking and tasting you as if you were going to disappear.

A giggle filled Jayce’s ears.

“Your beard is tickling me, baby.”

He smiled like a lunatic. Kissing the back of your hand. “It is? Do you like it?”

“Mmm I love it, Jayce. And the hair too.” You said tracing his jaw with your knuckles.

You missed each other’s joy so much.

You saw the pain in his eyes, one of a massive headache that cannot even be controlled by morphine. The way the lines of his nose scrunched up in discomfort. What happened to your lover?

The hormones of sex and bliss slowly diminishing.

“What happend to you? Why did you leave me alone?” You broke down in his chest. Ugly crying like he has never seen before.

“Sshhh, baby, please don’t cry. I’m right here with you.” Jayce cradled your head in his large palms. Bringing his lips up to your eyes and drinking your tears.

“I don’t even know where to begin…”

“Start with why the Hexcore has tuned into an angry human tissue sample.”

You pushed a strand of hair behind his ears. Massaging the sides of his temple with little pressure. Making him sigh in relief.

His gaze was focused, like the young inventor you saw for the first time in his blown-up apartment.

“Ok. Well, it all happened so fast after the attack—”

[vunblr]

Threads and Timber

Pairing: Lumberjack!Bucky Barnes x Female Reader

Warnings: 18+ only. Fluff. Smut. Unprotected sex.

Summary: Bucky grapples with a questionable Christmas gift.

Word Count: 10k

notes: Roots and Branches AU

The kitchen was filled with the comforting aroma of a slow-cooked stew, steam curling from the pot as she gave it a final stir. It had been days since she’d seen him properly, their interactions reduced to brief, tired phone calls that left her wanting more. Winter was a quiet season for lumberjacks, but rather than resting, Bucky had been keeping busy at Sam’s, taking on carpentry work to fill the downtime.

That morning, his voice had been a low rasp over the phone, thick with an exhaustion that tugged at her heart. She’d tried to coax him into a real conversation, hoping to hear more than his clipped responses, but the demands of the mayor’s big project had stolen him away yet again.

Sighing, she ladled the rich, hearty stew into a tupperware, tucking in a chunk of freshly baked bread alongside it in a bag. Bucky deserved more than just quick meals scarfed down between tasks. He deserved to pause, breathe, and care for himself. If he couldn’t come to her, she’d go to him.

Grabbing her coat and scarf, she bundled up against the crisp December air and headed out. The drive to Sam’s workshop was quick, the sight of the modest building came into view as she rounded a bend. Even from a distance, she could hear the faint buzz of saws and the rhythmic tap of hammers.

Inside, the workshop was a flurry of activity. Sawdust floated like golden confetti in the beams of light streaming through the high windows and half-finished pieces of what looked like a massive table were scattered across the floor. Sam was barking orders from a workbench, his voice carrying over the chaos.

Her eyes found Bucky instantly. He was crouched low, a pencil tucked behind his ear, his sleeves rolled up to reveal forearms dusted with sawdust. His hair was tied back, but a few strands had escaped, brushing against his face as he measured and marked a plank with laser-sharp focus.

“Y/n!” Sam’s voice jolted her from her reverie. He grinned, straightening and brushing his hands on his jeans. “Didn’t expect to see you here. Someone’s breaking the ‘no distractions’ rule.”

Bucky’s head snapped up at her name, and his eyes softened the moment they landed on her. He stood, wiping his hands on a rag as he approached in an unhurried but purposeful manner.

“What’re you doin’ here?” His voice was gruff, but the hint of a smile tugging at his lips betrayed his surprise.

“You sound so thrilled to see me,” she teased, holding up the bag. “I brought you lunch. Thought you could use something that didn’t come out of a vending machine.”

Sam let out a low whistle, winking at her. “That’s some first-class treatment, Barnes. I’ll leave you two lovebirds to it.”

Bucky’s ears turned pink as he shot Sam a warning look before turning his attention back to her. “You know is not necessary to do this,” he muttered, though his eyes lingered on the bag with unmistakable appreciation.

“I wanted to.” She stepped closer, lowering her voice as she met his gaze. “You’ve been working so hard, Buck. Let me pamper you, even just for a little while.”

He exhaled slowly, the tension in his shoulders easing as he nodded. “Thanks, sweetheart” he murmured with a softer tone. He reached out, brushing a gloved thumb across her cheek in a brief but tender gesture.

She smiled, handing him the bag. “Go ahead and eat before it gets cold. I’ll keep Sam company while you take a break.”

Bucky hesitated, his brows furrowing slightly. “Stay,” he said simply, the word weighted with longing.

Her chest tightened, and she nodded. “Okay.”

He led her to a quieter corner of the workshop, where he perched on a workbench and pulled out the container. She watched as he took his first bite, his eyes fluttering shut briefly as the flavors hit him.

“This is good,” he said after a moment, going for the bread.

She grinned. “Good enough to make up for barging in on your workday?”

He glanced at her, the corner of his mouth quirking up in that faint, heart-stopping smile of his. “Better than good.”

As the hum of the workshop continued around them, she leaned against the bench, content to simply be there, sharing a quiet moment with the man she loved.

Bucky set the tupper down with a soft noise, brushing a thumb across his lips to catch any lingering traces of the stew. “Thanks, darling,” he said quietly, his voice carrying the kind of warmth that made her heart squeeze.

“Always,” she replied, reaching out to straighten the collar of his flannel shirt. “You’ve got this, Buck. Just don’t forget to eat something other than coffee and frustration, okay?”

His lips twitched into that faint smile again, and he gave a small nod, his fingers brushing briefly over hers before she pulled away.

She was just gathering her things to leave when Sam appeared, wiping his hands on a rag as he strolled over, his expression equal parts curiosity and amusement.

“Before you go,” he started, leaning casually against the nearest workbench, “I wanted to mention something. I’m hosting a little Christmas Eve get-together at my place. Just the crew and a few friends, nothing fancy. If you don’t already have plans, you’re more than welcome. Both of you.”

She paused, caught slightly off-guard but pleased by the offer since it was her first Christmas in the town. Her gaze flicked to Bucky, whose expression had shifted into something more guarded. His jaw tightened almost imperceptibly, and he rubbed the back of his neck, avoiding her eyes.

“We’ll see,” he muttered, with an unmistakable discomfort in his tone.

Sam raised an eyebrow, smirking as he straightened. “That’s Buck-speak for ‘I’d rather wrestle a grizzly than go to a there.’ But hey, maybe you can change his mind.”

Her lips twitched into a small, knowing smile as she adjusted the strap of her bag. “We’ll think about it,” she said smoothly, subtly offering reassurance with a light touch to Bucky’s arm.

Sam chuckled, tossing the rag onto the bench. “I’ll take that as a yes. You know where I live if you decide to come.”

“Thanks, Sam,” she said warmly, before turning to Bucky. “I’ll leave you to it. Call me if you need anything, okay?”

His eyes lingered on her for a moment, something unspoken passing between them before he gave a slight nod.

As she headed for the door, Sam’s voice followed her, teasing but good-natured. “Don’t let him talk you out of it, we need some holiday spirit around here.”

She glanced back with a grin. “I’ll do my best.”

Outside, the crisp air nipped at her cheeks as she climbed into her car, stealing one last look at the workshop. Her heart ached a little at the sight of Bucky already back at work, his shoulders squared and focus returning to the task at hand.

The evening stretched as she leaned back in her chair, rubbing her temples after slogging through another chapter of the “gunslinger x damsel” novel. The sheriff’s daughter had just been kidnapped -again- and the hero’s smoldering intensity was only matched by his unrealistic ability to outshoot twenty bandits in the middle of a dust storm.

With a sigh, she saved her notes, muttering to herself, “Why is it always the sheriff’s daughter? Does anyone else in the town ever fall in love?”

Pushing her laptop aside, she grabbed her coffee and opened a shopping site on her phone. The homepage cheerfully proclaimed Winter Deals for the Holidays! in bold, glittering letters, and she clicked through out of idle curiosity. She scrolled past cozy knit blankets, sparkly ornaments, and slippers shaped like reindeer hooves, when something caught her eye.

It was hideous.

A sweater -no, the sweater- covered in garish Christmas patterns, complete with snowmen, reindeer, and lights embedded in a gaudy green tree. It was oversized, loud, and utterly atrocious.

She bit her lip, a grin tugging at the corners of her mouth as she imagined Bucky in it. Her grumpy, reserved boyfriend, with his broad shoulders and no-nonsense attitude, dressed in something so absurdly festive. The mental image was enough to make her laugh, fogging the rim of her mug with her breath

It was their first Christmas together as a couple, and while she didn’t expect him to suddenly transform into the embodiment of holiday cheer, the thought of coaxing him into this sweater filled her with a mischievous kind of joy.

Her finger hovered over the “Add to Cart” button as she mulled it over. He’d resist, of course. He’d grumble, roll his eyes, maybe even cross his arms and give her that look that usually meant “not a chance.”

But then she thought about his small, reluctant smiles, the way his gruff exterior softened in private moments, and the quiet way he always indulged her whims, even the silly ones.

Tap.

She placed the order, her heart skipping with excitement as she leaned back against the cushions. Whatever resistance he threw her way, she’d make it work. After all, it wasn’t really about the sweater. It was about sharing this first Christmas, and maybe, just maybe, helping Bucky feel like he belonged in this season of warmth and celebration.

As the confirmation email popped up on her screen, she whispered to herself, “This is going to be so good.”

The late afternoon sun dipped low in the sky, casting golden light over the frosted edges of the forest as she pulled into the clearing. Bucky’s cabin stood nestled against the trees, smoke curling lazily from the chimney, but her attention was immediately drawn to him.

Unsurprisingly, he was outside, splitting firewood in a rhythm that spoke of muscle memory and focus. Each swing of the axe cut clean through the logs, the sharp crack echoing in the stillness. Steam left his mouth in warm puffs with every breath, but he didn’t seem bothered by the cold. He wasn’t wearing a jacket -of course not- with the exertion keeping him warm. His fitted thermal shirt clung to him, the fabric pressed across his shoulders and chest, the sleeves pushed up to reveal his forearms flexing with every motion.

She bit her lip, taking a moment to appreciate the sight before stepping out of the car, a festively wrapped box tucked under her arm. The crunch of her boots on the snow caught his attention. He paused mid-swing, lowering the axe and planting it firmly in a stump before turning toward her.

His breath fogged the air as he walked over, wiping his hands on his jeans, with a hint of a smile softening his sharp features. “Hey, sweetheart,” he greeted, his voice low and warm as his arms circled her waist.

“Hey,” she murmured, rising on her toes to press a kiss to his lips.

He kissed her back, slow and sure. When they broke apart, his brow quirked, his gaze flicking to the box in her hands. “What’s that?” his eyes betrayed a flicker of curiosity.

“I brought you a present,” she announced, holding it up.

His brow arched higher, though a faint flush crept up his neck. “You didn’t have to bother.”

She grinned, nudging him playfully. “It’s almost Christmas, Buck. Humor me.”

With a resigned huff, he tilted his head toward the cabin. “Come on, then.”

Inside, the warmth from the wood stove wrapped around her as they stepped in. “Alright,” he said, leaning back against the counter as he folded his arms. “Let’s see it.”

She placed the box on the table, her grin widening as she gestured for him to open it. “Go on”.

The corner of his mouth twitched as he tugged at the ribbon and peeled back the wrapping paper. The moment his eyes landed on the sweater, his expression shifted into a deadpan stare.

“No.”

She bit back a laugh, clasping her hands behind her back as she rocked on her heels. “Oh, come on! You haven’t even tried it on yet.”

His gaze flicked from her to the offending garment, tightening his jaw. “Not happening.”

“Buckyyy,” she begged, stepping closer. “You’ll look so good in it at Sam’s party-“

“About that,” he interjected, straightening and crossing his arms over his chest.

She paused, tilting her head. “What about it?”

His lips pressed into a line as he glanced toward the window, avoiding her gaze. “We didn’t really talk about going,” he said carefully. “I’m not exactly... eager to be around that many people. You know how I am with crowds.”

Her shoulders softened as she closed the distance between them, and her hands rested lightly on his folded arms. “Honey, I get it. I know it’s not your favorite thing, and you don’t have to go if you don’t want to. But it’s Sam’s party, and I think he’d really appreciate seeing you there, even just for a little while.”

He shifted uncomfortably, his eyes flicking to hers. “I just... I don’t know.”

She cupped his cheek, her thumb brushing over the faint stubble there as she smiled softly. “You’ll have me with you the whole time. And it’s not some big, formal thing, just a cozy night with friends. We don’t have to stay long, I promise.”

His eyes lingered on hers, weighing her words. Finally, he sighed. “Alright. I’ll go. But only because of you are asking.”

Her smile widened, and she leaned in to kiss him gently. “Thank you. You’ll see, it’ll be fun.”

He huffed, though the corner of his mouth twitched. “Fun, huh?”

“Absolutely,” she said with a playful glint in her eye. She stepped back, gesturing to the sweater still sitting on the table. “And everyone will love your sweater.”

His brow furrowed, the faint flicker of warmth disappearing into another deadpan stare. “Not a chance.” he muttered.

“Just try it on!” she pleaded, laughing.

“Not. Happening.” he repeated, but his tone was less certain now as she stepped closer.

Undeterred, she smirked, leaning in, and placing her hands on his chest. “You’ll be the star of the evening.”

“That makes it worse,” he grumbled, but the faintest hint of a blush crept up his cheeks as her hands slid to his shoulders.

“Please?” she whispered, her voice soft and teasing as she kissed his jaw.

He let out a low groan, his resolve clearly wavering, but he held his ground. “No.”

She leaned back, her eyes gleaming with mischief. “Fine. Let’s try a different tactic.”

Before he could react, she grabbed his shirt and guided him backward, pinning him gently against the edge of the table. His eyes widened briefly before narrowing, his hands settling on her hips instinctively.

“Sweetheart,” he warned, though his voice had lost its edge.

She leaned in, her lips brushing the shell of his ear as she whispered, with a low and sultry tone, “If you wear it for me, I’ll make it worth your while.”

The breath he exhaled was almost a growl, his hands tightening on her hips as his head dipped forward, his forehead brushing hers. “That’s not fair,” he muttered.

She tilted her head, her lips curving into a smug smile. “Life’s not fair, Jamie.”

His eyes closed briefly, and when they opened, they were filled with resigned heat. “Fine,” he grumbled, the word almost a sigh. “But you owe me.”

Her laugh was soft and triumphant as she kissed him again, lingering this time. “Deal.”

The sound of laughter and muffled music reached Bucky even before he opened the door. Sam’s house was alive with chatter, bursts of laughter, and the occasional clink of glasses. He paused on the doorstep, squaring his shoulders, his hand hesitating on the doorknob. He glanced down at the sweater -the ridiculous, awful sweater- and sighed deeply before stepping inside.

Warmth enveloped him immediately, the room packed with neighbors, Sam’s crew, and a few familiar faces from around town. He quickly scanned the crowd, his jaw tightening as he spotted her near the fireplace, chatting animatedly with one of Sam’s friends. He didn’t make it more than a step before Sam’s booming voice cut through the din.

“Barnes!” Sam’s grin could have lit up the entire house as he pushed through the crowd, his laughter already bubbling up. His gaze landed on the sweater, and that was all it took.

“Oh, man,” Sam crowed, slapping his knee in exaggerated delight. “I knew you were coming, but I wasn’t ready for this. That thing’s a masterpiece!”

The room erupted into laughter and good-natured teasing, a few people craning their necks to catch a glimpse of Bucky’s “holiday spirit.” Bucky’s ears burned as he shoved his hands into his pockets, his expression a mix of resignation and discomfort.

“Yeah, yeah,” he muttered, his voice low as his eyes darted around. “Get it outta your system, Sam.”

Sam wasn’t about to let it go that easily. “You’ve got to let me get a picture of this. No one’s gonna believe me otherwise.”

Bucky opened his mouth -likely to tell him exactly where he could shove his camera- when she turned at the sound of Sam’s laughter. Her gaze found him instantly, and her face lit up as she set down her drink and moved toward him.

“Buck,” she called softly, her voice cutting through the teasing like a lifeline.

She reached him quickly, her eyes sparkling with amusement as they flicked over the sweater. “Look at you,” she teased, as she placed her hands lightly on his chest as if they were the only two people in the room. “You look so sexy in this.”

The corner of his mouth twitched, and his eyes softened as he tilted his head toward her. “You’re the only one who thinks that, sweetheart.”

“I don’t care, I think you’re perfect,” she murmured, leaning closer as her hands slid up to his shoulders. “Come on, let’s get you a drink. You’ve earned it.”

He followed her toward the kitchen, his hand finding the small of her back as they moved through the crowd. The weight of people’s stares and Sam’s lingering laughter faded as she pressed a glass of cider into his hand.

“See?” she teased as they stood near the fireplace. “Not so bad.”

He took a sip of the cider, his brow raising slightly. “We’re still talkin’ about this sweater, or somethin’ else?”

She laughed, shaking her head. “Both.”

Their conversation eased into a steady rhythm, her warmth drawing him out of his usual reserve. Then they talked with a few neighbors, her doing most of the chatting while Bucky offered the occasional quiet comment or nod. His hand never left her, though, whether resting lightly on her back or brushing her arm as he reached for his drink.

