#and this time around I get these slivers of joy

[nostalgic-shamefest]

And then they do! But the you you were then is gone forever. You didn't just waste your time when you were changing things, inevitably waiting for it to fall apart. You actually changed. Now someone new but also older gets to deal with the shit. And it hurts just as much but it's just...idk different.

Everything is lost to time. Even the bad stuff.

the scary part about getting better is that there's this constant fear that things will go back to what they once were

[fanficsbysteve]

Morning Bliss

Author Note: And thus ended this little trilogy of ideas that I had. Thanks everyone for the likes and reading these stories of mine. I'm working on some other ideas right now. I have a Christmas one that I love and maybe a few other ideas. I also accept Prompts if anyone wants to send those my way. Its not necessary but if you wanted to read them in order it goes Part 1 and Part 2

Rating: PG

W/C: 3408

***

                Tommy was comfortable in bed, relaxing, just staring at the ceiling of the bedroom. Three different bodies were snoring around him. Evan was sprawled across the bed, legs crossing Tommy’s, his torso pushed up against his own. Arms a jumbled mess. He was snoring lightly. The other two were snoring very loudly. Evan had wanted the dogs. So, after meeting them 4 years ago, the two decided to adopt them. So now Mitzi and Bitzi were lying sprawled across the end of the bed. Tommy had the barest sliver on the bed, but he wouldn’t have it any other way. He had gotten used to sleeping as a board on one spot, not moving during his army years.

                Another creature decided to make itself known. Their Orange cat Pickles jumped up onto the bed and started to knead on Tommy’s chest. No claws. They had not declawed her, that would have been cruel, but they did make sure that her claws were trimmed as often as they were brave enough to get scratches everywhere.

                Tommy brought his hand up and started to stroke Pickles across the back as she made biscuits on him. He never understood why everyone called it ‘making biscuits’. As far as he knew you barely kneaded biscuit dough. That’s how it got its flakes and everything. What cats did was more like kneading bread or buns. He was thinking way too into this. Pickles started purring gently as Tommy gave her the love she so desperately deserved.

                “Morning,” A voice came from Tommy’s side. Evan had woken up with the purring it seems. This man could sleep through anything, except the cat purring for some reason.

                “Morning,” Tommy leaned over and gave Evan a deep kiss, “Sleep well?”

                “I was until Pickles here decided to start making her crescendo,” Evan smiled and reached over to stroke the cat as well.

                “I’m still not sure how a cat purring gently wakes you up,” Tommy gestured to the cat, “While the pair of chainsaws at the end of the bed do nothing.” The two dogs both snored loudly at that, the perfect moment. The movement of the bed is not waking them up at all.

                “Well, I’m used to the chainsaws,” Evan said, “You aren’t exactly silent when you sleep,” Evan winked.

                “I don’t know what you mean,” Tommy smiled. He carefully lifted Pickles off his chest, “Ugh there is too much to do today,” He felt his knees being annoying as he stood up. The joys of getting older. All your joints crack like you are a walking talking glowstick, but they refuse to glow, which was very rude of them. As if on cue, he stood up and felt both of his knees crack and his back a bit.

                “Well, you are retired now you know,” Evan stated, “So you have all the time in the world to do whatever you want.”

                Tommy had retired from the LAFD. He was in his mid-forties now. And all the work he had been doing had started to catch up with him. He wasn’t worried though. Evan was still working for the LAFD, and they already owned the house. When they had decided to move in together all those years ago, Evan had sold his loft, and Tommy had sold his house. If they were going to move in together then they should start fresh. Not ‘Evan’s loft’ or ‘Tommy’s house.’ They wanted a place that was both of theirs that didn’t come with any previous baggage. They pooled their assets together and bought a nice house in Ontario. The drive to work for them was murder somedays depending on the traffic, but it was a home of their own. Evan got an amazingly huge kitchen to bake and cook and do whatever culinary endeavors he wants. Tommy managed to bring his Car life with him so he could still do that work. Within a few years of them moving, Evan had been offered a promotion to the LAFD in Ontario. He wasn’t sure he should take it, as it would have taken him away from his 118 family, but each and every one of them had pushed him to take it. So, in the end with everyone supporting him, and promising to come see his new firehouse, Evan agreed to become the Captain of the 368.

                Out of bed, and joints no longer making a weird popping noise, Tommy heads to the stairs heading down from the second floor to the first floor. This was one of the few two-story houses in the area. Being in California, they didn’t have many houses with multiple floors. Not very earthquake safe. But this house called to the two of them. So, the stairs and second floor were part of the deal. The floors were mildly cold this morning, but Tommy wasn’t bothered by it. The cold helped to wake up his senses while he walked down the stairs. As he walked, he heard a noise coming from the bedroom. The dogs had woken up and Evan was playing with them. He got down the stairs and went to the kitchen to start the coffee. Evan wouldn’t forgive him if he messed up the kitchen in his attempts to make breakfast. The kitchen was his domain and Tommy respected that.

                He walked to the front door, the morning newspaper sitting there waiting. Call him old but he did prefer to read his news in an actual newspaper sometimes. Plus, he got to do a crossword with Evan which was always fun. His husband and all this random knowledge made it easier. Setting up at the table, Tommy waited for the coffee to be done. A stampede of noise came from the stairs and Tommy knew that Evan and the dogs were on the way down. Breakfast would be soon.

                When they entered the kitchen, Bitzi beelined her way towards Tommy. Each of the dogs had their favorite human. Bitzi really liked Tommy while Mitzi loved Evan. That’s not to say that they didn’t like other humans, they just knew their favorites. Tommy reached down and started to scratch Bitzi behind her ear, “And how are you doing today my Bitzi-boo?”

                Her tail was wagging and beating against the table leg. He loved this dog so much, “Did you want to go outside?” he asked the dog.

                Saying the magic word, Bitzi and Mitzi both went into an insane level of zoomies around the house, Tommy stood up from the table and head to the door to the backyard. Opening the door, the two dogs ran outside to do their business. Tommy left the door open, while closing the screen door, letting a nice breeze into the room, “So what did you have planned for breakfast?” Tommy asked as he went towards the kitchen. Evan had already started to make something for them.

                “I’m thinking some biscuits and gravy. It’s something we had that time we went to Texas to visit the Reyes-Strands,” Evan explained, “It’s been a while, and I have all the stuff to make fresh biscuits.”

                “That sounds amazing,” Tommy said. He chuckled a little, “I still can’t get over how TK clocked you before you even knew it yourself. His 'I knew it!' and looking triumphant was worth it.”

                “Quiet you,” Evan playfully snapped, “I was still uncertain. Remember how I was all ‘I’m an Ally’ when we first went out? It took a while to figure out what I wanted. Besides, I think he expected me to be with Eddie which would have been so weird.”

                “That would have been very weird indeed,” Tommy winked, “So what do you want me to do to help with this?”

                “Well, I don’t trust you to make the biscuits,” Tommy’s face had a hurt look on it, “You just aren’t that good with baking. So, I won’t need your help until they are in the oven.”

                “Well, I guess I’ll just go sit over at the table and start my crossword then,” Tommy pouted as he went towards his chair. When he got there, he found Pickles stretched across the chair, belly up, “Excuse me miss, you seem to be sitting in my spot,” Pickles made a pawing action at Tommy which he found adorable. He scooped the orange cat up in his hands and brought her up close, feeling her purring into his chest. While the dogs were a joint adoption, Pickles was solely something that Tommy had brought with them. She was a stray that he had started feeding about a decade ago. Eventually she moved in with him and has been with him ever since.

                Sitting in his chair, Pickles purring contently on his lap, Tommy started to do the morning crossword. He did all the easy ones first. Something he didn’t need to ask for help with. Small victories at the start. Soon it got to the harder ones, so he sighed, “What’s a 6-letter word for ‘ear bone’?”

                Evan was busy working away on his biscuit dough. He had today off work, so he didn’t need to rush through breakfast. On these days, Tommy was spoiled. He really didn’t deserve this man but somehow, they have made it work for the past 7 years, “Stapes,” Evan said aloud and spelled it.

                “Thanks, love,” Tommy said filling in the boxes. That gave him the answers to another few before he needed help again. At that moment, however, there was a gentle pawing at the screen door. The dogs wanted to be let in.

                Tommy was about to put down his newspaper when Evan said, “I’ve got it. Need to let the dough rest a bit,” Tommy continued with his crossword, “And how did My Bitches enjoy their time outside?”

                Tommy sighed, “I really wish you wouldn’t call them that.”

                “Why not?” Evan was rubbing both their heads before letting them go towards their food and water bowls, “It’s the correct terminology. A female dog is referred to as a bitch. So calling them my bitches is just me calling them my female dogs.”

                “It just feels weird,” Tommy replied, “Seven letter word. ‘kneecap’.”

                “Patella,” Evan responded back in the kitchen. He washed his hands before going back to making the biscuits. The oven beeped that it had reached the temperature for baking, “You should know that. Aren’t you a firefighter?”

                “I was a pilot,” Tommy filled in the letters, “There were medics on hand for that kind of stuff. I just had to focus on making sure that we didn’t crash.”

                “I just had an idea,” Evan said, “Something to keep you occupied all these retired days.”

                “And that would be?”

                “Well, I know you miss flying,” Evan started to roll out the dough and start cutting it into circles, “And they always want either flying instructors or those ‘Fly over LA’ tour things. Could be something.”

                Tommy looked contemplative. He did miss flying. But did he really want to be some kind of tour guide to the city? He doesn’t really know much about the city he’s spent the past couple of decades living here, “Not sure I would be good as a tour guide. I know exactly nothing about LA except where stuff burned down.”

                “Oh, you can probably just be the pilot who flies people around,” Evan explained, “They give you a route you fly over. Someone else does the talking.”

                “I’ll look into it,” Tommy smiled. He really did miss the flying. And anything that could get him back into the air was very welcome, “Do you remember the first time we met?”

                “How could I forget,” Evan stopped what he was doing for a second to look wistfully into nothing, “Flying into a hurricane to rescue Bobby and Athena after their cruise ship pulled a Poseidon.”

                “I’m sure you know this, but after we landed and the reunions started,” Tommy looked at Evan, “The moment you touched my shoulder. That’s the moment that I knew you were the one for me. I don’t know how, but I just knew it then and there.”

                “And yet,” Evan continued with his biscuits, lying them nicely on a baking tray, “Let’s not forget the time you broke up with me. That wasn’t very smart of you.”

                “Yes well,” Tommy coughed. Evan smiled at him, “As we all know I’ve had to deal with plenty of trauma’s growing up and I didn’t think that I would live up to the ideal that you had for me.”

                “Well, you were the only man I ever wanted,” Evan replied, “And even during all that dating while we were apart, I could only compare everyone to you. This person wasn’t tall enough, this person’s eyes were the wrong color, this person didn’t have your way of speaking. Just a bunch of judgements that I couldn’t stop because deep down, I knew you were the one for me as well.”

                “Looks like we were both smart enough in the end,” Tommy smiled. He had stopped his crossword puzzle at this point. Just content with their cat on his lap, the dogs lying around the kitchen while Evan did the cooking like he always preferred.

                Once the biscuits were in the oven, Evan let Tommy know that he could reenter the kitchen and help with the cooking, “I’ll get you to start browning the sausage,” Evan should really have been a chef in a kitchen. He knew his way around a kitchen better than anyone else he knew, but he loved saving people as a firefighter more than anything. It had given him purpose all those years ago when he first started at the 118. It still gives him purpose today even though he does spend a large amount of time behind a desk now.

                Evan hovered over Tommy as he browned the sausage, “You do know that I can do this,” Tommy smiled as he kept moving the meat around the pan, but leaned in and snuck a kiss from his husband, “Browning meat isn’t the most difficult thing in the world.”

                “I’ve been watching my probies mess things up for too many weeks I guess,” Evan chuckled and stepped back, “I don’t think they could tell the difference between a farfalle, and a cavatappi if I didn’t point it out to them.”

                “I wouldn’t be able to tell either,” Tommy finished with browning the sausage, he then took a step ahead before Evan had a chance to tell him and started by adding a dab of butter for a bit more fat in the pan, and then started to sprinkle in flour to make the roux, “I only know the Italian names because you insist on using them all the time. Us non-culinarily inclined individuals just call them bowties and corkscrews,” letting the flour cook off a bit, to a blond roux, Tommy then added the milk into the pan.

                “Yes well,” Evan coughed, “You seem to have things handled here. I’ll check on the biscuits,” Thankfully they had decided to spend a bit more and had some high-end kitchen equipment ordered when they moved in. Evan had wanted a gas stove, so they got that, and kept the oven separate from the stovetop. That was one of the things he really wanted. That way when he was cooking, he could bake and cook at the same time and check on things. Or like right now, when Tommy was helping to cook, they didn’t need to worry about things burning while one of them was trying to move out of the way to get to the oven.

                The biscuits weren’t ready yet, but they were close, the sausage gravy smelled delicious though. Tommy dipped his pinky into the gravy, getting a slight burning from it and tasted it before starting to add some salt and pepper and a few herbs. Always taste and adjust as you cook is the motto in this kitchen. After mixing a bit, Tommy grabbed a spoon from the drawer next to the stovetop and scooped a little onto the spoon and offered it to Evan, “Let me know if it’s missing anything.”

                Evan took the spoon and tasted the gravy. He clicked his tongue a little and asked, “You added something new from the last time we made this.”

                “Bit more sage,” Tommy admitted, “I like the flavour it adds and the sausage we have doesn’t have enough for my liking.”

                “Tastes good,” Evan admitted, “I’ll have to keep that in mind. We should start making our own sausage instead of buying it all the time. Get the blends that we enjoy.”

                “We are going to turn into that couple that cans and stores and grows everything aren’t we,” Tommy laughed.

                “I mean it wouldn’t be that big of a stretch for me to do that,” Evan joked, “But I don’t think we have enough time right now with my work and you’re piloting.”

                “You know I haven’t decided on that,” Tommy said, “You only brought it up maybe 10 minutes ago.”

                “I know how much being in the air means to you,” Evan replied, “And I know that regardless of your thoughts on it, you will end up looking at something like the tour guide thing. I’m willing to bet on it.”

                “And what are you willing to bet?” Tommy asked, “You know we share everything already so there isn’t much you can bet with.”

                “Oh, I have my ways,” Evan pulled the biscuits out of the oven. Perfectly brown. Nice and fluffy. Tommy had no idea how he managed to do that every single time without fail, “Maybe I’ll show you some of my ways later tonight.”

                “Learned some new tricks?” Tommy was very curious.

                “That’s for me to know and you to find out if you think you can handle it,” Evan started to split the biscuits and dishing up the fresh made breakfast.

                They went to the table and started to eat, “So what plans have you made for us this weekend?”

                Evan took a bite of his meal and before replying, “Well I wanted to go check out that Market down in Orange. Maybe take a walk around La Brea if we have time. Just nice little things to get us out.”

                “Well,” Tommy had an idea that he wanted to bring up with Evan, “We could always ask your sister if we can take Jee out for a day. You know I love having her around.”

                “I love having her around as well,” Evan said, “It would be up to Maddie and Chim, but I don’t think we would have trouble with it. We might also get roped into taking Philip with us as well. Make a family day of it. Maybe check out Disney. They might have some new things to check out.”

                “Evan,” Tommy got serious for a second, “We’ve been together for six years, married for three.”

                “Best six years of my life,” Evan leaned over to give Tommy a heartfelt kiss, “I wouldn’t change anything. I have you, we have Pickles, and we have my bitches.”

                Tommy groaned, “Yes well,” He continued, “I’ve been wondering. Instead of me going off and being a pilot again. We could visit Hen and Karen. They could get us in contact with an adoption agency,” Evans eyes lit up at the mention of it, “I know one thing you’ve always wanted is to be a father. And let’s face it, the chances of one of us getting pregnant is impossible.”

                “And yet we continue to try,” Evan smirked.

                “Yes, we do,” Tommy laughed, “But what if we adopted. Someone would need to stay home and since I’m retired now. Well, I could stay home. Become a stay-at-home dad.”

                Evan’s eyes were just two balls of light and happiness, “This is one of the most personal things you have ever asked of me. I know you didn’t have a wonderful time growing up, so you didn’t want to have that kind of life for a child. But I know you aren’t your father. You would give any child the greatest life.”

                Tommy smiled. He didn’t want to become his father. He would try to not become that person, but having Evan think this about him? That was worth more than anything, “WE would give any child the greatest life,” Tommy reached out and gave Evan’s a hand a nice tight squeeze, “We would do this together. Let’s get your niece and nephew and do some practice this weekend. And let’s see if we can ask Hen and Karen about adoption.”

                Evan just squeezed Tommy’s hand. The look of elation on Evan’s face made all the pain in the past, any kind of troubles they have had worth it. They would do this and they would make a family. Evan, Tommy, Pickles, Mitzi, Bitzi, and a child. A child that needed a family and they would make theirs with them. Tommy smiled so all the crinkles in his face showed up. This would be the perfect future for them.

***

Thanks for reading this. Let me know what you think. I love reading comments on what you thought so let me know. Constructive Criticism is also accepted.

Love, Steve

[lardguz]

A Hero's Buttery Addiction

Just a little short thing this time, featuring a certain Hylian hero discovering the joys of cooking with butter! Inspired by @plumpybread whose art helps me visualize how to write larger sizes WAY better than I used to. I know he's like, a legend in the community already but if you haven't seen his work somehow, please check it out! His art is so good!

A cool breeze blew through the air in Rito Village, blowing south from the Hebra Mountains. Link suppressed a shiver, feeling the brisk chill around the bottom of his tunic. He adjusted the feather-lined garment quickly, pulling it down to cover his abdomen, but it immediately started riding up on him as soon as he continued walking. The Hylian grumbled to himself, opting to try and ignore it while he stocked up on supplies at the general store. Link walked into the cozy open-air hut, nodding at the Rito shopkeeper with a warm smile as he piled all of the goat butter the shop had in stock into his satchel. He handed a pouch of rupees to the Rito as payment before walking out of the store to head back out adventuring Hyrule. 

Link didn’t want to admit it to himself, but the Hylian has packed on some pounds in recent months. Once he had discovered the joys of cooking with goat butter, he never looked back, and the delicious, creamy, fattening substance had clearly affected his waistline. The sliver of pale, soft chub that peeked out from his warm Rito Tunic gave him a slight muffin top, and his thighs ever so slightly brushed together when he walked. Link seemed ignorant to these changes to his body, though; mentally, he attributed his tighter clothing to an ill-advised attempt at making a fan powered raft that fell apart, plunging him into icy cold water while fully clothed. To him, the cold water must have shrunk his clothing somehow! It couldn’t have anything to do with his new culinary obsession, surely! 

