#This is the first time I've ordered something by myself

[minswriting]

DAYLIGHT - SPENCER REID X READER

About: Toxicity comes in any shape or form. You and Spencer, on what is a seemingly healthy relationship, share undertones of sadness and unresolved emotions. Issues that only get pushed away and temporarily forgotten about when the two of you use sex to ignore the he problems.

Warnings: NSFW, MDNI, angst, toxic relationship but not abusive, sex as a coping mechanism, unprotected sex, oral (f), unresolved feelings, etc.

Word Count: 3.5k

A/N: Please comment and reblog to support your writers! I hope you guys enjoy! Thank you to @beenreidingaboutyou and @aureatelys for reading it before i posted it so i can make sure it’s all set heeheehee.

Telling myself I won’t go there

Oh, but I know that I won’t care

Tryna wash away all the blood I’ve spilt

This lust is a burden that we both share

Two sinners can’t atone from a lone prayer

Souls tied, intertwined by our pride and guilt

It all began at a coffee shop. You had just moved to Washington, D.C., were still figuring out your surroundings. And that day, you had found your new frequent coffee stop.

There he was, standing awkwardly, fiddling with the strap of his satchel as the two of you shared a passing glance as you were making your way towards the exit while he was waiting in line.

You weren’t someone that believed in love at first sight, at least not until that moment. Your heart raced, pounding in your chest, as your gaze met with those beautiful chocolate brown eyes. It was nothing more than a brief look, one that only lasted less than a few seconds. And yet, it felt as though it had been an eternity. In that moment, you knew that was the man you were going to fall for.

Everyday you went to the coffee shop, ordering your coffee and exchanging glances with the man that you felt drawn to. There were days, however, he wasn’t there which often left you a bit disappointed. It took about two months before either of you had said anything to the other. The man accidentally bumped in the doorway while you were on your way out and he was on his way in.

“Oh!” He exclaimed, eyes widening as he began apologizing profusely. “I-I’m so sorry,” He said.

You were careful to ensure your coffee didn’t spill, not wanting to embarrass yourself in front of the hot man. “It’s okay,” you smiled. “I-uh-I’m Y/N.”

“I’m Spencer,” He grinned goofily.

And a beautiful friendship foraged by coffee and a love for life came into fruition.

You’d love to say that your relationship with Spencer was a happy and loving one. With his eidetic memory remembering anything and everything about you, how you reminded him to be himself, and the way the two of you cared for one another was admirable. The fact that for your first date, Spencer took you to a bookstore and the two of you browsed around before getting dinner certainly set the bar for romanticism in your relationship.

The first time you realized you were in love with Spencer was the day he ran to your apartment in the rain after he had gotten back from a rough case. He was standing outside your door, drenched and shivering. “I just-I needed to see you,” was all he said. It was all he needed to say before you pulled him into your apartment. It was the night the two of you also had sex for the first time.

When you guys eventually said “I love you” to one another, Spencer was the one that said it first. You had come over to his place after your own long day at work, stressed and in desperate need of comfort from your boyfriend. And as Spencer held you close to him, rubbing your back, he simply murmured “I’m always here for you. I love you,” into your ear. You didn’t hesitate to say it back to him.

There's darkness in the distance

From the way that I've been livin'

But I know I can't resist it

Relationships, as amazing and beautiful they can be, can quickly turn into something completely different once the couple gets too comfortable in them. You began noticing Spencer’s flaws about a year and a half into your relationship. The subtle disagreements the two of you had would become something more. And there were nights that you went to bed sad and angry.

When Spencer was on a case, you hardly expected much out of him. He would promise to text you when he’d land, promise to call you once he’d get to the hotel, and make sure you’d know when he’s on his way home. And for the first year the two of you were together, he did exactly that. But one day, it just stopped and you weren’t sure as to why.

It saddened you, to say the least. You knew his work was important, it’s why you never pushed him. Being a profiler in the FBI was not easy work and you couldn’t imagine yourself in such a position. Even so, however, you couldn’t help but feel as though you no longer were a priority in Spencer’s life. Everything else always came above you and that very thought is what led you to confront Spencer about it, or at least try to.

You had been sitting on the couch, dressed in nothing but one of Spencer’s shirts, as you waited for him to come home. You fiddled with your fingers, anxiety had been eating up at you as you processed your emotions. As you heard a jingle of keys outside the apartment door, you knew Spencer had just arrived home. It wasn’t too late at night. He had left for his case just two days prior and now it was only eight o’clock in the evening.

Whenever Spencer would come home, you would usually jump for joy, greeting him at the door with a hug and a kiss. But that too was something that hadn’t been happening as of recently. Spencer wasn’t sure as to why. Perhaps you didn’t know either. But instead, Spencer was met with your form on the couch, looking contemplative as you looked at your lap.

Oh, I love it and I hate it at the same time

You and I drink the poison from the same vine

Oh, I love it and I hate it at the same time

Hidin' all of our sins from the daylight

From the daylight, runnin' from the daylight

From the daylight, runnin' from the daylight

Oh, I love it and I hate it at the same time

“Hey,” Spencer greeted, his voice hoarse from not being used in the past few hours.

You looked up from your lap, turning your head to look at Spencer, who was standing in the doorway. “Hey,” you replied before looking back down.

That action itself caused Spencer to frown. He kicked off his converse and placed his satchel down next to the door as he closed the door behind himself. He made his way over to you, kneeling in front of you. He looked up at you with those puppy dog eyes as your gaze caught his, the ones you’d never been able to resist. “What’s wrong, sweetheart?” Spencer asked, his voice just above a whisper.

Tears pricked at your eyes, the softness of Spencer’s tone adding to your already high strung emotions. “I-“ You tried to speak but your voice got choked up. You took a deep breath. “You didn’t call or text,” you whispered, looking at Spencer tearfully.

Spencer stayed silent for a few moments, unsure of how to respond. He swallowed, looking down for a second before looking back up at you and grabbing your hands with his. “I’m sorry,” he replied. He didn’t give a reason, he didn’t make an excuse, he simply apologized. “I-I’ll do better,” He exclaimed.

You didn’t respond, except for with a tearful sniffle. Your gaze fixated in your lap once more, your hands still intertwined with Spencer’s. “I don’t want to be on the back burner,” you whispered after a little bit.

Spencer didn’t respond immediately as he let go of your hands, placing his on your thighs. “You’re not,” he replied before leaning down to press a kiss onto your left knee. You knew what this was insinuating. Whenever you and Spencer had any sort of conflict as of recently, the two of you resolved it by having sex. You should say no, to stand your ground and allow yourself to be heard. But instead, you spread your legs for Spencer, revealing your cunt to your boyfriend.

Spencer let out a small hum before kissing your knee once more and working his way up. He was grateful you had only been wearing one of his shirts and nothing else as it made for much easier access. “My beautiful girl,” Spencer murmured against your inner thigh. His eyes met yours for just a moment. You were still crying, he didn’t really give you a chance to let your feelings out. Regardless, Spencer just wanted you. He wanted to consume you, to show you that you meant a lot to him, even if he wasn’t being the greatest right now.

You took a shaky breath, looking down at Spencer with glistening eyes. And without any further hesitation, Spencer dove in. He licked your slit, from your hole to your clit, a small whimper escaping his lips. You gave a soft moan, as your hands moved to grip the cushion beneath you. You shouldn’t be turned on, you shouldn’t be allowing Spencer to taste you in such a way, not when you’re feeling upset. And yet, all thoughts are gone the moment his lips wrap around your clit.

Spencer began slowly, eating you out with a precision and delicacy that he usually lacked. When he would eat you out, it was often like he was a starved man, depraved from water and food. Tonight, however, it was as though he was apologizing to you. His own form of an apology and how can you be mad about that when it feels so good?

Spencer’s tongue moved around in figure eights, gathering all of your juices with his tongue. You couldn’t help the small whines and moans that left your lips. Spencer was always so good at giving head. Your hand moved to Spencer’s head, entangling your fingers with his curls. You tugged at his hair, causing him to moan against your pussy. The vibrations sent a shiver up your spine.

His lips wrapped around your clit, sucking on the nub as he brought his middle finger to your entrance. You gasped unexpectedly, moaning a bit louder when Spencer inserted his finger. He pumped his finger slowly, getting you used to the feeling before suddenly curling the digit, hitting your g-spot dead on.

“Oh fuck,” You whimpered, throwing your head back in pleasure as you tugged at Spencer’s hair.

It wasn’t long until you were cumming from Spencer’s mouth and finger, thighs clenching around his head as your back arched and you moaned his name in that pornographic way that had always had him ready to burst right then and there. And when you were finished, you relaxed against the couch, breathing heavily as you looked down at Spencer.

His eyes were filled with lust, his face glistening from your juices, and you could tell how turned on he was. And so, the rest of the night was filled with having sex around the apartment. You didn’t think about your issues with Spencer until early in the morning when you woke up sore and with a sunken feeling in your chest, a feeling that things were likely not going to change anytime soon.

Tellin' myself it's the last time

Can you spare any mercy that you might find

If I'm down on my knees again?

Deep down, way down, Lord, I try

Try to follow your light, but it's night time

Please, don't leave me in the end

The following week, it happened again. You knew change didn’t happen instantaneously which is why you waited until the third time it happened. And then the fourth. Spencer wasn’t putting in the effort to stay connected with you anymore, to let you know he was okay. You guys didn’t message each other while he’s away, he didn’t call you, he was indeed not doing better.

Spencer came home late one night after a week-long case. He was exhausted. The case was much more emotionally taxing than he’d care to admit. As he walked into the apartment, he wasn’t surprised to see you weren’t in the living room. It was past twelve in the morning, you were likely asleep or getting ready to go to sleep.

He knew he hadn’t been calling or texting you. During cases he just gets so caught up in what he’s doing that everything else no longer matters to him. He supposed that’s what your issue was. The fact that he indeed puts you to the side in order to focus on his career.

Spencer made his way to your shared bedroom, gently opening the door. There you were, quietly reading and looking as beautiful as ever. You were lying on the bed, the blankets covering your lower half. You were wearing the silk nightie that Spencer always adored on you. But the moment you noticed Spencer, you frowned and closed your book, placing it on the nightstand before turning off your lamp. You turned to your side, facing away from Spencer’s side of the bed. That’s how Spencer knew you were mad at him. He hadn’t spoken to you in a week, after all.

A small sigh left his lips as he undressed himself and crawled into bed next to you. He got under the covers and scooted closer to you before pressing small kisses along your shoulder blades.

It didn’t take a profiler to know that you had been thinking about leaving him. The way your heart wasn’t in it like it used to. Maybe it was all Spencer’s fault. He wasn’t treating you the way you deserved to be treated. But he was selfish and his love for you was more important to him. And therefore, he didn’t want to lose you.

His kisses moved upward from your shoulder blades to the back of your neck, gently nipping at your skin. He knew exactly how to turn you on, to make you forgive him for not being the man you deserve to have. Without saying anything, Spencer gently pulled you onto your back. You looked at Spencer with those glimmering eyes, a sign that you were close to crying once more. And Spencer couldn’t help but feel shitty.

“I’m sorry,” He murmured before pressing a kiss onto your lips.

“Are you?” You replied.

Maybe he is, maybe he isn’t. His job is his livelihood, you knew this. And yet, he also knew that you weren’t asking for much. You were simply asking for him to just check in on you even just once or twice while he’s away. Rather than responding, Spencer simply buried his face in your neck as he crawled on top of you. “Need you,” he breathed, his breath hot against your skin.

“Then have me,” you whispered back.

That was all Spencer needed before reaching between the two of you. He gripped his cock while you spread your legs for him. He guided his cock to your cunt, using the tip to spread around your wetness. The both of you let out tiny whimpers. “You’re always so wet,” Spencer murmured.

You didn’t respond as you simply just looked up at Spencer. There wasn’t much you had to say. You could tell that he knew exactly how you felt. Even so, you know the best way for the two of you to communicate is through your bodies. The two of you looked at one another. You reached up, placing a tender hand on Spencer’s cheek. And in that moment, you could tell that Spencer truly felt bad.

You leaned up, capturing Spencer’s lips with your own. The kiss was soft and tender as your lips moved in sync with each other. Spencer aligned his cock to your entrance, gently pushing into you. Your breath hitched before you whined into the kiss. Spencer let out his own noise, a groan of some sorts as he eased himself into you. Once he was fully inside of you, Spencer let go from the kiss, giving you a moment to adjust to his size. “You okay?” He whispered softly, his breath fanning your face.

It was a bit of an adjustment. He had been gone for a week and therefore, the two of you haven’t had sex in that time. You nodded your head, giving yourself time to get used to his size. After a few minutes, you took a deep breath and relaxed. “You can move,” You breathed out before biting your bottom lip.

That was all Spencer needed before he began moving his hips slowly, bringing his cock out before thrusting it back into you. The feeling caused you both to let out your own moans. “You feel so good, princess,” Spencer murmured hotly, looking down at you as he continued moving his hips gently.

Your lips were parted as small moans left your lips. “Feels good, Spence,” You whispered, looking up at him.

Spencer hummed in response, gaining a bit more rhythm in his thrusts. The feeling of your cunt wrapped around his cock was exactly what Spencer needed after such a long case. To just be close to you, to feel your presence with him. Your pussy was so warm and wet, your skin so soft, and you were the most perfect person he could ever be blessed to be with. Which is why he felt so bad about being a poor communicator. He knew you deserved the world, you deserved everything great.

Spencer leaned down, bringing his lips to your neck as he peppered your skin with kisses. He continued moving his hips, his cock thrusting into you rhythmically but not too fast. It was still tender and loving, a contrast to how you felt emotionally in your relationship. “Please don’t leave me,” Spencer said vulnerably, his voice just above a whisper before he buried his head in your neck.

You paused for the briefest moment, realization hitting you. Of course the profiler knew about the thoughts you were having. Perhaps it’s been in your behavior. Your hands made their way to Spencer’s back, gently clawing at his back as he fucked you. You turned your head slightly to look at Spencer. Your eyes met each other’s and in that moment, you knew you would never actually leave him. “I won’t,” You whispered.

You could see Spencer’s eyes glistening, a relief in his expression that you hadn’t realized he had been holding in. “Good,” He said hoarsely before capturing your lips once more.

When the two of you eventually came, your orgasm was brought on by Spencer’s repeated attack on your g-spot with his cock. It was much more intense than you could have anticipated. The way your toes curled, the way your eyes rolled to the back of your head, and the way you clawed at Spencer’s back. Your cunt clamped around Spencer’s cock, causing him to bury himself deep inside of you before cumming as well.

Sex, although not a healthy coping mechanism, was your way of communicating with Spencer. The way the two of you understood what the other was saying. The ability to be emotionally vulnerable while also seeking pleasure from each other was one that you loved and hated. Because although it’s a way to communicate, it is also a way to just slap a band-aid on the situation. Band-aids do nothing more than just stop the immediate bleeding.

You don’t know if the term soulmates is true or not. To have a bond so strong that it was just pure destiny for the two of you to find one another. You’d like to believe that Spencer is your soulmate. Your connection with him is more than you could say about any of your previous partners. And yet, there’s this system the two of you go through where neither of you want to acknowledge the other’s emotions regarding certain situations.

You and Spencer love one another more than words can truly put together. And that’s why you’ll never leave each other, even when things get too hard. Your love for each other is too strong. But at the end of the day, love alone just isn’t enough in a relationship.

Oh, I love it and I hate it at the same time

You and I drink the poison from the same vine

Oh, I love it and I hate it at the same time

Hidin' all of our sins from the daylight

From the daylight, runnin' from the daylight

From the daylight, runnin' from the daylight

Oh, I love it and I hate it at the same time

[lessersole]

The Catch - Part Two

Pairing: Bucky x Reader

Summary: With the criminal gang still after you, and a new plan from the head of the Thunderbolts, Bucky and Yelena have to do even more to keep you safe.

Word count: 6.5k

Warnings: abduction, being restrained (not in a fun way), mentions of alcohol, creepy/sneaky behaviour (not from Bucky or Yelena).

NO THUNDERBOLTS* SPOILERS! I've not even seen it yet.

Part one

------------

Three weeks later, you’re still dealing with the repercussions of the attempted abduction. Yelena brought you back to the city, but since the location of your shared apartment had been compromised, you couldn’t return to it. Instead her job - now significantly less of a mystery to you - had offered you both a protected apartment in their New York headquarters, the old Avengers tower.

At first the novelty of it had been exciting - you were living rent-free on the 18th floor in the middle of Manhattan, with stunning views across the city in every room. You could order food or supplies from the on-site restaurant and shop on the ground floor, also all complimentary, or visit one of the many gyms around the tower. There was even a small cinema room, a climbing wall…almost anything you could want. Unfortunately, what you couldn’t have was freedom.

The group who’d targeted you were still at large, they knew what you looked like and, according to Yelena’s boss, even where you worked. So until they were found, you were restricted to the tower. You weren’t a prisoner, Yelena had explained, her sulky attitude giving away that she was passing on someone else’s instructions, but they couldn’t guarantee your safety if you left.

At first fear kept you willingly contained in the luxury building, then concern about Yelena, who was still blaming herself, and how guilty she’d feel if anything happened to you. You’d also hoped you might get to see more of Bucky - this was his workplace too after all - but other than a quick visit a couple days after you left the cabin, he’d all but vanished.

Now, you were getting antsy. With Yelena away more often than not, remote work and video calls were the only social contact you were getting, and the closest you had to fresh air was an occasional risky visit to the Tower’s wind-battered balcony.

As you endure another lonely evening scrolling through streaming services in a fruitless attempt to stave off boredom, there’s a brisk knock on the door of your private apartment. You leap up excitedly, glad for the distraction and hoping this is Yelena - with Bucky alongside her if you’re lucky - to tell you the enemy gang has finally been dealt with. Instead, the person who strolls in without waiting for you to answer the door is Yelena’s boss, Val.

You pull up short, suddenly worried she’s arriving with bad news - you’ve seen her a few times, but she’s never visited you - you’ve never actually spoken to her before.

“Val, hi. Is something wrong? Are Yelena and Bu- is everyone alright?”

Val narrows her eyes at you, mouth pursing in a way that could be either thoughtful or disdainful. “How very familiar of you,” she purrs. Definitely disdainful. “Let me start by introducing myself. I am Contessa Valentina Allegra de la Fontaine, head of this organisation and your friend’s boss. You can call me Director.”

You’ve heard enough about the Contessa to expect this sort of behaviour, but her icy calm relieves some of your worry - surely she wouldn’t be this petulant if she was giving you bad news.

“Director. Sorry,” you defer. “Is everything alright? Everyone’s safe?”

“What an interesting little place you have here,” she mutters airily, ignoring your question and casting a patronising eye over your relatively tidy living space, her gaze lingering on the dinner dishes still stacked in the sink.

“Uh, yeah,” you’re not sure how to reply to her, “Thank you for letting me stay here. But is everyone-”

“Yes, yes, everyone’s fine,” she answers with a dismissive wave of her perfectly manicured hand, “And I’m so glad to hear you’re grateful for us giving you a home.”

Now it’s your turn to narrow your eyes at her carefully manufactured smile.

She continues, “I’m sure you’re so eager to repay us for our generosity. And to get out of here before you die of boredom. Or old-age. Or being crushed beneath a toppling pile of dirty dishes.”

“Yes?” you respond, apprehension turning your answer into a question.

“Oh I’m so glad to hear that,” Val steps closer to you, “After all, it’s not just Yelena who’s working overtime to ensure your safety. Sergeant Barnes seems strangely invested as well. I heard he even came to visit you here, check you were okay. Such a softie. He usually hates coming to the Tower, which can be very frustrating, logistically.”

She grasps your shoulders, making you jump. “But now you’ve agreed to help, this can all be over so much faster.”