At one point, she leaned close, her voice dropping as she murmured near his ear. “You’re doing great.”

His lips twitched into a faint smirk. “Doin’ this for you, darling. Not Sam’s damn party.” The faint blush dusting his cheeks made her heart skip a beat.

She smiled and brushed her fingers lightly over his arm. “I know. And I appreciate it. You’re amazing.”

A faint smile flickered across his lips before he exhaled a quiet sigh. His hand at her back gave a gentle squeeze, and his gaze softened as he studied her for a moment longer.

“Be right back,” he murmured, leaning in to press a brief kiss to her temple.

She watched him slip away, his broad frame disappearing toward the hallway toward the bathroom, and couldn’t help the small smile that lingered on her face. Cradling her glass of cider, she let herself enjoy the warmth of the moment, the chatter, the laughter, the glow of the lights.

“Hey,” came a familiar voice, low and smooth, cutting through the warmth of her thoughts.

She turned to find John Walker standing nearby, a charming smile playing on his lips, carrying himself with the kind of casual confidence that bordered on calculated. His eyes flicked to hers, lingering just a little longer than necessary.

“John,” she greeted politely, offering a small smile.

“Didn’t expect to see you here tonight,” he said, stepping just slightly closer. “You’re usually busy keeping Barnes out of trouble, right?”

She chuckled lightly, the comment earning a quick quirk of her brow. “He doesn’t need much keeping. He’s more than capable.”

“Sure,” John replied, though the grin tugging at his lips tightened just a fraction. His gaze flicked over her briefly. “But I bet it keeps you busy. Still, I gotta say, you brighten up the place tonight. Hard not to notice.”

She smiled politely, shifting her weight slightly. “It’s a lovely party,” she said, deflecting without missing a beat. “Sam always knows how to bring people together.”

“Yeah,” he agreed, though his focus remained squarely on her. “But some people stand out, you know? Like you. I mean, you’ve got this effortless way about you… easy to see why Barnes sticks so close.”

The compliment caught her off guard, and she laughed, more out of politeness than anything else. “Well, thank you, John. That’s kind of you to say.”

“Just honest,” he said smoothly. “Not every day someone like you walks into a room-”

Before she could respond, a familiar warmth settled at her side. Bucky’s arm slid firmly around her waist, his grip possessive but subtle. His blue eyes locked on Walker, the barest flicker of annoyance crossing his expression as he took in the exchange. His tone, low and even, carried a subtle edge.

“Walker,” he said simply, nodding in acknowledgment.

John straightened slightly, his charming smile faltering just enough to be noticeable before returning with a hint of stiffness. “Barnes,” he replied, his tone measured. “Didn’t realize you’d made it tonight.”

“Obviously,” Bucky said flatly, his arm tightening just a bit around her waist.

“Nice sweater.” The blonde complimented, his tone dripping with sarcasm.

Bucky pressed his tongue against his inner cheek, his jaw tightening as he prepared to fire back.

But before he could get a word out, she interjected smoothly “I know, right? I picked it myself.”

The corner of Bucky’s mouth twitched slightly. Meanwhile, John’s grin faltered, his eyes flicking between them as he tried to recover.

“Well,” he added after a beat, with forced cheer. “It’s definitely... festive.”

“Sure is,” Bucky responded dryly, his gaze never leaving John as his fingers flexed subtly against her waist.

The tension lingered for a moment before John cleared his throat, offering a polite nod. “Guess I’ll grab another drink. Nice seeing you.”

“Likewise,” she replied easily, oblivious to the storm brewing beneath Bucky’s stoic exterior as she turned to him with a soft smile.

Bucky waited until John had stepped away before letting out a quiet exhale, relaxing his grip just a little.

She tilted her head, studying him curiously. “You okay?” she asked, brushing her fingers over his arm.

“Fine,” he muttered, though his gaze lingered in the direction John had gone. His voice softened as his hand slid to the small of her back, “Just didn’t like the way he was lookin’ at you.”

Her brows lifted slightly. “Bucky,” she murmured, leaning closer to press a soft kiss to his cheek. “You don’t have to worry about that.”

“Yeah,” he murmured, his lips brushing the side of her head. “I know.”

For the rest of the evening, they remained close, sharing conversations with the guests and exchanging subtle touches. His thumb would graze her wrist when she reached for her glass, or her hand would linger on his arm during a laugh. Eventually, they found themselves tucked into a quieter corner of the room, the chatter fading into the background. She tugged playfully at his sweater, her fingers curling into the coarsed knit as she coaxed him to lean down. “Come here,” she murmured, her voice teasing as she rose on her toes.

His eyes flicked down to her lips, his brows furrowing slightly as if to ask, Here?

“Yes, here,” she whispered, grinning as she tugged again.

With a low sigh that could have passed for reluctance -if not for the way his hand tightened at her back- he leaned down, capturing her lips in a slow, deliberate kiss.

The room erupted in whistles and cheers, Sam’s voice rising above the noise. “Look at you, Mr. Christmas! Ugly sweater and public display of affection? Who even are you right now?”

Bucky pulled back just enough to shoot Sam an unimpressed look. “You done?”

Sam grinned, raising his glass in triumph. “Never.”

As the laughter subsided, Bucky turned back to her, his hand brushing against her cheek as he leaned close. “Later, darling,” he murmured, his voice low and thick with promise. “I’m gonna make you pay for this sweater.”

Her cheeks warmed as she tilted her head to look up at him. “Actually...” she murmured with a hint of mischief. “I was planning to atone for it sooner than you think.”

Bucky’s brows furrowed, his gaze searching hers. “What-”

Before he could finish, she tipped her glass just enough for a splash of cider to land squarely on his pants, the liquid soaking into the dark denim with unmistakable precision.

“Oh dear,” she gasped, her voice laced with exaggerated concern as she placed a hand on his chest. “I’m so sorry!”

Bucky stiffened slightly, his jaw tightening as he looked down at the damp spot, then back at her. “Sweetheart,” he murmured, his voice low and wary, “what are you-”

“Let me fix it!” she interrupted, grabbing his hand before he could protest. She tugged him gently but insistently toward the hallway, her fingers laced with his as she maneuvered them through the crowd.

He let her lead him, his long strides matching her quick steps. He faintly intuited where this might be heading, but the thought didn’t fully land until they reached the bathroom door.

She pulled him inside with one smooth motion, shutting the door behind them with a soft click. The lock turned with a quiet finality that seemed to echo in the tiny space.

Bucky’s eyes narrowed, his jaw ticking as he glanced between her and the door. “You really spilled cider on me just to get me in here?”

Her lips curved into a smile that was anything but innocent as she stepped closer, her fingers brushing the edge of the ridiculous sweater he’d begrudgingly worn for her. “You look so handsome in this, Buck,” she murmured, her voice low and sweet as her hands slid to his belt. “How could I resist?”

His body reacted before his mind fully caught up. His breath hitched as her fingers worked at the buckle, her deliberate slowness driving him to the edge of reason.

“Darling...” he warned, though his voice had lost its edge.

“Shh,” she whispered, rising on her toes to press a soft kiss to his jaw. Her voice was a sultry murmur, “I told you I’d make it worth it.” She added, warm breath fanning against his skin.

Her hands moved with deliberate intent, sliding down to his waistband. Bucky’s breath hitched as the sound of his zipper filled the tiny bathroom, her fingers brushing against his already interested cock. She pressed her palm against him through his boxers, and he hissed, his head tilting back as he tried to maintain his composure.

“Sweetheart,” he rasped again, his voice low and strained. “We’re at a damn Christmas party... what if someone-”

She silenced him with a quick peck, her lips curling into a playful smile. “We’re cleaning a vicious stain,” she corrected, her tone teasing but unwavering.

“You don’t have to…” he muttered, while his hands hesitated on her waist.

She knew what he meant, knew the unspoken vacillation behind the words. In all their time together, he had always shied away from this particular kind of intimacy. He’d muttered something once about it feeling degrading for her, some outdated notion she’d tried to challenge more than once. But tonight, she wouldn’t budge.

“I don’t,” she agreed softly, her voice firm as her fingers stroked over the growing hardness beneath the fabric. She leaned in, her breath hot against his pulse point, making his resolve fray with every passing second. “But I want to. And you know…” she murmured, punctuating her words with a kiss just below his ear, “that eventually, you always give up and agree to what I ask of you.”

His groan was low and guttural, and his hands tightened on her hips. “You’re somethin’ else.” he muttered, his voice a mix of frustration and surrender.

Her lips brushed against his neck, her teeth grazing his sensitive skin as she whispered, “I know.”

He sucked in a sharp breath as her fingers dipped beneath the waistband of his underwear, stroking his length with a slow, deliberate rhythm that left him clinging to the last shreds of his control.

“Have it your way,” he muttered, as his head fell back against the wall.

Her triumphant smile was quick, her fingers giving him one last teasing caress before she sank gracefully to her knees.

“Good,” she said softly, her hands sliding up his thighs as she looked up at him, her gaze locking with his. ”Now, let me thank you for being so brave, coming to the party, wearing the sweater... indulging me.” Her hands moved to the waistband of his boxers, and with deliberate care, she eased them down, freeing his aching cock. The cool air of the bathroom hit his heated skin, and he hissed softly, his fingers curling into fists at his sides.

“Jesus, darling,” he muttered, his blush creeping past his collar, tinting his neck and ears. He was already hard, the veins along his length standing out as his body betrayed his restraint.

She smiled, her lips curving with just a hint of mischief as she wrapped her fingers around him, stroking slowly to let him adjust to the intimacy. “You’re so beautiful, Buck,” she murmured, her thumb brushing along the tip, spreading the bead of precum glistening there.

He cursed under his breath, his head falling back again against the wall with a low thud. “You’re gonna kill me,” he groaned, his voice rough and strained.

“No,” she whispered, leaning forward to press a soft kiss to the base of his cock, her lips warm against his skin. “I’m going to make you feel good.” She started slow, her tongue tracing along the underside of his length, one hand still pressed at his thigh, savoring the way his muscles tensed beneath her touch.

His hand came to her shoulder, not to guide her but to steady himself as his breaths turned ragged. “Fuck,” he muttered, his voice barely above a whisper. His eyes dropped to her, and the sight of her there, so confident and focused on him, sent heat pooling low in his belly.

She took him deeper, her lips stretching around him as she sank down, her tongue swirling with each movement. His hips jerked instinctively, and he muttered a soft apology, his blush deepening on his cheeks.

“Relax,” she soothed, pulling back slightly to run her tongue along his tip before taking him in again. Her hands slid along his thighs, her touch grounding and gentle as she worked him with a rhythm that had him trembling.

“Shit,” he rasped, his voice breaking as his head tilted back again. His fingers flexed against her shoulder, his free hand gripping the counter behind him as if he were afraid he might lose control entirely.

As the heat coiled tighter in his core, he exhaled sharply, his voice thick with need. “Open your blouse.”

She paused, looking up at him with wide, curious eyes. She held his gaze for a moment, then her hands moved to the buttons of her blouse, slowly undoing them one by one. She shrugged it off her shoulders, revealing the soft curves of her bare skin beneath.

“Goddamn,” he muttered, his voice hoarse as his eyes roamed over her.

She smiled again, her fingers brushing lightly over his thighs before she leaned forward, taking him back into her mouth. Her movements were more purposeful now, her tongue pressing in just the right spots, drawing out a chorus of curses and low, desperate groans from him.

He could feel himself nearing the edge, the pleasure building so quickly it left him dizzy. “Darlin’,” he choked out, pulling back slightly with a groan.

His hand slid to himself, his grip firm as he stroked quickly, the tension snapping with a guttural moan. Warm ropes of his release spilled over her breasts, painting her skin as he worked through the aftershocks of his orgasm. When he finally stilled, his eyes met hers, and he let out a shaky laugh, the blush still high on his cheeks. “Gonna need more than a minute to recover from that,” he muttered, his voice thick but laced with awe.

Her lips curled into a sly smile, her chest still rising and falling as she caught her breath. “Oh, we have time. Cider can be very tricky to clean.”

That earned her a soft, breathless chuckle. “Speaking of which,” he said, straightening as he reached into his pocket. He pulled out a neatly folded handkerchief -because, of course he had one- and wet it under the stream of warm water from the sink. Turning back to her, he knelt slightly and gently dabbed at her skin. His movements were slow and deliberate, his touch reverent as he cleaned her chest.

“I told you that you didn’t have to do that,” he murmured, his voice low and full of warmth, his eyes focused on her as if she were the most precious thing he’d ever seen. “But damn if I don’t appreciate it.”

Her cheeks flushed at his words, but she didn’t shy away from his gaze, watching him as his fingers brushed against her with quiet care.

“You’re unbelievable,” he added softly, shaking his head as he continued. “Always finding ways to take care of me... and knock me on my ass in the process.”

She laughed softly, and her hand rested on his wrist, stilling his movements for a moment. “I’ll always take care of you, Buck. That’s what we do.”

His eyes flicked up to meet hers, and for a moment, the teasing energy between them softened into something deeper, more intimate. “Yeah,” he said quietly, his voice a little rough as he cupped her cheek with his free hand, his thumb brushing lightly over her skin. “That’s what we do.”

He finished cleaning her with a few more light touches, his gaze lingering before he leaned in to press a soft kiss to her forehead. Standing, he folded the handkerchief and set it aside, offering her his hand to help her up.

“Come on, sweetheart,” he said, a small smile tugging at his lips. “Let’s get back out there before Sam decides to come lookin’ for us.”

She rolled her eyes with a smile, buttoning her blouse again as they prepared to slip back into the party.

The hum of conversations and laughter swallowed them up as if they’d never been gone. Bucky’s hand rested at her back, his touch was light but reassuring as they maneuvered through the room together. They stopped to chat with a few neighbors and some of Sam’s crew, the warmth of the gathering lulling Bucky into an unusual state of ease. She noticed how he leaned into the conversation more, even throwing in the occasional dry comment that earned a laugh or two.

At one point, Sam passed by with another drink in hand, his gaze flicking to Bucky with an exaggerated look of appraisal. “Barnes, you’re still rockin’ that sweater. I think it’s startin’ to grow on me.”

Bucky shot him an unimpressed look, though the faintest smirk tugged at his lips. “Enjoy the view while it lasts, Wilson. This thing’s gettin’ torched tomorrow.”

“Not if I get a picture first,” Sam shot back, winking at her before moving on to talk with another guest.

She laughed softly, squeezing Bucky’s arm as she leaned close. “Look at you, doing so great.”

“Don’t push it.” he muttered, though the affection in his tone betrayed him.

The night carried on, the crowd beginning to thin as people trickled out into the chilly evening, leaving the room quieter but no less warm as the soft glow of the string lights bathed the space. She was mid-conversation with a neighbor when she felt it, that unmistakable sense of being watched. Her gaze flicked up, and there he was, standing near the door. His eyes were steady and intent, and when their gazes met, he tilted his head ever so slightly, the gesture subtle but clear.

She excused herself with a polite smile, weaving through the remaining guests to meet him. His hand found hers as she approached, the rough warmth of his fingers squeezing lightly before guiding her toward Sam, who stood by the doorway, chatting animatedly with a couple of friends.

“Sam,” she called softly, earning his attention as she offered a warm smile. “Thanks so much for inviting us. We had a wonderful time.”

Sam grinned, his gaze warm before it shifted to Bucky with a mischievous glint. “Always a pleasure,” he said smoothly. Then, with a flick of his wrist, he held up his phone, displaying a photo he’d clearly taken earlier in the evening.

The image showed Bucky mid-conversation, the atrocious sweater at full display as he stood with his arms crossed, looking far too good for such a ridiculous outfit.

“Buck, this one’s goin’ in the memory books,” Sam declared, laughing as he turned the screen for them to see.

Bucky’s jaw tightened, his deadpan stare fixed on the photo “Delete it,” he said flatly.

Sam only laughed harder, tucking his phone into his pocket. “Nope. I already sent it to the work chat.”

She bit her lip to hold back her laugh, slipping her hand into Bucky’s arm and giving it a gentle squeeze. “Take it as a compliment,” she teased softly.

Bucky sighed, already steering her toward the door. “Let’s go,” he muttered, the faintest flush creeping up his neck as Sam chuckled behind them.

The crisp night air greeted them as they stepped outside, and she instinctively leaned into him for warmth. He slipped his arm around her shoulders, pulling her close as their boots crunched against the snowy path.

“You’ve had a lot to drink tonight,” she said lightly, glancing up at him. “We should walk to my place instead of drive.”

Bucky huffed, slipping an arm around her shoulders to pull her close as they started down the snowy path. “Guess we’re walkin’, then,” he said, with a dry tone. “Not like I needed my dignity tonight anyway. This damn sweater saw to that.”

She laughed, leaning into him. “It’s not that bad.”

“It’s exactly that bad,” he replied, but there was no real heat in his voice. His fingers splayed across the curve of her back as he spoke, before dipping further to give her ass a deliberate squeeze.

“Bucky!” she gasped, her eyes darting around to check the empty street, her face flushing hot against the winter chill.

“What?” he asked, his tone perfectly deadpan. “You made me wear the damn thing. Seems fair.”