The pudgy Hylian sat at a cooking pot, sorting through his available ingredients. Link pulled out a slab of prime meat, a large hearty bass, some Hylian mushrooms, and a stick of goat butter. He paused, thinking for a moment. If just one stick of goat butter improved the flavor of a dish so much… Why not use two? Reaching into his bag, Link grabbed another stick of butter, and tossed it into the pot with the rest of the food, watching it melt and coat the meat and mushrooms, sizzling delightfully. As soon as his meal was done, Link immediately took an eager bite, too hungry to wait any longer. The flavors exploded in his mouth, coating his tongue in a rich, oily sensation. This was amazing! He scarfed down the rest of the pile of meat, seafood, and mushrooms, patting his pudgy stomach in satisfaction. Link knew one thing for sure now: he was going to have to keep trying butter in more recipes if it made them taste this good!

 

Months passed, and Link’s reputation for cooking rich, decadent meals for himself grew. Shops all over Hyrule knew to stock up on extra goat butter, as the eager Hylian hero would travel to each and every settlement just to get his fix. As his desire for egregious amounts of butter grew, so did his waistline. Link had absolutely blown up since discovering that adding more butter to his cooking made it taste even better. The Hylian man was undeniably morbidly obese, and many of the citizens of Hyrule were a little bit worried about how rapidly he had descended into obesity, but none of them felt brave enough to try and broach the subject with the rapidly-fattening hero. 

Link has taken to using his Purah Pad to teleport him directly to each town to minimize the amount of walking he had to do. For some reason he had been getting very tired even from brief walks lately, and his horse had been similarly exhausted just from short rides. Link materialized outside the shrine at Hateno Village, taking time to gather himself before the arduous walk downhill towards the general store. He somehow still didn’t realize the cause of his growing problems was the hundreds of pounds he’d packed onto his body in mere months. Link’s body was bloated with lard, to the point that he was nearing half a ton of fat on his once-lithe frame. His face was framed by a set of cherubic chipmunk cheeks, already flushed and sweaty just from a few slow, wobbling steps away from the shrine. His neck was buried under a ring of flab, graduating him from a double chin to a pronounced triple chin. His once-toned arms were replaced with bloated sacks of blubber the size of pillows, sagging down his sides and forcing his arms out at an angle even when not in use. His elbows were long buried under all of this lard, and even his wrists and hands were beginning to plump up at the joints, making bending his fingers and grabbing food a chore. His pecs had ballooned into flabby breasts that were just starting to droop down either side of his gut. The tunic he currently wore, his blue Champions Tunic that he was given over one hundred years ago, was stretched tightly across his chest, functioning more as a bra than a more decent article of clothing and riddled with rips and tears from stretching across so much flab. His former muffin top had graduated into a stack of fluffy love handles, pooling over the straight waistband of his trousers and , when combined with his flabby chest, were half of the reason his arms stuck out at such an angle now. His bloated thighs touched at every point no matter how far apart his spread his legs to walk, forcing him into a pronounced waddle. He couldn’t even bend his knees anymore; the flab from his thighs had long since enveloped the joints, joining his meaty calves in the downfall of his once-proud stride.  

His biggest asset, however, was his gut. The slab of lard was a monument to his gluttony, forming an apron of flab that sagged down to his buried knees. Every slow, measured step he took, his stomach slapped against his meaty thighs, sending his entire flabby body jiggling and wobbling endlessly. The obese hero was sweaty and exhausted after just a few steps, panting and wheezing from the exertion of shifting just under half a ton of fat with every shuffling step, but his craving for butter-soaked food kept him from giving up on his journey to the store.  

When the sweaty, huffing pile of lard finally made it, he shoved the door open with his titanic gut, dreading what came next. Link knew intimately well that doors and him didn’t mix these days, even if he refused to accept or acknowledge why. The Hylian was an absolute wall of flab and rolls, trying to force himself through a tiny doorway. The shopkeeper could only stare in horror and fascination as the legendary hero attempted to squeeze his enormous bulk into the store, wheezing from the exertion. He grabbed the doorframe with his pudgy fingers, trying to force his double-wide hips through, but his rolls and folds were firmly wedged. Link continued panting and groaning, his bulky body oozing around either side of the door frame, when an ominous cracking noise started to occur. Suddenly, with a loud snap, the wood of the doorway and the surrounding walls splintered, and Link stumbled through into the shop, his entire body wobbling from the sudden forward momentum. Barreling forward at speeds his obese form weren’t meant to handle, the lard-laden Hylian hero overbalanced, landing on his cascading gut with so much force that it shook the entire building. Merchandise clattered to the floor from the display shelves as shockwaves rippled through his body like an ocean, and he lay on the floor gasping for air after all of his weight knocked it out of his poor, overtaxed lungs. The shopkeeper looked at the damaged doorway in horror, knowing that no matter how much butter the legendary hero was here to purchase, it wouldn’t pay for the repair costs, especially with his increased visits. Something had to be done about the gluttonous hero, but what? 

After the disastrous incident at the Hateno General Store, shopkeepers around Hyrule had begun taking Link’s purchases to him as he waited outside their shops, to minimize damage done to their buildings. It was a solution, for sure, but many worried about what would happen when Link grew too large to make the short walks to their stores from the teleport points at the towns’ shrines. Many ideas were proposed: shop stalls set up right at the shrines just for Link, some sort of horse and cart system to carry the growing hero to his destinations, even a conveyor belt to carry him to the store entrances was suggested! However, Link ended up solving the problem himself while cooking one day. He’d begun using his Ultra Hand powers to help him grab ingredients once his arms became basically useless at grabbing things around his enormous bulk. As he sat on a log that his fat ass almost completely devoured, using his prosthetic’s powers to move a fourth stick of butter into the cooking pot for the large hunk of gourmet meat he was sauteeing, Link got an idea. He used his fat sausage fingers to switch the function of his hand to the Copy ability, which usually only worked for building materials. He noticed that the sticks of butter were able to be copied, somehow. Confused, Link decided to try it out, multiplying one stick of goat butter into ten, and moving the pile onto his chest where he could inspect them better. The sticks of butter had a gentle greenish-blue glow to them, but otherwise appeared to be normal sticks of butter.  

Link devoured the butter-soaked gourmet meat as he contemplated the glowing butter sticks nestled between his ample breasts when suddenly he was struck by an idea. Straining against the rolls of his arm fat, he craned his overburdened arm towards his chest, grabbing a stick of greenish butter in his fattened hands. Link brought the strange butter towards his pudgy lips slowly, his bountiful lard making it hard for him to reach his mouth with his pillowy arms. He finally shoved the stick of butter into his mouth, the oily fats coating his tongue. His blue eyes lit up as he swallowed: it was incredible! The duplicated butter tasted even richer and more delicious than normal goat butter, and that was without cooking it! Link shoved his hands under his bloated pecs, shifting their mass upwards and forcing the nine remaining sticks of magical butter directly in range of his greedy maw. The greedy Hylian began slurping down the stack of entire sticks of butter while using his Ultra Hand to create more copies, piling them up on his chest within easy eating distance. Link had no idea of the future he had just very quickly resigned himself to with this discovery, but the shopkeepers of Hyrule wouldn’t have to worry about their entryways being broken anymore. 

The citizens of Hyrule whispered about what had become of their legendary hero. Shopkeepers quickly noticed his increasingly-frequent trips to their stores had stopped abruptly, leaving them with mixed feelings of concern for what could have happened to Link, but also relieved that they wouldn’t have to keep paying for hefty repair bills anymore. Only those who were closest to Link knew where he’d ended up, and why he’d disappeared altogether. When asked by any concerned Hylians, they would simply assure them that Link was fine, comfortable, and happily retired from adventuring. 

Sidon, the newly-crowned king of Zora’s Domain, walked swiftly through the thick underbrush of a secluded forest region tucked away from any towns or roaming travelers. The red scaled Zora knew the way to go intimately, having made the journey many times over the year or so he’d been coming here in secret. Plus, it wasn’t too hard to find what he was looking for—All he had to do was follow the sounds of loud gurgling and slurping. Sidon crested the top of a hill, looking down into what had once been a lush, forested valley. The trees had long since been buried, the valley completely filled by a churning, wobbling mass of pale flab. He knew the mountainous blob below him was his most cherished partner, Link, the hero of Hyrule. 

Sidon hopped down from the forested hill, sliding on his finned feet until he landed on the soft form below. It was harder than ever to tell exactly what part of Link’s swollen body he was standing upon, but Sidon was pretty sure it was his stomach. His gigantic gut was constantly stuffed with the replicated butter that Link was somehow constantly creating more of, causing the cascading waterfall of flab to grow more and more every moment as his body worked overtime to convert the literal gallons of butter he consumed into adipose. Sidon could feel the mountainesque stomach below his feet groaning and churning, causing the blobby body of his boyfriend to always be in some sort of state of movement even after long ago losing his mobility.  

The Zora king began the long hike towards the center of Link’s growing mass, clinging desperately to whatever rolls and folds he could grab whenever a particularly strong tremor shifted the oceanic mass like tides crashing upon a shore. Sidon crested the top of Link’s stomach rolls after twenty minutes of climbing, trying to identify more parts of the blob’s body to use as landmarks. He could pretty easily find Link’s breasts due to his nipples, though they were a lot lower down than Sidon was now. Link’s tits were so huge that they’d lost all shape and form, sagging under their weight to the point that they drooped towards the lowest rolls of his gut. He could also guess where Link’s arms were from the location of his chest, gazing at the swollen pancake stacks of rolls directly above the meaty breasts. Sidon figured that Link’s hands must be buried under literal feet of flab at this point, looking at the divots where they’d long ago vanished. Even if he could unearth his fands from all of that lard, there was no way he’d be able to use them for anything aside from his Ultra Hand’s powers; his digits must be so coated in fat that they’d be barely recognizable as hands anymore.  

Once he’d figured out where Link’s useless arms were, finding his head was easy. Sidon looked at the recessed dip in the blobby mountain between the boulder-sized fat deposits that used to be Link’s biceps and forearms towards where a constant flow of glowing green liquid was manifesting and pouring downward into. Sidon swiftly scrambled over Link’s bloated cleavage, taking care not to slip; he’d once made that mistake and it took him hours to wrench his leg free from the cavernous crevasse. Once he’d crested the twin hills of lard, it was easy going from there, as Link’s chins had multiplied into a nice staircase of neck rolls. As he descended down, Sidon entered what could only be described as a cavern of fat formed by the encroaching mass of Link’s flabby jowls and collapsing back rolls. He followed the green glow of magically-duplicated butter deeper into the humid cave, the sounds of hungry slurping and desperate moans growing louder and louder. Finally, Sidon reached the end of the vast fat cave and approached his boyfriend’s bloated face eagerly.  

Link’s face was no longer recognizable, so covered in flab that no distinguishable features remained. Fat has long ago collapsed over his forehead, covering his eyes completely. His pointed ears were buried between rolls of cheek and back fat, as was his golden hair. All that remained was his mouth, though even that wasn’t enough to recognize him by. His lips had plumpened considerably, and were pinched between his engorged jowls into a permanent pout as he sucked down hundreds of gallons of melted magical butter. Sidon didn’t mind though, he loved Link no matter how fat he got. The Zora hero plopped himself down on one of Link’s cheeks, kissing his partner’s flabby face before settling down to watch him eat for a while. One thing was for sure, Link sure made a comfortable bed no matter where you laid on him now. 

[belxveds]

Could you write a fic where the reader is Stark’s daughter and he catches her and Peter fooling around in her room/main room whilst they think he is out?

caught in a web of kisses

pairings: peter parker x f!reader, tony stark x daughter!reader

brief: (requested!) misunderstandings and compromising situations with peter lead to a whole of cackling and screaming throughout the stark tower compound. a brief look into the life of y/n stark and your struggles with your stupidly overprotective dad and chaotically cute boyfriend.

tags: humour. fluff. borderline crack fic. "enemies" to lover. established relationship.

a/n: thank you so much for requesting! i appreciate it :) it always makes fills me with so much joy to know someone seeks out my writing <3

requests are open!

wc: 1.4k

Perhaps it wasn't your smartest idea to pretend to absolutely despise your father's intern in front of your parents and the Avengers but . . . well- how could you possibly resist yourself when it was so much fun sharing sneaky, mischievous smiles with Peter as you both shot teasing glares across the room to maintain your appearance as rivals?

Plus, it was just a little prank to keep your relationship with Peter, as well as the days spent at the compound, more interesting. If anything, you and Peter were single handedly entertaining the entirety of Avengers with your debates and arguments. You were fairly sure they had bets going on about the two of you. It was harmless, really.

And it wasn't like you were going to keep it from them forever! You would tell them . . . eventually. You just- hadn't thought anyone would find out like this. With you and Peter in such a . . . compromising situation?

You almost let out a small groan of exhaustion as you sunk into the unnecessarily large couch your dad had purchased for the lounge, melting into Peter's side as you fiddled with the remote to lower the lights and dim the windows. Pouting at the sliver of light that still managed to peek through the sunroof, you let out the smallest huff as you closed that as well before turning to take a glance at your boyfriend.

He let out a small yawn before shifting with your attention on him, cuddling into you tighter as he murmured, "You sure no one will be back for another 2 hours? 'Cause I swear if we get caught because you wanted to take a nap on the couch, I will never let you live this down."

Snuggling deeper into the blanket you'd draped over the two of you, you couldn't help but let out the smallest breathless laugh as you responded, "That's if they don't kill you first."

"Hey!" Peter quipped, voice growing the tiniest bit slurred as the nap you promised him began to look awfully tempting, "I'll have you know that I think your dad and also everyone else is quite fond of me, alright?"

You couldn't help but let out a snort as you mocked, pretending to push up fake glasses on the bridge of your nose as you raised the pitch of your voice, "I'll have you know-"

The gentle whack you got on your arm made you stop mid-sentence as you giggled, answering your boyfriend more seriously, "Everyone's schedule says they have stuff going on until at least 6:00, unless they were all just to magically-"

"What happened to, "God dad, if I have to see your stupid intern's face one more time, you're going to have to hold me back from stealing your repulsors and pulverizing the shit out of him?""

You're entire body pauses as you feel Peter tense in your arms, the both of you wincing in sync as you slowly, cautiously, turn your head around to face your dad, voice dragging out as you say nervously, "Uhm...so you see-".

Peter's bewilderment is audible as his head snaps to you, eyes furrowed in confused amusement as he hisses, "Why the fuck are you starting to quote Dhar Mann right now?"

"Peter", your dad interrupts, tone much too pleasant for the situation at hand and consequently sending both your spines into automatically locking up straight as you await his next move, fight or flight instincts activated, "You have 3 seconds to run."

"Mr. Stark, we can talk about this-"

"3 . . ."

"Oh shit!", your boyfriend scrambles, legs tangling into themselves and the blanket in his attempts to get free and run as he presses a ragged kiss to your forehead while declaring muffled through his panicked breath, "If I don't make it out of this alive, just know I wanted you to have my babies and be Y/N Parker-Stark."

The confession sends a surprised wheeze to rack through your body as you see him begin to take down the hallway, sparing a glance over his shoulder at you and your dad before maneuvering himself onto the ceiling and into the vents.

Your eyes tearing up from laughter, you try to speak through your immobilizing giggles as you address your dad, "Dad, father dearest, please- come on- spare him-" "2 . . ." "Dad! C'mon- you have to admit . . . from a completely scientific and objective lens with zero romantic emotions taken into account, considering all the teenage boys out there, Peter is definitely one of the better choices", you tried to level, summoning the critically-acclaimed award winning Y/N Stark inside of you and not the moderately concerned girlfriend worried that her boyfriend's cause of death may in fact be the same repulsors Peter had helped your father tweak in the lab earlier today. How unfortunately ironic. Shuffling over, albeit a bit awkwardly, to where your dad stood, you cautiously peered closer at his profile, trying your best to assess exactly how much trouble you were in. You knew deep down, he truly wasn't all that upset, though, maybe a bit grumpy about having been kept out of the loop for this long. In fact, you were positively confident he was quite happy with who you had chosen. Despite all of his teasing and successfully accomplished fatherly duties of bullying the both of you, it was stupidly evident how much he cared for Peter like a son. Not just anyone was allowed to intern for the Tony Stark, after all.

Lost in thought, you couldn't help but yelp slightly and flinch into your father's side as a muffled voice echoed down from the ceiling, cooing, "Aww Y/N, you really mean that?"

Cursing at your boyfriend's surprising lack of self preservation skills taking into consideration his literal job and particular set of talents, you glared upwards. Hoping your disappointment at his lack of distance somehow radiated through the insulated plaster, you deadpanned, "No, I was just playing. I wish I'd gotten with Harley."

"What?!" squeaked Peter, like a little vent rat, his offended gasp echoing in time with your dad's final countdown.

Giggling once again at Peter's frightened scuttling at the realization that he was out of time, you quickly reached to grip at your dad's suit clad bicep before he could make a motion to call at the Iron Man suit, your voice taking on a more serious tone as you asked softly, his opinion and approval still highly valuable to you, "You're ok with me and Peter dating though? Genuinely?"

The twitch of his signature smirk on the corner of his lips and the nodding glint in his eyes sent a happy thrill through your heart, instinctively grinning wide as you squealed and rushed to give him a tight hug, speaking through a stifled smile into his chest, "Ok, you have my consent to go squish my little spider now. Please don't bring him back to me flattened or burnt- I quite like how he is now." Your father's wrinkled nose and vocal sound of disgust at how you'd addressed his intern sent you into another fit of laughter as he spoke, "Ground rules since I know the kid's out of his freaky super-hearing range. One, ew. Never address him like that again, I might vomit. Two, if I see the two of you touch, I am immediately invoking a 50 year social-distancing ban between the two of you. 6 feet and everything. I'll throw in permanent masks if I ever catch you two kissing. Three, . . . no promises."

"In response- One, . . . no promises. Two, you don't want spider grandbabies crawling up the walls? All I'm hearing is that we can't get caught. Three, I'll tell mom", you grinned pulling back, your gaze filled with amusement and the look of humoured adoration you often had reserved specifically for your dad as he let out a little whine in complaint at your threat of telling Pepper.