Her smile widens.

—

You try to put all your frustration into your punch as you slam a fist into the solid leather.

“Woah,” Agent Rumlow laughs, “what did that punching bag ever do to you?”

You huff out a breath and wipe your arm along your forehead, catching the sweat before it drips into your eyes. “It can take it.” You tell him, stepping away from the bag to take a pull from your water bottle.

The catch to Val’s suspicious offer became clear almost as soon as you’d accidentally agreed to help. It turns out she had almost all the intel on your would-be abductors, except the location of their base.

“We started to think they were hiding in a cave or something,” Val had chuckled mirthlessly, “But we checked all those, and they weren’t.”

What they had discovered was that the base was so well-hidden and so impregnable, that they took all their hostages there, since it guaranteed they wouldn’t be found or rescued.

“Which means…” Val trailed off suggestively, encouraging you to make the connection.

“You need bait.”

“Bingo.”

At first, all you’d had to do was leave the Tower. You’d been given access to the back stairs and told when to go out - times that synced up with the guard’s shift changes, so it would look convincingly like you were sneaking out - but over a week later you remained entirely un-abducted.

You could tell Val was getting irritated, reminding you in an increasingly terse tone that you needed to forget a lifetime of safety instructions and walk alone down dark alleys, keep earphones on, go headfirst into any risky situations, but the criminal gang were nowhere to be seen. All that had happened to you in ten days of living dangerously was an attempted mugging that you’d only narrowly escaped, and the small tastes of freedom weren’t enough to make up for your continued confinement or Val’s bad moods.

After that near-miss, you’d doubled the amount of time you spent in the gym, building up your strength as a way to feel safer. When one of Val’s agents had offered to give you some tips, acting as a personal trainer-slash-self-defence coach, you’d gladly taken him up on the offer.

It also helped to have a friend you could talk to about your bizarre new life.

Agent Rumlow - Brock - smiles understandingly. “Being stuck inside when you’re not dangling on Val’s line getting a bit much?”

“What makes you think that?” You joke breathlessly as you adjust the wrappings on your hands that have come loose from your furious swings at the punching bag.

Brock chuckles, coming over to help re-wrap the tape around your knuckles, “Look, I get it. I had a stake-out once that took six weeks. Six weeks of being stuck in a tiny run-down apartment in a half-abandoned building with another agent I didn’t even like. At least you’ve got modern amenities, and good company.” He winks at you, using your hand to pull you closer so he can casually bump your shoulder with his.

The action makes you wonder, not for the first time, how serious his flirting is - if he might ask you out if you were actually free to go out on a date.

He’s not a bad-looking guy, tall and muscular with thick, dark hair, and you would have considered saying yes, if not for the still-vivid memory of your kiss in the cabin with Bucky. Nearly a month since you’ve seen him, you still can’t get the supersoldier out of your head. And every time Brock’s brown eyes hold your gaze, you can’t help but compare them to Bucky’s bright, intense stare.

“But if you are getting really tired of being stuck here with me - I have an idea for how we can speed things up,” Rumlow suggests.

You look up at him, curious. “I’m listening.”

He gives you a knowing smile. “What I learnt on that stake-out was that sometimes you can’t wait for them to come to you. Sometimes you have to put yourself right in their path.”

—

Taking a deep breath, you step out of the limousine and nervously smooth down your silky floor-length cocktail dress, trying to look more confident than you feel and pushing down the thought that things have got seriously out of hand.

Brock had told you that the team had discovered the head of the target gang was going to be at an up-scale art gallery party in Long Island. Even if they weren’t certain he’d be heading back to their base after, they knew he’d be surrounded by bodyguards and lackeys, none of whom would pass up a chance to impress their notoriously fickle boss by finding and snatching one of his targets - you.

So now here you are, on the arm of a tuxedo-wearing Rumlow, attempting to blend in with the obscenely wealthy and largely criminal crowd. He’s assured you his cover for the night is secure, posing as a wealthy hedge fund manager looking for a few investment pieces, with you as his date. He’d even insisted on running into you on one of your Val-sanctioned trips outside the Tower, buying you a few drinks and getting your number so he could make a show of inviting you here - “in case they’re watching.”

As on your other trips outside the Tower, you have location trackers hidden all over you - in the shoes, necklace, bracelet and ring Rumlow gave you when you were getting ready. You’d also added one of the trackers Val had given you, a miniature transmitter that tucked away in your hair, hidden at the nape of your neck.

The preparation doesn’t help your rising nerves, knowing that your abduction is the aim of the evening.

As you reach the top of the grand entrance stairway, Rumlow nudges you ahead, pulling his phone out to snap a photo of you. “Gotta make it look real,” he mutters with a grin as he rejoins you, “And if I’m out with a girl as hot as you, wearing that dress, I’d be taking a lot of pics.”

You blame your nerves for how off-putting it feels, having his eyes rove over you. Rumlow gave you the dress, and his reaction makes you suspect he picked it out himself. It’s more revealing than you’d typically choose, the thigh slit reaching almost to your hip, and with a low cut front and back that forces you to go braless, which you know hasn’t escaped his notice. You shiver in the chill evening breeze - he hadn’t thought to give you a wrap - and urge him inside with a hand on his arm and a smile you hope looks natural.

Inside the grand hall the two of you mingle with the other guests, Brock keeping hold of you at all times in a way you assume is meant to be reassuring, as you sip champagne and pretend to admire the art. Mimicking the other guests, you force your face into an expression of detached interest, but you’re wound tight with tension, the expensive wine like sandpaper in your throat, and Rumlow’s hand unpleasantly clammy on the bare skin of your back.

You have no idea what these gang members might look like, but as you glance around you’re surprised to not see any faces you recognise from the Tower. On each of your previous trips out there have always been one or two agents surreptitiously loitering nearby, ready to act fast if anything goes south. For an event as big as this, it would be easy for them to blend in amongst the crowd - surely Rumlow’s not the only person Val sent here?

Brock leans in close to you, his dry lips brushing your ear, “It’s showtime,” he whispers, before kissing your cheek and straightening up. “I’m going to the men’s room,” he tells you, loud enough for those near you to hear. “Feel free to have another drink, while you wait for me.” He grins wolfishly, snatching a full champagne flute from a passing waiter and pressing it into your hand before disappearing into the crowd.

You sip from the glass and focus on your breathing, hoping your shaky legs won’t tilt you off your too-high heels. The next part of the plan is for you to follow Rumlow to the bathroom - you’re more likely to be snatched out of the public view. You wait a few moments, gulp down most of your drink, then make your way to the women’s restroom at the back of the hall.

The gleaming white bathroom isn’t empty, but there aren’t many people around. None of them spare you a second glass, so you try to act natural - entering a cubicle, washing your hands, then leaving. Still, no one approaches you.

As there’s still no sign of Brock either, you pull your phone out of the small clutch you were provided and send him a message.

Everything ok?

It’s read instantly, and followed by the dots that show he’s typing.

Yeh, his reply comes, where r u?

You frown, but before you can reply another message pops up.

U cm to the back bathroom? The left?

You glance around you, and sure enough there’s a thick wooden door ajar at the end of the corridor. Maybe a staff area, or more private bathroom. You’re a little apprehensive - something feels off, but you can’t tell what. This whole evening is too weird for you to trust your own instincts.

The heavy door swings open silently, and you’ve barely taken a few steps into the dim hallway before an all too familiar sharp sting on your neck makes you flinch. Muscles instantly weak, you can’t even turn before your body folds and you collapse into darkness.

—

The first thing you notice when you come to is the uncomfortable cramped position you’re in, and the swaying feeling that isn’t just in your head. Despite your lingering grogginess, your inability to even sit up makes you realise you’re trapped in the trunk of a car.

Panic surges up in you, and you shakily take a deep breath - this was the plan, you remind yourself. Eventually, the car will stop, you’ll be rescued, and the whole gang will be taken out, freeing you to go back to your normal life.

Unfortunately, your brain can’t convince the rest of your body. Your breaths hitch and your heart pounds, so in another attempt to reassure yourself, you focus on the location trackers that are your lifeline - and a hot surge of nausea pulses through as you realise you can’t feel them. The cable tie trapping your hands behind your back is the only thing circling your wrists, and your necklace, ring and shoes have vanished. You can only hope the final tracker in your hair is still there.

—

Bucky cracks his knuckles. This whole operation had felt wrong from the start.

He and Yelena had been assigned to stake out the gallery party, following Val’s information that the head of the gang would be there. What neither of them had known until he saw it through his scope, was that you would also be there. Bucky’s eye had immediately been caught by the sight of you ascending the steps in a slinky dress and his body was flooded with conflicting emotions. It had been too long since he’d seen you, and you looked stunning, but why were you here, of all places? And with Rumlow? The party intel was top secret - way above Brock’s clearance - and yet here he was, leering and pawing at you like he owned you.

“She’s here,” Bucky mutters into his comm device, trying to keep the anger out of his voice, “with Rumlow.”

There’s a shocked pause before Yelena responds, immediately knowing who he means. “What? She isn’t supposed to leave the Tower! And Rumlow is not on this mission - you and me are the only ones Val told about this.”

“I know,” Bucky growls, “but that asshole is here, acting like they’re on a date or something. You didn’t know anything about this?”

“No,” Yelena replies darkly. “I’m calling Val. If this is some extra secret crap she’s pulling-”

“She would have told us.”

“She keeps secrets from us all the time!”

“But hiding this makes no sense,” Bucky points out, “We’re guaranteed to see them, and blindsiding us doesn’t help the mission,”

Yelena curses, “So what’s going on here?”

“I don’t know. But I don’t like it.” Backing away from his hidden vantage point, Bucky goves in to his first instinct. “I’m going in.”

“No!” Yelena’s response is immediate, “That won’t help.”

“I can sneak in through the back. Into the bathroom. Get her out-”

“And if you’re seen?” Yelena hisses, “It will be even more dangerous for her.”

As much as he hates it, Bucky can;t argue with that. Instead, he stays crouched in the hills overlooking the venue, Yelena on the opposite side of the building, both intensely focused on the arriving attendees, and the glimpses of the party they can get through the windows.

In the weeks since he’d met you, Bucky had been unable to get you out of his head. He’d been immediately intrigued by you, and that kiss in the cabin - that kiss he couldn’t stop reliving - had been electric. He didn’t date much, but he knew that alone couldn’t explain the fire that had ripped through him at the touch of your lips, and pulsed hotly in his body whenever he thought of you.

He’d insisted on helping Yelena track down the people who had threatened you, and the weeks of frustrated deadends were wearing on him. All he wanted was to eliminate the person who’d put a target on your back, wrap you safely in his arms and make sure no one ever thought of hurting you again.

But now here you were, not just in the path of danger, but laid right at its door, with Brock Rumlow’s slimy hands holding you there.

After what felt like an eternity of waiting, he hears Yelena’s voice in his ear again. “She’s moving! Tech has five trackers on her, plus one on her phone. All but one are still in the building, but the last shows movement, fast, heading west on the highway.”

Bucky’s up and on his bike in seconds, skidding onto the road in a plume of dirt. As he and Yelena follow the tracker, she fills him in on what headquarters had told her after she reported your appearance at the party.

“Val’s been sending her out of the Tower to try and draw them out - using her as bait. But just in the city. She hadn’t authorised anything tonight. Rumlow’s gone rogue - she said trying to get a promotion or something maybe - four of the five trackers were checked out by him earlier today. The fifth is one Val’s team gave her from when she started leaving the Tower.”

“And let me guess,” Bucky snarls, “that’s the one we’re following?”

“You got it.”

“You think Val really believes Rumlow’s doing this for a promotion?”

“I think she said that so we don’t kill him before she can talk to him.”

“Too bad.”

“Точно,” Yelena agreed.

—

Bucky’s got the throttle of his bike in a death grip. The only thing stopping him putting finger-shaped dents in the bar is the knowledge that breaking the thing would stop him pursuing the bastards who took you.

“It’s gone!” Yelena’s panicked shout crackles into his earpiece, followed by a string of Russian expletives “The last tracker signal - it’s - it’s disappeared.”

Bucky’s jaw clenches so hard he swears he hears a tooth crack. 

After chasing the tracker for miles, until long after the sun set behind the mountains in front of them, they’ve lost their only heading.

Sitting on their idling bikes a few minutes later, they pour over Yelena’s mapping screen.

“The signal must have been lost inside the mountain,” Bucky assesses, trying to keep the emotion out of his voice.

“Not if it’s a normal mountain,” Yelena frowns.

“Maybe it’s not.” They share a look, “Maybe that’s why we haven’t been able to find them all this time.”

“Дерьмо,” she swears, “More proof they’re not just a small-time gang then. At least that narrows the search area. Look, there’s only one road into the mountain, over this bridge, through the tunnel and out the other side.”

“It can’t be that simple.”

“It’s never that simple,” Yelena groans, “How about I go into the mountain the obvious way, you look for something else? Some other way they could have taken her.”

Not wanting to waste any more time discussing tactics, Bucky agrees. As Yelena speeds off over the bridge, he skids his bike down the steep side of the hill to the ravine underneath it. Racing over the rocky ground, he keeps his eyes focused on the steep mountainside.

“Bucky, can you hear me?”

“Yes, have you found anything?”

“No,” Yelena’s disappointment is clear over the line, “Nothing promising. But if you’re still hearing me then it’s not the mountain blocking the tracker signal.”

Bucky’s silent. This isn’t good news.

“The only thing I’ve found is a road tunnel. It was kind of disguised, so I thought, maybe - but it just goes outside, down to the base of the mountain.”

“That’s where I am,” alertness drowns out his foreboding, “What side of the mountain?”

“South,”

“There’s no road down here,” he tells Yelena as he speeds up, “So a road down from there -”

“Is suspicious,” Yelena finishes.

Sure enough, as he rounds a spur of the mountain, Bucky spies a flattened path in the dirt leading towards what looks like just a crack in the cliffside. Leaving his bike far away enough that the engine won’t echo within, he silently approaches and peers inside. The darkness of the night outside helps his enhanced eyes adjust even faster.

“This is it,” he whispers to Yelena through his comm, “I’m going in. Wait outside.”

“Buc-” The rest of Yelena’s reply is cut off as he uses his vibranium arm to push the false rock face open enough for him to slip inside - whatever stopped your tracker working has silenced his communication device. Pulling a knife from his holster, confident that he’s found your location, he sneaks into the bunker.

—

You shudder violently as another chill wracks your body. You’re still bound by cable ties - ankles together and hands behind your back, and shivering just makes your muscles ache more. The black sack over your head stops you seeing anything, but you can feel the hard floor beneath you, cold and damp through your thin dress.

After a painfully bumpy journey being knocked around the trunk of a car, you were dragged out, squinting in the sudden light before your captors forced a bag over your head and lugged you away to your current location. The only clues to your surroundings were the echoey footsteps as you’d been carried away, and an alternating pattern of bright and dark that reminded you of walking down poorly lit tunnels. A sharp turn ended with you being dropped to the floor, the clang of metal on metal and receding footsteps making you certain that even if you broke out of your bonds, you wouldn’t be able to escape.

At least your body could only sustain the adrenaline rush of panic so long, and you focused on breathing, telling yourself that having your eyes covered meant they probably weren’t planning on killing you.

Unless they’d hidden your face to make your execution easier on them.

Shutting down that thought, you wriggle upright, leaning against the rough wall. It scratches your bare back but you feel less vulnerable when you’re not lying down - you can hear men’s voices not too far off, and can just about make out enough lewd comments to know they appreciate the dress Rumlow put you in.

Was he in on this? It would explain the loss of your trackers, the lack of other agents and the general unease you’d felt all night. Anger flares at the thought, and you grab onto it, desperate to feel anything other than fear and despair. Eventually even that peters out, leaving you numb - and with nothing to do but wait, alone in the dark.

It feels like long hours later, once your frozen body has become as numb as your mind, that a sudden hush from the men makes you sit up straight, attention focused. The moment of silence is rushed away in a chorus of shouts, yelps and swishing, thudding sounds that you can’t identify. You jump as gunshots ring out, ending with a strangled cry and heavy thud.

Fully alert, every muscle is tense and locked, your eyes wide as you pant into the fabric. Before you have time to react, a welcome voice, gravelled with emotion, calls your name.

You gasp in relief - Bucky! You wince at a metallic screech, and an instant later the bag is pulled from your head and your sensitive eyes meet Bucky’s relieved ones.

“It’s okay,” he tells you, ripping the cable ties from your wrists, “I’ve got you. I’ve got you.”

Your arms scream in pain as they’re released from their cramped position, but that doesn’t stop you flinging them around Bucky’s neck as he removes the ties from your ankles.

“Thank you,” you gasp, sure that you’ve never meant those words so much in your life.

Bucky simply shakes his head, restrained emotion pressing his mouth into a straight line as he wraps his arms around you, squeezing gently as he lifts you to your feet.

“You’re freezing,” He breaks away to take off his jacket and wrap you in it, his concerned eyes noticing your shiving body, from your sack-mussed hair to your bare feet. Without hesitation, he picks you up and moves back through ripped apart iron bars into what you can now see is some sort of underground tunnel system.

Stunned, you cling to him tightly.

“We have to be quick,” he tells you, “Yelena’s outside, but the entrance is a long way-”

“You found her?!” This close even you can hear Yelena’s ecstatic shout in Bucky’s ear as his comm device bursts into life.

“Yes,” he answers, not breaking his stride, “I’ve got her. Where are-”

“I’m inside,” Yelena answers before he can finish his question, “in a control room. Left!”

“What?”

“There’s a fork in front of you, take the left.”

“How do you-”

“This whole place is a Faraday cage, inside it I can see her tracker signal. I know where you are, go left.”

Bucky turns left, moving silently and rapidly through the tunnel with you in his arms.

“There are too many people between you and the way you came in-”

“Not any more,” Bucky growls.

“-this is the only other way out and it’s closer to you.” Yelena explains.

A few twists and turns later, Yelena’s directions lead you to a half-concealed hatch high up in the wall of the tunnel. Once Bucky yanks it open, you can see the starry sky and feel a soft breeze - as well as hear a distinctive hum coming from the silvery mesh covering the opening.

“Don’t touch it,” he warns, switching his hold so he’s grasping you around your thighs, lifting you until you’re practically sitting on his right shoulder, feet against his chest. Yelena explained the rest of her plan to him in rapid Russian, so you know he’s waiting for something. Just as you open your mouth with a question, a deep boom resonates through the base - and the mesh stops buzzing.

Instantly, Bucky rips it away with his vibranium arm and pushes you through the hole with the other. Startled, you find yourself on a dusty slope, steep enough that you’re immediately sliding down it - but luckily not for long enough that you gain too much speed.

Managing to avoid the rocks littering the hillside, you land in a heap on the flat ground and turn to check on Bucky. As you do, you hear a sharp zap and see him tumbling down the hill after you.

“Bike.” he gasps as he lands almost on top of you. “That way. Quick.”

You follow his nod and set off, speeding up once you check that he’s got to his feet. You can tell from how he moves that something’s off, but if it’s not slowing him down, you won’t let it stop you either.

Round a bend you see the same black motorbike he picked you up on months before. Bucky catches you up and mounts it, reaching across himself with his right arm to pull you in front of him, and you realise his metal arm is hanging limp at his side.

“Bucky,” you gasp.

“It’s fine,” he insists through gritted teeth, “It’s temporary. But I need you to work the clutch.”

Imitating his grip on the right, you grasp the left handlebar, fingers over the lever. “Got it,” you assure him.

“Keep hold of me with your other arm,” his voice is gruff in your ear as he slides closer to you, pressing his legs tightly over yours, “And grip with your legs. I’m not letting you fall.”

You grab his forearm as the bike takes off.