She swatted lightly at his chest, and her voice dropped to a scandalized whisper. “Someone could’ve seen.”

“Let ‘em,” he said simply, his voice was low and gravelly as he leaned closer, brushing his lips against her ear. “I’m the socially awkward one, remember?”

A laugh bubbled out of her, the mix of his teasing and the warmth of his voice making her cheeks burn even hotter. She loved how he could be grumpy and endearing, awkward yet somehow confident, all wrapped in the absurd charm of an awful Christmas sweater.

The warmth of her house wrapped around them as they stepped inside, starkly contrasting the frosty night air they’d left behind. She slipped off her coat and hung it by the door, turning to see Bucky doing the same. His movements were unhurried, his broad frame still slightly stiff from the cold, but his eyes already warming as they met hers.

“Tea?” she asked, smiling softly as she walked toward the kitchen.

He nodded, following her with slow, deliberate steps. “Something warm sounds good.”

She moved easily through the space, setting the kettle on the stove before reaching for the cabinet overhead. Standing on her toes, she stretched to grab the box of apple-flavored tea tucked near the back.

Bucky watched her intently from where he leaned against the counter. The sight of her body arching as she tried to reach the tea was all the invitation he needed.

“Here,” he said, as he moved behind her.

She stilled as his hand reached past hers to grab the box, his chest brushing against her back, his body pressing against hers just a moment longer than necessary. The warmth of his body sent a pleasant shiver down her spine. When he handed her the tea, she turned slightly, offering a quiet, “Thanks.”

His gaze lingered on her, heavy and thoughtful, as his thumb reached out to trace her lower lip. The touch was featherlight. His eyes darkened, his expression unreadable as his thumb lingered there, brushing softly.

Her cheeks flushed as she wondered if he was thinking of what transpired at the party, the intimacy they’d stolen away behind closed doors.

“Buck-” she started, but her words were lost as he leaned in, capturing her lips in a kiss that was soft and searching.

She sighed against him, her hands coming up to rest on his chest, feeling the coarsed knit of the sweater. His lips moved gentle at first, coaxing, before the kiss deepened, growing messy and heated as his hands slid down to her waist, pulling her closer.

She gasped softly when his tongue brushed hers, trailing her fingers upward to tangle them on his long locks as the kiss grew more fervent. The kettle whistled faintly in the background, but neither of them moved to address it.

When they finally broke apart for air, her lips were swollen, her breaths coming in soft, uneven gasps as she looked up at him. His own breathing was ragged, his chest rising and falling as his gaze dropped to her lips again, undecided, as though torn between kissing her once more or letting his hands venture where his mouth hadn’t yet dared.

“Tea can wait,” he murmured, his voice rough with want as his thumb brushed over her lips once more. Then, he kissed her again and in one fluid motion, he lifted her, setting her on the kitchen counter with effortless strength.

She gasped softly, wrapping her legs instinctively around his hips as he positioned himself between them. Her hands trailed up his arms, fingers skimming over the firm muscles of his biceps and shoulders eliciting a low hum deep in his chest.

“You really like this ugly sweater, don’t you?” he asked, breathing warmly against her cheek.

She smirked, tilting her head to nip gently at his jawline, her teeth grazing the faint stubble there. “Not the sweater,” she murmured, her lips brushing his skin as she spoke. “I like the present wrapped inside it.”

It was all it took. The last thread of his control snapped like a frayed rope.

With a low growl, his hands moved to her blouse, and in one swift motion, he tore it open, sending flying buttons scattering across the wooden floor. His hands were on her instantly, rough and insistent, covering her breasts, squeezing and kneading as his lips sought hers again.

“Do you have any idea,” he murmured against her mouth, his voice rough and strained, “how patient I’ve been after your little performance at Sam’s? After what you did in the bathroom?”

“I was just trying to make up for the sweater,” she said breathlessly, her lips curving into a teasing smile even as her body arched into his touch.

“Oh, you’re gonna make up for it,” he muttered, his hands sliding to her back to unhook her bra with practiced ease. He pushed it aside, his mouth descending to her collarbone, then lower, his words rumbling against her skin. “Every last bit of it.” His lips found her breasts, his tongue tracing lazy circles around her nipple before he took it into his mouth, sucking gently at first, with more intent later. She gasped, her fingers tightening in his hair as he alternated between soft licks and sharp nips, his teeth grazing her just enough to send sparks through her body.

“Bucky,” she breathed, tilting back her head as she moaned under his ministrations.

He didn’t stop until her skin was wet and tender, her nipples flushed from his attention. Satisfied with his work, he lifted his head, lips glistening as he met her gaze with a wicked smirk.

One hand slipped to the waistband of her pants, tugging at the elastic as his other arm encircled her waist, lifting her effortlessly. With a quick motion, he rid her of the fabric, panties and all, and the cool air against her bare skin made her shiver.

He set her back on the counter, kissing her again, one hand steadying her by the waist while the other reached out. She heard the faint clink of glass and broke the kiss just in time to see him holding a jar of plum jam he’d spotted earlier on the counter.

His smirk turned darker as he unscrewed the lid, his eyes locked intently on hers. “I fancy something sweet with the tea,” he informed in a low tone.

Her cheeks flushed as the realization dawned, moving her hands to stop him. “Bucky-”

But he was faster. His fingers dipped into the jar, scooping up a generous amount of the sticky preserve. Before she could protest again, he smeared it against her wet folds, the cool sensation making her jerk.

“Cold,” she gasped, her body twisting slightly at the sensation.

His hands settled on her thighs, steadying her as he dropped to his knees in front of her, his lips curving into a smug smile. “Not for long,” he murmured. Before she could form another thought, his mouth was on her, the contrast between his warmth and the cool jam sent shockwaves through pussy. His tongue moved deliberately, savoring every inch of her as he spread her thighs wider, pulling her closer to the edge of the counter. His lips latched onto her clit without warning, and his tongue delivered a hard flick against the sensitive bundle of nerves.

She gasped sharply, her body jerking in response, her thighs trying to close instinctively against the overwhelming sensation.

“Uh-uh,” he murmured, his grip tightening as he steadied her, his broad shoulders keeping her legs apart. His voice was low, almost a growl, as he glanced up at her. “You’re not goin’ anywhere, darling.”

Before she could form a response, his tongue resumed its assault, alternating between firm flicks and languid strokes that left her trembling. Her nails dug into the counter’s edge as her head tipped back, with a mix of soft cries and breathless gasps spilling from her lips.

As her pleasure built, he added two fingers, making her body arch, and turned her breathing erratic.

“Perfect holiday dessert,” he murmured against her, his words muffled but dripping with mischief as he picked up the pace lapping the last traces of jam on her heated skin.

She cried out, her hands flying to his hair, clutching it as if it were the only thing anchoring her. “Bucky,” she whimpered, her voice was high and shaky, her body nearly unraveling under the relentless pressure.

Her legs trembled as the heat inside her coiled tighter, his tongue and fingers driving her closer to the edge with every precise movement. She could feel him groaning softly against her as if savoring her reactions just as much as her taste, and it pushed her closer to breaking.

“Bucky… Jamie, I-” she tried, but her words dissolved into a broken cry as her body tipped into release, her thighs quivering around him.

He didn’t stop, working her through every pulse of pleasure until she was trembling and utterly spent. Only then did he pull back, his lips glistening, his smirk utterly satisfied.

“Best tea pairing I’ve ever had,” he said amusedly, as he kissed the inside of her thigh and locked his gaze with hers before standing up.

Her body was still trembling as she pressed her forehead against his shoulder, her breaths coming in soft, uneven pants. She clung to him, her fingers curling into the fabric of his sweater as she tried to catch her breath.

And then it hit her.

“The kettle,” she said, her voice a little breathless, a mix of urgency and disbelief. “The water’s probably about to evaporate...”

Bucky hummed in acknowledgment, his lips brushing her temple before he reached out with one arm. Without even looking, he turned off the burner with a quick twist of the knob.

“Handled,” he murmured.

When he turned back to her, his other hand was already moving to unbuckle his belt, the sound of the metal clinking making her stomach flip.

She leaned forward, pressing soft kisses along his neck. Her lips trailed up to his jaw while her hands slid to the hem of his sweater, her fingers curling under the edge as she began to tug it upward.

Before she could get far, his hands shot out, grabbing her wrists in a firm but gentle grip. “The sweater stays on,” he said, his voice commanding but tinged with a teasing edge that made her breath hitch.

“You can’t be serious,” she said, her voice caught between incredulous laughter and disbelief.

“Oh, I’m serious,” he said smirking as he leaned closer, holding her in place by her wrists. “You went through all this trouble to get me in this thing. Now you’re gonna enjoy the full experience.”

Her blush deepened as his hands slowly guided hers back to the counter, pinning them there for a moment as he kissed her. His lips were hot and demanding, leaving no doubt that the sweater wasn’t going anywhere.

Bucky’s hands slowly released her wrists and shifted his focus back to his pants, deftly undoing the buttons and sliding the zipper down. He toed off his boots one by one, the sound of them hitting the floor was muted against the hum of their shared breaths. His pants followed, pooling at his feet as he straightened, towering over her.

Her hands found him instantly, sliding down to grip the firm curve of his buttocks through his boxers, and pulled him closer, tightening her thighs around his hips as her she urged him forward.

His clothed erection pressed against her heat, and she moaned softly into the kiss. Bucky hummed appreciatively, as his hips shifted slightly, grinding into her and catching the unmistakable warmth of her slick staining his boxers and the hem of the sweater.

“Darling” he muttered against her mouth, his voice thick with want. “You’re makin’ a mess of me.” His hands slid up her thighs, parting her legs farther, exposing every inch of her need to his gaze. His thumb pressed gently through the wetness, gathering it before bringing it to his lips. He sucked on it intently, as he let out a low, satisfied hum. “Better than the jam,” he said, his smirk as wicked as the flush climbed up her cheeks.

She barely had time to catch her breath before he hooked his thumbs into his boxers, pushing them down and letting them fall to the floor. His cock sprang free, warm and heavy, the tip already glistening as it brushed against her wet pussy. The sensation made her gasp, her body jerking slightly in response.

“Jesus, Bucky,” she breathed, her hands clutching at his shoulders.

He grinned faintly. “Thought you liked the present inside the sweater,” he rasped, stroking himself once, slow and deliberate, his blue eyes flicking to hers.

He didn’t waste any more time. With one hand gripping her hip and the other guiding himself, he pushed forward, the slow stretch drawing a soft cry from her lips. He groaned and his forehead dropped to her shoulder as he filled her, his hands gripping her thighs to hold her steady.

Her hands flew to his back, her nails lightly digging into the sweater's fabric as she clung to him, her legs wrapping tighter around his hips. The movement urged him deeper, and he began to move, slow and deliberate, each thrust pulling a gasp from her lips as her head tilted back against the cabinet.

The intensity escalated quickly, one of her hands slid from his back to his hair, tangling her fingers in the dark strands as she gave a firm tug.

“Fuck,” he groaned, his rhythm faltering for half a second before he picked up the pace, his hips snapping forward with a growing urgency.

He pushed her closer to the edge of the counter, the shift in position driving him deeper. His hands adjusted instinctively, one sliding beneath her leg to lift it from behind her knee, angling her hips just enough to hit a spot that made her cry out.

“Bucky,” she gasped, her voice trembling as she tried to ground herself, her fingers scrambling for the counter’s edge. But it was no use. The force of his thrusts rocked her body, the roughness of his movements leaving her breathless and teetering on the brink.

“Hold on, darling,” he murmured, though there was nothing gentle in his tone now, only raw, unrestrained need.

His other hand left her hip, moving instead to cradle the back of her head. His palm pressed firmly, steadying her against him to keep her from hitting the cabinet as his thrusts became punishing, each one hitting deeper, harder.

Her nails raked down his back, clutching desperately as his cock drove into her, the sound of skin meeting skin echoing through the kitchen. The angle, the strength behind each thrust, the way his grip held her in place, it was too much, and yet not enough all at once.

And then, something shifted. The coarse fabric of his sweater pressed against her clit with every hard thrust, the friction sending a jolt of pleasure that left her gasping. Her eyes flew open as a new, dizzying layer was added to the spiral of pleasure inside her. “Don’t stop… oh God, don’t stop!”

He growled low in his throat, his grip tightening on her as his movements became sharper. “That’s it, sweetheart,” he murmured roughly, his lips brushing her ear. “Show me how good it feels. Come all over my cock.”

She complied with a loud cry, her nails dragged down his back again, her thighs trembling as she mewled his name, her voice breathless and broken.

He cursed roughly and pressed his forehead against hers as the orgasm hit him. The hot rush of it spilled out between them, mingling with her slick as he pumped into her a few more times, chasing the last shreds of his pleasure.

He held her steady for a moment, the air was thick with the scent of sex and the sound of their uneven breaths. As the haze of his climax began to fade, he pulled back slightly to look at her, his eyes dark and heavy-lidded. A smirk tugged at his lips as he became aware of the mess coating her thighs, the counter, and the sweater's hem.

“Guess is even uglier now,” he murmured, his voice rough and teasing, with a flicker of satisfaction.

She bit her lip, a soft chuckle escaping her as she slid her hands up his neck. Her fingers brush against his stubbled jaw before cradling his cheeks. Her touch was gentle, coaxing him to meet her gaze.

“Maybe,” she whispered, her smile growing as her thumb brushed the corner of his mouth. “But you look sexier.”

A scoff escaped his mouth, quiet and incredulous. The flush that had crept up his neck during their encounter flared again, coloring his cheeks and ears as his gaze darted away. When his eyes returned to hers, they carried a mix of awkwardness and disbelief.

“I think you’re the one who drank plenty at the party,” he mumbled, the boldness of just moments ago slipping away as his usual reserve crept back in.

She smiled, unfazed by his deflection, and leaned in to pepper light kisses across his face. First his temple, then his cheek, and finally the corner of his mouth, her lips lingering with quiet affection.

“Bucky,” she murmured, her hands trailing down to rest on his chest. “You don’t have to downplay it. You’re everything I want.”

He sighed deeply, as if her words had pulled something loose inside him. His hands slid from her waist, brushing her bare thighs as they fell to his sides. “We should... clean this up,” he muttered, his voice thick with a mix of shyness and practical retreat.

Her lips curved into a knowing smile as she pulled back slightly, her gaze holding his. “Alright,” she agreed, sliding her arms around his neck and letting him lift her gently off the counter. Her feet hit the floor, but her hands lingered on his shoulders. “But I’m still going to call you sexy.”

He groaned, the flush creeping back to his ears as he glanced away, shaking his head slightly.

She leaned up to press one more kiss to his jaw before stepping away to grab a towel. “Now, let’s see if your sweater survives this mess.”

“Sadly, I don’t think it will,” he replied dryly, the corner of his mouth quirking into a smirk. “We’ll have to put it down. Mercy killing.”

She laughed, rolling her eyes as she dabbed at the counter with the towel. “Oh, come on. It’s not that bad.”

“It’s worse,” he shot back, his smirk widening. “Now I’ve got another reason to torch it.”

Her laugh grew louder as she glanced back at him, and her heart skipped at the sight of the teasing glint in his eyes. “You’re ridiculous, you know that?”

“And yet, you made me wear that” he countered, stepping closer to pluck the towel from her hands. “Guess that makes you just as bad. Maybe next year I’ll buy one for you too, so we can share the suffering.”

She froze for a beat, then quirked a brow, a slow grin spreading across her lips. “Oh, look at you, already planning matching sweaters. You’re such a sweetie,” she cooed with mock sweetness as she looped her arms around his neck.

“That wasn’t the point of-” he started, his ears burning red as he stumbled over his defense.

“Uh-uh,” she interrupted, tilting her head with a grin. “You know, I already like the idea.”

He groaned, letting his head fall back slightly. “God help me,” he muttered, shaking his head.

She laughed as she pressed a kiss to his cheek, delighting in his flustered expression. “You’re adorable when you’re cornered.”

“Maybe in a year,” he grumbled, pulling her closer despite his groaning, “you’ll forget this conversation, and I can go back to non-blinding, low profile shirts.”

“Not a chance,” she quipped, rising on her toes to press a kiss to his jaw. “Now, where’s that towel, matching sweater boy? We’ve got a mess to clean up.”

His lips twitched into a reluctant smile, his hands settling on her hips. “You’re lucky you make all that misery worth it.”

She laughed softly, grabbing the towel and bending to wipe at the counter while he watched her, his hands still resting lightly on her hips.

Bucky sighed, shaking his head with a faint smirk as he picked up a stray button from her torn blouse that had fallen to the floor. “We really made a mess this time,” he muttered, more to himself than to her.

She glanced over her shoulder, her lips curving into a mischievous smile. “Oh, I don’t know,” she teased, tossing the towel into the sink. “I think it turned out just fine.”

He chuckled, standing straighter as he slid his arm around her waist, pulling her closer with an affectionate hum of mock contempt. Her body fit against his perfectly, her head resting on his chest as the coarse fabric of the sweater brushed against her cheek.

Outside, snow began to fall in soft flurries, the flakes swirling lazily in the glow of a nearby streetlamp.

“Merry Christmas, darlin',” he murmured, brushing his lips at the top of her head.