It would just be a little rough up. You know, the classic "hurt my daughter and you're dead" speech. And Peter was Spider-Man! He'd be fine . . . probably.

mailbox ༶•┈ peter parker's mailbox! ┈•༶ send letter

[tightjeansjavi]

Tongue Tied

Joel Miller x f!reader

NSFW 🔞

A/N: I came up with this idea at work 😵‍💫 this one specifically is for @chaotic-mystery you’re welcome bby! This can be read as a stand-alone piece or a blurb/one-shot for ‘Burning in a Hopeless Dream’

Summary: a game of spin the bottle ends exactly how you imagine it to; you and Joel, a headboard banging, and tongues tied.

~word count : 4.2k~

Warnings: possessive! joel, jealous! joel, a lil feral and horny! joel, established relationship, swearing, tension, mentions of alcohol, smut, filth, consent, teasing, fingering, unprotected p in v (wrap that willy) oral (f receiving) a huge fucking praise kink, nicknames, cock warming, like just a whole lot of filth. Y’all get the warnings. (+18) minors dni !

Songs used:

“Small Talk” by Niall Horan

“Tonight you are Mine” by The Technicolors

“Dirty Love” by Mt. Joy

“Talk” by Hozier

It was Joel’s brilliant idea to throw you a ‘we’re so glad the knife didn’t go too deep!’ Party.

For some context, just two months ago, you were stabbed by one of Robert’s henchmen. You nearly bled out on Joel and Tess’s kitchen table. Joel was at your side the entire time you were recovering and now that you fully healed, what better way to celebrate than with a little dark humor, real fucking booze, and good company.

Tess had brought her friend Bea over and you already had your sneaking suspicion that they were an item already. Or, at the very least, they were 1000% fucking. Joel was a little slow with these sorts of things but you knew in time, he would figure it out. Regardless, you were happy for Tess and your friendship was seemingly coming full circle. Hell had certainly freezed over at that point. You, and Tess? Friends? Who would have ever thought that was even fucking possible. I guess you almost bleeding to death on the kitchen table was enough for her to finally end the quarrel between you two.

“Where in the hell did you manage to find some real fucking whiskey Tess?”

You were sitting across Joel’s lap on the couch. His arm was loosely wrapped around your waist, his fingers lightly holding onto the side of your hip where the soft skin there met your thigh. He always had to be touching you somehow. Being affectionate was something that Joel really never understood, nor cared for, but you changed his view on it. Now? He couldn’t get enough of you, or your skin on his. He was painfully addicted, royally and utterly fucked, because of you.

You felt him lightly tap his fingers against the sliver of skin exposed under your t-shirt as he took a sip from his own glass.

“Would you believe me if I told you those Fedra fucks somehow have their own stash of top-shelf booze?”

You brought the rim of the glass to your lips, taking a small sip and you could feel Joel staring at you. Not in a weird, or creepy way. He was admiring you.

“Are you fucking kidding me? Makes me hate them just a little bit more than I already do. Seriously though, what did you have to do to get this stuff?”

Tess laughed and took a sip from her own glass as she leaned back against the wall. “A handjob and a real quick one at that. Dude lasted all of 30 seconds. It was pretty pathetic but hey, I wanted to make sure you could taste some of the real fucking stuff for once. You earned it.”

Joel let out a weird noise, covering it with a chuckle over the rim of his glass. He had lightly squeezed your hip.

You weren’t even phased by Tess’s answer in the slightest.

“30 fucking seconds? Now that is honestly really pathetic. I appreciate you putting yourself through that bullshit. This stuff is definitely better than the other crap we’ve been drinking. So thank you again.” You raised your glass in her direction, a small grin on your lips.

Tess mirrored your actions, raising her glass in your direction before taking a sip.

“Just don’t expect me to put myself through that ever again, alright?”

You giggled, leaning back against Joel’s broad chest, shaking your head.

“Oh god, No! I will never expect you to put yourself through that again!”

It was Tess’s idea for everyone to play a friendly game of spin the bottle. As soon as she suggested it, Joel was grumbling about how it was a stupid game for teenagers and that he would not be participating in those kinds of shenanigans.

“Tess. I ain’t playin’ a silly little girls game. That shit is for teenagers. Do I look like a fuckin’ teenager to you?”

“No, but you’re fucking acting like one right now, Texas. Besides, if you get lucky enough, you’ll get to kiss your girl. C’mon, just one round.”

“I ain’t gotta get lucky enough to kiss her. Can kiss her whenever I want.” He gruffly spoke.

You gave him a light jab to his side with your elbow, turning around in his lap and gave him a warning look.

“Keep acting like that and you’re never gonna get to kiss me again cowboy.”

Joel narrowed his eyes at you challengingly. His eyebrow quirked up in your direction as he leaned in close enough for you to taste the warm whiskey on his breath.

“You wanna fuckin’ bet on that one sugar?” He went to brush his thumb against your plush, lower lip when you had given his chest a light shove, fighting the urge to roll your eyes.

“Shuddup. You and I both know you’re not gonna win this one, honey. So get up from this fuckin couch and play this game with us. Or, you’re sleeping alone tonight.”

Joel grumbled something under his breath as he stared at you for a minute longer. He was trying to gauge if you were bullshitting him but by the way you stared right back, he knew you were dead serious.

“Fuckin’ gonna get you back for this sweetheart. You’ll see.”

You reached over and gave his cheek a light, affectionate pat, brushing your thumb against the coarse hair on his beard.

“Mhm. I’m sure you will, cowboy.”

Tess and Bea were already sat on the floor across from each other, an old empty beer bottle between them.

“Jesus fuck. You guys just gonna continue to eye fuck eachother or are we gonna play the game? Just one round, and then we’ll get out of your hair so you guys can rip each other's clothes off.” Tess said with a grin.

Your cheeks heated up at the slightest, from Tess’s crudeness, and the warm whiskey flowing through your veins.

You stood up from the couch, turning to look back at your lover, who was staring right back at you.

“C’mon Joel. Don’t make me ask you again.”

When he rolled his eyes in response, you wasted no time to grab his hand, yanking him up from the couch in one swift movement.

“Jesus fuckin’ Christ woman. Alright, alright. I’m up.” He begrudgingly took a seat across from you on the worn carpet.

“We all know the rules, right? I mean..they’re fairly simple anyway.”

“Yeah, Tess. Just fuckin’ get on with it already.” Joel grumbled.

Tess turned to you and pushed the bottle in your direction.

“Think you get the first honors of spinning. Only fair after what you went through.”

You held your hand against your chest in mock shock as Tess gave you the first spin.

“Really? Wow, Tess. I think I’m going to document this moment forever.” You jokingly said.

“Oh, shut up. You’re lucky I actually have learned how to tolerate you. Now go on, spin.”

“I’m so loved.” You said with a giggle before grasping the bottle between your fingers, glancing at the three of them before you spun The bottle.

It spinned a few times before slowly coming to a stop. The opened end of the bottle was pointed directly at Tess.

You glanced at Joel for a moment. His brows were furrowed in slightly as he observed where the bottle was pointing. He was unashamedly looking forward to this, and you could tell just by the way he took his time with bringing the rim of his glass to his lips. His eyes were locked on yours, a smirk appearing.

“Well, you gonna kiss her baby doll?”

You could tell Tess was a little hesitant as she looked at you. You on the other hand? You were already scooting towards her. The liquor was giving you a bit of confidence boost as you reached for her face, gently holding her cheeks in your warm palms.

“You good with this?” You asked, while stroking your thumbs against her soft skin gently.

Tess had given you a slight nod of consent before you leaned in, just lightly brushing your lips against hers, your eyes fluttering shut as you pulled her in close. You teased her for a moment before fully pressing your lips against hers.

Much to everyone’s surprise, Tess kissed you back as she reached up, threading her fingers through your hair.

The kiss lasted all of 30 seconds as you bit down on her lower lip, tugging it out with your teeth before gently releasing it.

Tess had given you one last peck before she pulled back, grabbing what was left of her glass and tossed it down her throat.

“Fuck, I see why you like her so much Miller. She’s a damn fuckin good kisser.”

Joel was looking right at you as he spoke, nodding his head.

“Mhm. She damn well is. Don’t go gettin’ any ideas about stealin’ my girl Tess. She’s all mine, and I don’t take kindly to sharin’.”

You were used to Joel’s possessive nature by now. You lived through it. For some reason, hearing him say ‘my girl’ did something to you. You were absolutely counting down the minutes till Tess and Bea would leave so that you could have Joel all to yourself.

A few more rounds were played, much to Joel’s disapproval. You had ended up kissing Tess a couple more times and when you had slid into her lap at one point, Joel had enough. You could tell he was jealous just by the clench of his jaw, the furrow of his brows and the way he clutched the whiskey glass in his fist. You were afraid if he held it any tighter, the glass would surely break.

Whoops.

Tess and Bea got the memo pretty quick and had left after you crawled out her lap, an innocent look stricken across your pretty face.

“Did ya enjoy yourself sweetheart?” Joel was absentmindedly spinning the bottle now, his gaze falling on you.

“Mhm. Best, ‘we’re so glad the knife didn’t go deeper’ party ever.”

“Mmm. Thought so. You really liked kissin’ on Tess like that huh? You gonna save any of that for me?”

You were leaned back on your elbows as you looked over at him, an eyebrow raised in a suggestive manner.

“You jealous or something cowboy? You looked to be enjoying yourself as well. How about you take a final spin? See if you get lucky tonight.”

“Mmm. I ain’t got nothin’ to be jealous about when I know I get you at the end of the night.”

He spun the bottle once and watched it land facing you. You could both feel the air getting thick with tension. The chemistry was absolutely sizzling, sending all the warning signs that it was about to explode.

“Guess you are getting lucky tonight.”

Joel didn’t even have a moment to respond before you were in his lap, straddling his hips. The tension had shattered when he immediately grasped your hips between his rough, calloused palms. He bunched the thin fabric of your t-shirt up so he could finally touch your warm skin, he felt the goosebumps rising already.

“C’mon pretty girl. Kiss me already, please. You gonna make me beg ya?” He drawled.

You loved having Joel beneath you like this and at your mercy. You loved the way he looked up at you with his deep, puppy dog brown eyes. His lips were held in a slight pout as you brushed your thumb across his lower lip, watching as he nibbled on the tip of your finger.

God, submissive Joel was so fucking sexy.

You leaned down, grabbing his face in your hands before you finally kissed him, slotting your lips together as you held control of the situation. You knew it would only for a short moment before he’d take over. He lowly mumbled against your lips, your tongues tangled, teeth clashing.

“How do you want me tonight baby? You want it sweet? Rough? Filthy?”

He slid his hands up the expanse of your back, his fingers splayed out against your skin.

“All of the above, cowboy. I fucking want it all.”

He flipped you over onto your back with ease, yanking you down so you were underneath him. He was gripping your chin between his fingers, while his thumb brushed against your lower lip. Now you were looking up at him, anticipating his next move, while you wrapped your lips around the tip of his thumb, eyelashes fluttering. The sight of you beneath him, looking so needy, so pretty for him, had his cock twitching in his jeans.

“Look at you baby. You look so fuckin pretty for me honey. Fuck. Don’t look at me with those eyes. Y’know what those things do to me? Fuckin’ got me meltin’ like putty.” His Texas accent was thick, warm, deep, and it settled deliciously between your legs. You were aching for him already.

“Joel. Baby, please. C’mon.”

“Shh. I know, pretty girl. Gonna treat you real good, okay? You know I will. I got you, you got me. Now wrap your legs ‘round me. Ain’t gonna fuck you on the floor. Next time, Kay sugar? Want you on the bed.”

Joel didn’t have to ask you twice as you wrapped your thighs around his hips while he lifted you up into his arms with ease, grasping you by the outside of your thighs.

He managed to reattach his lips to yours while he carried you down the hall, using his hip to push open your shared bedroom. You only had a moment to breathe when he had tossed you onto the mattress. Your lips were swollen, and your face flushed as you watched him pull his shirt over his head with one hand.

It easily was one of the sexiest things a man could do. Even more sexy because Joel Miller was your man. Your fellow, your guy.

You let out a soft, heart clenching giggle as he crawled on top of you, peppering your face with warm kisses. His beard lightly scraped at your skin but you didn’t mind. You fucking loved it.

“Fuckin’ damn near lost my mind when you kissed Tess like that. Fuckin’ filthy of you to climb in her lap. What would have happened if I wasn’t in the room? Hmm sweet girl? Bet you woulda kept goin’.”

His kisses moved from your face to your jaw, and down your neck. He was sucking greedily at your tender flesh. His teeth, lips and tongue worked in a steady flow as he left his marks upon you. He loved the way you would grip his hair, and scrape your nails against his scalp. The feeling had his eyes rolling back into his skull.

“Joel..” you whimpered out his name as he continued to mark you up.

“Yeah, baby? Is it too much? Want me to stop?” He mumbled against your skin. His fingers were pushing your shirt back up, exposing more of your skin. His fingertips lightly brushed against your navel.

“Don’t stop, please. I need more. Joel, baby give me more.”

“Needy little thing for me, huh? Don’t want me to take my time with ya? Mmm..I think you can be a little patient, right sweet girl?”

“Touch me or so help me god—“

His fingers were at the waistband of your jeans, he had popped the button open and was now toying with the zipper.

He loved holding you over the edge like this.

“What’re gonna do about it if I don’t give you what you want, honey? C’mon. Be a good girl for me.”

You let out a frustrated huff, a whine slipping past your throat because you were that fucking desperate for his touch. You absolutely craved it.

“Joel, please. Want you, want your fingers, your tongue. Want it all, please. Please just fucking touch me.”

He chuckled while he slowly dragged your zipper down, slipping his fingers between the waistband of your jeans and your panties.

“Mmm. Well, since you said please…”

He brushed his fingers against your clit, watching as your pretty lips fell open and he drank it all in.

“Take your shirt off for me, sugar. Play with your pretty tits while I play with your pussy, Kay? Fuckin’ wet for me already. Absolutely drippin.’ That for me, or Tess?”

“Both.” You deadpanned as you wasted no time to lift your shirt above your head, tossing it to the side.

Joel couldn’t help but lean down and wrap his lips around one of your peaked buds as he sank his teeth against the sensitive skin, causing your body to jolt up slightly.

He had used his free hand, that wasn’t teasing you, to push your jeans down your legs. He yanked them down past your ankles, along with your panties.

All it took was for him to tap your thigh lightly and you were spreading your legs for him as if on command.

Damn him.

“Absolutely fuckin filthy. Look at you baby. Drippin’ for me, and Tess.”

He was teasing your slick folds, watching your face the entire time, with intensity. He watched your mouth go slack when he had slowly slipped in two of his fingers, pumping them slowly. He loved the way your eyes rolled back when he curled them against the soft, spongy texture of your walls.

Your moans filled the small room deliciously. He couldn’t wait to have you screaming so loud, the neighbors and patrolling FEDRA fucks would be able to hear you from outside.

“Feels good, huh baby? I gotta have a taste. Will you let me, sweet girl? Will you let me have a taste of your pretty little pussy?”

You grabbed his face, roughly pulling him down to you by his chin. You kissed him hard, tasting the smooth whiskey on his tongue, knocking the air out of your lungs and his. “Have a taste, cowboy.”

You pulled away from the searing kiss, your fingers still wrapped around his soft curls as you guided his head down, with zero hesitation.

“Fuckin’ don’t have to ask me twice.” He gruffly responded as he dragged his lips down your navel, scooting himself lower, on his knees. He used his free hand to yank you closer to him, holding his hand down against your stomach firmly with his arm wrapped around you, locking you in place.

He wasted no time to press a kiss to your aching cunt, dragging his tongue across your clit as he continued to curl his fingers. The combination was mind-numbing.

He had you moaning his name as if it was a fucking prayer. Each swipe of his tongue, each time he hit that spot that had you seeing stars, your moans would rise an octave. All for him. Your fellow, your guy.

“Sound so fuckin pretty for me baby. So fuckin pretty.” He mumbled against you, his mouth full of your pussy.

“F-f—fuck Joel. I’m—fuck. So good baby. So fuckin good.”

“Don’t come for me yet honey. Not yet, I know, sweet girl. Don’t give in.”

His beard was slightly scraping against your inner thighs, he shook his head back and forth, causing his nose to bump against your aching clit and your thighs to close in around his head. He surely had deep scratches along his scalp from how hard you were digging your nails into him.

“J—Joel! Fuck—stop! Stop! I can’t—baby I can’t hold on much longer!

His tongue was fiercely lapping at you now, your thighs squeezing, trembling around his head. You never thought the overwhelming euphoria would end till he lifting his mouth from you. His beard, and lips were coated in your arousal. His pupils darkened as he looked up at you.

Your other hand was toying with your breasts, pinching the sensitive nubs between your fingers as you panted, catching your breath as you looked down at your lover.

“Can I have a taste, please?” You breathed out.

He slipped his fingers out, they were coated in your arousal as he sat up on his knees, bringing them down to your lips, smearing them with your cum before he slipped them in. He watched as you wrapped your lips around his fingers, dragging your tongue across the ridges, your eyes fiercely locked on his.

“So fuckin’ pretty for me. You like the way you taste baby? You taste so fuckin’ sweet darlin’.”

He slipped his fingers out slowly, replacing them with his lips as he kissed you hard. Slipping his tongue past your lips with ease. There was something so erotic about you and him tasting your cum together.

You hear the sound of his belt clanking, his jeans dragging down his legs as he rid himself of his clothes, tossing them onto the floor with yours.

You were already pulling him in as close as possible when you felt his tip pressing against the side of your thigh, while his other hand was firmly wrapped around the headboard.

“Gonna scream for me darlin.’? Gonna let the neighbors fuckin’ know you’re mine?” He had detached his lips from yours, momentarily. His forehead gently resting against yours as he dragged his tip against your slick folds, letting out a low hiss.

“Loud enough that they’re gonna think I’m getting murdered, cowboy.”

“Mmm. That’s exactly what I fuckin like to hear. You ready baby? I got you, you got me.”

Joel always knew how to get your heart skipping a beat, and the butterflies in your stomach flapping. Even when you were fucking.

“I got you, you got me.” You let out a soft sigh when he slowly pressed into you, you loved the way he filled you up to the brim, each time. He stretched you deliciously. Nothing about Joel Miller was small, and you fucking loved it.

“Fuckin’ hell. So tight for me. So fuckin tight. Goddamn. Don’t think I’m ever gonna get used to being buried inside this pretty pussy. Grippin’ me so well. So good for me baby.” Joel praised you as he sank into your warmth.

His pubic bone was nudging yours. That’s how deep he was enveloped inside you.

Just where he always wanted to be.

“S’okay? Feelin’ good honey?’ He pressed a kiss to your jaw, nipping lightly at your chin as he dipped his head down.

You nodded, glancing down at where your bodies were connected while you brought your arms around his neck, threading your fingers through the back of his hair.