—

Following Bucky’s instructions, the two of you zoom safely through the night, ending up at a small motel off the main road. After parking in a secluded spot round the back, Bucky leads you into a room, securing the door behind you.

“You promise Yelena’s safe?” You ask as soon as the last lock clicks into place.

“Yes,” he assures you. You’d already checked on the drive, but you wanted to make sure.

“You said you’re okay too though, and-” you trail off, gesturing to his vibranium arm, still motionless at his side.

With an efficient click and gentle whirring sound, Bucky detaches the arm and lays it on the small table with a sigh. “It’s not a problem. Just needs to recalibrate.” His searching gaze turns back to you, still only wearing his jacket and the silky gown you wore to the party - now decidedly worse for wear. “You probably want to clean up. And warm up - bathroom’s through there. And there are clean sweats in the bag, help yourself.”

He nods to a black kit bag on the bed; the one bed, you can’t help but notice. After dropping his jacket from your shoulders and draping it over one of the small chairs by the table, you open the bag and pull out a t-shirt and sweatpants - they’re soft and clean, and clearly Bucky’s clothes rather than something brought for you, and you have to resist the urge to bury your face in them and inhale deeply. Instead you thank him and move to the bathroom, glad to scrape the grime and dirt from a very long and terrifying day off your skin.

Bucky swaps places with you when you’re done, and you curl up on the bed, exhausted in a way you’ve never been before. Anxiety dances at the edge of your chest, but a combination of the adrenaline crash and the warm scent covering you from Bucky’s clothes leaves you relaxed, almost boneless where you lie - until you hear a series of muttered expletives from inside the bathroom.

Concerned, you slide off the bed and pad over to knock gently on the door. “Everything alright in there?”

“Yep,” comes the immediate reply. You sit back down, not entirely convinced as the grumbles and soft grunts from the bathroom continue.

“You sure you’re okay?” You call out hesitantly.

You hear a resigned sigh before the door swings open to reveal a grumpy and slightly embarrassed Bucky.

“I’m fine, it’s just - goddamn buttons,” he grunts, gesturing vaguely at himself. He’s wearing a tight black t-shirt that clings to every muscle in his chest, stomach and arm, and black tactical pants that puddle at his socked feet - and hang open below his hips.

You swallow, hard. It’s probably a good thing you’re so exhausted or you’d be jumping him right now. His dark hair hangs damp in his face, and the heavy brow and slight pout making up his shamefaced expression is unreasonably attractive. Not to mention the visible bulge straining against his boxers beneath his open fly.

“Can I help?” You ask, voice huskier than intended.

An unreadable expression flickers across Bucky’s face as you step towards him.

“Uh,” he bashfully pushes his wet hair back from his face, drawing your attention to his arm again, “If it’s not too-”

“It’s fine,” you tell him a bit too quickly, your voice cracking, “It’s kind of my fault your arm’s not working and – oh,”

You realise why, despite living so long with one arm, Bucky’s struggling now – the palm and fingers of his right hand are red and scorched in a pattern that matches the mesh he ripped though to free you, leaving his motion limited, stiff and visibly sore. Electrical burns, you realise.

“You’re hurt.”

“It’s fine,” he sounds nonchalant as he mirrors your response, but you can’t tell if he’s actually unbothered, or if he’s acting that way to alleviate your guilt, “The serum speeds up healing. It’s already better than it was. I’ll be back to normal by the time we’re back in the city.”

You nod but bite your lip, guilt and worry shining on your face.

“And to be clear,” he adds, leaning towards you to emphasise what he’s saying, his eyes catching yours from only inches away, “None of this is your fault. The only ones responsible for any of this are the scum who took you.”

He holds your gaze, and you can smell the clean scent of his body fresh from the shower.

“Got it,” you answer breathlessly, reaching for him. When your eyes drop and your fingers brush the edge of Bucky’s pants you feel him tense, as though trying to keep himself under control. You’re warmed by the thought that this is affecting him as much as it is you.

Pulling the waistband tight over his hips, you fasten the top button with ease, then continue down the others. Despite trying to touch him as little as possible, you can’t help the tingling pulse in your core at being this close, this intimate with him.

Aware that you’re staring a bit too hard, you make the mistake of looking up at him as you close the last button. Above the rapid rise and fall of his chest and the hard set of his jaw - as though he’s trying very hard not to move - you’re captivated by the dark heat in his eyes. You both freeze for an instant, your knuckles still grazing the front of his pants, when you feel a delicious throb beneath your fingers.

Bucky starts back. “Thanks.” His voice is husky.

“No problem,” you respond, audibly out of breath. There’s a beat where you both just stare at each other, before he moves past you into the room, shoving his feet into his boots in an attempt to distract himself from the way he’s reacting. You realise at the same time he does that he’s not going to be able to tie the laces with one hand, and smile slyly at him, nodding to his feet. “You need a hand with those too?”

Bucky looks at you like he’s forgotten what shoes are. “I, uh-” his shoulders relax slightly as he takes in your expression, “I guess - if you don’t mind…”

“Not at all”, your smile widens and you hear his breath catch in his throat as you drop to your knees in front of him, taking your time as you carefully lace him up, pretending not to notice his hand twitching by his side, or the quiet expletives he mutters under his breath.

You look up at him coyly once you finish, not failing to notice how the buttons on his pants now strain tight.

“All done,” you confirm as you stand.

“Thanks. Again.” He doesn’t move back this time, and there’s barely an inch of space between your bodies.

“Don’t worry about it,” you tell him softly, “Besides, I’d like to thank you. For rescuing me.”

“There’s no way I wouldn’t have.” Bucky replies, his tone deepening as his eyes drop to your lips, but followed by a spark of amusement. “And it was really a team effort.”

“Even so,” you slowly, gently, place your hands on Bucky’s chest, feeling it swell beneath you as he takes a deep breath, tilting his head down to yours. Your lips meet as you capture each other in a kiss that thrums through you from your toes to your scalp.

The delicious press of him against you pulses through your veins as he wraps his arm around you, pulling you close, licking into your mouth. You graze your teeth along his tongue, his lips, needing and wanting him more than anything you ever have, thrilling as you’re rewarded with a deep groan that reverberates out of him.

As you reluctantly surface for air, his lips trail down your neck, the moan that spills from you making him grip you even harder, his arm across your back, hand tight on your waist  - before you remember the angry red burn you saw on him moments ago.

“Wait, your hand,” you manage to gasp out, “Is it hurting?”

He pulls back with a lazy delight at your concern clear in his eyes, “No,” he assures you, tenderly pressing a soft kiss to your flushed lips before pulling back further to look at you with an easy smile. “But thank you for caring.”

“Any time.” You return his dazed smile.

A teasing look crosses his face, “So do you intend to thank Yelena like that as well, or-?”

You laugh, tugging gently on his hair as rebuke. He grins back at you, a broad, open smile you’ve not seen on him before, and you swear you feel your heart swell. “No,” you tell him firmly, using your grip on his hair to pull him back into the kiss.

------------

Probably more to come with these two!

Tags: @yesshewrites1 @lcolumbia1988 @vxllys @starfly-nicole @luvr-bunnyy @greatenthusiasttidalwave @oneofstarkskids @ye-olde-trash-panda @rockyeatrock @raelikesdinosaurs @freyathehuntress @whitewolfluvr @xoxabs88xox

[pleasanttaleexpert]

I am an adult... With adult money... I have restraint... I- I have.... I can restrain...

I'm obsessing over the fact that Volcarona sits perfectly in my hand, I could throw that mf like a damn baseball!

Anyways work on the comic is slow but being made, I've downgraded the background slightly so that I have more time to focus on my studies and the actual center focus of the comic, lol. Might be done around next week but don't hold me to that.

[flickeringflame216]

the desire to remain in a small tumblr community vs the desire to go completely offline forever and ever

[beeseverywhen]

Been reading about underground bins in Liverpool and also how now they don't need the alleys for bins in some places they've cleaned them up and put like plants and seating in them so they can sit with their neighbours and wow I'm having intense feelings of envy. I don't know what I want more, underground bins or a clean alley lol

[xyywrites]

Writing Advice I’ve Received

(In no particular order)

1. “You can’t edit a blank page.”

Yes, you can't. Sometimes it's hard to get the words out but even if it's crap get it out. Produce something into existence, then fix it. Who won't know what to fix if you've not written anything yet. Get those words out on the damn paper.

2. “Show, don’t tell—except when you should tell.”

I mean, this one takes time to figure out. When exactly should you skip the showing and just tell. Hit and trial guys. And then there's always book reviewers who'll tell-you-like-it-is. I don't think this is black and while. Only show or only tell. Maybe it lies in a gray area sometimes. The Goldilocks point where your narration hits just right.

3. “Write the book you want to read.”

This was one of the reasons I started writing. When you so desperately need to read a book with that vibe, that aesthetic and those specific character troupes in such a setting... You're like fuck it. I'll write it myself. How hard can it be?

Spoiler Alert: it will destroy you and your self esteem. Good luck!

4. “Don’t compare your first draft to someone else’s final draft.”

I've seen many versions of this explained through memes. One of them I remember is: it's like you're judging your raw materials (the batter) with someone's 3 tier cake. And that is being blatantly unfair to yourself.

5. “Make your characters want something, even if it’s just a glass of water.”

We all have motivations, wants, desires. So do your characters. A character without desire feels dry, flat and uninteresting.

6. “The best way to improve your writing is to read more than you write.”

Reading other authors’ work, especially those whose writing you admire, teaches you things that can’t be learned through theory or workshops alone. You’ll pick up on pacing, voice, structure, and character troupes. If you're like me you'd start noticing a trend. Or cliche lines that are repeatedly used.

7. “Your first draft is just you telling yourself the story.”

Write for you this means. For you. You wanted this story. It's for you to explore the plot, the characters, the world. It’s your chance to get everything down and see where it leads, without worrying about perfection.

8. “Write with the door closed, rewrite with the door open.”

This is one of Stephen King’s rules of writing, and it’s a brilliant one. When you’re drafting, don’t worry about anyone else reading your work. It’s your time to be raw and experimental. But when it comes to revising, open that door—let others in for feedback, because the revision process is where the magic happens.

That's it. My limited knowledge presented to you. You must've heard of many of these already. But just in case.... 💛

[comicaurora]

So uhh. If you feel like talking about it. As someone who lives in the US, how are you being kind to yourself on this upsetting morning <3

Checked in with my loved ones first and foremost.

It's interesting. The vibe I've been getting from my circle is very different from 2016. Much less… dread and horror at a realignment of the understanding of what can and can't happen here, now, in this place and day and age. More "fuck, guys. again? whatever. enjoy your consequences, maybe you'll manage to learn something this time."

Frustration and anger is not the most positive feeling, or even the most fair one to express, but it is a protective one. It hurts a lot less than most alternatives.

And it's quite a shift. It was earthshattering back then. How could this have been allowed to happen? Why couldn't it be stopped? Why couldn't we stop it? Why couldn't I stop it? Why couldn't everyone see what this meant? Why couldn't I make them understand? Did they really not care? What did that mean about humanity as a whole? Were we so thoughtless? How could anyone be trusted?

It seems… much less earthshattering to see it happen twice. Disappointing, sure. Frustrating. But nowhere near as devastating as the first time I saw it unfold. We already knew it could happen. I've already had time to digest the implications. Now I'm just freshly disappointed.

It also feels less indicative of Crushing Truths Of Reality this time. We've seen shit get bad. We've also seen shit get better from here! We know both outcomes are possible, even inevitable. We know hoping for a better future is always worthwhile. This isn't the apocalypse. It's an unremarkably bad turn of events brought on by unremarkably self-centered well-documented human impulses. It's utterly mundane in its unpleasantness. It doesn't need to be dignified with despair.

A democratic election, no matter the outcome or the side we're on, makes us all acutely aware of how outnumbered we are by people whose worldviews and priorities are demonstrably incomprehensible to us. And the first time you get outnumbered, it's a shock. Defeat is haunting. It didn't matter how badly you wanted it; by the very function of democracy, you do not have the power to override greater numbers. (insert electoral college caveat here)

The second time through, I find myself focusing on a different facet that has dramatically reduced the amount of spiralling I'm doing. I don't expect this to work for everyone, but for me specifically, it helped to crystallize a few thoughts:

You don't have the power to control anyone else. You don't. You can't share your worldview and your revelations with them. You can't make them think or understand anything. You can lay it all out for them, but you can't make them listen, and you can't make it click. A mentor can't make their student learn a lesson; that's why teaching is so complicated and hard. An active choice must be made by the person to enable themselves to understand, and they must put the pieces together in their own mind before it makes sense to them, and the pieces must have been presented in a way that makes sense to them in the first place. Lead a horse to water, can't make them drink.

These elections highlight a disconnect in what different groups of people care about; and no matter how clearly you explain yourself or how passionately you perform, caring cannot be forced on someone. Understanding and connection cannot be forced. You cannot make anything or anyone matter to someone. They have to choose to see how it matters in order to internalize it. If they choose not to, that is not your failing. You couldn't have made them do it by just Explaining Better. They are not your responsibility. They make their own choices. You can't reach inside their head and connect the dots for them.

I'm a storyteller. I make stories and put them out into the world. I hope people get something good out of them, but I have no control over what that something is. I want people to be thoughtful and kind and compassionate and hopeful and see themselves reflected in stranges, no matter their differences. I can craft stories that I hope encourage this. But that is the extent of my ability and the extent of my responsibility. I control no-one's actions but my own, and so while I am not having the best day, I am at least content that I am doing what I can, and I am not shattering myself against impossibilities trying to control the things I can't.

Sometimes, people make decisions that I think are really bad. I can't make that not happen. All I can do is try to make decisions that will result in things I think are good. Today, that means checking in on people, and not assigning too much dramatic narrative weight to an ultimately mundane set of unremarkable bad decisions outside of my control. We'll take life as it comes and help each other out when and how we can. Everything else is out of our hands.

[bi-writes]

I feel like now that MOB and Simon are comfy together and truly utterly unbelievably in love, they'd maybe wanna have a wedding. Not in the traditional, big church tons-of-guests way, but like in the dress up, say vows, and show off your love to your loved ones (no matter how few) way. Not cause they need it or cause they feel pressured, but just cause it's be sweet. A beautiful memory for them (and an excuse for MOB to see Simon in a suit and for Simon to see her in a wedding dress yknow?)

mail-order bride

you're nervous.

more nervous than you felt on the way to this house for the first time. sitting in the back of that taxi, one suitcase in the trunk and the cat in the seat beside you, even then, even knowing you were heading to meet a stranger, you did not feel this type of nervousness.

it's deep in your belly. a taut force that tangles your insides, and you try to hide the shake in your hands as you close the small book that holds your vows and pick up the small bouquet on the dresser.

they're daisies, from the garden. simon picked them for you this morning, had woken you up by tucking one of the stems behind your ear. you made sure to add a few to your hair before dressing.

the silk sits perfectly. that shop on the main street had kept your measurements, and when you asked if they could make you something a little more special, you could not have envisioned anything more beautiful.

structured bodice to hold you in, draped in silk that fell over every curve and every line like falling water, in an elegant white that made the sentiment of what today would be all too real.

he's leaning against the doorway to the backyard when you open the bedroom door. you're barefoot, quiet, so it takes him a minute before he notices you.

both of you pause at a reasonable distance when you finally get a good look at each other.

simon looks so handsome. he's all made-up in his dress uniform, a faded green jacket buttoned over slacks with a khaki shirt underneath, but it is tailored to perfect, and the belt around his waist makes him look all the more formal. what really has you swooning is the lovely medals on his chest--lined up in beautiful rows, glinting in the sunlight as he tips the beret he's wearing to eye you carefully.

"christ," simon murmurs, taking both his hands out of his pockets. he clears his throat, shifting in his boots, and he finally holds a hand out for you, beckoning you forward. "wot a bloody sight y'are, luv."

you pad forward, smiling, and when your hand fits in his, you both squeeze, staring at one another with grins that won't fade. he leans forward to pressing his face to yours before making his way outside with you.

there's a seat under the tree, with a small table beside it. there's flowers everywhere, petals across the grass, and you follow simon under the shade as he takes a seat, guiding you into his lap so you both can sit there for a moment.

it's quiet. there's a light breeze making the leaves fall, but the sun is peeking through the clouds, and you can see the cats in the window, staring at you both as they chew between nips of cat grass. you set down your bouquet on the table beside you, settling in simon's lap as you hold the notebook to your chest.

"can...can i go first?" you ask, and simon reaches up to brush a few strands of your hair out of your face. he nods, adjusting you in his lap, and you try not to focus too hard on how much your hands shake as you flip open the little book you're holding.

the first few pages are your first few drafts, scribbled out with messy pen strokes. you settle where your real words begin, somewhere in the middle, jumbled between messy handwriting since you spent so long perfecting it all.

"simon," you start gently, and you relax a little when you feel his hand settle on your lower back, soothing you gently as he listens. "i had no idea what i was getting myself into all that time ago. my entire life, it's felt like...i've felt like i've just been running. running from the things i've always been afraid of. from people that i didn't trust. from the things that have happened and the things i thought might happen. in fact...i felt like if i didn't keep running, something terrible would catch up to me."

one of your hand falls, and simon covers it with his own. the shaking settles, and you continue.

"and then i came here," you whisper. "i-i..." you swallow. "i-i came here, and i ran right into you." you notice a few wet spots on the pages, and you steady your breaths, trying not to focus too much on the wetness you feel along your cheeks. "a-and you caught me."

you look over at him, and he's smiling, dark eyes trained on your clasped hands in your lap. he squeezes, bringing your hand up to his mouth, and you have the courage to keep going when you feel him kiss your knuckles.

"i don't know how we found each other. i-i don't know who knew that this house was mine. i don't know who understood that there was an empty place inside that belonged to me, but i'm here now. a-and i'm not...i'm not going anywhere."

you bend, leaning forward, and you press your forehead to his temple.

"no one has ever loved me the way you do, simon riley. and i-i promise i will try until forever t-to do the same for you."

it hurts. there's a place in simon's chest that physically aches, like a tender wound, squeezing against his ribs as he hugs you close to his body. the time with you is precious. he fears the moment he knows that there is not much left, but that time isn't now, and he cherishes that fact.

he has always carried a sense for those kind of things. he can tell when there is little left, like knowing there is nothing more to drink in canister without shaking it. it's a feeling, one he knows well, but he doesn't feel that with you, not yet, and he will consume every breath he can that he shares with you until then (because when he feels the time waning, he will give you every breath of his that remains if it means you get just one more second of this life).

simon reaches into his jacket, pulling out a small paper. he unfolds it gently, still holding you close, and you cling to the lapels of his jacket as he talks to you in that low, soothing voice of his.

"'m not sure where t'start," simon chuckles. "was hard for me to think of wot t'say t'ya." he takes a small breath before kissing your forehead. "'s hard ta think about wot it was like before i had ya 'ere. only eatin' because i had to. only leavin' the house because the job demanded it of me. like the whole world was a terrible fuckin' grey. so fuckin' quiet, i could hear this nasty ringin' in my ears."

simon crumples the paper a little, and you wrap a hand around the back of his neck to anchor him.

"honest...i thought the job would 'ave me. tha' i'd go out in some reckless sort of way, or maybe i'd just...let it take me with it one day. and when i knew y'were comin', i still thought tha' was how it would be. tha' i'd settle in it alone, on my own, like i always 'ave."

you close your eyes, and you can hear nothing besides his voice.

"thought i'd run outta luck. thought crawlin' out of my fuckin' grave was the last thing that they'd ever give me," he mutters, and you suck in a shaky breath when you hear the paper crumple sharply. "i don't know wot i ever did to deserve someone like you, luv. 'm not good. never 'ave been. the things i've done, wot i've seen, i wasn't meant for good things."

you pull back a little and open your eyes, and simon's own are full of pain. he grips your waist a little firmly, digging his fingers into you there.