She tilted her head up, brushing her fingers along his jawline, tracing a soft path as she gazed up at him. “Merry Christmas, Bucky,”

Ps: Reader gets a present too, in another fic I'm working on 😉

dividers by: @saradika

[earthtooz]

x : HOUSE OF CARDS :*+ﾟ

in which: for as long as you remember, sunday covers his eyes when he cries.

warnings: 1.5k words, fluff with elements of angst, kind of follows canon- not exactly though, sunday cries gold because i said so, based on his character stories, gn!reader who is an observer to the complexity that is sunday's lcharacter

a/n: an attempt into studying sunday was made- i don't think i hit the hammer on the nail quite right, but i tried, i mainly just wanted to celebrate him + his lc coming home YAY. i wish i had more time to let the outline of this marinate, but i couldn't see it being any better than it's current state, so apologies if this isn't the best or most eloquent read of your life.

Sunday had a habit of covering his eyes with his wings when he cried.

He didn’t cry often, but you would know when he did whenever his feathers pressed against his face, hiding his golden eyes and the ichor they’d shed front he world, not allowing anyone to see the depths of his soul, the magnitude of his suffering. 

The first time he did this was at the young age of nine, a fledgling barely a decade in to the tapestry of life. It happened after he fell over while chasing you and Robin around in Gopher Wood’s gardens, knee scraping against concrete and skin peeling in the process, resulting in a nasty scratch, and his wings fluttered to cover his face almost immediately, even stifling his sniffles as traces of golden tears streamed down his cheeks, dripping onto his clothes.

He bared himself to you not too long after, the tears and snot drying as you tended his wound with Robin singing him a comforting lullaby.

These were the innocent tears of childhood, none of you yet changed by the harsh realities that fate would guide your paths on.

The second time was after his first music class.

It seemed Robin stole the affinity for singing from him as their music teacher berated him, likening his voice to that of a ‘duckling’, comparable to the sound of nails on chalkboard. A 12 year old Sunday was sent out of class not too long after, the start of a tantrum beginning to take place as his eyes welled up and began sniffling, fists and wings clenched.

You come to his aid not too long after, having heard the commotion and wandering over, but when he saw you, he ducked out of your sight and covered his eyes with his wings, splaying them over his face. They were larger now and capable of covering the expanse of his head, only exposing his forehead and chin as you tried to console him.

“Hey, it’s okay!” You coo, rubbing his shoulder comfortingly. “Mr. Big Guy tells me your piano playing is amazing and that you’re a real prodigy, Sunday!”

The sniffles halt momentarily. “Really?” His wobbly voice had asked.

“Yeah! He’s proud of you, and you should be proud of that too!”

He bares himself to you, glassy golden eyes looking into you, trying to seek comfort in the familiarity of your friendliness and company. “You mean it?” 

“Of course!”

“Then… are you proud of me too, Y/n?”

“I’m always proud of you, dummy, now stop crying and cheer up!”

“You’re right,” he chuckles, wiping his face with the back of his hand as his other went to grasp yours. “I shouldn’t let that witch get to me.”

“Sunday! Be respectful of your teachers!”

Despite how often the grey-haired boy would listen to your whims and wishes, he never stopped calling his vocal teacher a witch or anything along the variant. It displeased you every time, but the most you would punish him with was a gentle slap on the arm and a scowl that would melt away as soon as he’d share his giantmoa pudding tarts with you.

A few months after that shared moment, Sunday had begun taking the Family lessons from the Bronze Melodia. Bright-eyed and bushy-tailed, he had dreamed of being an influence that would change Penacony and its Dreamscape for the better, and now it was finally his moment- his calling to the world had finally been heard, and they answered with a path that was of utmost righteousness and virtue. 

However, as he took more lessons, learned more about the ways of the Family, he grew into someone else. 

The third time you saw him cry was when you received the news that Robin was shot. A bullet wound to the neck, it was a miracle that she survived, but Sunday was inconsolable, even whilst knowing that she was alive, just on another planet. The distance was akin to torture because no matter how desperately he wished to be by her side, he couldn’t cross it while shackled to his duties in Penacony, so the spirit of the elder brother rested in your arms and cried. 

He sobbed quietly into your shoulder, wings covering his eyes as the two of you sit on the floor, a hauntingly beautiful image of despair as his limbs intertwined with yours. Sunday had collapsed on you the moment you welcomed him into your embrace, the ability to hold himself up being too much to stomach after knowing that he could have lost his sister. 

He cries until your limbs grow pins and needles, until you begin to feel weak under the weight of his grief and your own, until you feel the puddle of tears on your clothes drying. 

Gloved hands hold onto you tightly, and he knew something then and there.

“I can’t lose you,” he whispers, breath shuddering as despair rolls off him in waves, and Sunday removes his face from your shoulder, a cold look of determination staring up at you. “I must protect you, I must shield your happiness too so that we may never suffer again.”

“What?”

His words are incomprehensible to you at this point, and they sound akin to the ramblings of a mad man. “You will never struggle to be happy again, I will give you everything you need- I see it now, Y/n. The strong must guide the weak, for who else will they seek solace in?”

Realisation seeps into your bones like ice. After so many confessionals, so many witnesses of humanity at its most helpless, he has grown nihilistic, devoid of hope towards the resilience of human beings. Still, he yearns to help. Yearns to help people thrive even though he does not truly believe in things getting better, and shoulders this impossible fight by himself. 

The sweet boy you once knew has hardened his defences, fortified his walls and relentlessly chased the most obscure path of Harmony: Order. Destroyed himself under the belief of being responsible for creating a painless reality for humanity, and you witnessed the catalyst for Sunday’s own dismantling whilst he was laid on your lap. 

You haven’t seen him cry since that day. He no longer hides himself behind his wings because he no longer gives himself a moment to mourn. Devastation is engrained in every fibre of his being. 

Now, when he plays the piano for you, you don’t hear the melodic tune of the most important person in your life- you hear a complex piece of toil and struggle. When you sit next to him on the piano stool, you watch the dexterity of his fingers and how his face remains serenely calm whilst playing the hardest sonata known to man, acclimatized to the toughest scenarios that even the polished wood of the piano won’t warp his pristine image. 

Then, when he is finished, you lay your head on his shoulder as you shower him with praises, searching for a familiar fragment of him that you can grasp onto. However, all you find is a shard of bittersweet longing when he turns to place a dainty kiss on the top of your head.

Everyday before the Charmony Festival, you feel like you know him less and less. He won’t even touch the giantmoa pudding tarts you leave on his desk. 

The fourth time you see Sunday cry, he is a changed man.

After exiling himself from Penacony, you naturally grow to ache for his presence. At least Robin has returned to you and will share conversations about the mysterious future of her older brother, sometimes you cry together, over him and also over other things, but at the core of all your emotions is how badly you miss him. You miss him as you overlook Penacony’s Grand Theatre, you miss him in all the old desserts you used to love together, you miss him when you think about him. 

Letters are infrequent and never quite soothe the emptiness, but you hope that in some vast corner of the universe, he is discovering a sense of peace he could never have here. The events of the Charmony Festival still make you cringe, but knowing that he is with the kind souls of the Astral Express relieves you.

In fact, you have half a mind to be rather jealous- you want to be exploring the stars as well.  

However, he comes back to you after countless moons.

You run into him where you least expect to, on the streets of Penacony, under the vibrant advertisements for SoulGlad, Hanu’s Advertisement, and Robin’s latest album. Under the blinding neon monstrosity of Penacony’s main street, you are swept into the arms of a man who you have missed for countless moons, who you have thought of as the weeks turn into months, who you fell in love with since the time he scraped his knee after falling on pavement. 

And this time, he doesn’t cover his eyes as liquid gold drips down his cheek.

You forgot how unfairly pretty of a crier he is, but you don't have time to think about it as he pulls you close and rejoices on your lips. There's a small whimper that escapes you when you feel his tears fall on your skin, but your hands crawl up to the collar of his coat to keep him close so you can keep catching them.

His gloved hands come to rest on your cheeks in kind, stubborn to not let you stray too far again.

He tastes like giantmoa pudding tarts. 

“I’ve missed you,” you whisper between kisses. 

He responds by pressing you closer and pouring his devotion into your mouth.

© EARTHTOOZ 2024, do not steal, translate, repost my fics and do not recommend my fics onto any other site.

[artdcnaldson]

smutty patrick +art +reader request!!!! ->

smut where both patrick &y/n r dominant and are constantly competing against eachother with who makes art cum faster/moan louder LOL☺️☺️☺️ patrick is like a rougher dom and reader is softer and she keeps praising art while patrick IS SUCH A MEANIEEEEE but he also loves art too obv(and reader). UGH i love them

HEHEHEHE <3

Rating: E (18+)

Warnings: SMUT!! Threesome ft. Dom!Patrick, Soft!Dom Reader, Sub!Art, handjob, blowjob, ruined orgasm

A/N: god tier request, truly. something possessed me when I wrote this

Art Donaldson had never looked prettier than he did in that moment. The thin sheen of sweat that made his skin glisten, the pretty flush that burned pink down to his chest.

His back was pressed to your chest, your arms wrapped around him soothingly. It was the perfect angle to watch all the ways Patrick was torturing your sweet boy.

His chest was heaving as he tried to catch his breath— each exhale shuddery and rough. You pet his hair, brushing soft curls out of his eyes.

“How are you, baby?” You asked softly, teasingly. “Is Patrick being too mean?”

He shook his head, the muscles of his abdomen flexing as Patrick’s hand moved faster and faster. A strangled moan slipped past his lips, eyes squeezing shut as Patrick brought him closer and closer to the edge.

“I’m just doing what he asked,” Patrick said with a grin. The sounds of his hand was slick as it moved up and down on the blond’s cock.. “He wanted me to touch him, and I’m touching him.”

You pressed a soothing kiss to his jaw and grinned down at Patrick. The brunet was a co-conspirator in the agonizing, delicious torture you put Art’s poor body through. You were just nicer about it.

“Close,” Art whimpered, his lips spit slick and bitten pink. “I— fuck— I’m close”

Patrick smirked like the cat who got the cream, but you just ran a soothing hand over the plane of his chest, teasing his nipples, making him whine pitifully.

“Yeah, baby? You’re close, huh?” Your teeth tugged slightly at his earlobe and he moaned, loud and pretty. “Be polite and ask Patrick if you can cum.”

Patrick’s hand didn’t let up— slick and relentless. He raised an eyebrow expectantly and Art nearly sobbed.

“Please—“ was all Art could manage.

“Please, what, Donaldson? You’re a big boy, you know how to ask the right way.”

He groaned, shifting so he could squirm away from Patrick’s relentless touch. It was futile, though. Art was strong, but with your legs pinning his thighs and Patrick’s hand slung across the blond’s torso, all he could do was take it.

“Lemme cum— please let me cum,” he was practically begging, eyes shining with crocodile tears. It was so fucking cute. You wished your camera was nearby so you could’ve snapped a picture of how desperate he’d gotten.

Patrick met your gaze and smiled, like he’d just gotten the best fucking idea in the world. “Okay, baby,” he said in an unusually gentle voice. “You can cum.”

You could feel Art’s heart hammering against your palm, the surprise evident in his eyes.

“Hurry before Pat changes his mind, yeah?” You cooed in his ear. He nodded, face scrunched slightly as Patrick brought him closer and closer to finishing.

And god, Art could get loud. He had his tells here, just like in tennis. As soon as he went silent, you knew he was right on the precipice, ready to tumble over.

The second Art’s orgasm hit, Patrick moved his hand off of him completely. It was different than it usually was— Art was always messy. He’d shoot ropes of thick cum up to his chest, or his face if he was particularly backed up.

But then, he just whimpered pathetically as cum oozed out of his tip, leaving a puddle at the base of his cock. And— holy fuck— he stayed hard.

Art practically sobbed, his head lolling back against your shoulder. Tears of frustration welled in his pretty blue eyes. “What the fuck, Patrick?” He groaned pathetically.

“What the fuck did you do?” You asked with wide eyes.

Patrick sat back and shrugged, wearing a shit-eating grin. “I saw someone do it in a porn. He got to cum, he just didn’t get the good part.”

“Switch spots,” you said quickly. Patrick let you settle between Art’s thighs, eye level with his aching cock. It was red at the tip, aching for a real release.

When you wrapped a hand around him, he whimpered and squirmed in an attempt to escape the stimulation.

“You good, baby?” You asked, pressing your lips to his thigh.

Before Art could respond, Patrick sighed. “Stop babying him— he’s fine.”

You met Art’s gaze, and he gave a tiny nod. His chest was heaving as he drew breath after shaky breath.

The mess of cum surrounding his base made each slick pass of your hand sound pornographic. Almost as debauched as the whimpers and moans that were escaping Art’s lips.

“Mmm… fuck, fuck— ah!” Like a goddamn pornstar.

“Shhh… let me clean up the mess Patrick made, yeah?”

You pressed a soft kiss to his tip, and his thighs twitched with the need to buck into the warmth of your lips. Your mouth trailed down, peppering the hard length of him with wet, slow kisses. You could taste his release, salty on your tongue.

“Jesus, baby— please—“ Art, desperate and wanting, was your favorite thing in the world. Besides maybe Patrick, desperate and wanting in a completely opposite way.

“Quit whining, Art, or she’s gonna stop.” Patrick murmured in the blond’s ear. You could already see a collection of red spots on Art’s throat that would turn into bruises.

You definitely weren’t going to stop. You loved every single depraved noise you could wring out of him. You took mercy on him, easing his sensitive cock into the wet warmth of your mouth.

You’re too soft on him. He likes when you make him work for it. You could hear Patrick’s complaints already.

It didn’t matter. You liked taking care of your boy.

He pulsed against your tongue as you took him deeper, his thighs tensing where your hands rested against him. He bucked slightly, brushing the back of your throat. When you gagged around him, he made the same whimpery noise that he made on the tennis courts.

“Tell her thank you,” Patrick said in Art’s ear.

You moaned softly around Art’s length as you felt Patrick’s fingers grip onto your hair, guiding your mouth up and down, faster and faster.

“Art, I’ll make her stop. Say thank you.” Patrick’s voice was firm, no trace of any sympathy. The same way he’d bark corrections that Art needed to make when they practiced together.

“Thank you,“ Art gasped out, like it took all the effort in the world. Patrick used his free hand to rake his nails over Art’s abs, and the blond cried out and bucked into your throat. “Fuck—“

You knew he was close to finishing— still so pent up from the orgasm that Patrick had ruined for him. So sensitive that it wouldn’t take much more effort to have him spilling onto your tongue.

You pulled off slowly, jerking him off with slow, firm strokes. “You wanna cum, baby?” You asked, lips just brushing the sensitive head of his cock.

“Yes! God, need t’ cum so bad,” he cried, desperate and aching for release.

“Jesus, you’re fuckin’ greedy, Art,” Patrick goaded. The hand that was in your hair had moved to your cheek, where he stroked along your skin sweetly. “You think you deserve it?”

“Yes, you asshole,” Art groaned. Patrick laughed, a smile spreading across his lips. You raised a brow, looking at the brunet expectantly for permission. He nodded and you smiled.

“Go on, baby, I’ve got you,” you said, hand moving faster. “I won’t be mean, I’ll let you get what you need.”

He cried out as he finished, painting your tongue with thick spurts of cum. You worked him through it, taking every drop he could offer you, until the feeling of your touch became too much.

“Don’t swallow, c’mere,” Patrick said. You joined him at the top of the bed, kissing him deeply, passing Art’s cum between your mouths with slow laves of your tongues against each other.

Art whined, reaching for your faces, wanting you to include him. Patrick leaned down, kissing him deeply, so he could taste the efforts of both of your attentions. You leaned in, tongue brushing Patrick’s, and Art’s, and you felt warmth flutter in your chest.

“You’re too nice to him,” Patrick said after he pulled away. “I would’ve made him beg for it.”

thank you for readinggggg <3 this was so fun to write 😁🩵

[speaknow-sw]

𝒯𝒽𝑒 𝒸𝓇𝑒𝓋𝒾𝒸𝑒𝓈 𝑜𝒻 𝓎𝑜𝓊𝓇 𝒽𝑒𝒶𝓇𝓉

Summary : When your Master comes back from mission, ready to scream his emotions, or make you scream them.

Word Count : 4.2k

Ｃｏｎｔｅｎｔ: Master/Padawan relationship, love confession, worshipping, PiV, size kink, breeding kink, mating press, missionary, pussy eating, vaginal fingering, big cock, bigger Anakin, slight degradation.

A/N : a happy belated birthday to @anisangeldust my wife <3 I love you and here’s your birthday gift : 4.2k of pure smut with a 6’8, 220lbs Anakin Skywalker. This work is kinda poetic cuz I’m a poet…

𝒯𝒽𝑒 𝒸𝓇𝑒𝓋𝒾𝒸𝑒𝓈 𝑜𝒻 𝓎𝑜𝓊𝓇 𝒽𝑒𝒶𝓇𝓉

Anakin Skywalker stood at the doorframe of your room, the twin suns of Tatooine's memory searing his vision even here, light-years away. The years had sculpted him — 6’8, 220 pounds of wiry strength and coiled power, his frame cast in sharp shadows beneath his Jedi robes. His muscles were taut beneath the fabric, but they weren’t the reason he felt like his skin might burst into flame.