“S’good baby.”

He let out a breath of air as he drew his hips back before thrusting them forward, he repeated this motion a few more times, listening to the sound his hips would make when they smacked against your skin.

You brought your leg around his hip, digging the heel of your foot into his ass, pushing him in deeper as he started to pick up the pace, his jaw going slack as you clenched around him.

The headboard was smacking against the wall, the shitty mattress squeaking beneath the weight of his thrusts.

The room was thick in the stench of sex, and two lovers in the middle of it all.

Joel’s groans entwined with your moans as he rammed into you. His fingers were holding onto your hip so tightly, you surely would have bruises in the morning.

“That’s it baby doll. Takin’ me so fuckin’ good. Always so good for me baby. Fuckin’ can stay buried in you all fuckin’ night. Drunk off this pretty little pussy. Drunk off you darlin’.” His words came out jagged, in between groans as he dipped his head down to capture your lips once more.

Your tongues tied, teeth clashing, senses on overdrive.

This is where you always wanted to be.

His thrusts grew sloppy, uncoordinated as he came close to hitting his high. In the midst of his peaking orgasm, Joel was always attentive to make sure you got there before him. So it came as no surprise when he had released your hip from his harsh grip, and brought his hand down between where your bodies were connected and rubbed his thumb against your clit.

“That’s it, pretty girl. So fuckin close. You gonna cum for me honey? C’mon, I’ve got you. You’re safe. C’mon baby, let go!”

Your eyes rolled back into your skull as you came around him, clenching around his thick cock as your thighs quivered, and shook. He came shortly after you, his body shuttering as his orgasm rippled through him. He groaned out your name, his own personal prayer as he came undone, collapsing into your arms in a sweaty heap.

You both laughed as you came to your senses. Your fingers were gently playing with his sweaty hair, his cheek was pressed against your chest, his eyes blissfully closed. He refused to move, even as he went soft inside of you, his cum dripping down your thighs. You both felt safe here in each other's arms.

“That’s the last time you’re gonna say no to playing spin the bottle with me, right?” You whispered, your eyes closed as you rested your chin against the top of his sweat soaked head.

He hummed, bringing his arms around you, holding you close. “Mmm. Never gonna say no to you again baby. Never again.”

He was too tired to move, you were spent as well, so it came natural for him to fall asleep inside of you. Notched together, bodies entwined, right where you both always wanted to be.

[peachsukii]

₊✩‧₊ ⎯ Bakugo goes with you to Disney world!

『 ♡ - k.bakugo x fem!reader 』 ✩ content; fun & fluffy fluff, soft bakugo  ⇢ katsuki bakugo masterlist ⋆ ˚ʚɞ — I was visiting family in Florida and wanted to spread some magic to my favorite. 💕

The flares of the Florida sun beat down on your exposed skin, humidity wrapping around your body like a blanket. The thin coat of sweat under your clothes wasn’t going to ruin your mood, but it definitely might ruin your boyfriend’s.

“Fuck, s’hot,” Bakugo grumbles, taking off his hat to wipe the sweat gathered on his forehead with the back of his free hand. “Knew you said it’d be a sticky heat, but goddamn. We haven’t even gotten in’ta the park yet and I’m dyin’.”

“Sorry babes, it’ll be better once we’re off the ferry,” you reassured, knowing that the trip across the water to the main entrance is always the hottest part of the trek. The ferry was packed with families donning various themed outfits - matching t-shirts, Disney princess costumes, and tons of little ones with Mickey and Minnie ears on their heads.

Bakugo leans over to you, snickering at a few kids running across the deck. “That kid’s gonna have the best sleep of his life tonight.”

A gentle smile settles on your lips as you watched the joy exude from the toddler, giggling up a storm with his mom.

“I can’t remember a time I had a sliver of that kinda energy,” you joke, lulling your head back as the wind swept through your ponytail. “Or a decent night’s sleep.”

“Ya had plenty of energy last night,” he laughs, smirking as you smack him on the arm while the ferry approaches the dock. Bakugo takes your hand when you stand to exit the boat, interlocking his fingers with your own. The greenery of the entrance flourishes under the sun’s rays, immediately catching your attention. You pull him to the side, standing in front of the landscape with the plaque that reads “Magic Kingdom” and the anniversary celebration signage. Before you can ask him to take a picture together, he’s already tugging you closer and taking out his phone from his pocket.

“Knew you were gonna ask, you and your sentimental ass,” Bakugo says, unlocking his fingers from your grasp in exchange for a spot on your waist.

“Scoot in close baby, I wanna get the flowers an’ shit.” He angles his phone to catch both of you with the flower display and the entry sign in the background, and to your surprise, he’s got the cheesiest smile on his face when he takes the shot.

“Go stand over there,” he demands, patting you on the small of your back when he lets go of your waist. You shoot him a confused stare, about to ask why before he cuts you off.

“I want a shot of my favorite princess. Stand over there an’ look pretty for me, peach.”

“Aww, Disney Magic already making you sappy?” You tease, sticking your tongue out him playfully to hide the blush creeping across your cheeks. He huffs while signaling you to move into the perfect spot. Once he’s satisfied with the position, you pose sweetly without hesitation with your foot propped up and cute little peace sign. Bakugo’s heart leaps into his throat when he studies your beautiful face through his screen, instantly setting the photo as his lock screen.

Both of you make your way to the gates and scan your magic bands, the signature chime and green light letting the two of you proceed into Magic Kingdom. Strolling through the Main Street Square, you stop in your tracks at the sight of Cinderella’s Castle, taking in its majestic glow with starry eyes.

“Wow, what a beautiful fu-uh, freakin’, sight,” Bakugo says, trying to watch his language around all the kids roaming the town square. You can’t help but giggle at his instance to be “family friendly,” trying his damndest not to curse at his natural 110% volume level. Jokingly, you told him earlier at breakfast that Mickey Mouse would pop out of a bush and scold him for cursing too much if he got caught and he’d end up in Disney Jail.

“So, where to first?” You question, bouncing on your heels with excitement. “Wanna meet your actual favorite princess?”

“Fu-screw off,” he snorts, squeezing your hand in jest. “…maybe later.”

You start walking down Main Street, navigating the crowds to head to the little nook between the castle and Tomorrowland. Peaking around the line queue, you squeal with excitement when you see Merida posing with a family of five.

“Look, there she is!”

Bakugo wasn’t really sure why he was nervous, he knew it was an actress, but a familiar childlike sense of wonder had him wanting to kick his feet with enthusiasm over the thought of meeting his favorite Disney princess. Merida happens to glance toward the two of you as you pass by the line queue before the next family gets her attention, waving when she sees you smile at her. Bakugo doesn’t know what to do, a weird fluttering sensation in his stomach as he manages to give a small wave back.

“Don’t get too soft on me now,” you quip, elbowing him in the side. "I happen to like your grumpy ass."

He barks out a laugh, throwing an arm around your shoulders. “M’not soft, princess. You’ll be askin’ for the opposite later.” He presses a kiss to your cheek, biting it playfully while you dramatically swat at him to cut it out.

The two of you meander through Magic Kingdom as the day goes on, jumping on rides, watching the parades, sharing snacks, and absorbing all the magic the park offered. You can’t remember a time where you’ve seen Bakugo smile for hours on end, enjoying your company and having a blast - even in the blistering heat! He went into a laughing fit watching you walk off of Space Mountain all wobbly the entire walk down the exit ramp from dizziness. And when he beat your score on the Buzz Lightyear ride, he insisted on buying the souvenir picture to prove his victory over you…and because he wants to hang it in the living room when you get home.

The day winds down, the sunset splayed across the horizon as the two of you settle into a spot in front of the castle, patiently waiting for the fireworks display to begin. The refreshing sensation of orange flavored dole whip hits your tongue, taking a few scoops before handing the cup back to Bakugo.

"Isn't this the life?" You ask, leaning back on your hands to stretch out your legs. "Can't believe I got you to wear matching Mickey ears."

"Y'didn't, you bought them when I said no," he retorts, rolling his eyes as he takes another bite of dole whip. "But I'm glad ya did, they're stupidly cute."

He sets the half-eaten cup on the sidewalk next to him, reaching into his pocket for his phone. "C'mere, before it gets too dark."

Bakugo tugs you closer, leaning against you as he hands you his phone to take a picture. When you're about to push the shutter button, he surprises you by planting a sweet peck on your cheek, a gleeful smile crossing your lips. When you look back at it, you can't help but think this is real - your boyfriend, the Katsuki Bakugo, one of Japan's top ten heroes, is here with you in Disney World, happy as can be, wearing matching Mickey ears and taking silly selfies with you.

"I'm starting to think you're the sentimental one."

"Can't a guy show off his girl?"

His girl.

"Color me shocked you wanted to be seen in those," you point to the Mickey ears atop his hat.

"Peach, y'know I'd do anything for ya at this point. I like bein' all cute and shit with you, and only you."

And you know what? That was a good enough answer. Bakugo flashes you a toothy grin before putting his phone back in his pocket, scooching closer so your hips are touching and offering you the last of the dole whip. The fireworks start a few moments later, the two of you lost in the beautiful explosive lights for the entire show.

Later that night, when you finally trudged back to the hotel, you have a notification of a new tagged photo that catches your attention - from Dynamight001. The caption of the photo set is short and sweet, thousands of likes and comments already flooding the post as he uploaded it on his main hero account.

"home's anywhere you are.🧡"

You're swiping through the photos, and there's one you didn't know he took at the very end. It's of you while watching the fireworks, the reflects of color sparkling in your eyes with a smile on your face.

Your heart beats against your ribs, overflowing with love for him as he waltzes out of the bathroom in his sweats. He sees the look on your face and chuckles, tackling you to the bedsheets and peppers your neck with kisses.

"Get off your phone already and in'ta bed, baby. We've got another long day tomorrow."

You hum in acknowledgement, tossing your phone onto the nightstand and sinking under the comforter to snuggle up into his chest - just the way he loves.

And you can't help but think to yourself, he's right.

Home's anywhere you are.

Disney bound!; @slayfics @maddietries @queenpiranhadon @starieq @liluvtojineteyam

[aquaticmercy]

Waste a Moment / Part 10

Summary : Bucky had always kept his distance, but seeing you get hurt on a mission changed everything. For the first time, he has a chance to start over with you.

Pairing : Bucky Barnes x avenger!reader (she/her) 

Warnings/tags : Mentions of food. Cursing. Memory loss. Head injury. Reader used to work in a museum.

Requested by :  @remoony

Word count : 2.7k

Note : Thank you so much for all the love you all are giving this series! Enjoy!

Series Masterlist

“Give me Something I Want”

Wednesday.

In the days that followed Yelena’s ultimatum, Bucky felt a strange, quiet storm churning beneath the life he’d finally allowed himself. 

For the first time in years, he felt a sense of warmth, of peace—something he’d only dreamed about, something that had always felt out of reach. 

He had you. And he could feel the calmness like he hadn't felt before every time you looked at him, every time your hand slipped into his, every time you said his name with a kind of gentle joy he’d thought he’d never deserve.

Even after that little bicker on Monday night, you had found your rhythm again, choosing to trust him instead.

He’d spent so many nights alone, haunted by the weight of his own memories, terrified of what he was capable of, of who he had been. 

But you… you made him feel like he was worth saving. 

But even as he kissed your hair and let himself sink into the couch cushions, he could feel Yelena’s judgement hanging over him like a ghost. The truth clawed at him, the bitter memories whispering reminders of the damage it could do if found out, if you knew the version of him that had once pushed you away, that had built walls so high he didn’t know how to tear them down, could you still look at him with that same kind stare? Would you pull away, realising that you’d only seen a sliver of the man he’d been, that the rest was buried in regrets and choices he wasn’t proud of?

His mind flashed back to that moment with Yelena, her voice leaving him exposed, vulnerable. Her words echoed in his head, haunting him. 

But she didn’t understand— she couldn’t possibly. Because you now looked at him with love and adoration. He wasn’t ready to lose that, to lose you.

Thursday.

The next morning, he found himself watching you as you slept, the barest light tracing your features. His heart twisted in a strange, painful mix of love and fear. 

He would carry the burden of his past alone, if it meant he could keep the life he’d found in you. 

He kissed your forehead, his lips as light as a feather, making a silent promise to himself: he would protect you from the pieces of himself that might hurt you, no matter what it cost him. And if Yelena tried to break that fragile peace, he’d deal with her when the time came. But for now, he’d stay right here, holding onto this one thing that finally felt real.

As he lay beside you, he repeated it in his mind like a vow: She will never know.

Friday.  

The mission briefing room pulsed with red lights and bright screens, though everyone else seemed blind to it. 

Maybe you just weren’t used to it yet.

Around you, the team was busy with logistics, preoccupied with tactical details, terrain-view maps, and contingency plans. 

You felt Bucky shift beside you. He was always a watchful presence beside you, like a human shield. Across the table sat Sam, Clint, and Yelena, their expressions locked in concentration. Bucky, however, had hardly looked up. His gaze remained trained on the table, his fist clenched in a way that made the way that made your heart flip.

Sam lifted his eyes to meet yours. “You’re ready for this,” he said, his tone firm. “Your specialisation on ancient artefacts makes you the only one who can get close enough without setting off every alarm in the place.” He gestured to the screen, where a high-definition image of a weapon gleamed with an eerie allure—a golden blade encrusted in cryptic symbols, the metal gleaming as if alive, exuding a faint glow that seemed neither earthly nor entirely comprehensible to the human mind.

“Our intel says it’s magical,” Sam continued— he had consulted with Strange, and he didn't even seem too sure. “Or at the very least, powerful enough to be a real threat if it falls into the wrong hands. We need you to get in there, identify it, and secure it before anyone else does. Clint and Yelena will be on backup. They’ll be ready to extract you the second something goes wrong.”

You nodded, feeling the familiar buzz of adrenaline flooding your veins— one you couldn't tie to a memory. This was the kind of mission you’d trained for, the kind that made you a candidate for the Avengers in the first place.

Then you felt it—a small but telling movement. Bucky’s hand had moved, his fingers curling tighter into a fist, the hum of machine coiling around his metal arm. A worry flashed in the back of his eyes that held the barely-contained force of a storm. His eyes were locked on the photograph of the weapon, his entire body straightening as if bracing against a blow.

He finally spoke. “No.”

The single word shattered the room. The others fell silent, every gaze snapping toward him, the low hum of conversation extinguished as if a candle had been snuffed out. His tone was final. 

You blinked, thrown off by the bluntness he exuded.

What?

The single word spiked confusion, breaking through your focus. Bucky was rarely vocal when he was around the entire team— but  he was never like this. His expression was hard now, carved with an intensity that seemed almost primal, as though he could see the danger you’d face from a mile away.

Sam’s brows drew together. “What?” he started, his voice calm but tinged with caution. He had the terrain intel for you, every dip of the landscape, But Bucky’s objection was a territory none of them had mapped.

As you looked up, Bucky’s eyes were fixed on you now, as if he were silently urging you to see what he did—to feel the risk that he alone seemed to sense.

His jaw clenched so tight it looked like he might crack a tooth. When he finally met Sam’s demanding stare, there was a flicker of vulnerability, an urgency that softened his hard edges. 

“She’s not ready,” he said, in a rumble so low that a chill ran down your spine. “We haven’t covered everything yet. There’s more we need to work through.”

Clint leaned forward. The look on his face was half a challenge, half a curiosity. “Bucky, you were the first to tell us she’s ahead of schedule. Hand-to-hand, stealth—you said it yourself, she’s exceeded every target.” His voice was level, but a hint of irritation crept up his throat.

Sure, Clint might not have as much of a … hands on approach as Bucky did, but he oversaw your training, too.

And he knew you were ready,

Bucky shook his head. It was his human hand that flexed into a fist this time, the knuckles turning white. 

“I want more time,” he muttered, more to himself than to anyone else. “The mission should be postponed. That’s all I’m asking.”

Bucky radiator of the fear he was struggling to mask. 

“I trust your judgement, Bucky,” Sam’s arms crossed over his chest, his brow furrowing. "But she’s proven that she’s capable. She’s kicking my sorry ass week in week out and you know she’s ready.”

“I just want more time,” He repeated in a rasp, his eyes darkening. 

Time. 

That was all he wanted. 

All he ever wanted with you.

More time, to fix every weak spot, to be sure you were shielded against every possible threat. More time to prepare you for the dangers you couldn’t yet see. More time to hold you in his arms before anything— this mission or Yelena— took you away from him.

But time was slipping away. 

Sam looked over at you, assessing, maybe even waiting to see what you thought. You’d been eerily quiet, a mixture of awe and nerves keeping you planted to your chair. This was your first mission briefing after getting back into training, after all. You hadn’t learned the cadence of these discussions yet, hadn’t learned the proper flow of conversation.

“One week wouldn't hurt,” you murmured, your voice steady, though a knot twisted in your chest. 

Bucky’s breath hitched as the words one week left your lips, echoing in his mind like a warning. The phrase cut through him, pulling him back to Yelena’s voice, low and sharp as she’d said it to him just days before: One week, Barnes. You have one week to tell her everything or I will.

He glanced across the table, his eyes landing on Yelena. Her stare was unrelenting, almost predatory. The corners of her mouth quivered in a faint, insincere smile, and her eyes locked onto his with a dark promise, a reminder of the ultimatum she had made—an ultimatum that only had two days left on the clock.

Bucky felt a dread gnawing at him, knowing that both clocks were now ticking down faster than he could stop it.

Sam glanced between the two of you. This time. His eyes were kinder, more understanding.

“Fine,” he conceded. “But only for a week. After that…” He gave a smile that reassured your confidence. “It’s yours.”

Relief surged through Bucky, though he buried it beneath a mask of calm indifference.

As the meeting wrapped up, everyone began to leave the room. As you stood to leave, you caught a look from Yelena, her face shadowed by a faint trace of sadness. She lingered by the door, though she said nothing. 

You looked down, an unexpected pang of guilt tugging at your heartstrings. You assumed that Yelena was disappointed in you, in delaying the mission.

You hadn’t meant to slow anyone down. You had trained relentlessly, preparing for a moment like this, but Bucky’s resistance had meant something to you. 

You had grown to trust him more than anyone in your fragile existence. If he said no, he must’ve had a reason.

���

When you were finally alone with Bucky back at your apartment, a tension thrummed between you. You turned to him, crossing your arms, unable to hold back the frustration and confusion threatening to bubble over. 

“I was ready for that mission,” you said. “I am ready.”