"'n ya aren't just good. y'r perfect. like y'were made in my dreams. and still y'r 'ere, and ya haven't left, and..." he swallows. "nothing else matters, swee'eart." his eyes meet yours. big, brown ones, sadness so permeable, striking, an unnerving kind. "family is oll that matters." when your foreheads touch again, you can't stop yourself. his voice is low, gravelly, weighed down by some kind of pain that you'll never understand. simon has pieces of himself that are missing. people from a past life that he tries to keep finding, things that he knows should be here, but will forever disappoint him by no longer being real.

when he puts his hand over your heart, you can't see him anymore, not really. your tears blur your vision.

"y'r all that matters."

when you cut the cake in the kitchen, you feed each other small bites of decadent chocolate, and when you finish, you gift each other the vows you've written, to tuck away somewhere special, to read when the world gets too loud or when the colors of life get washed out by meaningless distractions.

the dance in the kitchen has lasted for minutes or hours, you can't remember. the music is soft, and you're swaying, but time is meaningless when you're looking into simon's eyes.

it is a part of him that will never change. you memorize how they look, because you want to recognize them in every place that you see them. you want to remember them everywhere, now, soon, until time rots the plants above the sink and kills the vegetables in your garden and makes threadbare the kitchen towels on the counter--you want to remember them.

so you can find him in this life, and every other one that comes after.

[gigiwritess]

LIKE THE STAR? BRIGHTER.

dr. jack abbott x f!resident!reader "vega" aka "wildcard"

wc: 2,205 synopsis: just another normal day at the pitt—except it's not. for the first time in a long time, jack might have found an equal in every sense. tl;dr: dr. abbott meets a new resident for the first time.

contents: 20-year age gap (vega is 26, jack is 46), usual pitt dynamics. probably lots of medical inaccuracies that im not gonna apologize for. very quick mentions of mental health issues. this is totally self-inserted and vega is totally based in lots of aspects of myself. gonna probably update this list when i have more creativity.

gigi's note: this man and the pitt have been consuming my every waking thought so of course it culminated in the fastest fic i've ever written. i have a whole little series planned for these two, but im gonna try to write at least some of them in a manner where you dont necessarily need to read the others. read the end notes for more info!!! enjoy!!!!

PLAYLIST | NAVIGATION | MASTERLIST

NEXT

It had already become a habit—more often than not, Jack’s days off ended up being spent at the Pitt. Not that he minded; the Pitt’s chaos was better than the chaos inside his head that ran free when he was alone at home. At home, the silence was suffocating—he had too much time to think. Here, every beep and shout gave him a reason not to listen to the thoughts clawing at the inside of his skull. Here, he knew exactly what he was doing. And he was damn good at it.

To Vega, being in the Pitt made her feel more alive than she’d ever felt. She didn’t mind the chaos—she thrived in it. Being surrounded by it sharpened her focus, made everything else—the endless voice in her head, the black monster inside her chest threatening day by day to swallow her whole—fade into nothing but background static.

Today was no different. The Pitt was, like usual, a chaotic hellscape; machines humming, monitors beeping, medical staff shouting orders, the scent of antiseptic filling everyone’s nostrils. The kind of place that felt both alive and dead at the same time. Jack had just arrived after a few hours of sleep after his night shift, clutching a cup of coffee in his hand, when he first spotted her across the ER in trauma two—a woman who didn’t seem to belong here, but did. Jack had barely any time to take a proper look at her before she was on the move again.

She moved fast, braid whipping against her back as she called for suction, adjusting doses, her hands slick with blood. The Pitt demanded everything and she gladly gave it. Without hesitation, without pause. It was what she lived for.

“Push another 20 of epi. I need suction—no, hold it, go with 50 cc,” she called out, her voice cutting through the chaos as she worked. Controlled. Sharp. The team moved, almost grateful for the authority in her voice. She didn’t miss the way Santos’ hands trembled, or how Whitaker clung to her words like a lifeline.

Jack hadn’t seen her before—not that he was keeping track; new faces came and went. But something about this one made him look twice. He caught sight of her again—tall, dark hair, sharp, moving fast between patients. She was a calm center, a fixed point in the storm. She worked with precision, her hands a blur as she gave orders, her focus unwavering as she moved around and directed the team with an ease that made it look effortless, a mixture of experienced residents and interns following her every instruction without hesitation. She moved around the room like she owned it. She was focused.

“Who’s that?” Jack asked, voice neutral.

“That is my star resident,” Robby said with a hint of amusement in his voice, noticing his curious gaze. “Wildcard.”

Then, still working on the patient, she felt it. His stare. She was used to people’s eyes on her all the time in this place—curious glances, usually directed at her tattoos whenever they poked out; interns sizing her up, sometimes with grudging respect, sometimes openly doubting her abilities to handle the weight of the Pitt. But this wasn’t that. This wasn’t the usual ER gawkers or old surgeons with smug superiority. This was different. Something else.

Jack raised an eyebrow. He had seen his fair share of capable residents, but something about the way she moved—almost like she was born for this—caught his attention. She was completely in her element, cutting through the chaos with a level of focus that suggested she’d been there before. Not that Jack expected anything less, but there was something about her that piqued his interest.

She felt the weight of his gaze, analyzing, unapologetic. She recognized that old, instinctive prickle at the back of her neck—the kind of awareness she only felt around people who could do damage. Not the loud, blustering types, no. The quiet ones. The wolves pretending to be men.

But she was no sheep.

Vega didn’t look up, focused solely on the person in front of her. She let him look. Let him think he was unnoticed, but she felt the scrape of it against her nerves.

“Wildcard?” Jack asked, nodding toward the scene, his tone cool but intrigued.

Robby grinned, stepping back slightly to give Jack a better view. “Yeah. Earned it on her first shift. Handled a mass casualty like it was nothing. Nerves of steel.”

Jack didn’t reply. Instead, he just watched her as she worked. There was a quiet intensity to the way she moved. She wasn’t loud or flashy, didn’t seek attention; instead, she commanded the room with a quiet authority, in a way that spoke volumes about her ability to take charge when things went south. It was a quality Jack respected, even if he wasn’t willing to admit it out loud. She wasn’t just surviving in the chaos—she was thriving in it. Something he did, too.

When the patient was finally stable, able to wait for the OR, Robby called her name. She peeled the paper gown off and turned towards them, tugging off the gloves with a sharp pull, and met Jack’s gaze head-on.

“Wildcard,” Robby said, “this is Dr. Jack Abbott. Jack, this is Dr. Vega, also known as Wildcard.”

She barely heard his voice—she already knew who he was.

Dr. Jack Abbott. The ER’s storm cloud, a man with a reputation for being as sharp as he was reckless. She’d heard plenty—everyone had. Stories traded in break rooms, warnings half-uttered with a mixture of respect and almost fear. A doctor built out of sharp things and bad habits, all jagged edges and rough temper. A man people either followed or avoided. And now here he was, giving her that look like he was trying to decide if she was worth his time.

Their gazes locked—not an awkward glance. She didn’t look away as most people did when meeting him for the first time, usually too nervous to look him in the eye. No. There was a beat of silence, a brief exchange of recognition, as if both of them could feel something shift in the air between them. Subtle, but undeniable. She sized him up in a fraction of a second, eyes sharp and unreadable, but he knew what that look was. For the first time in months, Jack felt something in his chest unclench, some flicker of recognition that made the blood in his veins hum with something dangerously close to life.

None of the stories she’d heard did him justice. He wasn’t the washed-up, better-than-everyone asshole she expected. For a second, the ER didn’t exist; the screaming monitors, the sharp tang of blood and bleach—gone. It was just him. Dark eyes, sharp jaw, slight tilt of his head, the heavy kind of presence you could feel in your teeth. The way he looked at her—not polite, not exactly curious. He looked at her like a man who was curious to see what would happen if he pushed. Good. She was tired of polite. She was tired of fake pleasantries.

She looked younger than he expected. But there was something else in her eyes that made her feel older than she probably was. Experienced.

Her lips twitched—barely a smile, but the kind that dared him to make the first move.

“Dr. Vega.” His voice was low, neutral, but her stomach did a dangerous twist.

There was a familiarity in the way he looked at her—not exactly recognition, but that kind of animal instinct of like recognizes like. The people who knew what it was to thrive in the places others avoided. The people who thrived in the chaos.

She couldn’t help the slight curve of her mouth, barely there, but enough to be noticed by him.

“Heard things about you, Dr. Abbott,” she said, her voice even, threading a fine line between professional and personal. “Thought you’d be scarier.”

Her words were like a soft challenge, the ghost of a smile on her lips, and it was Jack’s time to quirk an eyebrow, his eyes darkening, a flicker of something dangerous and amused sliding into place. Was she mocking him? Or was she just testing the waters? He couldn’t quite decide.

Jack tilted his head slightly, a slow, crooked smirk pulling at the corner of his mouth. She met his eyes head-on, unblinking. No one held her gaze for long—too sharp, too cold—but he didn’t flinch. Didn’t even try to hide the way his gaze dropped, assessing. Not leering. Calculating. Like a predator working out if she was worth the risk.

“Stick around, Doc,” he replied. “You’ll get there.”

Oh, she fucking liked that.

Robby snorted, glancing between them with an amused look in his eyes. Jack wasn’t the type to be rattled easily, but there was a palpable tension now between the two of them, something that felt familiar yet almost… uncomfortable. Different. Jack didn’t show it, of course, but Robby knew him better than everyone.

Vega had had a lot of first meetings since walking into this ER not more than four weeks ago. Most were forgettable, most faded by the next shift. But there was weight to this one. The air around them felt tight, stretched thin in a way she recognized from old fights and late-night emergencies. The kind of moment where you either stepped up or stepped aside, where you either fought the wave headfirst or let it wash over you, carry you with it.

“How’s day shift treating you?” Abbott asked, and Robby’s eyebrow went up, already seeing where Jack’s head was going.

Vega realized—these two men knew each other better than everyone else.

“The coffee could be better,” she replied, finishing what she was typing on the computer.

Jack’s lips quirked, a flicker of dry amusement in his otherwise unreadable expression. “Night shift coffee’s better,” he replied smoothly, taking a sip from his cup, the steam rising from it like he was making a point of something, just for her.

Robby’s eyes gleamed with amusement as he watched the interaction with newfound interest, like a new TV show that was starting to catch his attention. He shook his head. “Don’t you even think about stealing her from me, Abbott.”

Jack’s eyes found hers again, and neither looked away. “Yeah, yeah. Wouldn’t dream of it.”

But the way he said it—quiet, edged—suggested otherwise.

Robby drifted off to take care of another matter, and she half-expected him to do the same, say something smug or look away. He didn’t. Neither did she. She raised her eyebrows and smirked at him, almost as if she was daring him to do something about it.

“You’re welcome to try, Dr. Abbott,” Vega said, her voice smooth, low, carrying a spark of challenge that showed itself in the way his jaw tightened slightly.

It was brief, but it was there. The smallest tell that he was just a little thrown by her, caught off guard. She liked that. She liked that a lot. Probably more than she should’ve.

He wasn’t used to being challenged quite like that. There was something about her—something too familiar in the way she carried herself that made him pause, that made him stop in his tracks.

“Noted,” he replied, five simple letters carrying more weight than normal. It felt like a promise. Or a threat—she couldn’t tell.

Both excited her, both made her heart skip a beat and made her skin prickle with something she couldn’t decipher yet. The air between them tightened, thickened. That kind of electric stillness you only get before a bad decision—the kind you’d make twice just to feel something. The kind she was built for.

He held her gaze, and she held his, never once faltering, up until she turned her back to see another patient. Jack was rattled—it’d been a while since someone managed to do that. She pulled a chart off the rack and moved on to the next patient with effortless grace. As he stared at her back, he felt an inexplicable pull, one he’d be lying if he said he didn’t feel. For the first time in a long time, something in Jack’s chest pulled tight. Not enough to show, but enough for him to feel it.

Even as she walked away, she still felt it—a tug in her chest, his gaze burning between her shoulder blades, the awareness of his eyes on her as she crossed the room.

Jack didn’t move. Not yet. As she was about to disappear behind a curtain, his voice called after her.

“Vega,” he said.

Not Wildcard. Not yet. He said her name like a question. Or a challenge—she couldn’t decide. She paused. A beat. Half a heartbeat. Let the silence hang there, heavy and thick and hungry. Then she turned her head, one eyebrow raised in silent question.

“Like the star?” he asked, voice low, rough, unreadable, his eyes full of things she couldn’t decipher.

For the first time since clocking in that morning, a real smile spread across her face.

“Brighter,” she said softly and went back on her way.

She didn’t need to look back to know he was still watching her.

Good.

gigi's note: PLEASE tell me your opinions on this and what you think of the series!!!! the future pieces are gonna dive deep into vega's mental issues (which are my own). not gonna be exactly a slow burn because i hate slow burns, i just prefer the burning head-on lol comments and reblogs are most welcome!!!

my inbox is always open and i would loooooooove to yap about this man. xoxo <3

NEXT

[mysteryshoptls]

2025-2026 Player Birthday Login Message Lines

These are all the messages that you get from the boys when you log in on the birthday that you set in-game from 18 Mar 2025 to 17 Mar 2026! For those that want to hear them, you can find them in the Archive, under the tab その他　→　監督生バースデー⑤. (This will not be in your game archives until the birthday you set passes.)

You can find the 2021-2022 Birthday Login Message Lines here! You can find the 2022-2023 Birthday Login Message Lines here! You can find the 2023-2024 Birthday Login Message Lines here! You can find the 2024-2025 Birthday Login Message Lines here!

HEARTSLABYUL

Riddle

Happy Birthday, [Yuu]. It may only be a small token, but I've prepared a gift for you. Here is a spare tie. I'm sure you won't get yours dirtied often, but there is always the chance. In order to follow the rules and dress appropriately, you should make sure to carry it on you at all times.

Ace

Oh, there they are. Heeey, [Yuu]. You free? Let's go play some b-ball. Why...? I mean, today's your birthday, right? I thought I'd celebrate you in my own way, is all. Come on, let's go, we gotta get moving 'til our stomach growls. There's another bit of "fun" to look forward to after, too.

Deuce

[Yuu], Happy Birthday. I went and rented a blastcycle for you today. I just thought it'd be nice to let my hardworking friend feel the breeze on their face for once. Might be a good change of pace, don't you think? Don't worry, I'll drive totally safe. Here, get on the back. Once you're ready to go, we're off!

Cater

Happy Birthday! Thanks for all the work you do as a prefect. Don't you get tired from working so hard? That's why I got.... this! Some bath salts recommended by yours truly! The rose petals inside are super cute, and the fragrance really helps to soothe your soul～ Tell me what you thought later!

Trey

[Yuu], Happy Birthday. I was actually thinking of heading to a café today, want to come with? Apparently the sweets there are made by a first-class pâtissier. Aren't you curious how it'll taste? You think I'm just wanting to taste it for myself? ...Haha, no way. I'm just trying to celebrate you for your birthday.

SAVANACLAW

Leona

I thought it was sounding pretty rowdy, but I see it was just 'cause it's your birthday. Good for you. Huh? You want to eat lunch with me because it's your birthday? That's a pretty strong demand from a little herbivore like you. Well now, what sort of delicious meat will you treat me to, hm...? You're extending an invitation to me, of all people, so I'm expecting a lavish feast.

Jack

Happy Birthday. I'm just saying that as a fellow schoolmate. It's not like I'm looking to get along, or anything. Hm? The candy jar you got as a gift won't open? Fine, hand it over. ...There you go. I'm pretty nice for someone who doesn't want to get along...? What's that supposed to mean? Don't get ahead of yourself, just 'cause it's your birthday.

Ruggie

[Yuu]-kun, Happy Birthday～ Feels like you're growin' a bit more with another year under your belt. Oh yeaah, you should totally show off how mature you got. For example, maaaybe you can treat me to something. You'll buy me a lil' snack? Sheeheehee, thaaaanks～ This is why it's great havin' cute lil' underclassmen like you.

OCTAVINELLE

Azul

[Yuu]-san, a very Happy Birthday to you. ...Whatever is the problem? You have a concerned look on your face. You haven't finished your homework? Even though the party is right around the corner? Well, isn't this a predicament. Allow me to embody the spirit of compassion and assist you. Not to worry, proper compensation can be discussed at a later date... Right?

Jade

Happy Birthday. I've prepared a present for you. Here you go. This is a patch of moss that I cultivated and separated out just for you. Also, here is a booklet on how to care for it. Please show me how well your moss has grown six months from now. ...You absolutely won't allow it to wither and die, now, will you?

Floyd

Shrimpy-chan, Happy Birthday～ Here ya go, I brought a cake just for you. ...Eh, the cake inside's a mess? Ohhh right～ That might be 'cause I dropped it earlier. So? There somethin' wrong with that? It's not like the taste'll change. Eat it already, c'mon.

SCARABIA

Kalim

Happy Birthday! Pheeew, I'm feelin' so excited. Makes me wanna dance! Oh yeah, wanna dance together at your birthday party later? ...Ahaha, you don't gotta know what moves to make! I'm just gonna dance for you with all my best wishes, so that'll be fun enough!

Jamil

Happy Birthday, [Yuu]. Are you ready to be completely mobbed by everyone in the spirit of your birthday? Eh, you're not? Hey, that's why I'm always telling you to be prepared for any... ...Mm, maybe I shouldn't nag like this on their birthday of all days... Ugh, fine, I'll get you ready. First, we have to do something about those clothes, got it?

POMEFIORE

Vil

Happy Birthday. You seem to be having a grand time. Perhaps you didn't need my well wishes? Of course that couldn't possibly have been the case. That's why I've made my way here before heading to my club. I have a present to hand to you, as well. You should be grateful that I took the time for you like this. Keep on striving for perfection.

Epel

Happy Birthday! It's about your present, but... Wanna come with me to pick something out at Foothill Town? I was looking into a bunch of stuff, but I don't really know what's really in right now... You sure? Great! Then let's go right now! I'm really looking forward to shopping with you!

Rook

Happy Birthday, are you enjoying your special day? Your beauty still astounds as another year passes! This is my present to you. I made sure to thoroughly prepare something that you are guaranteed to love. As a hunter, I cannot allow my aim to be off the mark, after all. Hurry, please open it. I want to hear your thoughts as soon as I can.

IGNIHYDE

Idia

Happy Birthday... ...Eh, you have a favor to ask me? Ugh, that's worse than having to give a present... I'll at least ask, but... what is it? You want me to tell you what computer I recommend? I mean, I build my own... EH, YOU'RE INTERESTED IN BUILDING YOUR OWN COMPUTER TOO!? Suuuure, of course I'll teach you! I gotchu, whether it's air-cooled PCs, liquid-cooled PCs, or anything else you want! When it comes to personal builds, I'm your man～!

Ortho

Today's your birthday, right? Happy Birthday! I have a present for you, too. Here you go, DVD of movies! I searched through all the reviews online and compiled all the most popular movies in each genre. Once you're finished watching everything, I'd love to verify your impress... Wait, I mean, I'd love to chat about what you thought of them!

DIASOMNIA

Malleus

Happy Birthday. In celebration, I've prepared some ice cream. Why did I choose this? Because I remember being elated, myself, when served this in the past. I can only hope you feel the same. ...You are? Well, wonderful.

Silver

Happy Birthday. Is there anything you'd like as a gift? You'd like to train with me? A spectacular attitude... Of course, I do not mind at all. However... The celebratory atmosphere may lead to me being more spirited than usual. Let me know if it becomes too difficult for you.