It was you.

You were standing a few meters away, barely reaching his chest, your delicate frame lost among the gigantic room. His “Padawan,” the one he told himself was just that. The one he had been so careful to hide his obsession for. So careful to control his gaze, to smother his hunger behind careful smiles and glances he hoped were subtle. But the Force wasn’t subtle in the way it surged around you. It crackled in his bones every time you spoke, every time you laughed.

And today, he was done pretending.

Your head turned, and you spotted him. A smile bloomed on your lips — unguarded, bright. His pulse hammered.

His jaw clenched, and he strode toward you, closing the distance with long, deliberate steps. Each one felt like a step off a cliff, a plunge into gravity he couldn’t resist anymore. You tilted your head up to meet his gaze, curiosity flickering in your eyes.

He stopped just inches away, towering over you, the heat of his body palpable. He couldn’t stop the way his fingers curled, aching to touch you. His voice, low and rough, broke the silence.

“Tell me I’m not imagining this.”

“Master,” You smiled brightly. 

His heart clenched at the word, sweet and devastating in your mouth. Master. The title was a barrier between them, a wall he had built brick by brick, day by day, to keep you safe. To keep himself sane. But now, hearing it fall from your lips, it felt like a mockery. A cruel joke played by the Force itself.

"Don't call me that," he growled, the words torn from his throat. His hand shot out, fingers curling around your jaw, tilting your face up towards his. Your skin was soft, impossibly delicate beneath his calloused palm. He could feel the rapid flutter of your pulse, matching the frantic pounding of his own heart.

His gaze dropped to your lips, full and pink and tempting beyond belief. He leaned in, breath ghosting over your skin. "Call me Anakin," he breathed, his voice rough with need. "Or nothing at all."

The air between them was electric, charged with tension and desire. He could feel the Force pulsing around you, drawing him closer, taunting him with the forbidden fruit of your body. His thumb brushed over your bottom lip, tracing the soft curve, and he swallowed hard.

"I've tried to resist this," he murmured, his forehead resting against yours. "Tried to tell myself it was wrong. But I can't anymore. Not when you look at me like that."

His free hand slid down your back, spanning the curve of your waist, pulling you flush against him. He could feel every inch of you, soft and yielding against his hard planes. His hips pressed forward, grinding against you, and a low groan escaped his throat.

"Tell me you want this," he whispered, his lips brushing yours with every word. "Tell me you want me."

“M-Master…I…I—” You blushed furiously. To your utter surprise, he kneeled in front of you, and even in this position, he was taller than you. 

His knees hit the floor with a soft thud, the impact jarring through his joints, his legs folding like a supplicant before an altar. Even kneeling, he was still eye level with you, his face mere inches from your trembling form. The position was unfamiliar, humbling, a stark contrast to the power he wielded. But it felt right, somehow. Necessary.

His hands found your hips, large and warm, spanning the delicate bones. He could feel the heat of your skin through the thin fabric of your clothes, the way your body trembled beneath his touch. His thumbs rubbed slow circles, soothing, coaxing.

"Shh," he murmured, his voice low and soothing. "There's no need to be afraid. I won't hurt you."

His gaze locked with yours, intense and searching. He could see the confusion, the uncertainty swirling in the depths of your eyes. He understood. This was new, uncharted territory. For both of them.

Slowly, deliberately, he leaned forward, pressing his forehead against your stomach. The movement forced you to look down at him, your hair falling forward in a silky curtain. He breathed in deeply, the scent of you filling his lungs, his senses. Sweet and intoxicating, like the spices of a thousand worlds.

One hand slid up your back, fingers tangling in your hair, tugging gently until your head tipped back, exposing the elegant line of your neck. His lips brushed the sensitive skin just below your ear, a feather-light touch that sent shivers racing down your spine.

"Tell me what you want," he whispered against your skin, his breath hot and damp. "Tell me how to please you."

His other hand slid lower, cupping your ass, pulling you harder against him. He could feel the heat of your core, even through the layers of clothing separating them. It took all his willpower not to rip them away, to bare you to his hungry gaze.

But this wasn't about him. It was about you. About giving you what you needed, what you craved. Even if it killed him.

He was only a man after, a man made to worship, a god…or a woman. You nodded « T-the bed, Master » You stammered, blushing under his heated gaze. Nobody ever looked at you with such reverence —with such devotion.

A single word, a command whispered from your lips, and he obeyed without hesitation. His hands slid from your body, leaving you feeling bereft, cold. But the loss was brief, replaced by the heat of his presence as he rose to his feet, his tall frame towering over you once more.

In one fluid motion, he scooped you into his arms, cradling you against his chest like a precious treasure. Your head nestled perfectly in the crook of his neck, your face buried in the warmth of his skin. He could feel the rapid flutter of your pulse, the way your breath hitched with each step he took towards the bed.

The mattress dipped beneath his weight as he lowered himself onto it, settling back against the pillows with you still clutched tightly in his arms. His hand slid up your spine, tracing the delicate curve of your back, the dip of your waist.

"Is this what you want?" he murmured, his lips brushing the shell of your ear. "To be worshipped? To be adored?"

His other hand tangled in your hair, tilting your head back, forcing you to meet his gaze. His eyes were dark, intense, burning with a hunger that took your breath away. A hunger that mirrored your own.

Slowly, deliberately, he leaned in, his lips hovering a hairsbreadth from yours. "Tell me," he breathed, his voice rough with need. "Tell me what you need. What you crave."

His tongue darted out, wetting his lips, and you couldn't help but follow the movement, your own tongue peeking out to moisten your dry mouth. The air between you was electric, charged with tension and desire.

One hand slid down your side, skimming over your hip, your thigh, before settling on your knee. He pushed your leg up, opening you to him, his fingers trailing fire in their wake.

"I want to hear you say it," he growled, his teeth nipping at your earlobe. "I want to hear you beg for it."

His hand slid higher, bunching the fabric of your skirt, pushing it up and up until cool air kissed your heated flesh. His fingers brushed the sensitive skin of your inner thigh. “P-please…Master…I need you.” You whimpered, his words like poetry in your ears. 

His breath caught in his throat, your plea echoing through his mind like a prayer. The words he had longed to hear, the admission he had craved. He could feel the force of his desire, a living thing pulsing between them, urging him to claim you, to make you his.

But he held back, restraint a fragile thread, fraying with each passing second. He wanted to savor this moment, to memorize every breath, every sigh, every shudder of your body.

"Look at you," he murmured, his voice rough with awe. "So beautiful. So perfect."

His hand slid higher, fingers brushing against the damp heat of your core. You gasped, your hips bucking into his touch, seeking more. He obliged, his thumb circling your clit with maddening slowness, teasing, tormenting.

"You're so wet for me," he growled, his lips trailing down your neck, nipping, sucking, marking you as his own. "So ready for me."

His big fingers dipped lower, sliding through your slick folds, teasing your entrance. You whimpered, your nails digging into his shoulders, your body arching into his touch.

"Please," you gasped, your hips rocking against his hand. "Please, Master. I need you inside me."

The words were his undoing. With a low growl, he surged forward, capturing your lips in a searing kiss. His tongue delved into your mouth, claiming you, possessing you. His long fingers pushed inside you, stroking, stretching, preparing you for his cock as you moaned from the large intrusion.

He broke the kiss, panting, his eyes wild and hungry. "I'm going to fuck you now," he rasped, his voice raw with need. "I'm going to make you mine."

His obsession consumed him, a raging inferno that scorched his every thought. His cock throbbed, heavy and hard, aching to bury itself deep inside your welcoming heat. But it wasn't enough. He wanted more. He wanted everything.

"I'm going to fill you up," he growled, his voice thick with lust. "I'm going to pump you full of my seed until your belly swells with my babies."

His fingers plunged deeper, curling against your inner walls, stroking that sensitive spot that made you see stars. "Imagine it," he purred, his lips brushing your ear. "Your body round and ripe with my children. Your tits heavy and full, leaking milk for our young."

He could picture it, the image seared into his mind. You, glowing with life, your skin stretched taut over the evidence of his possession. His cock twitched at the thought, pre-cum beading at the tip.

"I'll keep you barefoot and pregnant," he promised, his voice a dark rumble. "My personal breeding mare, ready and willing to take my cock whenever I please."

His thumb rubbed circles around your clit, the pressure just right, sending jolts of pleasure shooting through your body. "Say you want it," he demanded, his teeth grazing your earlobe. "Say you want to be bred like a bitch in heat."

Anakin’s eyes darkened with possessive hunger as he gazed down at your petite form, his cock throbbing with the need to claim you, to make you his. But even in his lust-fueled haze, he recognized the challenge before him. Your tight, untouched pussy would require patience, care, and plenty of preparation before it could accommodate his massive member.

"Such a tiny little hole," he rumbled, his fingers exploring your slick folds, stroking and teasing. "So small and tight. Made just for me."

He brought his fingers to his lips, tasting your essence, savoring the sweetness of your arousal. "But don't worry, my sweet. I'll stretch you out. I'll make you take every inch of my cock."

His thumb found your clit, rubbing firm circles, coaxing your body to open for him. His other hand slid down to cup your ass, kneading the supple flesh, holding you steady as he worked you open.

"That's it," he encouraged, his voice low and soothing. "Relax for me. Let me in."

Slowly, carefully, he began to work a finger inside you, the digit sinking into your tight heat. You gasped, your walls clenching around the intrusion, trying to push it out. But he was patient, gentle, stroking and massaging until you began to relax, your body accepting his touch.

"Good girl," he praised, his voice rough with approval. "Such a good little cock sleeve, taking my finger so well."

He pumped his finger in and out, twisting and curling, seeking that special spot deep inside you. When he found it, your back arched off the bed, a cry of pleasure escaping your lips.

"That's it," he growled, his own breathing growing ragged. "Take it. Take everything I give you."

He added a second finger, then a third, stretching you wider, preparing you for the inevitability of his cock. All the while, his thumb continued its relentless assault on your clit, pushing you higher, closer to the edge.

The sight of your tears, glistening like diamonds on your flushed cheeks, only fueled his desire. Your nails scrabbled at his scalp, your body writhing beneath him as he worked his fingers deeper, stretching you wider, preparing you for his massive cock.

"That's it," he growled, his voice thick with lust. "Take it all. Take every inch."

His hand twisted, his fingers curling and scissoring, opening you up, making room for his girth. You sobbed, your back bowing off the bed, your walls clenching around his invading digits.

"Fuck, you're so tight," he grunted, his own hips rocking forward, his cock sliding along your thigh, leaving a trail of pre-cum in its wake. "Such a perfect little hole, made just for me."

Anakin could feel your body yielding to his touch, your muscles relaxing, accepting his invasion. Slowly, carefully, he began to pump his fist in and out, fucking you with his hand, stretching you, readying you for the real thing.

Your cries filled the room, a symphony of pleasure and pain, your nails raking down his back, leaving red welts in their wake. He reveled in it, in the knowledge that he was the one causing you such exquisite torment, the one bringing you such intense pleasure.

"Almost there," he panted, his own body trembling with the effort of holding back, of not ramming his cock into your prepared hole and fucking you until you screamed. "Almost ready for my cock."

He added a fourth finger, then a fifth, his hand disappearing into your heat, his knuckles brushing against your entrance. You keened, your eyes rolling back, your body shaking with the force of your impending orgasm.

"Come for me," he commanded, his thumb pressing hard against your clit. "Come on my hand like a good little slut."

And you did, your body convulsing, your walls clamping down around his fingers, milking them, greedy for more. He worked you through it, his hand never stopping its relentless movement, prolonging your pleasure, pushing you to new heights.

The sight of you coming undone, your face contorted in ecstasy, your body shaking with the force of your release, nearly undid him. His hips bucked wildly, grinding against the sheets, his cock throbbing, aching for relief. But he held back, his jaw clenched, his muscles rigid with the effort of not spilling his seed too soon.

"Fuck," he groaned, his voice strained. "You're so fucking hot when you come."

He withdrew his hand slowly, watching as your hole fluttered, clenching around nothing, desperate to be filled. A fresh surge of lust crashed over him, and he had to take a moment to regain his composure, to rein in his desire before he lost all control.

When he finally raised his head, his eyes were wild, his pupils blown wide with need. He crawled up your body, his lips and teeth and tongue leaving a trail of fire in their wake. He captured your lips in a bruising kiss, swallowing your cries, tasting your pleasure on your tongue.

The sheer size of Anakin was overwhelming, a testament to his virility, his power. His cock jutted from his body, thick and heavy, the veins pulsing beneath the smooth skin. The head was an angry purple, leaking copious amounts of pre-cum, glistening in the dim light of the room.

He positioned himself between your legs, the broad head of his cock nudging against your entrance. You could feel the heat of him, the hardness, the raw masculinity that emanated from his very being.

"Look at it," he growled, his voice rough with lust. "Look at how big it is. How it's stretching you out, making you mine."

He pressed forward, the head of his cock popping past your entrance, stretching you wider than you ever thought possible. You cried out, your nails digging into his shoulders, your body resisting the intrusion.

"Shh," he soothed, his hand coming up to cup your face, his thumb brushing over your lips. "Relax. Let it in. Let it claim you."

He pushed further, inch by agonizing inch, his thick shaft splitting you open, filling you in a way you'd never been filled before. You could feel every ridge, every vein, every throbbing pulse of his cock as it slid deeper, deeper, until it couldn’t.

You mewled and clawed at his back “Too much…too m-much Ani…” You couldn’t take all his cock and it bruised your insides. 

His heart clenched at the sound of your distress, at the pain in your voice. He knew he was big, knew that taking all of him would be a challenge, even with the extensive preparation. But he had gotten carried away in his lust, in his need to claim you, to make you his.

"I'm sorry," he whispered, his voice hoarse with regret. "I'm sorry, my love. I didn't mean to hurt you."

He pulled back slowly, his cock slipping out of your abused hole, leaving you feeling empty, aching. He gathered you into his arms, cradling you against his chest, his hand stroking soothing patterns on your back.

"Shh," he murmured, pressing soft kisses to your temple, your cheek, your lips. "It's okay. We'll take it slow. We'll do this right." 

"That's it," he murmured, his voice low and soothing as he peppered your face with gentle kisses. "Just breathe, my love. You're doing so well."

His hips rocked forward, inch by inch, his massive cock slowly sinking into your tight heat. He watched your face intently, gauging your reactions, ready to stop at the first sign of discomfort.

"Fuck," he grunted, his eyes rolling back as your walls gripped him like a velvet vice. "You feel incredible. So tight, so perfect."

He paused when he reached the barrier of your cervix, giving you time to adjust to his size. His hand slid between your bodies, finding your clit, rubbing slow, steady circles, coaxing your pleasure.

"That's it," he encouraged, his voice a low rumble. "Let yourself feel good. Let yourself enjoy it."

He began to move then, shallow thrusts that gradually increased in depth and intensity. Each slide of his cock sent sparks of pleasure shooting through your body, building, intensifying, until you were writhing beneath him, your nails digging into his back.

Anakin’s sheer size was overwhelming, his large, muscular body blanketing yours, pinning you to the bed. His arms, thick with corded muscle, caged you in, his hands splayed on either side of your head, his fingers curling into the sheets. You felt small, delicate, completely at his mercy.

"You're mine," he growled, his voice a low, possessive rumble. "All mine. My perfect little mate."

His hips snapped forward, driving his cock deeper, harder, faster. Each thrust sent shockwaves of pleasure through your body, your walls clenching around him, greedy for more.

"Feel that," he panted, his breath hot against your ear as he pressed on your lower belly where the shape of his gigantic cock was bulging. "Feel how deep I am. How I'm stretching you out, claiming you."

His body covered yours completely, his broad chest pressing against your breasts, his hard abs grinding against your soft stomach. You could feel every inch of him, the heat of his skin, the power in his muscles.

His movements became more urgent, more primal, as he shifted your legs up and over his shoulders, folding you nearly in half. The new angle allowed him to penetrate you even deeper, his cock ramming against your cervix with each powerful thrust.

"Fuck," he grunted, his eyes wild, his face contorted with pleasure. "You're so fucking tight. So perfect."

His hands slid under your thighs, gripping your hips, pulling you onto his cock with each snap of his hips. The bed creaked beneath you, the headboard slamming against the wall with the force of his thrusts.

"Take it," he growled, his voice a low, menacing snarl. "Take my cock. Take everything I have to give you."

He pounded into you relentlessly, his balls slapping against your ass, his cock stretching you to the limit. You could do nothing but hold on, your hands clutching at his arms, your nails digging into his skin.

The sound of the bed frame cracking, the mattress sagging beneath your combined weight, only fueled his lust, his desire to claim you, to mark you as his. His hips pistoned forward, his cock slamming into you with brutal force, the head battering against your cervix with each thrust.

"Yes," he snarled, his eyes wild, his face contorted with pleasure. "Fuck yes. Mark me. Leave your claim on my skin."

He could feel your nails raking down his back, your legs kicking weakly at his sides as he held you in place, impaling you on his massive cock. The pain of your nails, the sting of your skin breaking, only served to heighten his pleasure, his need to dominate, to conquer, to own the woman he loved so fully. He wanted to consume you, nest in the crevices of your heart.