He sighed, rubbing the back of his neck. You could see the struggle in his eyes, a potion of protectiveness and love. “It’s… not that simple,” he replied reluctantly. His cheek ones flexed, and for a moment, he looked at you with a vulnerability that made you weak.

“Not that simple?” you echoed, pressing an explanation out of him. “I agreed to a week because you were worried, not because I thought I wasn’t ready. You’re always so… protective, but I need you to trust me.”

He nodded, his human hand reaching out to touch your arm, comforting himself through the contact. His thumb traced gentle circles. “I do,” He hesitated, the admission heavy on his tongue. “I need you here. Just… a little longer.”

The honesty in his words softened your frustration. His hand tightened on you, his voice dropping to a raw, vulnerable whisper. “I can’t lose you. Not again.”

The words hit you hard, and for a moment, you stood there and shared his worries. You lifted a hand to his cheek, feeling the roughness of stubble under your fingers, his eyes flickering closed.

“Bucky,” you whispered, gently pulling him closer. Your arms slid around his neck, and you felt him relax almost instantly. A quiet sigh slipped from his lips as you ran your fingers through his hair.

“I’m here,” you murmured, your voice soft as your lips brushed over his cheek. “But sooner or later, you’ll have to let go.”

Bucky’s metal arm slid around your waist, his forehead pressing gently against yours. He held you like he was memorising every detail, the sound of every breath you took. 

Then his mouth found yours in a kiss that carried everything he couldn’t put into words. His hands moved up your back, tracing slow, warm circles that left a trail of heat along your spine. You felt his fingers graze your skin, slipping beneath the hem of your shirt, his touch sending shivers through you as he pulled you closer, pressing you against the marble counter.

Each kiss, each touch, was a confession, an apology, a plea. Still, you felt the distance he kept, a part of himself he still couldn’t share.

When he finally pulled back, his forehead rested on yours. His breaths were uneven, his gaze heavy-lidded with something that looked awfully a lot like grief. 

“I will,” he promised, his voice growing thin. “I just need more time.”

You nodded, brushing your thumb along his cheek, meeting his gaze with warmth, understanding. “One week,” you whispered back, a soft smile lifting your lips. You leaned in, kissing him again, your touch lingering, giving him the reassurance he so desperately needed

When you said it, your voice was soft, filled with warmth and reassurance. But in his mind, the words twisted, dragging him back to the way Yelena had said them—sharp and unforgiving.

One week.

Your tone was gentle, a promise. Hers had been relentless and ruthless, a threat. He couldn’t shake it, the way she had cut into him, a grim countdown echoing in his mind no matter how hard he tried to focus on you.

You sighed, breathing in his scent, wondering what he was thinking about.

Could you really blame him? Of course he cared. Of course he was worried. 

The last time you’d been sent on a mission, you came back with four years of your life wiped clean, whole chapters of memory erased like pages torn from a book. 

You didn't voice it, but you often found yourself wondering about those lost fragments of your life, the memories that had slipped through your fingers. What were they? Who have you been? 

Bucky had never given you straight answers. All he ever said was that before all this, he was your friend. But there was something in his eyes that suggested more. 

You wondered sometimes,  if the two of you had been more than friends before… Had you been lovers, too, the way you were now?

It was easy to imagine it, the way his body curved so naturally onto yours.

But he wouldn’t tell you, and his reluctance left you with an aching sense of being incomplete. 

Sometimes you wondered if losing all that time hurt him more than it hurt you.

Maybe the thought of reliving them, of watching you live without the memories you both carefully curated together, hurt him too much. 

And even if Bucky were to tell you everything—the names of places you’d been, the details of nights spent together, the whispers you might have shared—it would still be just that: information. Facts without feelings. 

No context behind what you did and why you did it. 

In that moment, his body leaned into yours as if he could delay time, press pause, keep the world at bay for just a little longer. 

But deep down, he knew this was temporary. 

He knew Yelena wouldn’t wait forever. Two days, maybe less, and everything he feared would come crashing in.

Even if he managed to talk her out of it, he had a week until you had to go on the mission.

—

Later that night, Bucky sat in the dim glow of his phone, eyes fixed on the unsent message he’d typed to Yelena.  

Can we talk?

He was planning to convince her, to beg her if he had to, anything to stop her from telling you the truth. At the very least, he wanted her to hold off for a little longer.

He had an excuse now—the mission. The argument was already forming in his head. “She’s going on a mission in a week,” he’d tell her. “Do you really want her distracted with all of this?” 

It was a flimsy shield to hide behind, but maybe it would buy him time. Maybe he could just keep buying time.

Because for you, he’d pay anything.

With a weary sigh, he deleted the message. 

Tomorrow, he thought, I’ll talk to Yelena in person, face to face. Maybe if she saw how much this meant to him, she’d hold her silence a little longer. Maybe she’d understand.

But as Bucky’s screen went dark, your phone buzzed in the other room.

You glanced down at your phone, surprised to see a message from Happy:

Hey! Had my assistant compile all the security footage of you from the last three years at the compound. You’re welcome to come by and watch it whenever you’re ready.

-to be continued…

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[bumblebeesfromvenus]

My precious Jewel ♧

Bale!Bruce Wayne x soon-to-be wife!reader

A/N: I got carried away. I'm very passionate about Bale!Bruce and just lost control at one point. I'm not sorry, hehe! This is for all my Bale!Bruce girlies. Can be read for any Bruce, though! Enjoy!

~Fi 🪻

Prompt: Bruce spoiling you to the high heavens and only wanting your love in return.

Requested by: my lovely mutual @vampkennedy

Warnings: NFSW CONTENT. proceed with caution. PiV, creampie, very very fluffy, kinda possessive Bruce

Word count: 3.6k

PART 2 ♡

Please don't copy my work. I put a lot of effort and heart into the things I write.

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There was not a morning where you didn't wake up like this. You were alone, yes, but you knew he wasn't far. He never was. This had turned into a game of sorts. A spiel where he would shower you in lavish gifts every single morning. It was his way of showing you just how much you meant to him and that you held his heart in your hands.

You sat up in your shared bed and stretched your arms, letting out a yawn. Your gaze fell to the sliver of light that your curtains couldn't keep out. Getting up, you followed it carefully, knowing that he wanted you to. He was Bruce Wayne, nothing was a coincidence. Everything was intenional. A small, red box sat on your vanity, a note right next to it. It was being perfectly illuminated by the slice of sunshine cutting through the darkness of the room. A smile crept onto your face as you read the note your lover had left you.

My beloved,

May this bring a sparkle to your life, just as you have brought to mine.

Love,

Bruce ♡

You rolled your eyes at how corny this was, but it still tugged at your heart strings in the best way possible. Every day there would be a new box and note for you to discover. Placing the gifts in just the right spot and, like today, draping the curtain just at the perfect angle to guide the way to his love. He was always awake before you were but that didn't stop him. He'd never missed a day and you doubt he ever would.

You looked forward to this as well, but not because of the jewelry or whatever other expensive gifts he had prepared. No. It was the notes. It were the cruelly scribbled down words that made your heart beat out of your chest.

You loved the gifts as well, but the notes held a special place in your heart. Putting down the piece of paper, you carefully picked up the tiny box and opened the lid. Your mouth fell slightly agape at the sight before you. In the smooth, white pillows sat a delicate necklace. It was glistening in the morning glow ever so nicely.

A beautifully crafted rose pendant hung from it, the intricate petals were cold to the touch as you gently grazed the tips of your fingers over them. This had been one of most extravagant presents he'd ever given you. Bruce did always call you his flower. You brought so much to his once dull and gray life; his heart and soul bloomed like the delicate daffodils did in early spring everytime he thought of you. You brought color and joy. Just like flowers did.

"Oh, Bruce..." you sniffled, the smile on your face hurting your cheeks. Carefully picking it up, you placed it around your neck and fastened the clasp. It fit perfectly, sitting ever so delicately on your skin. You admired yourself in your vanity mirror, your fingers slightly grazing the skin just around the necklace.

You couldn't wait to show Bruce. Yes, he'd picked it out but it looked so different on you than it did on the silken interior of the small box.

Throwing on one of your many, many silk robes that Bruce insisted on getting in every single color, you quickly made your way down the grand staircase. The cold marble tiles sending a delightfully cool feeling up your spine each time you took a step. You rushed down the stairs, a steady grasp on the railing. The sunlight streaming in through the many windows fell right onto your ring.

Slowing your pace, you held your hand up to the light and examined the shimmering band. A reminder of his love. He had proposed to you just a few days ago. It was incredibly special, just the two of you under the stars. He popped the question in the stunning garden of Wayne manor that Alfred worked so hard on.

Speaking of Alfred, he was more excited than either of you. He had to sit down and went through an entire box of tissues when you broke the news. What a kind soul. You had the dumbest smile on your face recalling the events from a couple of days ago. Letting out a squeal, you pressed your hands to your heart. You were getting married. Not only that, but to him. The love of your life.

You couldn't wait any longer, you had to see him. Hurrying the rest of the way to the dinning hall, you composed yourself before entering. And the sight. Dear God. Bruce was sat at the head of the table in his boxers and a white T-shirt, coffee cup in one hand, newspaper in the other. He looked so domestic, so peaceful. Not like previous nights where he'd limp in, all battered and bruised.

Slightly looking up, his furrowed brows were immediately replaced with a wide grin when he spotted you. Putting down the mug and the paper he got out of his chair, walking your way. You met him halfway, your arms thrown loosely around his neck as his snaked around your waist.

"If it isn't my beautiful wife." He grinned, tracing circles on your waist with his thumb. "Ah, soon-to-be wife." You corrected him, the smile on your cheeks never leaving. He chuckled lowly and shook his head. "What took you so long, Honey?" He questioned softly. You laughed at his eagerness to see you. "I was held up by your generosity, Mr. Wayne." You teased, taking one of his hands and placing it on your collarbone, right next to the stunning piece of jewelry.

His gaze fell to your neck and his smile faded, leaving him wide-eyed and with his mouth slightly agape. He tenderly caressed your soft skin with his thumb, tracing the shape of the necklace. "I knew it'd be perfect," He breathed out, followed by a breathy chuckle. Your cheeks flushed and you brought his hand up to your lips, placing a kiss on his knuckles.

"Thank you, Sweetheart. For all these precious gifts. For always making me wake up with a smile on my face. You've made me the happiest girl in the world." You confessed, the softest smile on your face. Bruce swear his heart just melted inside his chest. He made you the happiest girl in the world? You have no idea how happy you made him. He felt invincible, like the king of the world. He was convinced he only needed your love to accomplish whatever he set his mind to. You were his oxygen, the blood in his veins, the very spirit of his soul.

Bruce was determined to show you just how much you meant to him, if that was possible. "Anything for you, my love." He said, having the most adoring look in his eyes. You'd placed your hand on his cheek in the meantime, the golden engagement band cold against his skin. "I love you, Bruce." You whispered, gently leaning in for a tender kiss. He didn't hesitate, pulling you closer to him by your waist. You relaxed against his lips, tightening the grip you had on the back of his neck.

You needed more, you needed him. He chuckled against your lips but complied, deepening the kiss. Pulling away for air, you were breathless and your lips were puffy. He would kiss you breathless forever if he could. And God knows you would let him. His playboy days paid off for something because this man could kiss. And you loved how you were the only one to feel those kisses.

"Look at you. My eager, little wife." A sly smirk was on his face and he made sure to emphasize the last word. You opened your mouth to correct him again, but he quickly interrupted you with another breathtaking yet soft kiss. You didn't now why you were so easily flustered by his kisses, you'd been together for years. There just something so electric and new about being his. Truly being his. Him being yours.

"I know we're not married yet, but I can call you whatever I want. You're mine." He said lowly, pupils dilated. His grip on your waist tightend. He's never done that. Never called you his. Told you you were his. It was implied, of course, but he'd never said the actual words. You just stood there, face flushed to the high heavens with the biggest lovesick smile on your face. His tone softened again when he spoke.

"I want you to wear the necklace to the Gala tonight." Your brows furrowed and you slightly tilted your head in confusion. "What Gala?" You asked, no idea what he was talking about. "Oh, it's a... spontaneous thing. There's a new dress in the closet." He answered. You squinted your eyes in suspicion. "Spontaneous, huh? Also, we talked about this, Sweetheart. I don't need a new dress for every event! I've barely worn the other hundreds." You laughed.

He just grinned in response. You knew he loved to see you in something new each time, he loved spoiling you. Only the best for his love. "That's where we disagree. Would you wrap a diamond ring in used wrapping paper?" He teased. You playfully rolled your eyes at him. "No, I wouldn't." You sighed.

"All the other dress just can't keep up with your inner beauty." He breathed, a soft look in his eyes. You folded. You could never be upset with him for long, you loved him too much. "Fine, I'll wear it. You're lucky I love you," you pouted. He wanted you to never stop saying that. That you loved him. Something he'd longed for, for so long. To be loved, truly loved. Not for his money, his status, his looks. But because of who he was. And you did just that. From the odd noises he made when he slept, to the extremely bad jokes he made. You were always there, tending to his wounds, whether they affected his body or his soul. Holding him so softly after a hard night, he feared you'd crumble under his calloused hands.

"Well, I'll get ready for the day. I'll see you later, okay?" You said, pressing a quick peck to his lips. He hummed in response as you slipped from his grasp.

"Honey?" you turned around, already halfway up the stairs.

"There will be a lot more press and paparazzi there today," he said. "Why?" You asked curiously, fully turning around on the stairs. "They're expecting Mrs. Wayne." He shot you a wink and gave you one of those signature smiles as he walked away.

He was right. There were a lot more people. The streets leading up to the location were lined completely with camera wielding, and very nosy paparazzi and news anchors. Everyone was hoping to catch a glimpse. This was huge for the press. They probably thought that this day would never come. Bruce Wayne, Gothams millionaire playboy was settling down? Impossible. The moment you stepped out of the car they were all over you. Invading your personal space, shoving cameras and microphones in your face. This was sensational. They wanted to know more about the woman who tightly held Bruce Wayne's heart in her delicate hands.

They had written some pretty bad stuff about Bruce in the past, not that he cared. But when one peticular news article labeled you as just a trophy wife, all hell broke loose. He sued them until bankruptcy. How dare they. How dare they lable his wife, his world, his precious jewel, as just a trophy. You were the light of his life, you loved him and he loved you. He loved you more than they would ever know and he would burn them to the ground if they ever suggested otherwise again. No press had the guts to call you names again, or they would feel the wrath of a very in love Bruce Wayne.

He came to your rescue pretty quickly. Positioning himself between you and the paparazzi, acting as human shield. Bruce gently placed a hand on the small of your back and pushed you through the doors. You let out a breath you didn't know you held.

"Jesus, do they not have better things to do.." you mumbled, hooking your arm with his. "This is their job, so no, Honey." He grinned. You rolled your eyes at him. You knew that, but did they have to be so obnoxious? If they asked nicely maybe you would actually answer some of their absurd questions. You made your way into the center of the room where the upper class of Gotham was already mingling with a glass of very expensive champagne in hand.

Bruce couldn't stop glancing over at you. The floor length, satin gown was tailored to perfection, showing of your body in the best way. The rose necklace sat nicely around your neck, sparkling under the bright light of the many chandeliers. Your hair was in an updo, showing off your earrings perfectly as they lightly swaying as you walked. Your soft hands were decorated with the many rings he had showered you with, the extravagant engagement band catching everyone's eye.

God, you looked so elegant on his arm, almost floating along the granite floor. The bright smile on your lips melted his heart as you greeted people. Unimportant people, if you ask him. "You look absolutely beautiful, my love," he whispered in your ear, his breath fanning over your neck, sending a chill down your spine.

"You flatter me, Darling. I'm glad you wore this suit, it's my favorite," you gently ran your hand down his chest. It too, was tailored just right. His heart beat faster. He didn't know you had a favorite suit. One that you longed to see him wear because it just made him look that good. "What's this Gala for anyway?" You asked, toying with the lapel of his jacket.

"Oh, you know, just some... charity," he responded with a breathy laugh. You raised your eyebrows at him. Your eyes widened in realization and a knowing smirk made its way on your pretty face. "Did you plan this whole thing just to show me off?" You questioned amused. He stumbled over his words, a very rare occurrence.

"What? Of course not, Honey, that-that'd be absurd-" you interrupted him by pressing a finger over his lips. "Fine. Let them see. Let them see how much I love you." You whispered, smashing your lips to his in a hungry kiss. One hand was on the back of his neck, keeping him close to you, the other was steadied on his chest. His hands instinctively snaked around your middle, holding you tightly.

All eyes were on you, hushed whispers and gasps filling the room. You pulled away, chest heaving. Bruce's pupils were dilated. "God, you're perfect..." he whispered breathlessly. He couldn't wait to leave this stupid event and shower you in his affection.

The Gala was a success and you were finally back at the manor. You were standing in front of the mirror in your bedroom and admired yourself one last time before you'd take it all off. Bruce came up behind you, the jacket of his suit discarded and the sleeves of his shirt rolled up. He wrapped his strong arms around your waist and dropped his head into the crook of your neck, trailing kisses along your exposed skin. You let out a breathy laugh. "Look who's eager now," you teased.

Bruce chuckled against your neck. "Can you blame me when you look like that?" He said lowly. He dragged his hands up your back and slowly pulled the zipper to your dress down. With a gentle brush of his hand, he let the dress slip off your shoulders and onto the floor. You were left in nothing but your panties, which quickly joined your gown and the floor as he pushed them down your plush hips.

"You're a little overdressed, don't you think?" You said softly, yet seductively as he continued placing wet kisses along your bare shoulder and neck. "You tell me, Honey," he answered. The taste of your skin was intoxicating. You turned around, putting your hands on his chest and slowly pushing him towards the bed. When the back of his thighs hit the bed, he sat down, pulling you into his lap.

"I think you are," you mumbled hazily, unbuttoning his shirt and throwing it on the ground. You moved your hips over his hard cock, straining against his pants. A low groan erupted from his throat at your actions. You could feel your wetness dripping from you, leaving a wet patch on his crotch. He pulled you in for a desperate kiss as you reached down to unbuckle his belt and slip off his pants.

Bruce was left in his boxers, which were quickly taken care of. His throbbing cock sprung free, hitting his stomach. You took his dick into your ring clad hand and pumped up and down a few times, making his head fall back. "Fuck, Baby..." he groaned, squeezing your hips. Lifting your hips, you lined his length up with your pussy and sank down onto it, a long moan falling from your lips. "G-God.. you fit so well. It's like you were made for me.." you mumbled out, your hands finding their place on his shoulders. He was made for you, he was sure of it. He was yours, until the end.