Sebek

Hey, human! You're looking more lax than usual. Do you not think you're letting yourself go too much, simply because it is your birthday? You're surprised I remembered? Well, obviously I did, my memory is much better than yours, after all! I won't say this is an offering for your birthday, or anything... But I should feed you something that'll put some muscle even on a weak human like you. Follow me!

Lilia

[Lilia pops out from the ceiling] HAPPY BIRTHDAY, [YUU]! Kheehee, a good reaction, indeed. Birthdays should all be about surprises. It seems like my little tactic was a big hit. I've got a present and some cake waiting for you, too. Basically, the plan was to treat you after giving you a little shock like that.

OTHERS

Grim

Happy Birthday, [Yuu]! C'mon, hurry and get ready to go! As the boss of the Gastronomy Club, I made you some real good food! I threw in a ton of leaves and roots, too! You're a real lucky hench-human, huh! Myahaha!

Crowley, Crewel, Trein, Rollo and Fellow do not have new lines. Theirs are repeated from last year’s.

Crowley

Ta-daaa! What do you suppose this could be? That’s correct, it’s an exchange coupon for use at the Mystery Shop! You have been a consistent helping hand, so… This is a special gift for you. Happy Birthday. Incidentally, that is only worth 500 madol (5 Thaumarks). It cannot be exchanged for something pricier than that. Please don’t hold it against me.

Crewel

It seemed rather rowdy in here, but now I see it was just you, pup. Are you excited simply because its your birthday? I see, well, in that case, I have a special present just for you. As for what it is… It is a special alchemy homework assignment. You should be happy; you’ll be able to improve your skills even further with this, don’t you think? Haha, Happy Birthday.

Trein

I hear it is your birthday today. Do continue to put forth your best effort in your studies as a student of academia. Allow me to gift you with some words of wisdom instead of a present, as someone who has been on this mortal coil slightly longer than yourself. Merely aging another year does not a mature person make. However, time spent on fruitful endeavors will always be of benefit to your growth.

Rollo

Whatever is the matter, [Yuu]-kun? There is a strange glimmer in your eyes… …Ah, I see. Today is your birthday. A present? Hmph. I hardly think that it should be something you request of others… But no matter. Indeed, birthdays should be treasured. However, what would be an acceptable gift…? I am afraid I’m rather unaccustomed to this. I would hope I do not disappoint you with a poor gift choice.

Fellow (EN: Ernesto)

Oh, my, hello there, my learned scholar! I’ve been searching, and finally, I’ve found you! I was fervently hoping to wish you well for your birthday. Here, your present. ...As fellows lacking in magical abilities, we should get along together, don'tcha think? Happy Birthday! Fwahaha!

Requested by @butterflyremix.

[ramp-it-up]

Bolder

Summary: Bucky and Steve's relationship is practically perfect in any way. And then Bucky wishes for what would make it complete for his birthday. Happy Birthday Bucky Barnes!

Word count: 5.6 K

Pairing: Stucky x Enhanced!Reader (Sparrow)

A/N: This is another dream inspired by #BuckyBarnesBirthdayBingo by @avengers-assemble-bingo. This fulfills the square: Another Year Older, Another Year Bolder. Althought I've written mfm before, I've not written Stucky. Let me know how I did. 😬 Please reblog, comment, and like!

Another note: This is canon divergent in the events of Endgame, Steve returns from replacing the Infinity Stones, but he still gives Sam the shield.

Warnings: 18+ Only, Minors DNI. Read at your own risk. Smut! Bucky and Steve. That should be the entire warning, but it's not. Grumpy Steve and, cock blocker Sam. Poly sex acts, angst, emoting, wild thoughts, a birthday wish, which leads to birthday sex. Birthday sex: Captain and Sargeant kink, fingering, voyeurism, nipple play, oral (female receiving), raw p in v, two sex acts simultaneously (not dp) cock denial, creampie, squirting. I wish I could say this was a one shot, but... well, let me know if you want another part.

I do not have a taglist. Please follow @rampitupandread and turn on notifications to learn when I post! 😘

I Do NOT Consent to my work being reposted, translated or presented on any other blog or site other than by myself.

-----

The way Bucky pushed back against Steve’s command and control, subtly at times, outrageously at others, was a sight to witness.

The order and restraint that defined the former Captain America trembled in Bucky’s presence.

And Steve made Bucky come alive, fully awake for the first time in years. 

Steve belonged to Bucky and Bucky to Steve, for almost a century, even when he couldn’t remember his own name. After all they’d been through, they finally had the time and space to proclaim and celebrate their love.

They were the most beautiful couple you’d ever seen. 

When you first joined the team, you were starstruck not because they were some of the most famous Avengers, the hero and the villain, but because they were sun and moon, yin and yang, and seemed utterly perfect and complete in their relationship.

They were nice to you, respectful and curious, as you were the most like them. But you were so very different. You’d wanted to serve your country as a volunteer for a 20 week trial of the serum, the effects of which you were assured would be reversed.

Turned out, the people doing the assuring were HYDRA in disguise.

Now, here you were, another supersoldier and newbie on the team, and that caused them to drift toward you naturally. Skittish at first, you warmed up to them and became the third musketeer, training, working together, and hanging out.  

Your code name was Sparrow, because you were small yet fierce, which Steve admired, and handy with sharp implements, which made Bucky smile, which was a feat.

With this team, you third wheeling became a running joke. Although you didn’t admit that you would jump at the chance, you could handle the ribbing, mainly because you thought you were in no danger of having your deepest fantasies fulfilled. 

Of course it was a joke, because what would they need with you?

It was a question you were beginning to ask more in the past few months. It had almost been a year since you joined the Avengers and everyone was comfortable with you now.

Especially Bucky and Steve. 

As time progressed, way they acted with you was more than familiar and you began to feel something…else in the way they interacted with you.

When he looked at you, Steve’s gaze was steady, with heat simmering just beneath it. You admired the way he shared command of the team with Sam easily, his restrained and disciplined demeanor the default until he was pushed.

And so you did it, because you wanted to see that control crack for you like it did with Bucky. 

You disobeyed Steve on a routine mission, but the actions you took put you in slightly more danger than was planned. Steve snapped and chewed you out so thoroughly that you were wet for the entire seven minutes that he lectured you on protocol. It was a thorough dressing down, and it made you want to get undressed for him.

After, he retreated to the other side of the room, looking at you like he was considering all the ways he could break you apart and put you back together. You stared back at him, silently daring him to.

He would have bent you over the desk if Sam hadn’t told him to give you a break. He stalked out and you wanted to follow him and submit to anything he wanted, but Sam followed him instead.

Bucky didn’t hold back that day either. His hunger was blatant, carved into the smirk that tugged at his lips, in the way he leaned just a little too close, testing, demanding.

His voice dropped when he spoke to you, low and rough, thick with the promise of something dark and dangerous. 

“What you did wasn’t too smart, Sparrow. You shouldn’t put yourself in danger like that. Better be careful, before Steve takes it out on your ass.”

Bucky devoured you with those sharp and knowing eyes, like he already knew how you’d sound when you moaned his name and how you’d feel beneath his hands.

“Something tells me that you wouldn’t mind that…”

Sam came back into the room and cocked blocked yet again. This time you escaped the situation. 

After that, you were caught in a storm of tension so thick it was dizzying. You knew what Bucky and Steve were to each other, two halves of something unbreakable that was forged through war and loss and survival. 

And yet, somehow, they’d turned their attention on you.

The heat between you was filled with unspoken promises that these two men would destroy you in the most exquisite ways. 

And God help you, you wanted them to.

—-

Bucky’s birthday rolled around not too long after that, a crisp March day bright with newfound sunlight and celebration.

Steve had apologized to you and you to him, yet there was something unfinished there. He still held you at arms length.

Nevertheless, you were able to have a fun day celebrating your “old man,” as you joked about Bucky. Steve’s eyes flashed and Bucky’s jaw clenched when you said it. 

And when you kissed him on the cheek after wishing him happy birthday, Steve’s cock hardened when he noticed the way Bucky’s fingers twitched on your lower back.

Bucky had never been one for birthdays. For too many years, they were just another mark on a calendar he didn’t remember, a reminder of how much time had slipped through his fingers like sand.

But now, things were different. Bucky was bolder now.

The older Bucky got, the more he leaned into asking for what he wanted. And for what he needed.

Because of that newfound boldness, now he had Steve.

And this year, he had you.

Was that right?

Maybe he should’ve questioned the way you had slipped into their lives like you were always meant to be there, and the way his body recognized your presence before his mind did.

But it was all so obvious.

He noticed it in the way Steve looked at you, that quiet hunger he tried to reign in but never quite managed to. He felt it in himself, in the way his pulse jumped when you laughed, in the way his fingers twitched with the need to touch you. It was also in the way his stomach tightened whenever you looked straight through him into his essence.

Only Steve had been able to do that before. 

And Steve was lost, too. His eyes followed you when you walked out of a room, like he was waiting for the moment you'd return. 

Strangely Bucky wasn’t jealous, but at first he was alarmed when he noticed the way you looked at both him and Steve. Like you were just waiting for one of them to finally say it out loud.

But then he realized that he just needed to ask for what he wanted. For what he and Steve both needed.

So Bucky did.

It was 2 AM of the morning after night of his birthday, the three of you the last hangers on in the living room of their apartment. Each time you made to leave, one of them drew you into another conversation.

Finally, Steve lit the match.

He asked Bucky what he wished for when he blew out his candles.

Bucky didn’t even hesitate because he wasn’t good at pretending. Never had been.

"I wished for Sparrow to join us," he said simply, leaning back against the couch, watching as Steve processed his words.

Neither you, nor Steve, had to question what he meant. The meaning was painfully clear.

Steve’s blue eyes flickered with something unreadable. His jaw tightened as his fingers flexed against his thigh. Bucky could tell he was already overthinking, probably considering a dozen different ways this could go wrong. 

That was just the way Steve was, always careful, always considerate. Even to the point of denying himself.

But Bucky knew Steve wanted this too.

Across from them, you stilled. Then, slowly, like you wanted them to see, you tilted your head and uncrossed your legs in your short skirt, just to cross them again, the smooth slide of your thighs against each other made Bucky’s mouth go dry and Steve’s pulse race.

A smirk played at the edge of your lips, but your eyes gave you away. There was curiosity there, something that said you’ve thought about this too.

Bucky pretended to be cool even as tension and heat coiled tight in his gut. 

"It’s my birthday. And I figured—why not make it interesting?"

Steve exhaled sharply, rubbing a hand through his golden hair, his ears tinged red. Bucky knew that look. 

He had seen it in battle, right before Steve made a decision that would change everything. 

He’d seen it in private, right before Steve begged for his cock.

Steve’s gaze flickered to you, then back at Bucky, then at you again. He and Bucky had built something solid between them, something unshakable, but he couldn't deny there was a certain pull whenever you were around.

The tension, the glances, the way you fit so seamlessly into their lives. It was heady.

You sat watching the scene, eyes flickering between them with interest.

"You don't have to say yes," Bucky said, giving Steve an easy out. 

But he smirked anyway, because deep down, he already knew what the answer would be. Steve was flustered, Bucky could tell, but not upset. 

No, this was something else.

"You’ve been thinking about this for a while, haven’t you?" you asked Bucky, your voice smooth, teasing.

"Sweetheart, you have no idea," Bucky chuckled.

You gasped as if those words alone sent a jolt through you. Then you hummed trying to remain calm as you tapped a finger against your knee, eyes flickering toward Steve. 

"And you, Captain?"

Steve’s breath hitched just slightly as he gazed at you. Small, but Bucky caught it.

And when Steve’s gaze landed back on him, slow and deliberate, Bucky felt it. That heat. That unspoken understanding. 

Bucky saw it happen in real time, the shift in Steve’s expression, the way his pupils blew wide, the way his fingers twitched like he was fighting the urge to reach for you right now.

Steve smiled and his voice was a low rasp when he finally spoke.

"Happy birthday, Buck."

Bucky grinned.

—

The second Steve said it, the air in the room changed.

You didn’t move right away, just watched them, your breath just a little uneven. Bucky could feel your body heat, close enough to touch. Close enough to ruin.

He’d imagined this. Countless times. 

What it would be like to have you here, caught between him and Steve, wanting them.

But reality was so much better.

Bucky reached out first, metal fingers around your wrist, pulling you up and forward until you landed on his lap with a soft gasp. His other hand found your waist, grinding you against him. Your body was warm, soft, and pliant in all the ways he had dreamed about.

"You sure about this, sweetheart?" he murmured against your ear, his lips just barely brushing the sensitive skin there. 

His voice was rough and hungry.

You shivered in his grip. 

"I wouldn’t be here if I wasn’t."

Bucky let out a low chuckle, his grip tightening. 

"Good."

Behind you, Steve shifted, so close Bucky could feel the desire radiating off him. When he spoke, his voice was thick.

"You look good like this," Steve murmured, and when you turned your head slightly to look at him, Bucky caught the way Steve's face changed to a look of pure lust.

Fuck.

Bucky had always known Steve wanted you, just as much as he did. He’d seen it in the way Steve watched you, in the way he tried to be respectful, to keep a distance, even though everything in him wanted to close it.

Not anymore. He was going to help Bucky thoroughly defile you.

Bucky leaned in, pressing his lips just beneath your jaw, smirking when he felt your pulse racing beneath his lips.

"You gonna let us take care of you, Sparrow?" he rasped. "Since it is my birthday, after all."

Your breath was uneven, but you didn’t hesitate. You turned slightly in his lap, your fingers reaching up to fist in Steve’s shirt, tugging him closer.

"Yes. I want you both to take care of me tonight.”

With those words, the space between all three of you disappeared in an instant. Bucky felt your body press against his, your breath warm against his neck, and it took everything in him not to lose himself right then and there. 

He wanted to take his time. He wanted to feel this, wanted to drag it out until you were breathless, until Steve’s control cracked, until all three of you were left trembling in the aftermath.

Steve’s lips hovered just above yours, his breath uneven. Bucky watched, enthralled, as you stared up at him, eyes dark and half-lidded.

"You absolutely certain about this?" Steve asked, voice low and thick with something deeper than just desire.

You reached up, moving your fingers around the back of his neck, pulling him down until your lips brushed his. 

"Never been more certain of anything."

Steve groaned softly, capturing your lips in a slow, hungry kiss. Bucky exhaled sharply, his grip on your waist tightening as he felt you melt between them.

Holy shit, this was happening.

Watching you kiss Steve, watching the way his hands skimmed over your sides and the way your body responded, Bucky swore he could feel it in his own skin.

When you finally pulled away, your breath hitched, and your lips were swollen as your eyes flickered toward Bucky. He smirked, tilting his head slightly, fingers grazing your jaw before he leaned in, capturing your lips with his own.

While Steve’s kiss had been slow and languid, Bucky’s was something else entirely.

Possessive. Starved.

You let out a soft sound against his mouth, your fingers tightening in his shirt as he deepened the kiss, his metal hand trailing up your spine, cold against the heat of your skin. You shivered, arching just slightly, and hell, that was enough to drive him crazy.

Behind you, Steve let out a low chuckle, pressing closer, his lips grazing your collarbone. 

"Didn’t think you’d be the greedy one, Buck," he murmured, amused.

Bucky smirked against your lips. 

"Oh, I know how to share." 

His blue eyes flickered between both of you, dark and full of promise. 

"Especially when it’s something this good."

Your breath came in shallow pants, eyes flickering between them, heat pooling between the three of you, thick enough to drown in.

Steve’s fingers traced the curve of your jaw, tilting your face back toward him, his lips barely ghosting over yours as he whispered, “You sure you can handle us both, Sweetheart?”

His voice was teasing, but beneath it was reverence, like he needed to be sure before he let himself fall. This was the fourth time they’d asked for your consent.

They were really about to ruin you.

“Guess we’re about to find out,” you murmured.

A soft, delighted hum rumbled in Steve’s chest behind you. Bucky caught the way your body shivered at the sensation of the warmth of Steve pressed against your back and at the weight of Bucky in front of you. 

Sandwiched between them, you fit perfectly, like you had always belonged here, like this was inevitable.

“We should take our time with this,” Steve murmured against the skin of your neck.

“Make sure she knows exactly what she’s gotten herself into.”

Bucky smirked, sliding his metal hand up your spine, relishing the way you arched into his touch. 

“That sounds like a plan, Stevie.”

The way they were talking about you as if you weren’t there served to make you wetter than you already were. You wanted to be used by them for their pleasure.

For yours. 

The two men looked at each other in a silent exchange that didn’t need words. It had always been that way between them. Decades of understanding built through war, through loss, and through finding each other over and over again despite the odds. 

But this?

This was new.

Sharing something, someone, this intimately wasn’t just about lust. 

It was trust. It was knowing Steve would move when Bucky moved, and that Steve would read him the way he always had. It was knowing that they could balance each other, even in this.

And you were centered in it, the tether between them, the unspoken possibility they had both been too afraid to touch until now.

Bucky slid his hand to the back of your neck, guiding your lips back to his. He kissed you slowly and deeply, savoring the way you melted into him, the way you rolled yourself over him. 

The sound of your soft sigh sent heat curling in his stomach, and just as he deepened it, Steve’s hand slid over your hips, grinding you down harder on Bucky’s lap.

“Fuck, you feel s’good, Bucky”

You were already lust drunk, the thought that you would have them both electrifying your body. And your mind.

“Think she likes this,” Steve mused, fingers teasing at the hem of your shirt.

“What do you think, Buck?”

Bucky pulled back just enough to look at you, his blue eyes dark, searching. You were breathless, caught between them, pupils blown wide.

“Oh, she loves this,” he murmured, dragging his metal fingers down your spine again, watching the way you arched your back, feeling the heat pool between your legs.

Steve hummed in approval, his grip on your shirt turned to pulling it up and over your head. Bucky’s eyes widened at the fact that you didn’t have on a bra. Well, he’d guessed at it earlier as his eyes took in your body, but seeing you in the flesh, and in his face made his blood heat. 

When Steve grabbed your tits and, softly at first, then more urgently pulled and rolled your nipples, Bucky licked his lips and glanced over your shoulder before he leaned down and sucked you through Steve’s fingers. 

You threw your head back on Steve’s chest as you rode Bucky’s straining jeans covered cock.

Oh, this was heaven.

“Open your eyes, Sparrow.” 

You hadn’t even realized you’d closed them. You opened your eyes as Bucky’s hands went to your thighs and spread you wider against him. The move bunched your skirt high up around your hips, leaving you with only your panties covering you. 

Steve watched as Bucky pulled your dress higher yet and then palm your pussy through your panties. He reached down and together, the two men tore your panties and tossed them aside like they were made of tissue paper.

“She’s so wet, Stevie. Wet and…” 

Bucky slid his hand to your pussy and pushed two fingers into you.

“…Tight. Holy fuck she’s going to feel so good.” 

You rocked your hips to take his fingers deeper, but he gripped you with his metal hand, forcing you still.

“"M gonna fuck you first since it's my birthday. But should we show Steve what he’s missing?” 

Bucky’s touch, while authoritative and demanding, was nothing less than reverent. And Steve’s gaze was on you as much as it was on Bucky. 

You made a noise that must have been enough for Bucky, because he turned you around on his lap as Steve backed up for a better view. Bucky palmed and finger fucked you for Steve’s benefit.

And yours.

You moaned and squirmed in his clutch, while the only reaction from the blond was a tightening in Steve’s jaw and his blue eyes going molten steel. Bucky laughed softly. 

“I’ll tell you a secret, Sparrow. I’ve never met a man with better control than Steve. It’s downright supernatural. It’ll take a better show than this to get him over back over here to put his hands all over you.” 

He nipped your earlobe. 

“If you make it very, very good, I’ll even let him use his mouth.” 