“Anakin…An-Anakin…Ani…” You moaned helplessly as he worshipped you like a goddess. You couldn’t even think about anything else, only him, only your Anakin.

His name never beheld such beauty before you had moaned it. Between the curves of your lips his name was given meaning at last. His soul was starved in want of your own and he knew that within the cathedral of your ribs laid his beating heart.

His hips snapped forward, driving into you with renewed vigor. The bed creaked and groaned beneath you, the headboard slamming against the wall with each powerful thrust. He could feel your walls fluttering around him, your body tightening, climbing towards its peak.

"Come for me," he demanded, his hand sliding between your bodies, his fingers finding your clit. "Come on my cock. Let me feel you."

He rubbed firm circles, his touch unrelenting, pushing you closer to the edge. Your moans grew louder, more frantic, your body shaking beneath him.

"That's it," he panted, his own release building, his balls drawing up tight. "Let go. Let go and come for me."

The feeling of your walls clamping down on his cock, rippling and squeezing, was his undoing. With a roar of completion, he buried himself to the hilt, his cock pulsing, his seed jetting forth in thick, hot spurts. He filled you, claimed you, marked you from the inside out.

"Fuck," he grunted, his hips jerking, his body shuddering with the force of his release. "Fuck yes. Take it all."

He collapsed on top of you, his weight pressing you into the mattress, his cock still buried deep inside you. You could feel his heart pounding, his chest heaving as he struggled to catch his breath.

"That was..." he began, his voice rough, hoarse. "That was incredible."

He rolled to the side, pulling you with him, cradling you against his chest. His hand stroked your hair, your face, your body, soothing, comforting.

"You're amazing," he murmured, pressing a soft kiss to your forehead. "So perfect. So beautiful."

He held you close, savoring the feel of your naked body against his, the warmth of your skin, the scent of your hair. In that moment, he felt complete, whole, as if a piece of himself that had been missing had finally clicked into place.

“Anakin —Master, you’re heavy.” You whined, squirming under him.

He propped himself up on his elbows, looking down at you with a tender smile. "What is it, my love?" he asked, his voice soft, concerned.

He could see the exhaustion in your eyes, the way your body trembled slightly beneath him. The realization of his weight upon you hit him like a physical blow, and he quickly rolled off, gathering you into his arms instead.

"I'm sorry," he murmured, pressing a gentle kiss to your temple. "I didn't mean to crush you. Are you alright?"

His hands roamed over your body, checking for any signs of distress, any indication that he had hurt you. But aside from a few faint bruises and the telltale ache between your legs, you seemed unharmed.

"Rest now," he whispered, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear. "I've got you. I won't let anything happen to you."

He settled back against the pillows, pulling you close, your head resting on his chest. He could feel your breaths evening out, your body relaxing into his embrace. And as you drifted off to sleep, he held you tight, his own eyes drifting closed, a contented smile playing on his lips.

Tags ; @qalijahbydior , @anystalker707 , @the-gray-maiden , @anakinca , @cloverina , @dazednstars141 , @valyna27 , @theoriginalsinner28

[bluessmutifyplaylist]

Had to use my memory to make this but…

Sebek losing his composure and biting you all over with his sharp teeth excluding but very near your nape while he hammers into you in a frenzy. He’s whispering frantically about how much he wants to stuff you full of his eggs/kin.

Malleus begging you to let him pleasure you as he’s teary eyed and flustered from how amazing your scent is to him. It’s making him go crazy over how much he wants you.

Trey giving you licks of his homemade whip cream on a spoon every time you let him bite you. Bonus: When you don’t want to eat any more, he puts the rest on various parts of your body and bites <3

-🌊

Warnings: 18+, AFAB!Reader who uses she/her pronouns, very self-indulgent, I love 🌊 Anon and miss them dearly

Trey Clover

The whipped cream was cool against the skin of your tummy, making you shiver. However, it was quickly contrasted with the feeling of your boyfriend’s tongue swiping up the cream. 

His warm smile and chuckle as he lowered himself between your legs made your heart flutter, and he gently held your thighs and placed them on his shoulders. His tongue made one flick against your cunt, and he was pussydrunk. 

You were sweeter than any cream, and his hands went to your hips to hold you still as he continued slurping, licking… his tongue swirled around your clit, making you writhe in pleasure…

To the baker, he could die happily drowning in your pussy. Your juices were all over his face and mouth, and he was only going to make you messier.

He reached into his pants as he started stroking himself while continuing to eat your pussy, mumbling praises as your thighs wrapped around his head.

“You have such a pretty pussy, baby…” He whispered against your cunt. He soon parted to press kisses against your inner thighs, biting your right thigh slightly before returning to your warm, delicious pussy. “She’s just leakin’...”

Soon, you reach your climax and cum all over his face, and he smiled as he stood up. He didn’t cum yet, but he didn’t need to. Seeing you panting as you come down from your high was good enough for him.

Malleus Draconia

There were tears in his eyes as you straddled him, and his hips were grinding up into you, his cock rubbing against your panties. His deep voice let out groans as he begged you to let him inside you, to fuck his clutch into you. To make you his. 

He quickly flipped you both over so he was on top, and he lowered his head into the crook of your neck and inhaled your scent. Great Sevens, you even smelled beautiful… 

Malleus couldn’t take it anymore. He pressed kiss after kiss to your neck, trying to distract you from the inevitable pain as he slid your panties to the side and lined his cock up to your glistening entrance..

“Darling… you need to let me in…” He whispers desperately. He looks like a man on the brink of insanity. “Please…”

Once you give him a nod, he sinks into your warmth. He buries himself completely, pressing his lips to yours until he bottoms out inside of you. You just felt so full… his cock was so big and girthy… your nails dug into his back as you tried to adjust to his size.

“My love, relax…” You follow his instructions, and he soon starts thrusting. It had no pace… no pattern… but his dick was just so large that it hit everything it needed to in order to keep you squirming.

Sebek Zigvolt

His father is a dentist. His mother is his father’s assistant. All three of the Zigvolt children probably have wonderful pearly whites. His biting power is also unmatched, considering it is a trait that carries down from Mrs. Zigvolt.

That being said, you were the only one to experience it in this manner… His fangs sink down into the nape of your neck, drawing blood. His tongue quickly lapped it up, and the groan he let out almost made you cum for the third time.

Sebek’s cock was drilling into you faster than you could even process. What he was whispering to you was even more sexy than the aroma of sex that was in the air of the Ramshackle dormitory… in which Grim was not present.

“When I plant my eggs inside you, darling… our kin will sit in your womb until they are ready to come out. You want that, my love? You want to have my hatchlings?”

You couldn’t help it as you arched your back and came all over his cock once again, and when he felt your walls squeeze him, he gave a few more frantic thrusts before he came inside of you, panting.

The smell of his cologne, mixed with his natural musk, covered you entirely, and he found his heart swelling with pride. He had claimed his mate… the future mother of his children. He looked you over, and the bite marks all over your body further proved this point.

[d-z20]

Rivals (NSFW)

Pairing: Rio Vidal x Reader

Summary: As Agatha Harkness’s loyal, overworked intern, you're used to her sharp critiques, but during tonights debate your focus slips as her opponent, Rio, commands the stage—every smirk and effortless remark dragging your attention away from where it should be.

-OR-

Rio fucks you in a supply closet during the 20 minute intermission

Warnings: 18+ MDNI, smut, Top Rio, Agatha's a bitch to work for, hints at sub reader, reader gets called a good girl, fingering (R recv), kind of jealous Rio

Words: 2.5k

A/N: Agatha All Along Week Day 3: Politics AU

AO3 | Part 2 | Masterlist

The greenroom hums with quiet tension as you rifle through Agatha's debate notes for the third time, hands clammy and breath uneven. It’s the night of the big political debate, and as Agatha Harkness’s long-suffering assistant, it’s your job to keep her sharp—and yourself invisible. The pages are pristine, you’ve been over them so many times you could recite every policy point backwards, but Agatha's sharp gaze makes you doubt yourself anyway.

“Your collar,” she says flatly, eyes flicking up at you from her seat. “It’s crooked. And don’t tell me that’s the coffee you’re drinking?” Her voice cuts with a blend of exasperation and thinly veiled superiority. “You look jittery. The last thing I need is my intern vibrating through the floor.”

Jen is crouched in front of Agatha with a makeup brush in hand and mutters just loud enough for you to hear, “She doesn’t pay you enough for this.” The words are paired with an eyeroll as she dabs foundation across Agatha’s sharp cheekbones. You resist the urge to laugh or nod in agreement, offering Jen a tight smile instead.

Nearby, Alice—all business in their crisp, dark suit—stands by the door. As Agatha's head of security, she scans the room like a hawk, her gaze never lingering for long, before leaving to check another room. Just as you think you might escape Agatha’s scrutiny, you catch the telltale click of heels against the tile floor outside.

The sound is light and deliberate. Rio.

She doesn’t enter, of course. Instead, you catch her gliding past through the crack in the door, an effortless vision in sleek navy tailored trousers and a fitted blazer that seems more runway than debate stage. Her confidence oozes into the room like smoke, intangible yet suffocating. And as if she senses you looking, she pauses. Her piercing gaze locks onto yours through the sliver of the door, and her lips curl into a smirk—just a small, slow lift at one corner. It’s not smug, not outright. It’s worse: like she knows something you don’t. Your stomach twists, and you look away, your pulse hammering harder than it should.

“Focus,” Agatha snaps, drawing you back. You nod, gripping the notes tighter.

—

Out onstage, the spotlight belongs to the host, Lilia. With her poised, almost theatrical delivery, she welcomes the audience and sets the stakes for the evening. Her voice rises and falls with practiced polish as she introduces the two candidates, her tone dipped in just enough gravity to make the event feel monumental.

“First up, please welcome Agatha Harkness.” Lilia announces, and a round of polite applause follows. Agatha steps up to the podium in sharp black, chin tilted just so. Her expression is cool, calculated.

“And the opposition… Rio Vidal.”

Rio’s entrance is a masterclass in charisma. The lights catch her in all the right ways, her movements fluid as she takes her place. She flashes that grin—just a hint of teeth—at the crowd, and a ripple of enthusiasm bubbles up from the audience. You can feel it, and you hate it. You hate her easy confidence, her unshakeable calm, and the way her presence feels like gravity itself.

The debate kicks off with a bang. Lilia moderates with a firm hand, though at times she lets the tension stew just long enough to keep the crowd engaged. Agatha’s strategy is sharp and relentless. Her words hit like precise daggers, cutting at Rio’s platform with efficiency. But Rio… Rio doesn’t falter. Each barb rolls off her back as if rehearsed. Her responses are smooth, her tone honeyed yet precise. And every so often, when Agatha lands a particularly scathing blow, Rio’s smile spreads wide—like she’s winning something entirely separate from the debate.

From your place offstage, your knuckles are white where you grip the edge of your clipboard. You can’t stop watching her. It’s infuriating. Her ease, her smugness, the way she doesn’t seem to sweat even under the heat of Agatha’s precision.

And then Rio’s gaze flicks sideways—to you.

You freeze.

Her eyes hold yours for the barest beat, her smirk deepening like a silent challenge. It’s only a second, maybe two. But in that moment, she owns you, and she knows it.

—

“Now for a few questions from the audience,” Lilia says, gesturing to a woman in the second row.

“Hello, my name is Sharon Davies, and my question is for Agatha,” the woman begins, voice clear and steady. “How do you plan to address the economic disparity between the local communities?”

You feel a flicker of relief at the straightforward question until Agatha responds. “Thank you for your question, Mrs. Hart.”

There’s an audible pause. The woman’s lips twitch in confusion, but Agatha continues unbothered, launching into a clipped yet polished answer.

Out of the corner of your eye, you see Rio take a slow sip of water to hide the grin playing at her lips. You groan internally.

—

The first half of the debate ends with Lilia’s crisp announcement of a 20 minute break. Agatha wastes no time making her exit offstage, muttering about the poor quality of the audience questions as she brushes past you. You follow instinctively, already bracing for whatever critique she’ll launch your way—

But then a hand grabs your arm.

“In a hurry, are we?” The voice slides into your ear—low, teasing. You don’t have to turn to know it’s Rio. Her presence burns like a shadow just behind you, close enough to feel the faint warmth of her body.

“Move, Rio,” you mutter under your breath, refusing to look back.

She laughs—soft and unbothered. “Oh, I don’t think so.”

Before you can react, Rio’s hand finds your wrist, firm but not painful, and she pulls you toward an empty corridor. 

“What the hell are you—”

“Shh.” Rio’s voice drops to a sultry murmur, the dim light casting shadows across her sharp cheekbones. “You talk too much.”

Rio ushers you away from prying eyes, her palms resting flat on the wall on either side of you. She leans closer, her eyes searching your face, drinking in every flicker of resistance and reluctant want.

“What do you think you’re doing?” Your voice wavers. You hate that she hears it.

Rio tilts her head, her lips curling. “You really think she can give you what you need?”

“Who?”

“Agatha.” She says the name like it tastes bitter on her tongue. “You run around after her, putting out her fires, handing her her lines... You can’t tell me you’re happy letting her treat you like that. You deserve better, sweetheart.”

The tension boils over when Rio’s hand finds your wrist, her thumb brushing over your pulse. “You don’t know anything about me,” you snap at her furiously.

Her response is a quiet, taunting whisper against your ear: “I know she could never touch you the way I could. You think she’s ever made you feel the way you do now?”

You open your mouth to protest, but the words crumble when Rio shifts closer—her thigh grazing yours, her scent sharp and distracting, her breath teasing your skin. Your heart pounds against your ribs, wild and traitorous.

“Stop it,” you whisper, though you make no move to push her away.

Rio’s smile darkens, and for a moment, the teasing falls away, replaced by something hotter—something real. Her hand finds your jaw, fingers brushing just under your chin, tilting your head so she can lean in, her lips so achingly close to yours that the space between feels electric.

“I don’t think you want me to stop,” she murmurs.

Before you can retort, Rio’s mouth crashes into yours, fierce and possessive. It’s a clash of lips and teeth—heated, desperate, and almost spiteful. The hallway is empty save for the two of you, and any protests melt as Rio pushes you into a storage closet, claiming you like she’s proving a point.

Because she’s right. You don’t want her to stop.

You melt into it for half a second before your own desperation flares, matching her with equal force. Your hands grasp at her blazer, pulling her closer until there’s nothing between you but heat and ragged breaths.

“Is this what you want?” Rio mutters against your lips, one hand sliding down your side, the other bracing against the wall to cage you in further.

You don’t answer, too far gone, but your body betrays you—arching into her touch, fingers digging into her shoulders. Rio’s smug chuckle ghosts over your mouth as she kisses you again, rougher this time, her hand slipping lower, fingers dipping under the waistband of your pants.

Rio is rough and relentless but never careless—her hands grip your waist as she drags you closer, murmuring filthy promises against your lips about how she’d “treat you right.” Her voice is dark and velvet-soft, each word a taunt designed to unravel you. “You’d feel so much better if you let go, sweetheart... If you let me take care of you.”

The hatred and tension simmer under every touch, the unspoken resentment crackling like a live wire. She hates that you belong to Agatha, that you let her use you like an accessory—and you hate her for being right. But as Rio’s fingers drift lower, her lips leaving heat down the column of your throat, it’s clear this is about something far beyond spite. It’s about want, raw and consuming. It’s about Rio making you lose control—her revelling in every shaky breath you take, every whimper that slips free despite yourself.

Her hand cups you lighly, fingers brushing against the thin barrier of your underwear, and you can’t hold back the soft gasp that escapes your lips. Rio hums approvingly, her smile all satisfaction as she applies more pressure. “Look at you,” she murmurs, voice low and dangerous. “Agatha would die if she saw you like this. Weak. Needy. Mine.”

Before you can snap a reply, Rio moves her hand so it’s beneath your underwear—fingers deft as they find their mark, her movements precise, relentless. She drinks in the way you shudder against her touch, how your hands tighten in her blazer as your body betrays you completely. “You like this,” she says, more statement than question. Her lips skim your ear as she adds, “Say it.”

You bite back your pride, but it doesn’t matter—Rio doesn’t need you to answer. She already knows as she buries two fingers inside you.

Her hand moves with a devastating rhythm, slow and deliberate at first, teasing you with unbearable precision. The tension coils in your body, a heat pooling low in your belly, rising with every measured stroke. You can feel her breath against your neck, hear the faint rustle of her blazer as she shifts, leaning in closer, caging you in further. The soft scrape of her nails against your neck sends a shiver up your spine, and you grip her shoulders harder, holding on as if you might collapse otherwise.

The room feels impossibly small, the air heavy with the sound of your ragged breaths and the soft, wet sound of her hand working you over. Your head falls back against the wall, a soft thud breaking the quiet, and you swear you can hear the faint hum of the debate stage through the walls—a cruel reminder of where you are.

But it’s her voice that drowns everything else out. Low, taunting, dripping with control. “You like it when people use you, don’t you?” She purrs, her words a velvet lash against your pride. She presses her palm harder against your clit, wringing a desperate sound from your throat. “Tell me. Has she ever made you fall apart like this?”