He moaned out your name when you started moving your hips, which he guided with his hands. You tangled your fingers in his soft hair, occasionally tugging and pulling at it. Bruce looked up at you as you bounced on his cock. Your beautiful face was contorted in pleasure, and the jewelry he had bought you still adorned you so nicely. There was a layer of sweat covering your skin, making you shine. Just like your necklace glistened in the dimly lit room. You looked like a Goddess above him, decorated with delicate pieces of jewelry. Jewelry he bought for you.

God, he wasn't sure he wanted to fuck you another way ever again. Your ring was cold against his skin, reminding him that you were his. For him to take, however he pleased. He would buy every diamond in Gotham if it meant having a sight like this before him. Your hips started moving faster, as you moaned. "Shit...M'getting c-close," you breathed out, letting your head fall against his shoulder.

He was almost upset at you for taking away his privilege of admiring you, but he never got the chance once he heard your cute little moans and whines right beside his ear. "Me too, Honey, keep going.." he panted. You pressed your body to his, your tits sitting beautifully against his chest. Bruce glanced down and saw the curves of your soft tits adorned with the stunning necklace.

It molded to their curve so perfectly, making him tighten the grip on your hips, frantically moving you up and down his cock. He chased his release, your warm, wet walls feeling too good. You gasped as his dick hit that one that that made your head spin. "Oh fuck, I can't wait to call you my husband.." you rambled out, barely registering what you'd confessed.

That pushed him over the edge as he shot his load inside you with a guttural groan, filling you up. Your husband. That was music to his ears. That's all he wants, to be yours, to be loved by you. You clenched around him and came with a cry of his name. Panting, you pressed a tender kiss to his lips. "Did you mean that?" He asked quietly, kneading the flesh of your hips.

"Did I mean what?" You asked, breathing heavily. Bruce hestitated, letting out a nervous chuckle. "That you can't wait to call me your husband."

"Oh.. I did. I love you so much, Sweetheart. More than you'll ever know. My heart is yours, Bruce," you said softly, stroking his cheek. "I love you too, Honey." He responded, kissing you passionately.

"I'll draw us a bath," you breathed, raking your fingers through his locks. He hummed in response, reluctantly letting go of you. You slipped off his cock. He watched his cum trickling down your thigh as you walked towards the bathroom. He groaned at the sight, falling back onto the bed with a smile.

Bruce was laying with his head against your chest, surrounded by bubbles and soap. His back was pressed to your front and your hands were wrapped around him. You could feel him relax against you, the tension in his shoulders fading. "I keep them, you know," you said softly from behind him. The water rippled as he turned his head to look at you.

"Keep what?" He asked. "The notes. The ones you always place next to my gifts? I keep all of them," you spoke, tracing patterns on his pecs. "You do?" He smiled. "Yeah, I read them when you're gone and I'm feeling sad. They're in a box in my nightstand." You mumbled, pressing a kiss to the top of his head. "I love you so much, Honey," he said quietly. "I love you more, Bruce."

From that moment on, he put more effort into his notes. They keep getting longer and longer, almost turning into letters as he confessed his love to you every single day. You would still read them when you're old and gray, because his love for you would never fade. Just like how your love for him would never be lost to time, you would love him until the end, continuing in your next life. Your souls and hearts were bound, and they would never stop searching until they found eachother once again.

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[pickingupmymercedes]

Whispered fairytale - Lewis Hamilton

request: "hi can i have a request about moments of fluff when reader's pregnant? with lewis of course <3" - anon

pairing: Dad!Lewis Hamilton x Reader!

warnings: fluff, like a lot of it

wordcount: +2K

a/n: I am not sorry for the sighs I was letting out as I was writting this. You guys have been warned, it's dad Lewis after all.

As always, I'm open for feedback, come say hi!

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Monaco shimmered beneath the fading sunlight, a familiar scenery for Lewis and Y/N. This time, however, the champagne flowed with a bittersweet undercurrent as nestled in a drawer, a positive pregnancy test hummed with a quiet revolution. No elaborate pronouncements, just a single pink line etching a new chapter onto their shared story.

Their path to parenthood hadn't been meticulously expected. Discussions about starting a family had danced between them, unspoken agreements carried on the wind of their non-stop lives. Lewis, now an eight-time champion, a feat achieved under the scarlet banner of Ferrari, still felt the fire to chase another title. Yet, amidst the celebrations at the end of season, a quiet voice whispered that perhaps, the timing might have been just right.

As the celebratory roar began to fade, replaced by the clinking of abandoned champagne flutes, Lewis found himself gazing at Y/N, her smile hesitant yet imbued with a radiant joy, although the reason behind it hadn’t been revealed.

Their planned racetrack of a future had morphed into a sprawling unknown, but as Y/N's hand met his, a quiet certainty bloomed within him. This unplanned detour wasn't a wrong turn. It was a victory lap of a different kind, perhaps the starting grid for their greatest adventure.

A Dream

Sunlight speared through the sliver of uncovered window, painting a warm stripe across Lewis's features. Y/N stirred beside him, the weight of sleep clinging to her eyelids. Disoriented for a moment, she blinked, the room slowly coming into focus. Lewis, sprawled on the plush white chaise lounge next to his driver’s room sofa, was the first thing that registered.

Except, he wasn't really by himself, not mentally anyway.

His gaze was fixed on a spot above her stomach, a soft, almost reverent smile playing on his lips. He spoke, his voice a low murmur that sent shivers down Y/N's spine.

"Alright, little one," he was saying, "I know you can't hear me yet, but listen up. This whole thing...it's a bit overwhelming, you know?" He chuckled, a nervous sound that tugged at Y/N's heart. "Honestly, I don't have a clue what I'm doing. But your mama here," he glanced at Y/N, his eyes warm, "she's a trooper. We'll figure it out, together. As a team."

The sight of Lewis, ever the composed champion, confessing his anxieties about fatherhood sent a wave of tenderness over Y/N. Carefully, she reached out, her fingertips brushing against the dark braids of his hair.

"Lewis," she croaked, her voice thick with sleep.

He turned, his smile widening as he met her gaze. "Hey there, beautiful.”

"Just getting to know the newest member of the team," he continued, his eyes flickering back to her stomach. "We were having a little chat."

Y/N couldn't help but laugh, a soft sound that echoed in the quiet room. "It can’t really hear you" she said, her smile fading slightly. "It's still early days, remember?"

Lewis's smile softened. He reached out, his hand hovering just above her stomach. "I know," he said, his voice gentle. "But that doesn't mean I can't try, does it?"

Lewis, ever the believer in manifestation, ever the optimist. She scooted closer, making room for him on the sofa. He settled beside her, his arm wrapping around her shoulders, pulling her close.

"How was your nap?" he asked, his lips brushing against her temple.

"Good," she mumbled, nuzzling closer to him. "But you woke me up with your…pep talk."

"Just some heart-to-heart, you know?!" he said with a wink. "With the little one, of course."

Y/N rolled her eyes playfully, but a smile tugged at her lips. The past few weeks had been a whirlwind. The surprise of the positive test, the initial shock, the overwhelming joy – it had all been a blur. Lewis, ever the supportive partner, had taken it all in stride. Sure, there were moments of worry, of panicked glances exchanged in stolen moments, but mostly, there was a quiet excitement that simmered between the couple.

Out of the blue, as it tended to be, a loud growl echoed in the quiet room. She winced, covering her eyes in shame. "Hey, hey, it's okay," he soothed, his voice laced with concern. "This little one needs some food, right?"

Y/N nodded, the growling easing down "Yeah," she mumbled, leaning her head against his shoulder. "Sorry, I..."

"Don't apologize," he said firmly. "This is all part of the journey. We're in this together."

His words held a quiet strength, a comforting confidence that calmed the churning in her stomach. It was more than just constantly being hungry; it was a reminder of the tiny miracle growing inside her.

They lay in silence for a moment, the only sound the rhythmic rise and fall of their breathing. Outside, the world buzzed with activity, the roar of the racetrack a distant rumble. But here, in this quiet haven, a different kind of race was about to begin – a race against time, against uncertainty, but most importantly, a race towards a future filled with the promise of a tiny miracle. And that little one, even though they were still just a whisper of a dream, was already so loved. More than Y/N could ever imagine.

Your scent

The crisp scent of Lewis's signature cologne, a heady mix of citrus and spice, usually sent a wave of warmth through Y/N. Today, however, it was the trigger for a rebellion in her stomach. A wave of nausea crashed over her, sending her scrambling out of bed towards the bathroom.

Lewis, stirred by the commotion, sat up, blinking away the remnants of sleep. "Y/N? You alright?" he called out, concern etching lines on his forehead.

Y/N emerged from the bathroom, wiping her mouth with the back of her hand. "Yeah," she mumbled, her voice weak. "Just a little…" she trailed off, the metallic tang of bile rising in her throat.

Lewis was by her side in an instant, his hand rubbing soothing circles on her back. "Morning sickness again?" he asked gently.

Y/N shook her head, forcing a weak smile. "Second trimester was supposed to be smooth sailing, they said" Her voice held a hint of sarcasm, even to her own ears.

Lewis chuckled softly. "Maybe smooth sailing is a bit optimistic," he admitted. "But hey, at least you're keeping food down" Y/N grimaced. That particular phase had been brutal. She rinsed her mouth in the sink, the minty freshness a welcome relief.

"Actually," she started hesitantly, Lewis's brow furrowed. "What is it?"

Y/N hesitated, then took a deep breath. "Your cologne," she began, gesturing vaguely towards the bottle on the dresser "it's making me sick."

The surprise on Lewis's face was comical. He stared at the bottle, then back at Y/N, as if trying to process the information. This was the cologne he'd worn for years, his signature scent. It was practically an extension of him.

"My cologne?" he finally managed, his voice a mixture of disbelief and amusement. "But it's…" he trailed off, searching for the right words. "It's me, Y/N. You love me, right?"

Y/N couldn't help but laugh, the sound shaky but genuine. "Of course, I love you, silly," she said, reaching out to cup his face. "But right now, your child doesn’t really enjoy your 'you-ness'”

A slow grin spread across his face. "Alright, then” he declared, picking up the cologne bottle. "Operation: Find a pregnancy-safe scent it is."

Y/N watched, a smile playing on her lips, as Lewis rummaged through his extensive collection of grooming products. "How about this one?" Lewis asked, holding up a small, unassuming bottle with a label that read "Lavender Serenity."

Y/N wrinkled her nose playfully. "A bit too…serene for you, wouldn't you say?"

Lewis chuckled, tossing the bottle back onto the dresser. "Maybe. But hey, at least it won't make you puke."

Whoever they are

The air crackled with anticipation as Y/N's mother hoisted a heavy bag of groceries onto the kitchen counter. Lewis's dad, Anthony, hovered beside her, peering inside with a mischievous glint in his eye.

"Alright" Anthony announced, brandishing a head of cabbage, "let's settle this once and for all. Boy or girl?"

Y/N chuckled, her belly, now a prominent dome beneath her maternity clothes, bouncing with laughter. "Lewis and I have already agreed, no peeking!"

Across the room, Lewis, ever the competitor, mirrored Y/N's amusement. "Besides," he added, winking at Anthony, "I have a feeling your cabbage test is about to be proven wildly inaccurate."

Anthony scoffed playfully. "Don't underestimate the power of tradition. Now, hand me that measuring tape."

As the pregnancy had unfolded everyone had made the bump a target to old wives' tales and lighthearted debate.

Y/N's mother, a firm believer in the "pregnancy glow" theory, insisted the baby was a girl based on Y/N's radiant complexion. Anthony, armed with his cabbage test (apparently, a high, round shape indicated a boy), remained stubbornly convinced otherwise.

Lewis, however, held a quiet confidence in his prediction of a girl. He couldn't explain it; it was just a feeling, a deep one that resonated within him.

The rest of the family, friends, and even Ferrari staff, seemed convinced it was a boy. The sheer volume of blue onesies and miniature race car toys accumulating in the nursery was a testament to that.

Despite the overwhelming "boy" camp, Y/N found herself drawn to Lewis's quiet certainty, her mother's unwavering belief and Leclerc’s claim that Lewis was a girl dad and he wouldn’t believe in anything else. There was a subtle shift in their preferences, a secret language of pink frilly socks and delicate stuffed animals tucked away in the corner of the nursery.

As the due date came ever closer the playful arguments gave way to a more sentimental atmosphere.

Anthony surprised everyone one evening by pulling Y/N into a tight embrace. "Girl or boy," he said, his voice thick with emotion, "you're going to be incredible parents. And that little one," he patted Y/N's stomach gently, "they're already so loved."

A tear escaped Y/N's eye, mirroring the glistening in Lewis's. The truth was, the gender didn't matter. They were about to embark on the greatest adventure of their lives.

As Y/N snuggled against Lewis on the couch, just days before their little one arrived, her hand resting on her swollen belly, a wave of peace washed over her.

"You know," she whispered, "maybe the whole point isn't about knowing the gender."

Lewis turned to her, his eyes reflecting the soft glow of the lamp. "What do you mean?"

"Maybe," Y/N continued, a smile gracing her lips, "the point is in the surprise. The joy of meeting them, whoever they are, for the very first time."

Lewis's smile mirrored hers. He squeezed her hand gently. "We're ready, whatever comes." he said, his voice filled with an unshakeable certainty.

Their shared ritual

Exhaustion clung to Y/N like a second skin. The past three months had been a parade of sleepless nights, endless diaper changes, and the constant, gnawing worry that comes with being a new parent.

But nestled in the crook of her arm, a tiny miracle slept soundly. Her daughter, in a quiet moment of shared hope, was a testament to the love that bloomed amidst the chaos.

She was a symphony of soft sighs and the occasional gurgle, her tiny fists clenched in a peaceful slumber. However, the moment Lewis's voice cut through the quiet of the room, her whole world seemed to shift.

"Hey there, my little champion," Lewis cooed, his voice a low murmur as he entered the nursery. The infant’s eyes, a pitch perfect copy of her dad’s brown ones, snapped open. A wide, gummy grin split her face, and a high-pitched squeal erupted from her tiny lungs.

Y/N watched the scene unfold with warmth washing over her. Lewis, ever the prodigy, had taken to parenthood like a natural. The same gentle persuasion he used on the racetrack was now employed to coax a smile from their daughter, his voice a soothing melody that calmed her fussy cries.

The transformation was remarkable. Y/N vividly recalled the first trimester, Lewis sheepishly confessing his anxieties about fatherhood to their unborn child. And throught the months a routine was created as every evening, he'd spend a quiet moment by Y/N's side, whispering words of encouragement and promises of love to the tiny bump.

"Alright, little one," Lewis would say, his voice barely above a whisper, "we're going to face whatever comes our way, as a team, okay?"

Those nightly pep talks, once a source of amusement for Y/N, now seemed almost prophetic. The kid, it seemed, recognized Lewis's voice as a source of comfort, a familiar sound that echoed the evenings spent nestled safely inside Y/N, bathed in the sound of his love.

Lewis, oblivious to the internal monologue playing in Y/N's head, scooped the baby into his arms, his face alight with a radiant joy. He bounced her gently, singing a silly, made-up song about a race car driver and a tiny princess. Captivated by her father's performance, the infant cooed and gurgled in response, her tiny hand reaching out to grab a lock of Lewis's dark braids.

Watching them together, a lump formed in Y/N's throat. The exhaustion that had threatened to consume her throughout the day had faded away, replaced by a fierce and overwhelming love. There, in the quiet sanctuary of the nursery, their team flourished – united by an invisible thread of shared love, a love story whispered before their daughter ever entered the world.

______________________________________________________________

TAGLIST - @saturnssunflower @xoscar03 @chocolatediplomatdreamerzonk @happy-golden-hour @vicurious28

@0710khj @thecubanator2 @neilakk @bigratbitchsworld @adriswrld

[literaila]

can we get one of those scenarios where gojo does go to reader's dorm at 3am to go get sweets?

before you came to jujutsu high, you were a very patient person.

your temper was long, if anything. a stretchy sort of thing that was folded in the hands of people who didn’t deserve it.

it took a lot to get you worked up—some might even say that you were a people pleaser. if you had a certain… distaste for anyone or anything, well that was between you and your brain.

before you came to jujutsu high, that is.

because now it takes less than a knock on the door for your irritation to rise from your chest into your eyes. stress headaches have become a newfound acquaintance.

“what?” you hiss, opening your door to be met with—to no one’s surprise—a giddy grin and a sliver of eyes so bright it makes you want to puke.

so yeah. things have changed.

it wasn’t even one knock this time, though, but at least four different pounds, each one luring you even further into the cloud of homicidal thoughts.

at least no one will blame you in jail.

“is that how you answer your door?” satoru asks, leaning against the jam, so tall it hurts your soul.

“gojo,” you say, sweetening your rough, still-sleeping voice. “unless you’re here to tell me that someone’s dead, i’m going to break your nose.”

you didn’t used to be this violent, you swear. there’s just something about him—

satoru pinches your cheek fondly. “you’re such a joy to be around. even with your bed head.”

“did someone die?”

“yes,” satoru adjusts your shirt for you, kindness a silly thing he likes to wear occasionally. “my stomach. its rotting away.”

“good for you. goodnight.”

and you move to close the door, but satoru has always been faster than you. his foot is there, and you could break it, but you won’t.

god knows why.

“c’mon, sleeping beauty,” he whines, “i want bad ice cream.”

“then go get some.”

“i want company while i eat it.”

“don’t you have other friends or something? it’s..” you turn, blinking in the dark. “1:34 am.”

gojo grins. “snack time,” he says, simply.

you groan, missing when life was simple and no one talked to you unless you were making a mistake. “i’m tired. you woke me up, and i was having a good dream, too.”

“about me?”

“about something i don’t remember because,” you scowl at him, “you woke me up.”

“i didn’t want you to miss out.”

“if you keep smiling at me like that, i’ll—“

you stop, mostly because you don’t know what you’ll do.

“are you trying to sweet talk me? because it’s working.”

“no.”

gojo laughs. “get dressed. unless you want to wear your… care bear’s shirt.”

“go with geto,” you say, trying to shut the door again. it only succeeds in making satoru flinch just briefly.

which is enough to feed the vicious animal in your head.

“he’s just not as cute as you, though.”

you scoff. “stop trying to manipulate me.”

“but it always works so well.”

and is he wrong?

…no. but who can blame you for falling victim to his whims? satoru has spent his entire life being waited on, being given every little thing he could possibly want.

and he seems to want you.

it’s such a unique, bewildering feeling that you have to follow through. you can’t let something like affection go to waste.

the girl you were a year ago would scream for this very moment. she would be at satoru’s door, hugging his leg like a child.