There wasn’t enough air in the room. There couldn’t be. Your breath hitched in your lungs, and it took you two tries to force words out. 

“What–what if I want his cock?” 

This time, Bucky’s laughter filled the room. He sat up, taking you with him, and positioned you with your legs on either side of his thighs. 

“Tell her, Stevie.” 

The other man crossed his arms across his broad chest, his features cold. Why did that turn you on so much?

“After what you did on that last mission, you have to earn my cock, Sparrow.” 

His arrogance should have been a turnoff. It should have made you want to put him in his place and make him earn access to you. Instead, a part of you that you just met whispered in your brain.

I want to earn your cock, Steve. Just tell me what I need to do. 

You slammed your mouth shut hard enough that your teeth clicked to avoid giving voice to those thoughts. You took a breath, and then another, then leaned back against Bucky more firmly. 

“Then let me play with you, Sargeant.” 

Bucky didn’t laugh again. You were a team now, testing Steve’s restraint. He let you stand and guided you out of your clothes.  A few seconds later, his shirt joined the growing pile, then he sat you back down on him again. 

The shock of his bare skin against your own drew a small moan rom your lips. There wasn’t a soft spot on his body, and he caged you with his chest and arms, one flesh and one metal, holding you open for Steve’s perusal. 

You twisted to offer him your mouth, needing to taste him again, and Bucky didn’t hesitate to give in to your unspoken request. His tongue tangled with yours, and he cupped your bare breasts and pinched your nipples to aching peaks. Bucky spread his thighs, forcing yours wider.

You felt Steve’s gaze all over you: On the curve of your neck. Following the path of Bucky’s hands. Centering where your pussy was exposed.

You felt it as if he’d reached out and touched you. 

Or maybe it was Bucky responsible for those sensations. It was too much and not enough and you whimpered against his mouth. 

“Stop teasing and touch me.” 

You grabbed his hand and pressed it between your spread thighs. 

“Please, Bucky. I’m gonna die if you don’t make me cum..” 

“Can’t have that, can we Stevie?” 

He looked him in the eye as he drew your wetness up around your clit with a single finger and circled the sensitive bundle of nerves, easily finding the motion that made your entire body go tight and hot. You opened your eyes and met Steve’s gaze as your orgasm spiraled closer and closer. 

A challenge rolled around your brain.

I’ll get what I want, and you’ll have to watch while it happens, knowing you could have been a part of it.

Bucky, damn him, seemed to know exactly you were thinking. He slowed his pace, dragging it out. You whimpered.

“You see how he looks at you? He’s seconds away from stalking over here, smacking my hand away, and licking that pretty pussy until he takes your orgasm for himself.” 

You made that soft whimpering sound again. The whole situation was overwhelming your senses, dragging you into a place where every part of you centered around these two men. 

“Please!” 

You didn’t know what you were pleading for. An orgasm. Bucky. Steve. All three. 

“I’ll make you a deal, Sparrow,” Bucky murmured in your ear, his finger never stopping its slow circles that seemed designed to keep you on the edge but never take you over it. 

“I’ll let you choose this time. Who do you want to gift this orgasm to?” 

“Both!” 

The answer tore itself from your lips, too honest for your own good. Steve grinned. His white teeth flashed and his eyes lit up with amusement, the whole effect knocking him from just handsome to downright dangerous. 

Oh God, what have I gotten myself into, you thought. 

Bucky kissed the back of your neck.

“Good girl.” 

He slid his hand away from you cunt as you grunted in displeasure.

“Stop playing and get over here, Steve. We’ve got to take care of our girl.”

Steve walked toward you and stopped to tip up your face, dragging his thumb over your bottom lip.

“This mouth was made for one thing.” 

You caught his thumb between your teeth and bit him, just hard enough to get his attention. You felt off-center and floaty and needy, but you weren't weak. 

You lifted your chin at the same time you looked at the bulge in his pants.

“Then do something about it.” 

There it was again. The heat radiating off of Steve that made you sure he wanted to ruin you. You shifted, but Bucky held you, caged and spread by your thighs and your elbows behind you.

You rocked your ass back against his cock, desperate for him to lose control the same way you were on the verge of doing. 

Steve just stood there, staring down at you with his mouth quirked in a smile. He released your mouth and shook his head.

“You haven’t earned my cock and you damn well know it.” 

He kneeled and braced his hands on Bucky’s legs. His knuckles dragged along your inner thighs, close enough to where you wanted him that you felt his heat near your clit

Steve leaned towards your face, his dark eyes intent, and you braced for another kiss. 

But he didn’t kiss you. He dragged his rough cheek against yours, and you twisted as best you could to watch him take Bucky’s mouth. 

You stared in shock as they kissed right next to you.

No, calling it a kiss was too mundane.

Steve and Bucky came together like two titans clashing, like opposing forces of nature, where one had to submit or they would destroy each other. Bucky shifted his grip on your elbows to one hand and used his free hand to tangle his fingers in Steve’s hair. 

He disconnected the kiss, and Steve groaned softly. You felt it as intensely as if it had come from your own throat. Bucky raked his teeth over Steve’s bottom lip as they parted, his blue eyes darker than they’d been before. He ran his thumb over Steve’s bruised mouth, mirroring what Steve had done to you. 

“You give her your cock when I say you do. Not before.” 

Through some unspoken agreement, they reversed positions. Bucky released your arms and Steve caught your wrists in a single hand before you had a chance to fully appreciate your freedom. He dropped onto the couch with you sprawled on his lap. 

You huffed out a breath. 

“I can move on my own, you know.” 

“We like moving you.” 

Bucky knelt between your and Steve’s spread thighs. 

“And you like being moved by us.”

He looked up at you and whatever smartass comment you were thinking of disappeared into thin air.

 “Wider, Stevie. I want to see all of her.” 

Steve responded, spreading his thighs and parting your legs further. Bucky ran his thumbs up the dip where your thigh met your pussy, exploring, his expression intense as if committing every bit of you to memory. 

He glanced at Steve, and that was all the other man needed to guide your hands down to the couch on either side of his hips. 

“Don’t move.” 

Steve spoke softly in your ear, as if too much volume would break through the spell Bucky wove around you three with his touch. Steve released you and you realized that he wanted his hands free, too. 

Lust made your head spin. 

You nodded, “Okay.” 

Out of the corner of your eye, you could see the quirk of his lips. 

“Good girl.” 

Steve ran his hands up your stomach and cupped your breasts as Bucky dipped his head and dragged his tongue up your center. Your body went hot and cold, tight and unfurled, all at the same time.

You gripped the edge of the couch cushions with everything you had and bit your lip hard. It was only when Steve nudged you back to lean fully against his chest that you realized you were frozen in a half sit-up, waiting for Bucky’s next move.

The man between your thighs chuckled, the sound vibrating across your skin to your clit. 

“Let Steve watch, Sparrow.” 

Steve moved your thick hair to the side with one hand and dragged his mouth along the line of your shoulder up to your neck. His beard prickled against your skin, which only made the smooth slide of Bucky’s tongue even more intoxicating. 

Your brain couldn’t handle the onslaught of sensation. 

Bucky’s hands gripped your thighs as his mouth worked your pussy. Steve played with your nipples as he sucked on the pulse point in your neck. A sound came out of your mouth that you’d never heard before, a keening cry that was more animal than human. 

“There you are,” Steve murmured.

Bucky speared into you with two fingers, and then a third, spreading you almost painfully, the sensation completely at odds with the way he sucked your clit. He met your gaze and then looked over your shoulder, and you knew he and Steve were watching each other as Bucky ate your pussy. 

The realization sent you hurtling into an orgasm that blanked what few thoughts you had left in your head and bowed your back sharply enough that you would have fallen off Steve’s lap if both men hadn’t held you down. 

“Oh shit, oh shit, oh my god, oh shit.” 

You were just saying words as you experienced the feelings.

Bucky brought you down gently, giving your clit one last thorough suck and shifted to ever-widening circles as your pulses slowed down. He nipped your thigh and sat back on his heels. 

“We’ve barely gotten started.” 

You blinked at him. 

“I don’t know if I can survive more.” 

“You can take it.” 

This from Steve. He reached down and cupped your pussy, his fingers huge and causing you to dream of his cock.

“Change your mind yet, Sparrow?”

“Is that a trick question?”

They had gotten you off harder than you’d gotten off… well, ever. You weren’t about to stop now.

“I want this.”

Bucky didn’t take his gaze from your face as he unbuttoned his jeans and underwear and replied, “Good.”

You weren’t as polite. You stared at his cock.

Holy shit, you thought.

You’d known he was big, but he wasn’t just big, he was big.

“Oh fuck,” was what you said aloud.

“That’s the idea.”

Steve lifted you and turned you around as Bucky caught your hips. You ended up with your hands on the back of the couch on either side of Steve’s head, your legs wide on the outside of his thighs as you were bent over, tits very nearly in his face. 

You looked from his beautiful eyes down to his jeans, to where his large cock was straining against the heavy material. You licked your lips, but Steve used a single finger to tilt your chin back up.

“Not. Yet.”

Bucky stroked his metal hand down your spine and gripped your hip as he lined up at your entrance and you tensed, thinking he would slam home in one thrust.

Or maybe you were hoping.

Instead, he held you tightly so that you couldn’t throw it back on him, and teased you, one delicious inch at a time. 

“More, Bucky, moreeeee…”

You were desperate.

Steve shut you up with his mouth, his tongue twisting over yours as Bucky shoved into you to the hilt. Steve cut the kiss off prematurely, then sat back with a smirk as Bucky started fucking you.

“Oh. My. GOD!”

Bucky drove into you again and again, making you sob. He felt so fucking good. Pleasure spiraled through you, and you didn’t know if it was Bucky’s cock, or the way Steve was watching, or both, but you were so close so soon.

Bucky stilled, buried deep, then leaned over and braced his hand on the back of the couch, caging you in with his chest to your back. 

Steve moved, sliding down to sit on the floor.

“What are you…? Oh fuck…”

The words choked out of you as Steve captured your hips, his and Bucky’s hands entertwining around you, and then his mouth was on you.

“OH GODDDDD.”

“Not God, Sparrow, Steve.” 

Bucky started moving again slowly, and you weren’t able to do anything but take what they were doing to you.

Steve was relentless, and there was nothing restrained in the way his mouth moved over your pussy. He tongued your clit even as Bucky fucked you, and their hands clasped you so hard, that you were sure there would be bruises later.

The thought brought you closer to the brink.

You were gripping the couch so hard that your knuckles went white, and the wood inside was cracking from your strength.

The sight of Steve's golden head between your thighs, of knowing exactly how close it was to Bucky’s cock sent you speeding toward the edge.

Bucky seemed to read your mind. 

“Another time, and it would be a stroke for your pussy and one for his mouth,” he chuckled as he palmed your breast and rolled your nipple.

“You’d like that.”

“Yes!” you gasped.

Like didn’t even begin to describe how that image made you feel. And when Bucky’s fingers laced through Steve’s hair, holding him to your clit, it was too much. You could only imagine what Steve was doing to Bucky as well as you. And the image tipped you over the cliff.

Your orgasm buckled your knees and it was Steve and Bucky that kept you on your feet. They held you in place as Bucky kept fucking you, his strokes becoming wilder.

How could one person endure this much pleasure?

The pressure built until you couldn’t hold it any more and then the pleasure caused you to release, squirting all over Steve and all of you melted into a puddle on top of him.

You were speechless, as both Bucky and Steve soothed you with their hands, and words that were meaningless murmurs because of the blood rushing in your ears.

There was no mistaking that this wasn’t over yet. And that you didn’t want it to be.

Bucky stood up, and lifted you in his arms, looking at you for a minute as Steve started down the hallway ahead of you, stripping off his clothes.

You heard the shower start as Bucky murmured.

“Been one hell of a birthday so far. Stay with us tonight?”

“Yes,” you managed to whisper as Bucky claimed your lips again.

“Happy Birthday Bucky Barnes.”

——

Let me know if you liked it! 🥰

[sonnyangeluvrrr]

˚୨୧⋆｡first impressions

You’ve been avoiding his texts for three days.

Each message that pops up from him is like a reminder—of how you tripped on your own feet, how you’d misread his joke, and how the waiter had looked at you, slightly baffled, when you’d accidentally ordered two desserts. Not to mention the spilled wine incident. It plays in your head on repeat, every mortifying moment, until you’re sure he's already written you off as a clumsy mess.

You see his name flash on your phone again—another text—and your stomach tightens.

Nanami: “Are we still on for coffee this week? ☕️”

Nanami: “Let me know if you’re around! No pressure.”

Nanami: “Hey, is everything okay?”

You sigh, feeling that familiar warmth flood through you at his gentleness, at how he's somehow still reaching out. But it’s just a matter of time before he realizes. Before he thinks better of it. It’s easier this way, you tell yourself. To just… fade into the background, to let the embarrassment settle without having to explain.

But you hadn’t expected him to show up.

The knock on your door is light but insistent, and your heart lurches. You hesitate, fingers brushing against the handle, already knowing who it is. You open the door, and there Nanami stands, a faint smile playing on his lips as he offers a small wave.

"Hey," he says softly, searching your face with a steady gaze. "I, uh… was worried about you."

You shift on your feet, glancing down, not quite meeting his eyes. "Sorry, I… I've just been busy," you say, voice barely above a whisper, knowing how thin the excuse sounds.

He gives you a look, that quiet, knowing expression he's so good at, and something in it makes your defenses falter. "Really? Busy? Because it kind of seems like you’re avoiding me."

You swallow, rubbing at the back of your neck. "It’s not that. I mean, it’s just…" The words slip out before you can stop them. "I feel like I embarrassed myself on our date. And I didn’t want you to… think about it like that."

His brow furrows, confusion, and something else—something like affection—softening his gaze. "Embarrassed?" he asks, tilting his head. "I thought we had a good time."

You let out a half-laugh, shaking your head, unsure if he's humoring you or if he really means it. "Yeah, well, I’m pretty sure I ordered two desserts by accident. And I definitely spilled wine on you. Twice."

He smiles, and it’s the kind that makes you feel seen like he's not just hearing your words but understanding the heart of them. "So you ordered two desserts and spilled some wine. That’s part of what made it fun," he says, leaning against the doorframe as though settling in for a real talk. "You were being yourself. And I liked that."

His words hang between you, each one softening the tightness that’s been sitting heavy in your chest. Still, the doubt lingers.

"But I just… felt like I ruined it," you murmur, finally meeting his eyes. "Like I didn’t come off the way I wanted to."

He reaches out, his hand brushing your arm in a way that’s gentle, grounding. "Hey," he says, his voice gentle but firm. "I wanted to see you. Not some perfect version. The way you laughed at yourself, or how you were excited about that dessert, or even how you kept trying to wipe the wine off my shirt when I said it was fine… that was all you."

You feel your face heat up, but this time it’s something warmer, something less tangled with anxiety.

"So… you’re not, I don’t know, regretting it or anything?"

Nanami laughs, and it’s soft but real like he's surprised you’d even ask. "Regret it? Not a chance. Actually, I was hoping we could do it again," he says, his tone playful, but there’s that sincerity again, woven into every word.

For the first time in days, you feel yourself relax, letting a smile slip through. "Well, maybe next time I won’t spill anything on you."

He chuckles, eyes brightening. "Hey, I make no promises. Maybe I’ll order three desserts this time. Just to keep things interesting."

You laugh, feeling the last of your embarrassment start to dissolve. And when he reaches out to take your hand, his fingers slipping through yours, it feels like the most natural thing in the world.

[gloomwitchwrites]

You send him a text "Thanks for the flowers, babe" attached with a photo of a bouquet as a prank. Obvs, he gets jealous/possessive.

Anon, I love this. I cackled the first time I read it, and I've been wanting to get to it for a while. There are so many requests (and I will get to them all), but with my health being shit, I'm trying to select from the pool where I'm not overworking my brain or stressing myself out trying to come up with something. This prompt came very naturally to me.

These are all spicy. Period. I didn't hold back with this one. Maybe I'm ovulating or some shit but I literally couldn't write anything but smut for this prompt. I had a lot of fun with this one, and I hope you enjoy.

Task Force 141 x Female Reader

Content & Warnings: swearing, dirty talk, praise, spanking, oral sex (female & male receiving), face fucking, restraints, vaginal fingering, unprotected piv (wrap it up irl), creampie, jealousy, possessive behavior, orgasm control

Word Count: 4.4k

For the masterlist and how to submit your own request, click HERE

ao3 // taglist // main masterlist // imagines & what if masterlist

Simon "Ghost" Riley

Simon’s phone buzzes in his pocket. He ignores it, attention stuck on Price who stands in front of a large map of Europe.

There are pictures—some have a red “X” through them while a couple others have black question marks. The mission isn’t done, but that isn’t surprising. This has taken months to complete. It’s been slow, and entirely too complicated for Simon’s liking.

His phone buzzes again, the vibration pulling his attention away.

When the third buzz comes in, his agitation turns to worry. Simon never allows messages to come through at work unless it’s from very specific people. To have three come through in less than two minutes stirs something in his gut.

Price starts talking again but Simon’s brain is melting. He reaches into his pocket and fishes out his phone. Keeping it next to his thigh, Simon awakens the screen.

Your name is there and 3 new messages.

Simon glances up, but no one is looking at him. Silently, he unlocks the phone and clicks over to his messages, tapping on your name.

At first, Simon doesn’t understand. His brain short-circuits, and then unbridled jealousy comes roaring forward.

The first message is a photo of a beautiful bouquet sitting on the kitchen island. It’s fucking large, taking up most of the space. The flowers are different shades of pink, yellow, and orange. It looks like spring.

Beneath the picture are two texts.

Thanks for the flowers!!

I love you!

But Simon did not get you flowers. He didn’t order these, and he certainly didn’t have them delivered to the flat.

Fuck. What the actual fuck.

Someone else did this.

Simon’s first thought is that Johnny did it to prank him. But Johnny has been a bit subdued today, and his attention isn’t on Simon at all.

No. It’s likely not him.

Simon locks his phone and stews. He can’t just leave this meeting. It’s important, but he’s going to get to the fucking bottom of it.

By the time Price dismisses them, Simon is already out the door, charging toward his locker to grab his stuff. It usually takes him a half hour to arrive home, but today he does it in twenty. When Simon bursts through the front door, he’s ready to toss those flowers right off the balcony.

But then he sees your face—how happy you are—and Simon melts. You throw yourself into his arms, and Simon instinctually responds, embracing you tightly. He presses his face into your hair and inhales.

“Missed you,” you say, grabbing both sides of his face and kissing him. “Thank you for the flowers.”

I didn’t get you any flowers.

Simon smiles because it’s all he can manage. That jealousy from earlier starts to curl back up, twisting around in his ribcage.

“Did you like the note?”

You frown. “What note?”

The way you ask is…odd. It’s far too innocent in the presentation. Simon knows your cues and this seems forced to him. But the sender didn’t leave a message. That doesn’t give Simon much to go on if he’s going to track down who sent them.

“Maybe they forgot,” he replies, kissing your forehead. “Show them to me.”

With a bright smile, you take his hand, guiding him into the kitchen. They’re much more stunning in person and Simon momentarily freezes. Did he forget your birthday? An anniversary? An important event?

Simon recalls nothing for today’s date.

The jealousy rises again but he clamps down on it. Anyone could have sent this, especially a friend of yours or a family member. Doesn’t mean there is someone out there with predatory intentions. And for all Simon knows, you’re having a laugh, riling me up. You’ve done it before.

“They’re lovely,” observes Simon. “Better than the picture.”

Your grin is gorgeous, a thing Simon wants to bottle up. You open your mouth to answer him but the dryer goes off. “Hold on,” you call over your shoulder as you dash away. “Let me change over the loads.”