Your pulse thrums in your ears, drowning out everything but her and the unrelenting rhythm of her hand. Every movement grows sharper now, harder. Your arousal builds impossibly fast, the sound of it obscene in the quiet—slick and unmistakable as her fingers slide inside you, claiming every reaction. Her name falls repeatedly from your lips, half a curse, half a plea, but you’re too far gone to care.

The pressure crescendos, and Rio pushes you past it. Her movements grow almost merciless—harder and faster still—and the sound fills the room, echoing in time with your shallow, hitched breaths. It’s like a wave crashing over you, fierce and consuming, leaving you gasping as your body trembles beneath her touch.

Your hands fist into her shoulders as you climax, the pleasure so intense it borders on overwhelming. You collapse against her, your forehead pressing into the crook of her neck as your knees threaten to buckle. She catches you, of course—her arm sliding around your waist, holding you up as your chest heaves against hers.

For a moment, the only sound is the harsh, uneven rhythm of your breathing, the quiet hum of the lights overhead, and the faint, distant chatter from the debate stage. Your pulse thrums wildly under your skin, your body still twitching with the aftershocks as Rio’s hand finally eases, resting against your hip as if satisfied with her work.

“Good girl,” she murmurs into your ear, the smug satisfaction in her tone making your skin prickle. She presses a final, lingering kiss just below your jaw before straightening, leaving you slumped against the wall, dazed and breathless.

Before you can muster a response, Rio steps back, casual as ever. She grabs a paper towel from the small storage shelf, cleaning her fingers with slow, deliberate movements as though she hadn’t just wrecked you against a supply cupboard wall.

The door creaks, and your stomach drops as you scramble to straighten yourself, still too disoriented to think clearly. But Rio doesn’t spare you another glance—she slips out, leaving the door ajar just enough to let in a sliver of light.

You’re alone, the air stifling and charged, your pulse still racing as you try to gather your wits.

—

You make it back to your spot off-stage just as the debate resumes. You’ve got your notes in hand, and your posture is straight, but your mind is far from clear. Agatha’s voice drifts over the room in measured, practiced rhythms, but it’s all background noise. Across the stage, Rio sits poised—calm, cool, her expression as sharp as a blade. There’s no indication of what just happened—no lingering smirk, no flushed cheeks. She looks utterly untouched, untouchable... except for the barest flicker of her gaze, catching yours.

Your stomach flips.

Rio smirks—a slow, deliberate pull of her lips—and then she shifts her attention back to Lilia’s next question, leaving you gripping your notes with white-knuckled fingers, every nerve in your body still singing from her touch.

You keep your face blank, eyes fixed on the stage as if nothing happened, but the phantom heat of Rio’s kiss remains, simmering under your skin like a secret you’re not sure you’ll survive.

-----

please pretend this isn't a day late, @aceday guilted me into going to sleep at a reasonable time last night instead of running on 2hrs sleep again but don't worry I'm trying to catch up :P

-----

[wolvietxt]

can you do overprotective with dean winchester?

from this prompt list 🩷: https://www.tumblr.com/wolvietxt/764960124626403328/overprotective-sunshine-is-about-to-do-something?source=share

DEAN’S voice cut through the air, sharp and unyielding, stopping you mid-step on the wooden ledge. 

“what the hell do you think you’re doing?”  

you froze, looking over your shoulder to see him stalking toward you, his expression hard enough to rival stone. his green eyes burned with something between frustration and fear, and it pinned you in place like a physical force.  

“we don’t have time to waste,” you said, trying to keep your voice calm. “i’ll go first and make sure it’s stable.”  

dean’s jaw clenched, and his boots ground into the gravel as he closed the distance between you. “no. you’re not stepping foot on that thing.”  

“dean - ”  

“don’t dean me,” he snapped, cutting you off. “you’re not doing it.”  

“someone has to,” you argued, gesturing toward the rickety bridge swaying precariously over the canyon. “we can’t just stand here debating.”  

“then i’ll do it,” he said, his tone leaving no room for argument. “no way in hell am i letting you go out there first.”  

“why does it always have to be you?” you shot back, your irritation bubbling to the surface. “i’m not some damsel you have to protect, dean. i can handle myself.”  

“it’s not about that,” he said, his voice dropping low, rough with an emotion he rarely let slip. “it’s about me not being able to handle it if something happened to you. so stop being stubborn and let me do this.”  

his words hit you harder than you expected, and for a moment, all you could do was stare at him. he didn’t look away, didn’t try to soften the intensity of his gaze. it was like he needed you to understand, to take him seriously.  

you sighed, stepping back slightly. “fine. but if you fall, i’m not carrying your ass back up.”  

the corner of his mouth twitched, almost like he wanted to smile but couldn’t quite manage it. “yeah, yeah,” he muttered, turning toward the bridge.  

he tested the first plank with his boot, his movements deliberate and cautious. the wood groaned under his weight, but it held, and he took another step. you watched, your hands clenched into fists at your sides as he made his way across.  

“dean,” you called, unable to keep the worry out of your voice.  

he glanced back over his shoulder, his expression softening for just a second. “i’m fine. just hang tight.”  

it felt like an eternity before he reached the other side and turned to face you.  

“all right,” he called. “your turn. take it slow.”  

you stepped onto the bridge, your heart hammering in your chest as the wood creaked beneath your feet. you kept your eyes on dean, his steady gaze a lifeline as you moved forward.  

when you finally reached him, his hand shot out, grabbing yours to help you over the last step.  

“see? no big deal,” you said, though your legs felt like jelly.  

“reckless,” he muttered, but his voice lacked its usual bite.  

“overprotective,” you shot back, your lips twitching into a smile.  

“damn right,” he said, his eyes scanning your face like he was memorizing every detail.  

you opened your mouth to respond, but before you could, dean leaned in, his lips brushing against yours. it was soft at first, tentative, like he wasn’t sure if you’d pull away. but when you didn’t, he deepened the kiss, his hand cupping your cheek as his thumb brushed against your skin.  

when he finally pulled back, his forehead rested against yours, and he let out a shaky breath. “you drive me crazy, you know that?”  

you grinned, your fingers curling into the front of his jacket. “yeah, but you love it.”  

he shook his head, a small smile tugging at his lips. “don’t push your luck, sunshine.”  

you giggled, the sound light and unburdened as the tension between you melted away. for once, you let yourself lean into the safety of his presence, knowing he’d always be there to catch you.

ᰔ dean winchester : @person-005, @iloveeveryoneyoureamazing, @jackles010378

taglist form linked in pinned post :3

[gilverrwrites]

A dire need

Bruce Wayne/Reader, 700 words Kinktober entry 10: Sex pollen Warnings: EXTREMELY dubious consent | breeding kink | size difference | over-stim Requested by: (Author prompted) Anonymous

Your weeping cunt twitches around his cock, painfully milking yet another round of thick, hot cum from him. Your body is too spent to react beyond your quiet whimpers and the ceaseless twitching of your weak legs. At this point, you’re not even sure your brain, body, and pussy are connected.

He’s been pressing you in the bed by your ankles mercilessly pounding his fat length into your gaping, leaking hole with strength and stamina that cannot be human for hours, having grabbed you from the hallway in the early hours of the morning and putting you over his shoulder.

“Bruce? What the hell?!” You’d hammered your first into his brawny back. “Where are you taking me?”

“Bed.” He’d replied sharply, seemingly annoyed by your futile struggles and incessant questions. Why he felt so strongly about you being out of bed was a mystery to you, but you went lax in his grip, allowing him to carry you through the maze-like walls of the manor right up until he passed your room and continued down the hall.

“Uh, Brucie, better recalibrate you’re GPS. My bedroom was two doors down.” You’d commented, beginning to struggle once more when he failed to respond. “Seriously, Bruce come on, you’re scaring me.”

“My bedroom.” He eventually answered, jerking his shoulder hard enough to make you jolt briefly into the air then back against his shoulder, but that didn’t stop your squirming. Sure, there’s always been an unspoken attraction between you and Bruce, but this seemed extreme.

“Woah there big guy, I don’t think so.” You’d return to punching his solid back, aimlessly kicking your feet until he repeats his previous motion with enough force to temporarily make you dizzy.

“Stop squirming.” It was an order, low and demanding, he’d begun using the Batman voice.

As he’d approached his door, he didn’t stop to bother with the handles, unceremoniously booting it open with his barefoot and rushing to the bed where he finally released you, hoisting you into the air and slamming you against his sheets in one fell swoop.

“I’ve seen the way you look at me, I know you want it.” He’d all but growled, already unbuckling his pants and tearing away his shirt before climbing onto the bed. Despite your hesitance, you couldn’t deny how this whole bullish, no-nonsense demonstration stirred something feverish between your thighs, but from this angle, you can see he’s not himself; paler than usual, veins dark and prominent beneath his sweat-slickened skin. He grabbed your nightgown, and you’d allowed him to pull it above your head, as if you’d had much choice, leaving you completely exposed and vulnerable to his unfeasibly dilated pupils.

“Holy shit, Bruce!” His cheek felt hot and calmy in your palms when you’d reached up to cup his face. “What’s going on?”

Before you could move any further, he’d clamped a hand over yours, holding it tightly to him as he closed his eyes, turning his face into your wrist and sniffing aggressively at your scent.

“Need to fuck you.” He replied matter-of-factly before opening his eyes once more to stare into your wide ones, and you watched with trepidation as he reached down to take his thick cock from his boxers.

With unsurprising precision he’d slapped the tip against your slick folds, hitting your clitoris dead centre, unresponsive to how it made you shudder beneath him. All he’d been focused on is your face, watching you with frightening levels of intensity, as he parts your folds with his crown, painfully splitting your underprepared entrance around it.   

“Br- “ You’d started to object, but he silenced you with a harsh shush.

“Need to fuck you until you’re fat with my cum.” He’d said between gritted teeth, no longer looking at you, barely even addressing you as he watches his cock begin to agonizingly disappear between your tense walls. “You’re going to look beautiful, carrying my next heir.” 

Please remember: Bad days are a part of a good life!

Kinktober Masterlist

[naomiarai]

☆ txt + favorite positions — ♡

⊹ ࣪ ˖ Choi Soobin — missionary ♡

soobin definitely is the more intimate kinda guy during sex. when he has the chance to look at you, feel you and is able to see your reaction when he accidentally fucks up into you a little too deep, it fucking turns him the fuck on. all the little pecks on your nose, cheeks and lips while his cock slowly grinds into your cunt, whispering either the most heartwarming things or blasting you ear with the nastiest shit you’ve ever heard. has his fingers pinching your clit when you least expect it <3 also soobin DEFINITELY has your hands pinned above your head, both your wrists bound in the palm of his singular hand.

soobin spreads your legs wide open, glistening cunt in view for him as he slips his dick inside your gaping hole. a whiny moan escapes your mouth as his tip hits your cervix; hands gripping at the sheets. “pretty girl, too deep for you huh baby?” he says as he comes down to press a kiss on your nose.

⊹ ࣪ ˖ Choi Yeonjun — reverse cow girl ♡

yeonjun is a certified ass man, has his hands on it ALL the time. he lovess when you ride him, thinks you look so pretty and fucked out but again, yeonjun is an ASS man, so probably has his hands on your ass as you ride him,, guiding the rock of your hips with his hands gripping your ass <33 yeonjun loves overstimulating you, especially when you ride him, grins at the sight of you getting weak and falling apart on his fat cock >< but when you stop when he didn’t tell you to, his hands are a 100% coming down to slap your ass, turning it a bright red. also jjun definitely will come up to bite your back, suck on your shoulder and leave a bunch if hickeys </3

you feel a sharp sting behind you, which only urged you to continue rocking you hips on his cock. you groan at the feeling, mind clouded with the loud, wet and squelching sounds so his cock soaked inside of you, “keep fucking going, you know you should” jjun says as he lands another slap.

⊹ ࣪ ˖ Choi Beomgyu — doggy ♡

doggy is so beomgyu coded. like as most of us agree beomgyu would definitely do quickes and doggy is the easiest position to get into 0.0. but he absolutely loves the way you feel around him when he’s hammering into you from behind, the way your pussy keeps sucking him back in and thighs shake keeps him going~ beomgyu is big on degradation, he’d totally bend over to suck on your earlobe and degrade you so fucking bad, it has you clenching around him even more. also activates your hair pulling kink, when it becomes too much n you start sobbing into the sheets, that’s how he’ll pull you up <3

fat tears flow down your eyes as you wail into the sheets, clutching tightly at them. his cock absolutely puncturing at your cervix, and him chuckling at your state, “what? i thought you wanted cock when i found you fingering yourself”

⊹ ࣪ ˖ Kang Taehyun — cowgirl ♡

there’s nothing taehyun loves more than proving you wrong. and that’s exactly what he does when he lets you ride him, with you promising that you’ll do a good job. he finds pleasure in seeing you fall apart, especially when you tell him you won't and that you’ll make him cum. taehyun would totally show faux sympathy, a tight grip on your hips to help you stay stable, and praising when he knows he's pushing you to the edge. okay taehyun might have a thing for finding any reasonable way to punish, just to fuck you dumb and have you under his control, thats why he’s going to degrade you at the end and overstimulate you <3

your toes curl into the sheets as you try to move against his cock without halting. tears run down your eyes as you desperately try to make him cum, while he rubs the sides of your hips only urging that you can do it, you can take him. “c'mon, won't you make me cum?”

⊹ ࣪ ˖ Hueningkai — 69 ♡

69 is so kai coded!! especially when you both are subbing, subxsub is so kai. absolutely loves how it feels, sloppily eating out your cunt with a bruising grip on your ass as you suck his dick on the other end <3 kai also loves cumming at the same time, boh of you going at a similar pace and slowly bringing each other towards your orgasms. but it also gives dom kai, slapping your ass if you buck your hips up too much, edging you towards your orgasm with his skillful tongue, leaving you needy and begging for more >< and mean dom kai would totally have you make him cum but refuse to make you cum, just keeps on edging you <3

you wince at the tight grip on your hips, mouth too full to say something about it as your eyes roll back at the feeling of his warm tongue on your cunt. he simply chuckles into your cunt, sending down pleasurable vibrations, “too much already? c’mon, you have to make me cum” he whispers right in.

taglist - @yyeonzi ,@boba-beom ,@soobinsonly1bf , @seolis-world ,@lovethewayyouliebaby

[hawkinsbnbg]

Silver fox Steve meets fox hunter Eddie.

When Steve accepted the teaching position at IU, he didn't expect to stumble upon Eddie Munson–an enigma—who loved metal, who wore leathers with chains and rings, who always stood out with that wild mane, those attractive tattoos and devil-may-care attitude, and who had been trying to get into his pants for months now.

“Is this still a violation to the college’s policies, Professor?” Hot lips planted by his ears, strong hands held him down, stopped him from getting away.

“N– No,” Steve gasped and rolled his eyes back as Eddie hit that spot again. They had been at it for over an hour now, and Steve only had himself to blame for being weak-willed.

He had half a mind to worry about what his colleagues might say tomorrow about having seen him slink away with one of the graduates. But his head was rendered blank when those long calloused fingers wrapped around his neglected cock and started jerking it.

“Am I still too young for you, Professor?”

“Ye– Oh, god–” Steve writhed and slobbered as his sweet spots were battered again.

“Just Eddie is fine,” the younger man nipped the tip of his ear teasingly before setting up a brutal pace.

Steve couldn't even talk, he just fisted the sheet beneath him, overwhelmed and overstimulated. He was kind of appalled and thrilled by it all. Because sex had never felt so good to him before.

“Am I good enough for you, Professor?” Eddie asked, voice husky and gravelly with lust.

Steve dropped his mouth open to maybe form a proper word or breathe, he didn't know. His brain was too fucked out to remember why he had kept turning Eddie away in the first place.

The guy clearly knew how to plow. Fucking Christ.

He nodded blindly, moaning and losing his mind as Eddie hammered into his prostate as if wanting to knock his soul away.

He came with Eddie’s name on his tongue, twitching and clenching around the thick cock that pulsed inside him. He milked it for what it was worth, and lamented inwardly Eddie had filled the condom and not him.

Once the post-coital high finally passed, the clarity of the situation dawned on him. Steve didn't regret it, but he was mildly disappointed this was just a one-time thing.

Because of all people, he knew Eddie’s kind the best. Always curious, always eager to take on challenges. And who else was better to conquer than Professor Harrington who was known for being a rule stickler?

Except, tonight was the first time he let himself be swayed by those charming smiles and big impish eyes. Maybe it was old ages having mellowed him, or maybe it was loneliness wearing his guard down.

Either way, someone brilliant like Eddie would never stick around for a boring old man like Steve. Which was completely understandable. But it didn't hurt less to think he was just another pitstop in Eddie’s life. Easy to forget, easy to leave behind.

“Hope you haven’t gotten tired of me yet, Mr. Harrington,” Eddie returned from the bathroom with a washcloth in hands, looking far too chirpy in only a pair of black boxers and not at all as drained as Steve felt.

God, what a time to be reminded that he was too old for this.

Sitting against the headboard, Steve said nothing and just watched Eddie climb on the bed and kneel over to him. When he intended to take the washcloth, Eddie just grabbed his hand to kiss the back of it instead.

“Allow me to take care of my date,” the younger man said cheekily before proceeding to wipe him down with practiced ease.