(and if he’s a little bit… okay to look at. well. at least there’s one plus to this arrangement).

“i’ll even wait for you to get dressed,” satoru says like it’s a generous offer. “can’t you hear the ice cream calling?”

and then he leans in, eyes peering into yours over his ridiculous shades.

his hair is a bit messier than usual this late, his mouth a terrifying pink.

some small part of you wants to desperately to lean a little bit closer. to push this even further. so what if you need more convincing? so what if he owes you something?

so what if you can’t say no to him?

it has nothing to do with the itchy feeling in your chest, or the giddy fog in your brain.

(god, satoru makes you feel… something else. different than a human, but nothing more than a prize. he makes you feel like you are something other—like you’ve been the problem this entire time—but in a good way.

satoru sees you as something to behold.

you’re the god of this small thing.

and it’s wonderful. its infuriating and painful, and still you’d rather die than attempt to let it go.)

so what?

“fine,” you almost gasp. “but you’re buying.”

gojo clasps his hands together in satisfaction. “we’ll see,” he sings.

“ten minutes,” you tell him, trying to shut the door.

“five,” he whispers back, so sweetly.

and then satoru flashes his teeth at you, so different from anything else.

your responding nod is just unconscious at this point.

[hoseoksluna]

— WIP 𐙚 pt III of vapor

pairing: boyfriend!jungkook x steam!oc

about: the forbidden uncoils—along with your orgasm.

word count: 0.694

note: because i'm feeling IMMENSELY happy today bc of namjoon and bc this very work right here, i decided to express my joy by posting a little wip from the third part of vapor for you that's coming this weekend. *screams loudly* I'M SO EXCITED, OH MY GOOOOOOD. I HOPE YOU LIKE IT; LET ME KNOW WHAT YOU THINK. <3

warnings: mentions of punishment, oral sex (f. receiving), jungkook is needy but such a dominant daddy fuck my life

𐙚

“Spank me.” 

Lust and love. A peculiar concoction of it that doesn’t exist in the realm of words. He feels it, feels it with every breath he takes. 

“I should, right?” he rasps, dragging his fingernails down your carmine bum, sneaking his fingers around the squishy bottom of the flesh. He might drench his joggers—he didn’t wear his boxers to sleep; you’re wearing them for him. “For wanting to bite my nose off.” He clicks his tongue, squeezing, other hand wraps around your waist, holding you still. “I should spank you until it hurts. Until you cry.” 

The most gentle of a moan spouts out of your mouth and he twitches, his need growing—all because you want it as much as he does.

Jungkook lifts his hand in a promise he’s about to do it and you shiver in anticipation. 

“Please,” is all you say, but he’s not going to give it to you. He places his hand back in a soft manner, lifting it again to tease you and you wiggle your butt, his boxers still tucked halfway in between, the flesh rippling and he groans. A sight to die for. “I deserve it. Please, do it. I want it.” 

He sighs, a wet spot forming in the place of the joggers where his tip is, and he can’t see anything. Can’t see shit when he lifts you up and takes you inside. Can’t see anything but you and the surface of his kitchen island, which he sets you down on, spreading your legs. 

Confused by the swift motion, you rise to your elbows, but he pushes you right back down—holding your hips in the air, just like he did last night. You will see what he’s about to do to you, nonetheless. No need for you to strain your arms. 

And when he closes his mouth over your clothed pussy, you roll your eyes back, moaning his name so loudly that it echoes throughout the kitchen, rooting around his dripping length. And his arousal for you is so overwhelming, so sensitive that one thrust of his hips against the fabric of his joggers brings him such pleasure coursing through his body that he might as well come like this. 

Jungkook rids you of his boxers in a blink of an eye, throwing them somewhere out of his sight. No need for them, either. 

Burying his nose in your clit as he licks your slit and plunges his tongue inside, he narrows his eyes at you as yet another wave of pleasure comes down upon him. This time from having you for breakfast, at last. You mewl so sweetly that it drives him to thrust his hips again and he groans, groans so deeply for you. Needs you to know what you’re doing to him. 

“You’re gonna be the death of me one day,” he breathes out, lightly dragging the tip of his tongue across your clit before he swallows, hissing at the delight of your taste. You moan, trembling, barely able to take it. Fuck one day, he’s about to die now. “And you’re gonna make me come in my pants like a fucking boy. Is that what you want?” 

Jungkook flicks your bud, fleetingly, just to make your sounds shudder in the sudden intensity. You clench your small fists in the air, your tremor so terribly visible and rigorous, and with your breath hitching in your throat, he sucks that delicious part of you into his mouth. 

You stammer, badly enough that he begins to feel a sliver of pity for you, not enough for him to stop. He’s ravaging your little princess parts so hard that it takes a few tries for you to get the words out in a steady flow and he doesn’t help you. Doesn’t ease up for you, at all. Flicking, sucking, licking you up all over, rolling his tongue—he simply doesn’t stop, does it so fast that you lose yourself in it, submitting to it with all your being. 

And along with your submission come out your words. 

In perfect fashion.

“No, I want to suck you off.” 

And along with those your orgasm, too.

𐙚

© 2024 hoseoksluna, all rights reserved.

WIP masterlist

[peggyao3]

Preyd

PAIRING: Feyd-Rautha Harkonnen x f!reader (reads like an ambiguous OC)

SUMMARY: Feyd calls his pet to his chambers for a monthly feast.

WORD COUNT: 2,259

TAGS: 18+, smut, graphic depiction of violence, she/her reader, AFAB reader, dubious consent, ambiguous relationship status, oral (f receiving), period oral ❗, period sex, blood play, knife “play”, blood kink, BITING, pain kink, vaginal sex, violence, sadomasochism, attempted murder, aftercare-ish (love that tag right after attempted murder)

Reposted from my Ao3 💕| Masterlist

Divider by @saradika-graphics

Cool air streams into Feyd’s chamber when the door opens at his command. The servants who bring the struggling woman don't need to knock. The increasing volume of her irate pleading out on the hallway has been caressing his ears for the past minute. He regards it as foreplay.

The woman's toes scrape over the stone tiles as she is delivered to him like a meal, but without a platter because a good meal is best devoured on the floor, with dirty teeth and fingers.

She is shoved into the room by rough hands which hastily retreat, bending and bowing to the Na-Baron who sits with his hands on his knees, a black smile already forming on his alabaster skull.

She stands on shaky legs, clutching the robes that still cloak her frame. Warm wetness already runs down her inner thigh. Red, not black.

“You left me waiting.”

“I can't exactly control when I start,” she snaps. The irate edge to her tone doesn't fool him. “My Lord,” she adds in a much more timid voice, head lowered so the hood of her cloak hides her trembling lips.

“I expected you two days ago.”

“Tssk. Forgive me.” Feyd's head tilts to the side and he stands up, striding over to the cloaked woman.

“You know I could keep you in a prison cell instead?” The calm control of his voice is a farce. In truth he is quaking with excitement, yearning to get under her skin.

“Yes, my Lord.”

“So, be a little more grateful.”

The Harkonnen heir's hand shoots forward and grasps her chin. He yanks her head up. The ferocious tug makes her hood fall off, revealing a head full of hair and glossy eyes that never stopped smoldering with a sliver of reckless defiance. 

Feyd squeezes her chin, squishing delicate flesh against easy to break bones. His fingers leave bruises as he slides his black tongue over her mouth, along the side of her nose, into the apple of her eye until she winces and forces the black appendage out by shutting her lids. His tongue wriggles through her lashes instead, wetting them with saliva that clings to the fine hair like inky tears.

Ruthlessly, he shoves her backwards with a force that could snap a neck. She stumbles and falls, landing hard on the bed. Feyd-Rautha leaps after her like she's a felled enemy in the ring and he is one stab away from victory. Strong hands half push up her robes, their warmth a stark contrast to their snow white hue, devoid of color like they are devoid or mercy.

She tries to push at his chest to hoist him off, but he catches her foot and bites her toe until she lets out a shrill scream. The robes fall over her bent thighs and pool around her hips. She is bare underneath, except for the blood that glistens on her center.

Inky eyes light up with nauseating joy as he admires the crimson landscape between her thighs. His outlandish pet is so colorful and full of life… Pale hands wrap around her thighs to part them. Her muscles flex, as if she could ever stop him from taking what he wants.

“Let me eat. I've been starving.”

“You are sickening.”

Feyd-Rautha's mouth descends between the woman's forcefully spread thighs and his tongue hotly slips through her folds, parting them effectively to get to the source of her heady lifeblood. She shivers, spine arching despite the revulsion she feels for him. Her fingers dig into the sheets - white, to mark the occasion. They will be stained red all over by the time her period is over.

Stubbornly, she stares at the ceiling, though in the long run her gaze can’t resist the twitching silhouette of pale, lithe muscles that shape Feyd’s shoulders and back. He produces sounds like a sloppy eater, like a panting beast whose teeth are tearing through a carcass, except that her flesh is lively and, unlike the carcass, highly receptive to both pleasure and pain.

She knows this is only the beginning. The easy part. When Feyd’s dark eyes lift to monitor her expression, she knows what he is about to do, yet he catches her by surprise. His teeth close around her clit and nip, forcing a squeak out of her mouth and a hand to shoot down and push against his skull.

Feyd feels virtually invigorated and laps at the swollen bud like a salivating dog until her body spasms and her nails dig into his scalp. Each clench of her walls offers him more sanguine fluid to drink.

His tongue returns to her slit while he stares at her disheveled face, eyes like black, bottomless pits, insatiable. She knows nothing she can give will ever be enough.

One might think a wet tongue on a bleeding center would make the area in question cleaner, but Feyd somehow makes a mess like a child with no table manners, smearing blood over her thighs and venus mound. It is almost like slaughtering his outlandish pet, but without the commitment. It makes his cock hard.

-

The treatment continues until the sheets are drenched in sweat and blood, until the woman’s thighs quake violently in the na-Baron’s wicked hold. She feels lightheaded and every touch to her overstimulated center burns almost like a whiplash. 

Feyd however is far from being done. He relishes how her flesh feels now that it’s hot and swollen and covered in bite marks all around her cunt. He is unable to tell if the blood that spills comes from her center or the searing wounds he’s caused with his voracious teeth.

Nails dig into his skull, leaving marks that bleed. A thin rivulet of black runs down his brow bone and seamlessly disappears in the corner of his eye. He only grins, bites harder where many old scars already adorn her flesh. His cock strains against the fabric of his trousers and his pelvis grinds against the mattress, dry-humping it, spurred by the taste of blood like a beast by the scent of pheromones. 

“Stop!” She pleads. “You greedy monster, stop stop stop!” But he doesn't listen.

He pretends not to see the way her hand slips into the pocket of her robe, producing a blade of shiny silver that finds a new home in Feyd-Rautha’s neck. Sweet pain radiates through his flesh and a moan comes out of his blood-smeared mouth.

His pet snarls and strains, fighting against the hand around her wrist that had stopped the lethal attack at the last second. The knife’s tip trembles in the na-Baron’s throat but then her fingers go slack, acknowledging defeat. Feyd takes hold of the blade and gingerly pulls it free, exhaling a soft moan.

Fascinated, he regards the black blood that decorates the tip of the blade. Rapt as he is, he has finally stopped assaulting her center with his greedy mouth. He is almost proud of her for the attempt, even if it was a pitiful one. His neck throbs where the blade had kissed his jugular.

“I didn’t mean to, I swear!” The pitiful would-be assassin hiccups, tears slipping down her temples. She clutches her robes to her heaving chest as if that could protect her fragile life.

“I should split your tongue.” Feyd-Rautha rises to his knees between her parted legs. Blood and slick have left a sanguine pattern on his face. Pensively, he twists the blade in the air so it catches the light. “Or maybe you should split mine? So I can make twice the mess of your cunt.”

“You are insane.”

“You brought the tool.” He laughs and offers the blade to her mouth. Panicky, she shakes her head, twisting it away and into the sheets with squinted eyes. “I want you to lick it. Taste my blood, pet.”

She refuses until he nudges the tip between her lips, drawing a droplet of blood. Quickly, she surrenders, opening her mouth like he wants though her brows remain pinched with fear. Feyd languidly slides the flat side of the blade over her pink tongue, sullying it with black.

“Swallow. And tell me how it tastes.”

She swallows, cringes and hesitates. “P-Potent, my Lord.”

Feyd-Rautha laughs and his free hand drops to his pelvis, unfastening the black fabric that has kept his manhood covered. Panic rises to her eyes, bigger panic than when she had feared she might die by his knife.

“Wait, n-no!”  He has never done this to her before.

“You’ve impressed me.”

The fabric is pushed down to his mid thighs. She has always feared his length and girth would be daunting, but the sight before her is as monstrous as the monster he is in flesh and in spirit. He lowers himself, hand wrapped around his shaft to nudge the thick head to her swollen entrance.

She raises her feet and plants them against his abdomen, pressing against adamantine flesh with all her strength but she doesn’t stand a chance. Feyd watches all hope go out in her eyes as her feet slip to the side and her knees fall against her cloaked chest.

A cage of white, wiry flesh leans over her. She smells her own heady blood on his face and cringes. It almost distracts her from the velvety flesh that presses against her cunt, still sopping wet with her own slick and blood and the na-Baron’s black saliva.

He breaches her, stretching her obscenely as inch after inch carves into her cunt. Black teeth are parted for a near-maniac grin as his virile length is massaged by snug, bloody walls.

She winces, shifting her hips to accommodate to the intrusion. It actually hurts less because he hasn’t marked her from the inside yet, so she is almost grateful for it. This way the sore marks on her inner thighs can rest.

Feyd shoves the final half of his cock inside with the force of a gut punch, knocking the air out her lungs with a pathetic yelp. He rolls his hips, grinning, getting comfortable inside her body. After only a few moments, he is comfortable enough and slams his pelvis down, grinding into her with short, hard thrusts that batter her cervix. Blood squelches wetly with every move.

She pushes at his chest but avoids his face, knowing her fingers would only end up between his teeth, bitten and bruised. A ferocious slam of Feyd’s hips makes her howl like a wolf. Reflexively, her hands shoot up to his pale throat, squashing his Adam’s apple under her palms. One fingernail digs into the wound on the side. A strangulated moan escapes the man’s throat, hips stuttering, lids fluttering.

The hand that isn’t busy supporting his weight offers the knife to her. “A second chance,” he rasps, eyes alight with madness. A thread of black drool dribbles off his lower lip and lands on her chin.

Shuddering, she accepts the offered weapon, holding it with a weak grip. Her worn-out body struggles to muster the strength, but she brings her arms around Feyd’s back, a wicked embrace. Aimlessly, the tip of the blade scrapes over his muscles as she tries to find two ribs between which to slot it.

“Higher. Or you’ll never hit the heart.”

“Why don’t you kill yourself then, if you’re so keen on it!” Furiously, she lashes out, but the blade only slips off a rib, leaving only a shallow cut on wiry flesh. Still, it stings beautifully and a small groan escapes him.

“A third chance, because I’m so generous.”

“Now you’re j-just being greedy.” She grits her teeth, tears wobbling on her waterline. His cock makes her sore from the inside and his hip bones dig into the marks on her inner thighs.

“I’m not greedy. I get everything I want. Again!”

A merciless thrust makes her cry out and it’s not very hard to lift the blade again and slam it down. This time, it finds its target, slipping beautifully between two ribs. The Harkonnen-heir roars out, black spittle spraying over her face as his features scrunch up and his hips slam down and stutter, nearly knocking her unconscious with his force.

Her hand weakly slips off the blade handle. She already knows she has missed any vital organs, or he would have stopped her.

His seed paints her cervix and even as his length begins to soften, it still feels like too much.

She doesn’t cum around his cock, but that’s alright. After half a dozen on his tongue, her body has nothing left to give except weak tremors and tears of relief when he finally pulls out. Black seed oozes out of her, mixing with red. She buries her face in her hands and rolls on her side, curling up. Fatigue makes her dizzy. The servants are going to have to carry her back to her chambers, she fears. Her shaky legs are incapacitated.

The wet sound of the knife being slipped out of his flesh nearly makes her retch, but even for that her body is too weak.

In awe, Feyd swipes black blood off the blade. The bed dips when he sits next to his astonishing pet. A throaty hum is all it takes to convince her to crawl into his lap, still curled up and shivering. He brings his bloodied fingers to her face, stroking it softly as she presses against his body for warmth.

“Thank you, my Lord,” she mumbles, on the brink of passing out. “Next time I’ll kill you better.”

A/N: If you had fun reading this, consider leaving a comment! ❤️ It would make me very happy!

[slvt4em1lyprenti2s]

Hii can you write Emily x fem!reader in a secret relationship but the team somehow catching them kissing and that's how they find out. Also there is a bet going on about them.

Are you kidding?

Summary: see the tumblr req above!

Word Count: 1.05k

Fluff

TW: kissing, getting caught kissing

Pairings: Emily Prentiss x fem!reader

A/N: I swear I haven't abandoned you guys I've just been caught up with school!!

Emily's pov:

It's been a slow day at work all day. Paperwork, consultations, paperwork, staring at my girlfriend; the cycle repeats. The team doesn't know where dating yet, we decided to wait to tell them.

She can clearly feel my gaze because she turns and looks at me and smiles, god her smile. I beam back at her and her eyes flick away from mine to the direction of our 'place' I gently nod and she puts up her hand to signal for me to wait 5 minutes before following her.

As she stalked off, her hips swinging slightly, I drag my eyes down to the file I'm currently looking over and pretend to focus on it. My mind is too full of her to think about anything else.

Reader pov:

I casually walk away from the bullpen with a random file in my hand, making a beeline to mine and em's 'place' (which is just a storage cupboard, albeit a very empty one. There's only printer paper in there) I look around and don't see anyone in the hallway so I slip into the small room and wait for Emily.

I hear the click of her heels on the floor as she approaches the door. The handle clicks and she slips in. Her feature lit up by the sliver of light that leaked in from the open door, her eyes shining with joy as she closes the door.

"Hey you." She says in a hushed tone as her arms find their wait around my waist and mine around her neck. She plants a delicate kiss on my lips.

"Hey," I reply with a bright smile on my face. "How's your day been?" My head fell onto her shoulder as I sunk into her embrace.

"Slow, boring. You know, the usual." I lightly chuckled at her answer.

"Yeah same, but uh. I know a way to make it a bit better." A smirk found its way onto my lips as she cupped my cheek.

"Oh yeah? Like what?"

"Why don't you kiss me and find out."