When you disappear, Simon goes for the bouquet. He quickly checks through every flower and between the stems, even sticks his fingers in the dirt. Simon doesn’t know what the fuck he’s looking for, but he’s grasping for anything.

The only thing of note is the business card which Simon quickly plucks from its holder and tucks into his pocket. Simon steps away from the bouquet when you appear again.

Jealousy is stewing, showing its fangs, curling tighter around Simon’s ribs.

When you reach for him, Simon sweeps you off your feet, planting you on the kitchen island. You giggle, but Simon cuts it off, drawing you to the edge to seize your lips in a fierce kiss.

That jealous viper between his bones tells him to possess you.

Simon’s hands drop to your waist and then your hips. He settles himself between your legs, hands moving down to your bare thighs.

You’re flushed with embarrassment, attempting to hide your face from him, giggling his name as you fist his shirt.

“I’ve been thinking about you all day,” rasps Simon.

Your lips part and Simon slides his tongue inside. You moan, suck on his tongue, and release him. Simon’s grip on your thighs tightens.

“All day?” you ask softly.

Moving his hands to beneath your thighs, Simon tugs you into his arms and carries you over to the dining room table, but doesn’t place you on top of it. He brings you to your feet, and then his fingers curl around the shorts that are little more than underwear.

“Take these off.”

“Simon—”

“Do it,” he growls, releasing them and bringing his hand back to his side.

Slowly, you do as he says. You bring them up so that Simon can see them before tossing them to the side. That viper in him hisses, the venom leaking into his system.

Simon slides his hand between your thighs. You lean back against the table, hands resting on the edge as you part your legs. What his fingers find only makes him groan.

Withdrawing, Simon licks his fingers clean. “Turn around. Bend over the table. Show me what I want.” With a smirk on your lips, you face the table, and bend forward, going up on your toes.

Fuck the flowers and whoever sent them. You’re his.

Simon unbuckles the front of his belt, undoes the zipper of his pants, and frees his aching cock. He needs to be inside you, to hear you say his name, to feel you come around him. He needs to possess because it’s the only thing he can do right now.

Guiding with his hand, Simon rubs the head of his cock through your slickness. You’re already so wet for him—so fucking needy, and he’ll devour it all. Give you exactly what you want while taking something for him.

As he starts to slide in, you whimper. Reaching back, your hand grabs your ass, opening yourself a bit wider for him.

Bloody hell.

Simon doesn’t want to go slow. Using his grip on your hip, he slides all the way in, making you take him to the hilt with one forward thrust of his hips.

Your gasp is choked, and then Simon is lost, pounding into you as if this is the last time he’ll ever fuck you. It’s only your tightness, your breathy moans of pleasure, and the desperate why you say his name. It wraps around him, satiates the viper, calms the rising jealousy until it’s only you Simon can focus on.

Through the haze, Simon finds your clit, plays with it, slows his thrusts until your orgasm arrives, squeezing him so tight he almost finishes right then and there. But once that wave crests and crashes, Simon is back at it. Planting both hands on the table on either side of your waist, Simon stutters out, his lower back tensing, everything draw up.

Simon’s orgasm is an unraveling. All the tension melts as he finishes, and even then, he continues to thrust, pushing his cum deeper inside you. His chest heaves, body shuddering as he draws back a bit. Your breathing is just as labored.

Easing out of your body, Simon admires the bloom of cum at your entrance. He presses it back inside before helping you unbend from the table. Turning you around to face him, Simon claims your mouth in a deep kiss, his grasping the back of your head.

You form to him, and Simon’s hunger flares.

“To bed,” he says, drawing you away with a tug on your hair.

“To sleep?” you ask, smirking.

Maybe you did all this. Planned it all from the beginning.

Naughty girl.

Simon shakes his head. “Not yet.”

He releases you, and then smacks your ass for good measure. Squeaking, you scurry away toward the bedroom. Simon stands there for a moment, composing himself. Reaching into his pocket, he withdraws the business card. There is an address and a phone number.

Glancing over his shoulder at the bouquet, Simon comes to a decision. Stalking toward his duffle, Simon secures the business card in a side pocket. He’ll deal with this at work.

Right now, you’re getting undressed.

And Simon is much more interested in that.

Flowers can wait.

Kyle "Gaz" Garrick

You send the final text and lock your phone, leaving it on the coffee table.

It’s just a little prank. A tease.

Kyle is always a gentleman even when he makes your toes curl and pulls unseemly sounds from between your lips. But riling him up can be just as fun. Kyle isn’t one to be jealous or even possessive of you. He’s certainly protective, and his presence always makes you feel safe, but you’re aching for something else right now.

The flowers weren’t all that expensive. And they are pretty.

Your phone buzzes. You ignore it.

It buzzes again.

When you check the screen, you see two new texts from Kyle. You stare at it, and set it back down. You’re going to let him stew and question. If anything, Kyle might think the flowers innocent.

Tapping your fingers against your knee, impatience stirring in your belly, you stare out the patio door. You need to distract yourself, but the urge to look is too strong. Snatching the phone back up, you glance at the messages.

That’s sweet, love.

But I didn’t get you flowers.

Honesty. This man is terrible at lying or hiding his feelings.

You tap out a reply.

Of course you did! Loved the note you left with it!

Kyle’s reply is instant.

Note?

You nearly cackle at the ceiling and when you hit send.

I want you tonight. You know you can have me whenever lol. No need to send flowers about it.

Within seconds of you hitting send, you phone starts to vibrate. Yelping, you nearly drop the thing. Kyle’s name and a photo of him at the beach pop up on your screen. You stare at it, allowing it to go to voicemail. He calls again immediately.

You launch off the couch, pacing as the phone falls back into voicemail. It’s a bit thrilling knowing that Kyle is likely worked up on the other end.

Answer the phone, comes Kyle’s next text, and then, I’m coming home.

Oh shit.

You are all nervous excitement waiting for him. And when he does come barreling through the door, you’re a bit shocked at the sight of him.

Slowly, he shuts the front door, striding into the kitchen where the bouquet is. He stares at it for a long moment before turning his gaze on you.

“Kyle,” you say brightly, walking toward him.

He holds up a finger and walks past you. You hear the opening and shutting of doors, of drawers being opened, and items moving around. Kyle returns, hands on his hips, concern on his features.

“What’s wrong?” you ask.

“I didn’t send you those flowers.”

“Didn’t you?” you reply, innocently, moving toward them.

Kyle shoots forward and begins digging through the stems. “Where is that bloody card?” he mutters.

There is no card. No note. You made it all up.

“Kyle,” you say, but he ignores you.

“Un-fucking-believable,” he says, ripping opening the plastic to see inside.

“Kyle,” you repeat, adding a bit of volume behind your voice.

Again, he ignores you, scattering the flowers across the countertop.

“When I find the fucking wanker that—”

“Kyle!”

He turns, eyes a bit wild. Kyle looks ridiculous, and you suddenly feel terrible. You reach for him, placing both hands on either side of his face. “There’s no note.”

Kyle blinks like he didn’t hear you correctly. “What?”

“There’s no note,” you repeat. “I bought the flo—”

Kyle groans loudly and places his entire hand over your face, muffling the last few words. “Bloody hell, baby girl.” He lightly pushes off, dropping his hand, and stepping back.

You grin sheepishly as Kyle crosses his arms over his chest.

“What was the goal?” he asks, leaning forward a bit.

You shrug your shoulders. “To rile you up?”

Kyle laughs, short and clipped. “Rile me up?”

“Yes,” you say slowly.

He leans in a bit more, a smirk on his face. “And what do you think was going to happen once you riled me up?”

You know that Kyle already knows the answer to this question. But he’s indulging you. As he always does.

“I didn’t think that far,” you reply, but it’s far from the truth.

You wanted to rile him up so that he’d come home and fuck you like a man possessed.

Kyle bites down on his bottom lip and you track the movement. “No, love. You did.” He straightens. “And I know what you want.”

Kyle steps into your space, his head dipping as if to kiss you but pausing just before. “You need a good throat fucking. I need an apology. And then I can give you what you want.”

“Kyle,” you breathe.

“On your knees, love. Present your mouth.”

You obediently drop to your knees, and part your lips.

“Wider,” he almost growls.

You do so just as Kyle reaches down and undoes the front of his belt. He doesn’t even look. Doesn’t flinch. The belt is gone and the front of his pants are open by the time Kyle grabs your face and brings you close.

“Tongue out.”

You do so, and Kyle taps the head of his cock against it before sliding it back and forth over your tongue. His hold shifts, falling to the nape of your neck.

“Take it like a good girl. Got it?”

You nod, and Kyle draws you forward, forcing you to take all of him. Holding you in place for a few seconds, Kyle only eases you back once your gag reflex kicks in. Kyle adjusts his stance, and your hands grasp the sides of his thighs.

Kyle’s hand on the back of your neck tightens as his other hand tangles in your hair. Keeping you in place, he starts to thrust, fucking your mouth like he would your pussy. All you can do is cling to him, to hold on as he grunts above you.

There isn’t any anger there, just a stern brow and a need for control. It’s delicious. Entirely mouth-watering. Your core warms, a slickness blooming, indicating just how much this turns you on.

To bring Kyle toward his end, you make little sounds in your throat. It makes him stutter. It makes him moan. Beneath his pants, you feel the muscles in his legs tighten. And then he’s forcing you down his length, throating him entirely as he comes down your throat.

Breathing through you nose is the only thing holding you together. And when he slides you off, you cough, wiping at your lips.

Kyle’s hand caresses your cheek, drawing your gaze to him. He arches a single eyebrow.

“I’m sorry,” you say.

Reaching out, Kyle draws you up to your feet, bringing you close. His smile is soft, and when he comes in for a kiss, it is consuming.

“Now that you’ve riled me up,” he murmurs against your lips. “I’ll give you what you want.”

Kyle pulls away, his thumb pressing on your bottom lip.

“Take off your clothes. Kneel on the bed. And bend over. Got it?”

You nod, and Kyle drops his hand.

“That’s my good girl.”

John "Soap" MacTavish

Johnny’s ears are ringing.

“You better be bloody joking,” he growls at his phone.

On the screen is a beautiful bouquet of flowers. Flowers that you’re thanking him for. Flowers that he didn’t send.

And the card? Bloody fucking hell. That card is going in the shredder. Johnny will tear it apart with his own teeth if he has to. Some fucker had the bright idea to send you flowers like he’s the one you’re dating.

No. Fuck that.

Johnny might be the demolitions expert, but he knows Ghost could dig around for him if he asked. Scratch that. Johnny is asking right fucking now.

“Hey, Lt!” Johnny jogs over to Ghost and turns his phone around. “Can you trace who sent these flowers?”

Ghost’s expression behind the balaclava remains flat. “It’s a fucking photo, Johnny.”

Cursing under his breath, Johnny forwards the image to Ghost. Ghost checks his phone, enlarging the image.

He grunts. “Should be easy.” Ghost glances up from the screen. “Why?”

“Someone making a move on my woman,” replies Johnny, holding back a growl.

“Done,” says Ghost. “Give me a couple hours.”

It doesn’t take Ghost long, and Johnny has to laugh out loud.

“You fucking naughty thing,” mutters Johnny as he unlocks the door to your flat.

When he enters, you’re nearly on your toes, eager for him. It’s cute, but you need to learn first. Sure, the prank is harmless, but you were wanting a rise out of him.

Punishment is needed.

“Johnny,” you say brightly, coming around the counter to greet him.

As you arms reach for him, Johnny removes his belt. Your gaze drops, but he is faster than you. Johnny has the belt around your wrists and secured before you can even protest.

“What are you doing?” you ask breathlessly.

“Thought I wouldn’t find out?” Johnny tuts. He yanks you forward, bringing the two of you almost face-to-face. “Bought those flowers yourself.”

Johnny tugs on the belt again. You stumble into him and he spins you around. With another quick tug, Johnny has the belt looped onto one of the coat hooks embedded in the wall.

Reaching down, Johnny palms your ass, his lips pressed to your ear. “Got me all jealous at work. Had Ghost stalking the flower shop and everything.” He squeezes, and then smacks your ass. Hard.

You whimper. “Johnny. I’m sorry.”

“No apologies, love.” He kisses your throat. Your skin is soft and he inhales, savoring your scent. You’re freshly showered, and the smell of your shampoo invades his nostrils.

It doesn’t take much to rid you of your underwear. It’s just you in an old shirt and your bare ass on full display. Johnny slides his hands between you clenched thighs.

“Spread them.”

You do so obediently and a primal part of him simmers with pleasure. Johnny slowly drops to his knees behind you. He savors the view, taking his time to enjoy the sight before him. Even from here, Johnny can see how slick you are. How wanton.

He’s going to devour you. Make you beg. Deny you what it is you most want until you’re a fucking mess for him. That’s punishment enough.

Johnny tests by running one finger over your pussy. It comes back glossy. He pops it into his mouth, groaning at your taste.

“Want me to eat this pretty pussy?” asks Johnny, running his finger over you again.

You nod frantically. “Yes. Please.”

That’s a start.

Johnny leans in, the tip of his tongue playing with your entrance. He traces it with his tongue before slipping inside, slowly fucking you with it. It’s not enough, but Johnny knows this. He needs to suck on your clit and give you his fingers to make you come.

But even then, you’ll have to wait.

You’ll have to beg.

Johnny trails upward, swirling his tongue, finding your clit. He teases it. Flicks it back and forth in a steady stroke. You’re already growing wetter. You’re already moaning above him. Too bad you don’t know what’s coming.

Johnny slides one finger inside of you, pumping twice before inserting a second. You’re tight around him. He can feel the stretch.

He works you slowly, lightly thrusting his fingers in and out of your pussy as he teases your clit with his tongue. Above him, your moans come unbroken and loud. It’s sweet. He loves the sound. But Johnny knows your tells, and when your muscles begin to clench and unclench quickly, he ceases all movement.

“What the fuck,” you gasp, glancing down.

Johnny chuckles. “You have to earn it love.”

“Johnny, please,” you beg.

“What’s that, love? Didn’t hear you?”

“Please,” you say, drawing it out.

“Please what?” he prompts.

“I want to come,” you murmur.

Johnny smirks and starts fucking you with his fingers again, but doesn’t put his mouth back on your clit. It’s not enough for you. You’re squirming. Wiggling. Needing more.

“You pull another stunt like this again, love, and this,” Johnny smacks your ass with a sharp thwack, “will be red.”

“I’m sorry, Johnny. Please. Just—please.”

Johnny teases your clit with a quick swipe of his tongue. “Beg some more.”

You do. All sorts of obscene things fall from your lips. When tears form in the corner of your eyes, Johnny finally gives you relief.

He fucks your gorgeous pussy with his fingers. He tastes and teases until you’re crying out, clamping around him as you come undone.

Johnny withdraws. Straightens.

You’re still hanging on the hook.

He frees you from it, but does not remove the belt from around your wrists. Johnny presses you against him with a flat palm upon your stomach.

“Don’t do that again,” he murmurs.

“I won’t.”

Johnny kisses your throat. “To bed.”

You frown, holding up your bound hands. “But the belt.”

“Stays on,” he says, fisting the tangling leather. “Until I’m done with you.”

John Price

John isn’t one for texting.

You’ll send him a barrage of texts only for him to call you hours later asking what you were texting him about.

Which is why you didn’t think this plan would work.

But then it did, and now you’re bent over John’s lap, bare ass in the air.

John told you that he was working late to catch up on paperwork. Whenever that happens, he always gives you a call to check-in and hear your voice. It’s routine at this point. A comfort. Most of the time, he just wants you on the other side, to have you talk about the day or whatever you want while he’s working. John will usually remain silent, listening, basking in your voice.

You planned it perfectly, knowing that he’d check his phone before giving you a call. You sent the photo of the flowers. A beautiful display really. And they were on sale. You also sent him a picture of the makeshift “note” that you made for it. All it said was “thinking of you” with no name. All of that was follow up by a “thank you” and promises to please him later.

John was calm when he called you—almost eerily so. When you thanked him from the flowers, he didn’t reply. He simply pushed past it. The thing is, John saved all of that energy up for when he came home.

Your ass stings. John rubs the spot he just smacked before squeezing.

“Now, love. Tell me the truth.” He says it so sweetly, like it’s such a simple thing.

And you don’t know how much longer you’ll last under this barrage.

“You bought them for me,” you whimper, keeping up the façade.

John shakes his head. “We both know that’s not true.” He squeezes your ass again, the sting burning slightly when he let’s go.

“I’d guess you’re seeing someone else but that would be lie. Wouldn’t it?”

He punctuates this statement by slipping his hand between your thighs, his fingers running over your pussy, parting your slickness. John dips one finger inside and then another, only to retreat and grab your ass cheek with the same hand.

“I know just how to make you wet, love. You have no one else to run to.”

“I told you—Fuck! John!” You jolt in his lap as his palm comes down on your already throbbing cheek.

“Be honest, love. Or you’ll get a few more.”

You swallow down your pride. You wanted him riled up, but you weren’t expecting this. Not for John to come home, strip you down, and bend you over his lap.

“I bought them,” you grumble.

John’s hand eases. “You what?”

“I bought them,” you snap.

“I knew you did.”

Before you have the chance to form a retort, John guides you up and into his lap. He grabs the front of your throat, bringing you close to him. He does not kiss you. He simply hovers.

“You’re going to straddle my lap and bounce on my cock until I fill you up. You understand?”

You nod, and Price let’s go of your throat.

“Get to it,” he purrs.

John is fully clothed, and you’re wearing nothing at all. You undo the clasp of his belt, pull the zipper, and he flexes his hips enough that you can work his pants down a bit. When his hard length is free to you, you straddle him, lining yourself up.

He remains impassive as you start to sink down. The stretch is perfect—as it always is, and you groan as you seat yourself entirely on his cock. Gripping his shoulders, you roll up and back down, rocking when you can to give your legs a break.

John still stays quiet but his gaze is assessing. Slowly, his hand comes around your neck again, and this time he squeezes slightly. It’s not to hurt. It’s to dominate and possess.

“Who do you belong to, love?” he asks.

“You,” you murmur, sinking down on him.

“Say it again,” repeats John.

“I belong to you,” you gasp, coming up and then back down.

“Again,” and this time there’s a growl in his tone.

“I’m yours, John.”

“Fucking right,” he says, crashing his mouth to yours.

The kiss is a claiming, one that shoots through your body and consumes your limbs and control. You shudder, pussy clenching, and then John is fucking up into you, his hands on your hips.

You’re no longer in control. It’s just John, and his need to possess.

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[svetamillss]

Headcanons: their reaction to the fact that you want a child🤍

Featuring: Cho Hyun Ju x Reader(f), Kang Dae Ho x Reader(f), Se Mi x Reader(f), Thanos (Su Bong) x Reader(f)

A/N: Orders are always open for you!

🤍🤍🤍

The beginning of each headcanon will be the same.

You were sitting in the living room reading book about motherhood, when your boyfriend/girlfriend came into the room and noticed you.

Cho Hyun Ju

- Baby, what are you reading? Your face is so focused that I feel uncomfortable. - your girlfriend said jokingly, sitting down next to you.

- Yes, nothing important. - you quickly hid the book under the pillow, but Hyun Ju could not be deceived, she immediately realized that something was wrong here.

- So..- and cleverly took out of the pillow the reason for your sadness, when she read the title of the book, she thought for a while, and then looked straight into your eyes.

- You..do you want to be a mother? - not knowing how to answer correctly, you just nodded silently, you knew that your dream was not destined to come true.

- But why didn't you tell me before?

- And what's the point... if nothing works out anyway. - It even seemed to you that your words offended the girl.