“Your date, huh?” Steve snorted, laughing at himself for being so pathetic to perk up at that.

“Yeah, my date,” Eddie smiled softly, tone still light-hearted but eyes intense when they met his own. “We’re kinda doing it backward here but I can fix that.”

Jesus. Steve didn't think he knew what he was getting himself into. And still, he couldn't help but listen to his stupid heart, the one that was telling him to give Eddie a chance.

“How?”

“I know this place has really good tacos,” Eddie rested a hand on his bare thigh and stroked it slowly. “They also serve quite decent drinks and mean buffalo wings.”

“What if I say no?” Steve raised his eyebrow.

“Well, in that case,” Eddie deflated, looking like a kicked puppy as he braved on. “I’ll respect your decision and get out of your hair soon.”

Steve sighed, wishing pretty boys with big eyes weren't his weakness.

“Listen carefully,” he leveled Eddie with a serious look. “If you’re just looking for someone to fool around with, then I’m not the right person for you. But if you want to try for a real relationship, then we can do it together. And I’ll expect you to be fully committed. No polygamy or anything alike.”

Eddie grinned at him, dimpled and bright, before cupping his cheek and kissing the side of his mouth.

“Sweetheart, I’ve been committed to you since the first time we met. Been yours even before you noticed me.”

The fact that Steve could tell it was true made his heart flutter in his chest.

“Well then, Mr. Munson, I have no problem with you fixing our date tonight,” he turned his head slightly to press a chaste kiss on Eddie’s lips.

“So polite,” Eddie chuckled and kissed him again, but it was deeper and more tender this time.

Although Steve still couldn't quite believe Eddie would stick around, he decided to take the leap of faith anyway.

And many years later, when he glanced up from his newspaper to see Eddie showing him another new sweater for their dog, he knew he had made the right choice that night.

[msnmnt]

Midnight Comfort

Summary: Just a short something inspired by Mase’s little injury at the weekend. Set during early stages of a relationship, lots of (debatable) banter and just fluff really. 🥹🩶

The sound of your front door buzzing in sync with your phone startled you, the book you had once been engrossed in slipping from your fingers and down onto your bed.

You scrunched up your face in confusion, placing your book to the side as you hurriedly pulled your phone off charge from your bedside table, quickly tapping the notification that told you someone was at the front door of your flat.

You pondered who it could be, after all, it was getting on for midnight on a Sunday night. Anxiety hit you as the live feed of your security camera loaded up on your phone. Your heart hammered in your chest and you let out a heavy breath seeing Mason stood there, absent mindingly looking around the corridor as he waited on your door step.

You hurried out from the blanket you had been tucked under, winding down for the evening. You frantically searched for your hairbrush, tugging it through your messy locks as you did your best to somewhat tame it. You caught a glimpse of yourself in the mirror and cursed under your breath for having already taken your makeup off.

You hadn’t been living in Manchester for very long, but you had had your first meeting with Mason not long after you’d moved in. He had held the door open for you when you were both heading out at the same time one day, and from then on out you seemed to bump into him and his dreamy chocolate eyes every time you left your flat.

After numerous encounters of catching the other taking cheeky glances in the lift, passing in the hallway, walking to your cars. Mason had finally begun to make small talk and one evening when he had returned from having drinks with the boys, the alcohol had gave him the push he needed to pluck up the courage to ask you out.

It was still the early stages of your relationship, but you were absolutely smitten with him. Your dates so far had been kept casual: grabbing a drink at a local coffee shop, spending the afternoon on a dog walk and a Saturday spent having a game of crazy golf before indulging in a picnic. Mason had been the perfect gentleman; opening his car door for you, always complementing how you looked and never making you pay for a thing. He truly made you feel like a princess.

You had enjoyed your time getting to know him and were looking forward to your next date during the week at some fancy restaurant Mason often frequented. You weren’t ashamed to say the prospect of seeing him all dressed up for the first time made you feel a little giddy.

As much as you adored his company, you couldn’t help but be a little concerned as to what he could possibly be doing outside your flat at this time, and so you slipped your feet into your slippers and padded over to the front door.

You looked out of the eye hole, almost as if to check you hadn’t imagined what you had seen on your camera, before you cautiously opened the door.

His arms were folded across his big hoodie that made him look extra soft and cuddly. His hair appeared slightly damp and his face was a little paler than usual, wide brown eyes immediately meeting yours and making you melt as they always did.

“Y/n! Hi, how’re you?” He babbled out, tucking his hands into the pockets of his jogging bottoms, finding himself uncharacteristically nervous.

“Umm, I’m fine, are you - is everything okay, Mason?” You asked, confusion clear in your voice.

“Yeah, yeah everything’s fine.” He quickly spoke, not wanting to worry you. “I just, um-“ He rambled on, not sure how to word himself. “I had a bit of an accident at the game today, I smacked my head up pretty bad.” He turned around briefly, showing you the fresh stitches which made you wince in sympathy.

“They told me I’ll be fine but it might be a good idea to have someone around, you know, just incase anything was to happen.”

You felt your chest tighten and your throat go dry. He wanted you to look after him?

“I remembered you said you had a few days off work and I just thought -“ Mason stopped himself, suddenly realising how much he was asking from you. After all, you weren’t his girlfriend. Hell, he hadn’t even asked you to be exclusive yet. But when the doctor told him he might want to have someone with him for the night, the only person he wanted to be with was you.

“You can say no, I mean - you probably have plans tomorrow, I shouldn’t have came round at this time, I just - God, I’m sorry.” Mason continued, a little overcome with emotions from the injury that added to his worry you were going to say no.

“Mason, of course you can come in.”

He dipped his head up, the corners of his mouth twitching upwards.

“Really?”

You nodded, opening the door and beckoning him inside.

Mason wandered in and you closed the door behind him, leading him through to the living room. You flicked the light switch on and Mason felt a pang of guilt that you had clearly been settled down for the evening.

“I’m sorry, were you asleep?” He glanced over at your body, taking in the plaid pair of pyjama bottoms and little strappy top you had on.

You shook your head. “I was just reading.”

“Another one of your spooky books?”

You couldn’t help but grin knowing he had remembered how much you loved your horror books, something you had mentioned to him on your first date.

You nodded and Mason smiled before pressing a little more for the details of his book. You knew he had no real interest in them, but the fact he was willing to listen to you go on about it made you so happy.

When the conversation died down a little, you took the opportunity to turn the TV on. You left it on whatever channel you had been watching most recently, just wanting a bit of background noise to help break the tension and make you feel a little more comfortable at the new setting you had found yourself in.

“So, what happened?” You asked and Mason couldn’t help but feel a little gutted that you hadn’t been watching the game.

He did his best to explain, showing off his stitches once more which just made you more concerned for him. He reassured you he was fine and there should be no after affects apart from a sore head for a few days.

“Shall I make us some hot chocolates?” You suggested and Mason’s eyes lit up. “It might do you good to get some sugar in you.”

“That would be nice.” Mason grinned.

You fixed up two mugs in the kitchen before returning to your living room to find Mason sat up straight on the sofa, his arms tucked in his lap. He looked almost as though he was a school boy waiting to be told what he could and couldn’t do.

You chuckled softly making Mason jump as you appeared around the corner. You walked over to him and he quietly thanked you as you handed him the mug.

“Cute slippers.” You looked down at your feet, your face warming as you took in your fluffy and totally seasonably inappropriate reindeer slippers that you had popped on to answer the door in.

“Well I wasn’t exactly expecting company at this time.” You pouted in an effort to defend yourself, but you immediately regretted it when you noticed Mason tense up, clearly feeling bad again.

“You can make yourself at home, Mase.” You settled yourself next to him on the sofa, trying to relax him. Mason’s heart jumped at you using his nickname for the first time, feeling a little more as ease.

He wiggled around on the sofa, repositioning himself as he lent back, taking a sip of the warm coco before placing it on a coaster on your coffee table.

“I’m sorry, I do feel bad for just turning up.” He murmed and you just wanted to make him feel better, loving the fact that you were the person he wanted to be with him.

“Honestly, don’t worry, Mason. I would’ve been up for another couple of hours reading anyway.” You lied, knowing full well you were dropping off to sleep in your book. You didn’t want him to feel guilty and besides, you’d have stayed up all night if that was what he wanted.

The pair of you made small talk about your days, Mason telling you about the rest of the game before his incident. You finished your hot chocolates and it wasn’t long before you felt your eyes threatening to close. You stifled a yawn with your hand, blinking in an attempt to keep your eyes open.

“You’re sleepy, I’m sorry -“ Mason stood up, fully prepared to leave till you jumped up to stop him.

“Why don’t we go relax in my bed?”

Your own words took you by surprise and Mason’s eyes lit up hearing you talk about your bed, for a brief moment completely forgetting about his injury.

Mason nodded at your suggestion. “If that’s okay with you, I mean, if it isn’t I can sleep on the sofa?”

You shook your head. “And how am I supposed to keep an eye on you if you’re in a different room to me?” You asked playfully, extending your hand out for him to grab. “Come on.”

Mason’s heart twinged as he followed you into your bedroom. Your duvet was pulled back on your side and your book was led open, upside down on your bedside table to save your page.

He made his way round to the other side of the bed, standing there hesitantly as he waited for you to pull the duvet back for him.

You giggled at how apprehensive he was. “There’s no need to be nervous, Mase. I won’t bite.” You chuckled, gladly slipping your legs under the duvet before playfully tapping the empty space next to you.

Mason felt silly as his cheeks heated up, internally telling himself to get a grip.

You gestured for him to come lay his head on your chest as he got himself cosy next to you. He begun to lean down onto you but as his head came into contact with your chest, he groaned in pain, having put too much pressure on the back of his head.

“Fuck.” Mason cursed. He immediately sat up and you followed him, your heart hammering in your chest.

“Shit, sorry, I - I shouldn’t have got you to do that, I wasn’t thinking.” You apologised, feeling awful.

Mason was clutching his head with one hand, reaching out with his other to intertwine his fingers with yours, letting you know he was okay. He took a few moments till the initial shock and pain had passed before he squeezed your hand.

Your eyes were glazed over as you watched on, not wanting to do anything that could potentially make the pain any worse. Mason noticed your bleary eyes, giving your hand another tight squeeze. “Hey, don’t be silly, baby. I should’ve known better than to put pressure on it. It’s not your fault.”

You huffed. I’m not doing a very good job of looking after you.” You bowed your head slightly. “You must be in so much pain, it looked like you hit it so hard.”

You were confused when a smirk appeared on Mason’s face, suddenly looking very smug.

“What?”

Mason chuckled. “I thought you didn’t watch the game?” He teased knowingly, enjoying watching as you squirmed knowing you had been caught out.

You didn’t want to come across as too keen, and admitting you had been sat at home on your own that evening, watching some football game you couldn’t care less about just to see his pretty face? That wasn’t something you were wanting to admit to.

You were greatful for the minimal lighting your lamp was providing, hoping Mason wouldn’t catch on to how embarrassed you were.

“I might have caught a little bit.” You admitted sheepishly. “I just wanted to see how you were getting on so I knew what kind of mood you’d be in for our date.”

Mason raised his eyebrows. “Date?”

“Oh, I , er-“ You stuttered, scrambling for words. Is that not what it was?

You began to panic, only breathing a sigh of relief when Mason sniggered.

“I’m just kidding, angel.” All was forgotten when the pet name left his lips, your insides bubbling up and giving you a sickly sweet feeling in your tummy.

You tried not to let it show how happy one simple word had made you.

“You’re well enough to still behave like a little shit, then.” You rolled your eyes and Mason chuckled.

“I’m very much looking forward to it, our date.” He confirmed. “Our fourth date, actually.”

You gave him a soft smile, heart beaming that he had been keeping track.

“I’d still really like a cuddle.” He jutted out his bottom lip, his big brown eyes looking up at you like butter wouldn’t melt.

“If you lay on your side I can, um, I can cuddle up to you.” You shyly offered.

“Yeah?” He asked and you nodded.

“Just be careful laying down this time, okay?” You were stern, not wanting to see him in any more pain.

Mason slowly settled himself down in the bed, turning sideways so he wasn’t putting any pressure on the back of his head.

You were quick to join him, carefully laying behind him and tucking your body as close to his as you could. You wrapped your arm around his torso, repositioning your body so it was slightly higher up the bed and you could tuck your face into Mason’s neck, gently planting a singular soft kiss there.

“That okay?” You asked, suddenly feeling nervous about what you had just done.

Mason mumbled a content ‘yes’, the feel of your breath on his neck making his eyes fall shut, and the pain in his head somehow subsiding as he settled into your arms. His hand went to intertwine his fingers with yours, your arm still holding him closely to you.

“Mhm, think I could get used to this.” Mason shamelessly admitted, loving having you snuggled up behind him and holding him.

You tangled your legs with Mason’s, tucking your feet in between the fabric of his trousers to keep them warm. You just hoped Mason couldn’t feel the way your heart was hammering in your chest at being so close to him for the first time.

You hummed, feeling yourself get sleepy, completely relaxed. “No, this is special treatment for today only.” You told him. “I’m definitely being little spoon next time.”

[avaf00rd]

Arsenal x teen r where she has had a really tiring day and falls asleep on the bench during the game. (Minor ausenal x r bc she’s a Tillie)

the big screen

Arsenal x teen!reader

super short but pretty cute

Warnings: none

———————————————————————

You were still sprinting. It felt like you hadn’t stopped in days. Receiving a ball from Lia you made your way around some of the west ham girls, ball at your feet, running towards Beth who seemed to be completely open and running up with you, before you no longer felt the ground at your boots and were knocked down.

Quickly getting up and throwing your hands up at the ref who kept on running with the play, you were running up and down once again. Your body was younger than the rest of the team, so you could physically handle longer minutes than most of the older girls. And were usually playing a full game, but, tonight it was killing you.

When you finally found your number on the substitution board you quickly made your way over to the sidelines, bringing in Kyra for a split hug before she was taking your position for the remaining time.

A few of your closest teammates were currently on the bench. You hugged Jonas briefly and he acknowledged your great efforts, Viv and Vic split from sitting next to each other so you could sit in between, vic shuffling over one seat.

Puffer and water bottle now in hand you comepletly collapsed into the seat. Throwing your head back in exhaustion.

“Brilliant work tiny!!” Vic cheerfully said ruffling your hair

“Thanks” you smiled at her

“Yeah you played incredible” Viv said rubbing your arm. Leah quickly made her way over from where she was to squeeze both your hands standing in front of you.

“Brilliant effort so so proud of you” she smiled at you.

During the match, you managed to assist two goals in the first half, with Beth and Steph.

2 minutes later, your head met Viv’s shoulder. You were incredibly tired and as the hammers slotted in their first goal, you sighed, your eyes slowly shutting.

commentators ;

“Now looking at that incredibly talented bench for the um Arsenal. Including injured Leah Williamson, England captain, who is set to play her first match back in early 2024”

the camera quickly zooms over to you asleep.

“And our teenage star for Arsenal seems to have fallen asleep” the commentator laughs along with the other two on the microphones. Some in the stadium laugh at your fast asleep state on the big screen amongst emirates stadium.

Vic, wanting to see your reaction, quickly shakes you awake, your eyes slowly flutter open with both Viv and Vic laughing. You immediately saw a replay of your face asleep, now flicking back to the present image of you laughing. Face bright red. Before it quickly pans back to the game.

“Why did you let me fall asleep!” You exclaim hitting Viv in the chest.

“You’re a cute sleeper tiny” Viv giggles.

——————

You were pulled by Leah to join her post-match interview with Alex Scott. You were familiar with the ex Arsenal girl and looked up to her as a role model.

“Hello star!” Smiled Alex as she hugged you, before hugging Leah. Someone working for the broadcast handing both of you microphones. “Now y/n, you ran insane, you were always on the ball. Your performance definitely impacted the result of today’s victory. How are you feeling right now?” Alex said slightly giggling with the last part.

“Physically; tired-“

“Oh sweetie we know” Alex laughed with Leah.

“You know I’m not super proud of Emirates stadium seeing that! I don’t know how I managed to fall asleep right there” you exclaimed laughing

“no but obviously a little sore in the legs but mentally so so proud of this team. To Steph and Beth for both of there incredible shots. And everyone who gave their ultimate effort, we took another win and we will take it again next week” you smiled with pride.

Slightly looking at Leah as you spoke, looking for an acknowledgment that you were saying the right words. She would just smile and nod at you to keep going.

“I’m sure the team is so proud of the effect you have made on the team since your singing” Alex said, directing towards Leah

“Yeah we all watch her play and give it 100% every weekend and it’s incredible, and you know in training she’s a tough player to get past I won’t lie” you smiled as Leah spoke, hearing the girls you have looked up to since you were a little girl made your heart heat up immensely.

“Oh awesome well I’ll catch up with you lot later and enjoy your night”

“Thanks Alex” you both smiled before leaving the interview and hugging her goodbye.

“Now let’s get you back home so you can sleep hey?” Leah said squeezing your shoulders as you walked across the pitch.

“Har har. Now please carry me” you said sarcastically before smiling at the taller girl. She slightly rolled her eyes before turning around ready for you to jump on her back.

“Woo!” You yelled as Leah ran with you on her back.

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kinda made me cringe at this writing but oh well.

Love you all xx