- Why did you decide that it wouldn't work, baby? I also want a child very much. And if the reason is that I will soon make a complete transition to a girl..then it's stupid. We can adopt a child or..or find a good sperm donor for us, and in general! I didn't do all the operations, we can try, my love. You don't have to be silent about that.. - she spoke with such tenderness in her voice that you almost cried.

- I'm sorry, I just thought you were against the children. - for these words you got a light smack, after which the girl took you by the hand and dragged you to the bedroom.

- What are you doing?!

- Let's go try to make your dream come true, after all, I've been ready for children for a long time.

Kang Dae Ho

You've wanted to talk to your boyfriend about this topic for a long time, but you've been waiting for the right moment and now it has come. He just got back from work and went into the living room, where he saw you very serious, he immediately tensed up.

- Honey, did I do something wrong? - he asked cautiously, to which you only pointed your finger at the place next to you, he silently fulfilled your request.

- I've wanted to talk to you for a long time. In general, we have been together for a long time and are planning our wedding.. I want a child. - after which you handed him the very book that he began to look at uncertainly, he looked at you, then at it.

- Oh, honey, are you sure about that? A child is a huge responsibility.

- Yes, I'm completely confident in my decision.

- Yes, I see that you are very serious. - he smiled softly, patted you on the head. - I also want a child, especially a daughter who will look like you. But since I want our child to be healthy, we have to go through some doctors, take tests and so on, and then..we can start..well, you get it..- he said slightly teasing you.

Still, you are very happy that you have such a good future husband, I am sure he will be a good father for your future children.

Se Mi

- Honey, I'm at home. - said your girlfriend, returning from the store, but she was met by silence in response, you were too immersed in reading.

She went to the living room, where she saw you reading a book, the girl had good eyesight, so she immediately saw what the book was about and was surprised.

- Do you read book about motherhood? - you almost jumped in fright when you noticed Se Mi, you wanted to hide the book, but realized that there was no point.

- Yes, I read.

- You don't just read them out of curiosity. Do you want to be a mother? - she sat down next to you, taking your hands in hers.

- Yes, there is such a desire.

- Oh, sweetie, you understand that in our situation it will be difficult, and in general.. I would like to live for myself first, just you and me. And after..in five years, can we come back to this topic again? Okay? Just don't think that I'm judging you or against you!

- I understand everything, really. And I think you're right, we need to get back on our feet first. - she smiled softly at you and kissed you on the lips.

Thanos (Su Bong)

Thanos suddenly flew into the living room that you were even a little scared, and he laughed a little at you.

- Don't be scared, lord. In short, listen! Soon Nam Gyu will come, I warn you right away so that there would be no misunderstandings later. - you listened to him carefully, of course you are not very happy with the situation, because these two make a lot of noise, which is just horrible.

- What are you reading by the way? - he came closer to you and took the book from his hands, saw the title, was horrified and gave it back to you. - You throw this dope out of your head. I'm not ready for children at all, what to take from them? They just scream, ask for food and shit! No, no, no, I don't want to. If you want, I'll buy you any animal, but not a child in the house. - you already wanted to say something, when he interrupted you again. - so, I went to cook snacks, Nam Gyu will come soon. By the way, join us, it will be fun. - he sent you an air kiss and ran to the kitchen, leaving you to digest everything he said.

All you realized is that with a person like him there will never be a child. After all, he himself is like a child who needs constant control, and since he also has a friend who is a fool like him... you have just two children who are in the body of adult guys.

🤍🤍🤍

[tarysande]

The best part about coming back to the source material after a looooong time is you sorta get a fresh look at canon in comparison to whatever the dominant strains of fanon have become. Or, in fact, whatever your own dominant strains of headcanon have become.

I mean, yes, Garrus “I’m not a good turian” Vakarian gets infinitely cooler (and more competent!) by pretty much every metric as the storyline progresses. He does. But fresh out of ME1 and into ME2 through his recruitment, I find myself genuinely amused by how thin the veneer of badass is over a pretty dominant core of straight-up nerd sprinkled with idealism mixed with self-doubt.

When you have Garrus in the squad all the time (and thus get all his ambient dialogue and remarks), you really pick up on the number of times he calls out bad behavior, unethical actions, cruelty, and rule-breaking, especially in ME1.

He’s not actually a hothead who can’t abide rules of any kind. In fact, most of the time he’s pretty pro-law-and-order, and he gets amusingly hall-monitorish when people are breaking rules he considers important and worth following.

Fundamentally, Garrus chafes when his sense of what is just is at odds with what the authorities do about that injustice (or what they stop him from doing). And I would hazard a guess that the reason his actions seem so intense or harsh or "of course we should have shot down that ship in the middle of the Citadel" is indicative not of his impatience but of the degree to which he thinks the authorities have failed to uphold that justice. We know he can be patient. He's a sniper. His whole modus operandi on Omega is precision kills without civilian casualty. But when that long fuse finally burns down, he goes from zero to shooting down ships in the middle of the Citadel in what looks (from the outside) like a heartbeat.

And yes, injured pride hastens the burning of that fuse; he doesn’t like losing. Or admitting defeat. Or failing.

Having just replayed his recruitment mission, a few things really stood out to me this time.

The merc bands really hate him--and they also reluctantly admire him (he's described as smart, resourceful, dangerous, idealistic, brave, slippery; they all agree they only way they managed to get this far is by isolating him and employing dirty tactics). I mean, there's literally a station-wide announcement that Omega can return to "business as usual" once Archangel is out of the picture because he was disrupting things so completely.

The way Garrus blames himself for the deaths of his squad is so freaking turian. Failure reflects on the leader who places his people in danger they can't handle, not the individual who fails. Heavy is the head that wears the crown. Yes, Sidonis betrayed him, but the person Garrus blames the most? Is himself. For trusting Sidonis in the first place. For raising Sidonis to a position where he had the means and opportunity to harm others--and the weakness of character to turn coat, to save his own hide, instead of dying to protect the others.

Garrus mentions more than once that he was trying to emulate Shepard. And his tone always implies that he knows he failed because Shepard would never have let a Sidonis into the fold. Again, he's blaming himself. Like a good turian. Yes, he wanted to avoid the red tape and bureaucracy of C-Sec, but his code--Archangel's code--certainly aligns with Paragon Shepard's morality (with a Garrus Vakarian twist).

And since it wouldn't be meta without adding a Tara's Headcanon Twist ... I've always wondered why "Archangel" when it's such a ... human concept. But this time, when I noticed how he spoke about Shepard's influence, and how quickly he brushes aside the name when she asks him about it, I wondered if it wasn't actually his way of honoring the mythology of the dead woman whose example he was trying to follow. Not that Shepard is a God he's worshiping, but ... there is something about the way he talks about her. Garrus doesn't make himself over in the image of a God, though; he's the soldier, the right hand, the avenging angel responsible for carrying out divine punishments suited and proportional to the crimes committed, the rules broken, the selfishness or cruelty of the perpetrator.

[pseudowho]

A Reliable Man

Sometimes the hero you want, isn't always the hero you need.

A Kiyotaka Ijichi appreciation smutfic.

Warnings: 18+, MDNI, loss of virginity

+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+

"Ijichi...can you come and collect me, please?"

"Of course. Just send your location over."

----------------

"Ijichi, it's so late. Are you okay to collect me?"

"Don't worry, I've been waiting. Have you eaten?"

"Oh...I haven't. It's alright, I can sort myself out--"

"I'll pick something up. It's no trouble."

----------------

"--ah, shit-- Ijichi, call the school-- I need backup, urgently."

"Hold on. Get somewhere safe. I'll call everyone-- anyone. Get to safety. Please."

----------------

"Ijichi, I--...I can't thank you enough. I wouldn't have made it out of there if you hadn't called for help. I...I really am sorry."

A pause. A soft sigh.

"...please, don't be sorry. You're out there saving lives. You don't have to be sorry about anything."

----------------

Ijichi--

...your finger hovered over your phone screen. You saw the time; 10pm. You felt a familiar squirm of shame, disgusted by yourself for demanding so much of Kiyotaka Ijichi.

He was off the clock...you were in the middle of nowhere. Somewhere along the way, you had forgotten how hard he worked; while directing all of the assistants should have been a full time job in itself, Ijichi stepped above and beyond, by sacrificing his time, his effort, his safety, shift after shift after shift.

You tapped your phone against your forehead, eyes closed as you sighed. You decided to walk home. It would take you hours, but it was still better than--

Your phone vibrated in your hand. You looked at the screen.

Kiyotaka Ijichi.

You answered immediately, flustered, the words catching in your throat. Ijichi got there first. His voice, calm, soft, worried.

"I just...thought I'd check in. There aren't any drivers on tonight, but you're out on a mission. Are you home yet?" Tears pricked in your eyes, and you gulped.

"Ijichi.. you're not even at work. What are you doing? Calling me? You need a break." You chastised him. He laughed weakly, apologising in a flurry as you told him off.

"--it's my job to make sure you get hom--"

"--no it's not, Ijichi." Silence on the line. Ijichi waited for you, as he had a hundred times before, "It's not your job to get me home. Not every time. You...why are you...you need a break."

Another soft sigh; another warm pause.

"And I'll have a break," he continued, quietly determined, "when you're home safe. Send me your location. I'm on my way."

+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+

He had opened the door for you. Gently laughed off your reproach. The seats were already warm. A hot drink, in a thermos. A snack bar in the glovebox.

Ijichi looked tired; by this point, you weren't sure if that was just his face, but you felt a strange flutter of sweet relief, joy, to be smiled at by him, as if you were worth the late hour and lack of sleep.

Ijichi cast his eyes over you, relaxing, "You're...not hurt. That's good. I'm--...I'm happy to pick you up," he offered, awkwardly, "but I've had enough of scraping you up and dragging you to Shoko."

You felt such prickling uncertainty bubble in you. Why were you suddenly shy in his presence? Why did his eyes casting over you feel so like a caress? Why did you not want the journey to end?

"Dinner," you blurted out, and Ijichi raised his eyebrows, eyes fixed on the road, "we should get dinner. If you've not eaten. I've not eaten. But if you don't want to eat then that's fine too I know it's late--"

"No no no, please don't-- yes, please, dinner sounds...lovely."

You took a moment to look down at yourself; muddy, dirty, bedraggled.

"Uhm...at yours, maybe? We'll order takeout?" You were too busy examining the state of yourself to see the blush that fizzed across Ijichi's sharp cheeks.

"I-- uhm--...sure. Yes. That would be...agreeable."

"So formal, Ijichi."

"Shush. I'm a professional."

+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+

"So..." you finished your mouthful, trying not to feel embarrassed about being dressed in one of Ijichi's old t-shirts and sweatpants, "...he really said that? To quit, and get a driving licence?"

Ijichi laughed, his smile parting the clouds and making him look fifteen years younger. You couldn't help but laugh with him, your hand coming to cover your mouth, giggling together on his sofa like teenagers.

Ijichi wiped his eyes, sighing; "Gojo's a force of nature, it's true...but I probably owe him my life. I...feel like I can do more good in my current role, than I could have ever done on the front lines."

Setting down your plate, and wrapping your arms around your knees, you watched Ijichi, fascinated to see him slowly unwind, his loosening coils releasing the stresses of the day. You had never seen him like this...so relaxed. So happy.

You felt another odd squirm, this time a possessive, protective determination that he should never participate in Jujutsu Sorcery. That he should always be safe. You reached out for his hand, stroking his long, smooth fingers in yours.

Ijichi froze, so uncertain about how to react, having never had anyone show interest in him, barely even his parents, let alone a beautiful woman like you--

"You are the lifeblood of the sorcerers, Ijichi," you smiled, "and we'd fall apart without you. I'd fall apart--"

You were close now, almost sat on his lap. Your face was so close to his, that he felt your breath fan against his neck. He couldn't keep pretending he only checked in on you because it was his job. He couldn't keep pretending it barely bothered him when he saw you walk into danger. He couldn't keep pretending he didn't think about you all day and all night--

Ijichi pressed a kiss to your lips so fast, it felt like butterfly's wings. You gaped, wide-eyed, a blush creeping across your cheeks.

"I--I'm so sorry, that was-- that was highly inappropriate of me and I--...mmmfff..."

You had pulled Ijichi in by his collar, continuing the kiss he had started, with such heartfelt sincerity that Ijichi could have cried. You felt the wounds of so many horrible, selfish, unreliable boyfriends past. Ijichi felt the wounds of so many crushes, hopes and rejections past. Neither of you had noticed the treasure beneath your feet for the longest time-- unforgivably long.

Ijichi's hands clenched uncertainly as you kissed him, unsure where they should sit. He happily took your lead, tentatively responding to every press, every fluid movement of your supple lips against his. Only when your tongue swiped across his mouth, did Ijichi groan and respond instinctively, one hand coming up to push his glasses on top of his head, the other snaking to the back of your neck as he tugged you onto his lap.

You had never kissed someone who you knew would fight to the ends of the earth for you, and for whom you would reciprocate without question. A man who appreciated you as you were and wholeheartedly, and about whom you felt the same. A trustworthy man. A sincere man. A reliable man.

You pulled away for a moment, still holding his collar as you straddled his lap, panting against his lips; "Where have you been all my life?"

"In the front seat...just hoping to catch your eye in the mirror."

Crashing your lips against his again, sighing into his mouth, Ijichi's body strained with the heat of your thighs trapping him in. He was desperate to pull his shirt off, to feel your skin on his...except you needed him to act like he knew exactly what he was doing and--

"--wait...wait," Ijichi panted, resting his head against your shoulder, his hair ruffled, a pained grimace on his face. You cupped his cheeks, feeling him, hard and aching beneath you as he squirmed with an uneasy admission.

"I've...I've never-- I haven't--..." Ijichi winced, moving to lean back, mortified and humiliated. You saw his shame start to bubble over, and quickly slammed a lid on the pot. You did not let go of his collar, and did not let him lean back. Instead, you whispered against his lips, enough to make a whimper leave his lips and a drop of pre-cum leave his cock.

"Let's fix that then, shall we?"

Standing, full of divine purpose, you pulled Ijichi to his feet, nuzzling up into his ear until he shivered, his hands ghosting over your hips again.

"My room-- please--" he pressed, smiling into your neck as you laughed, being pushed gently backwards towards his bedroom. Stumbling together into his bedroom, giggling, stealing kisses, and necking like teenagers, you felt yourself thrown back into some sweet young love that you always wanted to have, but never received.

You fell back onto his bed with a bounce and Ijichi stood nervously before you, wanting to follow his instinct to crawl on top of you and bracket you under his arms, but crippled by his lack of confidence. You raised your foot, slipping your toes under his t-shirt and tickling his belly. Ijichi smiled, buckling and grabbing your foot, crawling over you with lovesick eyes. You made it all so easy.

"Ijichi..." you hummed, nosing at his neck, "...whatever your gut tells you to do, is probably right. I trust you. So please, show me what you want."

Ijichi felt shivers down his spine at your open invitation. His fingertips grazed down your plush inner arm, the little squidge of fat between your breast and armpit, the smooth untouched plane beneath your breast. Your eyes fluttered closed, delighted by his reverent touch. His hand gripped your shirt, and you almost felt tears prick in your eyes as he gently shielded your face to pull it off over your head.

Your bra had shifted with wandering hands, and your nipple peeked half-in-half-out, pressed by the edge of the cup. Ijichi ducked his mouth towards it, and you saw him hesitate again. You reached back, undoing your bra and removing it. Your eyes flicked down to his mouth, and back up to his eyes, dark and drunk.

"I'd like that," you whispered, and Ijichi breathed a shuddering gasp of relief before taking your nipple into his mouth, tasting you with open-mouthed sucks and laps. You heard his wet little grumbles of appreciation against your skin, when his hand came up to gently finger the softly yielding squidge of your other breast, Ijichi's fingers playing with your nipple with delighted exploration.

Ijichi was so overstimulated already, so touch-starved, and his cock so rigid, that he felt worryingly close to finishing-- so unable to control his own excitement at exploring someone's body so intimately for the first time. That the body belonged to you, the woman he had been falling in love with for years, was the final nail in the coffin, of him threatening to spill in his boxers.

You felt this in him, already prepared for him to want to curl up and die from embarrassment, if he didn't last. You were thrilled by his worship of you, having been treated as expendable more than once before. Teaching him would be a privilege and an honour. All the while, you failed to see how he taught you the bare basics of being respected and revered by a lover.

Ijichi was finely-tuned to subtle shifts in the atmosphere around him, and he learned quickly what you liked as he took your breasts into his hands and mouth. He felt the flickering of your hips up towards his when he licked you a certain way, and the hairs on his neck stood up to hear the breathy moans from your lips when he countered, pressing his twitching cock down against your clothed pussy.

Feeling a warning trickle of pre-cum, Ijichi pulled away from your breasts with a hiss, wrapped up in need and barely ashamed to hear himself beg you; "--please, I-- gosh, I'm sorry so sorry-- not going-- not going to make it--"

You kissed him again, soft and reassuring, as you finished unbuttoning his shirt. Ijichi moaned, long and shaking, as you draped his tie around your neck, the tails trailing over your wet-nippled breasts.

"God, you're lovely," he blurted out, blushing as you laughed, your head thrown back in genuine joy.

"Not nearly as lovely as you, beautiful man," you purred, ecstatic to see Ijichi's blush deepen when he moved to hide his face, his nose nuzzling in unbridled affection against your neck. Pushing his shirt off his slim shoulders, you raised your feet to hook around his trousers, looking at him with a playful glint.

Ijichi raised his eyebrows in question, and cried out to feel you push his trousers and boxers down, shivering as his cock bobbed out, red-tipped and wet with pre-cum. Ijichi quaked to feel the cool air hit his length, a drip of pre-cum dropping onto your belly.

You felt Ijichi tensed, brittle above you, and knew he risked spilling in your hand if you touched him. Still, you trailed your hand down his belly, nails grazing in the barely-there black hair, before slowly encircling his cock, hot and heavy in your hand.

Ijichi saw stars, his own hand the only one his skin had even known, and groaned into your neck, instinctively bucking into your grip; "--ooohhh, f--...gosh," he whined against you, coughing in alarm as you giggled again, your fingers tightening almost imperceptibly around his length. Your other hand pushed down Ijichi's borrowed sweatpants and your panties.

"...are you ready?" You asked Ijichi, smiling at his enthusiastic nod. You rolled the head of his cock between your folds, wet and warm, and Ijichi's arms almost buckled with the bliss and promise.

You guided Ijichi into you, squeaking as he bucked into you, bottoming out in one thrust. Ijichi snapped, cursing in a way that was so alien to the Ijichi you had always known. He gasped, one hand reaching down to sink into the side of your hip, relishing the way you jolted beneath him as he filled you with ragged thrusts.

Never had a man been so captivated by you. The feeling of Ijichi's inexperienced desperate rutting, was so vastly outweighed by the enthusiasm with which he treated your body. By the time you rolled your hips in time to meet his thrusts, pushing his cock deeply enough that you felt the first hot stirs of pleasure in your belly, Ijichi was crumbling around you.

"--please please please...please please please-- oohhhh fuck-- ooohhh fuck a condom, shi--"

Ijichi came with a strangled cry, so lost in his base instinct to cum inside you, that he couldn't help but let his seed spill into you, in ragged, disjointed bucks. You drank in the bliss on Ijichi's face...slowly seeing it morph into horror, and you were quick to reassure him, peppering kisses on his lips and cheeks.

"You're okay, it's okay...I'm on protection, shhh it's okay, I loved it, I loved it--"

"God I forgot all about you--"

"---you didn't, you did so well, and besides, we've got all night--"

"All ni...? Oh...oh. All night," Ijichi smiled, absolutely burning with adoration, as you burned for him. Your eyes flickered up to his head, and you pressed a hand over your mouth, eyes sparkling.

"...your glasses are still on your head, Ijichi."

"Ah! Oh...gosh."