She smiled and crashed her lips onto mine. Our lips moved together with care and love. Her hands trailed down to my hips and pulled me closer to her, she slowly backed me up against the wall and deepened the kiss. Her tongue swiped over my lips asking for permission and I gladly granted it. Her tongue fought for dominance with mine, she obviously won instantly.

In the heat of the moment clearly neither of us heard the clacking of another set of heels on the floor coming towards the room. We were both pulled back to reality when we heard someone walk in the door and just as quickly shut it with a yelp.

Both of us pulled away, knowing it was Penelope, and made eye contact. Still holding each other close we burst into a fit of hushed laughter like a couple of teenagers who got caught making out at school. Oh wait...

She got out her phone and put the flash on so she could properly see me so she could fix my hair for me and make sure I don't look too flustered. I did the same for her and we walked out of the room one at a time and sat back in the bullpen.

Not even a minute after we had both sat down Garcia walks over to the round table and Hotch out of his office.

"We have a case." Hotch announces as he walks towards the room.

"Ugh, I was hoping to go home at a normal time today." JJ groans as we walk to the room, a grumble of agreement sounds from everyone as we all sit down.

Garcia sets down the tablets and Reid's paper report. Oh god Reid's still on paper, Pen was probably going to get paper for the printer from the storage room. We clearly all had the same thought at the same time because me and Emily made eye contact before glancing at Garcia, who was already flicking her eyes between the two of us.

"What have we got?" Spencer says, breaking the silence.

"Okay before I tell you, I have something else to tell you all." She speaks quickly, to avoid me and Emily protesting. "Y/n/n and em were making out in the storage cupboard! There I said it, sorry guys. I couldn't help it, you know me!"

The team all looks to me and Emily who are coincidently sitting next to each other, looking for confirmation.

We make eye contact again and she grins.

"Don't I swear to god Emily." I say fighting back a laugh yet again.

"Wait hang on, are you- were you?" Rossi asked. Voicing the confusion of the rest of the team. Emily responds before I can.

"Yeah, we were. Hotch, sorry, but it was a slow day can you blame us? We're dating, she's my girlfriend."

A look of knowing passed across the teams faces before Derek and JJ make eye contact.

"Okay guys c'mon," He says holding out his hand, Jay swiftly following. "Pay up."

"Are you kidding, did you make a bet on us dating?" I stare at them in amusement.

"Well yeah, you couldn't expect us not to." JJ shrugs.

"She's right you know, it was too obvious." Derek adds on as Hotch, Rossi, Spencer and Garcia hand money into their hands.

"You know Pen, I'm disappointed in you." She looks at me shocked. "I thought you were good at spotting these things?"

Everyone laughs and Garcia responds "You had me stumped sugar." I smile at her and then shift my focus to Emily. Her hand trails to my thigh and she squeezes it affectionately, I intertwine my hands with hers.

"Okay, back to the case." Hotch says and discussion about the current case ripples through the room once again.

Emily brings my hand up to her mouth and placed a gentle kiss on the back of it and whispers a small "I love you." I smile at her and whisper back "I love you too."

[lavenderlacedquill]

hiii!! can you do an author reader x will pls

˚ ༘ ⋆｡˚ 𝐈𝐧𝐤𝐞𝐝 𝐌𝐚𝐫𝐠𝐢𝐧𝐬 ˚ ༘ ⋆｡˚

Pairing: Will Graham x Reader

Will Graham Masterlist <3

Navigation Page <3

This has actually been ruminating around in my mind palace for a while! I always imagine Will being with someone who writes, I don't really know why, but this one was so fun to bring to life!

✧˖°

Like, imagine that you've been at your desk all day, your office in yours and Will's Wolf Trap home is surrounded by ripped pieces of paper, old pens, and toys from your dog intruders.

You hear the dogs bark downstairs, signaling your counterparts arrival home, and you could not be more excited. You hit "print" on your document after typing out the final line, brimming with anticipation as you hear his dress shoes make their way up the wooden stars outside your office door.

Will leans on the door frame, messy head of curls resting on the beam, clad in brown dress pants and a beloved button-down. "It seems today was a success?"

You've been struggling with writers block for a while, and have practically prayed for a day as filled with productivity as today. The state of your office definitely let him in on this joyous occasion, but the smile and hefty document in your hands said even more.

You get up from your desk chair, the wheels squeaking as they move across the woodgrain floor, and join your lover. His hand rises to push your fallen glasses up, then pulling your chin in for a soft kiss.

"A success would be an understatement!"

Your upbeat aura is contagious, even after the long and macabre day Will has had. An almost childish giggle leaves the brown haired man as he grabs the freshly stapled stack of papers from you, leading you downstairs with a subtle pull of your hand.

On days like this, when you strike gold, the evenings always go the same.

It would be an understatement to say that Will loves reading your work. You have always supported him and his career, so, to him, taking the time to really appreciate what you have been working on is no small task. But, Will always does it with joy.

Once you both make it downstairs, that is when the ritual will begin. We all know that uncomfortable feeling of anxiously waiting while someone reads our work, all of the questions, slight embarrassment, and worries that nag at us. So, while Will flips through your newest pages, you cook dinner.

You'll cut up veggies as Will takes his pocket pen (you cannot convince me this man doesn't keep a pen, his personal favorite, in his pocket) and begins to make small marks.

Now, these are't the marks of a judgmental english teacher, but rather the opposite. He'll underline lines and phrases he loves or finds especially intriguing. He will pen questions in the margins, make silly comments about dialogue, and will leave silly faces next to especially shocking parts.

Like I said, he takes this very seriously.

Once dinner is done, you will both eat and catch up. You'll ask about his day in the field, maybe ponder about his latest session with Hannibal, and he'll return the favor.

After the delicious meal, you'll tackle the dishes together (he washes while you dry), before he pours you both a glass of whiskey. Then, sat on the front porch, taking in the beauty of your small sliver of private paradise, he'll give the marked pages back to you and you'll discuss.

Will loves seeing you become animated and talk about things you genuinely love, and your writing is no exception to that. You'll answer any questions he doodled in the margins while explaining the thought process and inspiration behind the lines that stood out to him.

This time spent together is not uncommon, but just outside of your daily routines enough to be especially cherished. Once the night has concluded and you're tucked into Will's strong arms in your shared bed, when your minds wander individually, the anticipation for the next time you both can embark on this evening will begin.

✧˖°

My requests are currently open to all of you lovelies! Just be sure to read my guidelines before sending me your wonderful Will Graham thoughts :)

[yuellii]

catch me before daylight

feat. ningguang, scaramouche ( separate )

𝐈𝐍 𝐖𝐇𝐈𝐂𝐇 they react to your words, “if i die tonight,” and how they respond to it

note. female reader, not proofread, nudity (ningguang)

NINGGUANG.

Her robe falls to the floor in a heap of mess that once was not there. Perhaps it was a few moons ago, such a splitting time when she was still organized and clean—a time she can’t remember well anymore.

In here, it’s a steaming warm bathroom. In here, there is a possibly twisted sense of tranquility that seeps through the cracked, marble tiles. In here, a certain scent floats around, so atmospheric it could choke her with a dream of death and delight both at the same time.

But, in here, there is you.

“Ningguang,” you addressed from the tub, brows quite visibly furrowing together at the sight of her lowering herself into the warm water across from you. “You shouldn’t bathe with a sickly person.”

She scoffed rather insultingly. “You’re too naive to think a little illness can affect me.” The look on her face was more than annoyed—perplexed at the littlest of things, actually. You could see the way she scrunched her nose merely as she removed her clip from her hair, not to mention the hand motions she makes of discomfort as she settles into the tub. And yet, you frowned all the same. She can’t hide it, truly, the tired look in her eyes, whose concern shines brighter than the sun. The little shifting glances she makes only screams how badly she misses you. “And besides,” she continued with a tremble upon her lip, “look at you. You’re so weak you cannot even clean yourself on your own.”

You could not help but laugh lightly at her comment. To anyone else, they might’ve taken it as an insult, but you’ve come to accept it. These arms of yours were now too frail even carry a tub of water.

“Your sickness is getting worse day by day,” Ningguang scolded, “and yet you were still ambitious enough to try and bathe here without my help?”

“But the duties of the Tianqian is to rule and control commerce, not to babysit some poor, poor person.”

“But the duties of Ningguang is to care for her lover.”

Your heart fluttered as you fell silent, but in a way that practically jabbed at your stomach and made you feel sick.

A deafening silence is what spread throughout the messy bathroom, lined with your tossed clothes, medicine bottles, robs, and the likes. There was something distasteful in the air, and you know it was all because of you. To be a setback did not feel pleasant, even as Ningguang scrubbed soap in your hair with the most gentlest of fingers, and even as she poured water from above your head.

She wasn’t that deceptive, honestly. You could see it, everyone could see it: The tire in her eyes, the overworked callouses in her hands. It was hard to look at your lover and see the dark circles under red hues that used to be so full of joy and sparks of mischief. She loved you, maybe too much, and it showed. You hated looking at her. She could never fathom the way her gaze made you feel, one that was so full of adoration for you, but also a sliver of pain given by the same person she loves. You receive her love, but is your love in return even worth it?

“Ningguang.”

“Mm.” She continued washing you, sitting behind you now as she scrubbed at your back. You could only thank the archons above that you didn’t have to see her face right now.

“If I die tonight…” You almost choked when you felt her hands come to an abrupt stop. “…will you finally get some rest?”

She stayed silent. But there, right on your back, you could feel as her gentle hands slowly hardened into fists. They were balled atop your skin, as if holding herself together, but by gods… she was shaking. It almost hurt to cry, especially when she can’t see you like this. But she couldn’t control it anymore when her trembling arms snaked around your waist, pulling you so close to her. And it was there that she burst, sobbing so painfully against the back of your shoulder.

Her breaths were ragged and shaky, you could barely make out a gravely stuttered line of “Don’t say something like that,” but you still remained silent.

You were both so tired. She was tired of taking care of you, and you were tired just seeing her destroy herself. And yet, even amidst this spiral of madness brewing in her own chambers, she still could not even live with the idea of you dying so soon—truly, who could? But this illness was not controllable anymore; Her money could not buy you health anymore.

She continued to cry against your shoulder even as the warmth started to rise from the water, leaving you feeling emptier than if you were already dead.

And, leaving her feeling lonelier than even before she met you.

SCARAMOUCHE.

“—And that was when I took the gnosis, and ran away with it.”

“Haha, nice fantasy,” you passively grinned, tipping down the front of his hat just to get him annoyed (which was, as always, a success). “But everyone knows that The Fair Lady was the one who obtained the electro gnosis.”

He grumbled. “No, she died.”

“No, she died after securing it,” you argued back. What was common knowledge to you—and, well, mostly everyone—seemed like a completely different story in his eyes, as if he saw the world with a different set of lenses the past century. He told of many tales of the Fatui with a good handful of them being utterly twisted or just plainly incorrect. And, he told some tales that were shocking accurate, definitely far too in detail for a mere ‘wanderer’ to know about the organization.

You asked him, only once. This guy was so cryptic that he never gave an answer you could quite understand.

“Because I’m Scaramouche,” was his answer many weeks ago. “I was the sixth Harbinger, I was there to witness it myself.”

“Like Hell I’d believe it,” you groaned. “The sixth seat has been empty for years.”

“That’s because I’m dead.” And there it was, another cryptic, undefined answer that he somehow just expected you to understand. “Breathing, but while not a soul in the world remembers you, your name, or the things you did—that’s not exactly, is it? In my opinion, I died!” And then he laughs. It’s wholehearted, it’s coming from his chest—a laugher that seems so innocent like he’s the happiest man in the world.

You sighed. “You need to stop lying like this. If you’re dead, then how am I speaking to you now?”

He gasped in an air of carefree excitement. “Oh, oh, let me tell you the whole thing.” And then he talks of Sumeru, the nation you’re sitting in now, and the overthrow of the academic scholars. Which was another weird factor, because you were physically present for this timeline of events. And yet, you don’t remember of a lot of this. A robot, a tree, a fight.

And above it all, a worldwide memory erasure of the man that stood before you now, the man with a big hat, yet no name.

Several days pass, perhaps it’s been months now since you’ve started talking to him. The House of Hearth has you stationed here in Port Ormos, and he somehow knew of its ties to Arlecchino, the mother of your orphanage. It saves you the explanation, you suppose, but his knowledge of the entirety of Fatui operations has you questioning if he really was the sixth, after all. “What’s wrong with you today?” he raises an eyebrow at you, watching as you sit on the grass against a tree, staring into the water

You sadly smile. “The Knave ordered our group to storm the Corps of Thirty tomorrow morning.”

He scoffed so loudly he almost spit on the ground. “That’s probably the dumbest order that crazy woman has ever given,” he complains as if he knew Arlecchino personally. “Those are trained military men on their own grounds, she’s going to get you all captured or killed.”

“Mhmm,” you only nodded, albeit quieter than the crickets in this moonless night. “And I’ll be tagging along.”

“Are you insane?!” he suddenly shouts, and you had to admit this was the first time you have ever seen his face look so furiously in shock. “You’re going to die there, can’t you run that through your thick skull?! You don’t have to follow the orders of that woman, just because she’s insane doesn’t mean you have to do it!”

“Order’s are orders,” you laughed. But it was so down, empty, and pathetic of a laugh that it made him only more crazed over your situation. “It’s whatever,” you quickly brushed off, “You got another story for me tonight, hat boy?”

“I do, actually,” he boomed. His voice was still quite loud… And maybe, just maybe, you could tell a little his exasperation came from genuine concern. “Once upon a time, there was a really stupid girl who made really stupid decisions, such as blindly following the orders of her ‘Mother’ until it got herself killed.”

You scoffed. “Us fatuus are always prepared for death,” you said. Which was true, sure, but… But I don’t want to die. “Hey…”

He looked back to you. Perhaps it was your delusional mindset obscuring your vision right now, but you could’ve sworn—the slightest bit of hope that you changed your mind just flashed against the light of his eyes.

“If I die tonight…”

“Then we’d both be ‘dead,’ wouldn’t we?”

You look at him in a horrified kind of surprise. And he sits there, suddenly smiling at you with the most genuine grin of excitement you’ve seen on him thus far. His demeanor completely switched, like he grasped the opportunity to convince you the moment it was presented to him. “Think about it,” he goes, “you can leave the Fatui just like I did once—and look, I’m fine!—and no know will know! We’ll be like the dead walking among the living, the murderous fatuus now wanderers of Teyvat… Just you and I, isn’t that much more of an interesting way to live?”

To die and be forgotten… To betray the organization that raised you… It never sounded so amazing until now.

“Come on,” he encourages as he extends his hand out to you. “Leave ‘living’ in the past, and be reborn. You can be so much more free.”

Freedom, that was the gift of the dead.

[nelle-y]

Revived Flames pt. 1

Synopsis: You and Wriothesley had always been close with each other, but since he started working more hours in the fortress, it seems that connection is fading…

C/W: Wriothesley x gn!reader, slight angst (it aint there yet but it’s coming!), fiance!Wriothesley, literally one paragraph is suggestive, slightly proofread

Note: this was kinda hard to write, I couldn’t think of anything so this one’s a bit short

—

Days turned into weeks, and weeks turned into months. Almost a year has passed since you’ve seen Wriothesley, now. It was unfair, being apart from the love of your life, the ache in your chest tearing you to shreds as days flew by.

There were times, however, when your heart would waltz into revived flames when he wrote to you—much like today, your birthday.

The greatest gift of all, just a sliver of him to embrace; you eagerly approached your mailbox. A white envelope hid inside, a postage stamp to your address at the back along with a drawing of the Fortress of Meropide decorating it. You opened the letter to read its contents, almost tripping your way inside your home.

“My dearest Y/N,

May the archons bring you the happiest of birthdays. Every morning I wake, I always find myself fondling for your warmth.”

Oh, fondling. You’re riled up from imagining it—his hands grasping the sheets as he urged closer to rapture—biting a swirk from your face.

He asks about the events you’ve come across, if you had any new friends and so on. He updates you on his life at the fortress, how Sigewinne has been getting along with the inmates, and how much he misses you.

“Though I may not be with you today, I will be in two weeks time. The Iudex has granted me a short vacation after celebrating the 25th anniversary of the Fortress of Meropide. So, prepare your finest clothes, my dear, for I will be taking you to the finest restaurant in town. I intend to make up for lost time, if you’ll allow me.”

Of course you’ll allow it! Your heart leaps with joy as a childish smile paints your cheeks. You press the letter against your chest and sigh.

The ink from your pen bleeds through the paper as you ponder your response. Should you even? The post office takes several days—maybe a week or two—to send a letter. He would already be with you by the time it reaches his office. You wouldn’t want to be impolite, though. Maybe you should write back; there’s nothing wrong with responding to your fiancé.

After all, you were always close with each other.

—

Two weeks have passed since your birthday. You have no idea if he’s even received your letter; the postal office was always understaffed, there were only so few mailmen to deliver thousands of packages.

You mentioned you would be waiting at the Fountain of Lucine the day of his arrival, so there was where you sat. You waited, and waited… and waited… and waited. Your dolled up hair was starting to lose its shape from the heat, sweat forming on your forehead from anticipation.

After a few minutes, your fiance finally made his way to your view. As you remembered: pools of blue shaded the same eyes, strands of grey highlighted the same dark hair. It’s Wriothesley! Him and his foxy smirk.

“Wriothesley!”

“Y/N!”

Your name sounds so fresh and new with his voice, especially after all this time. You reach for a hug, but he leans for a kiss. This leads to a struggle of whether to kiss or hug. After some ohs and uhms, you finally settle with a small embrace—his arms on your waist and yours around his neck. You let go after he kisses you on the cheek.

“Hi.”

“Hi,” you smile.

There’s a silence you weren’t used to feeling with Wriothesley. Usually, silence would be comfortable, but this felt… off? Like you were brand new acquaintances. You desperately search for conversation, only to be interrupted by him, “Oh, happy belated birthday!” He hands you a trinket made of wires and mechanical parts. “Sigewinne made this for you.”

“Awh, it’s adorable! Tell her I said thank you.”

He nods, smiling at you. The silence takes over once again. What now? “Shall we head off?” He picks up his luggage.

“Where?” You look at him cluelessly.

“…I actually don’t know.”

“Maybe we could go home, and drop off your stuff?”

“Yes, of course.”

So you went home—the walk to the Navia Line was silent, fingers itching to intertwine. Again and again, your pinkies were nearly touching, and your shoulders were inches away from brushing. The desire was there, and you both yearned for this moment, so why weren’t you seizing it?

“How was the celebration at the fortress?” You ask, sat beside him on the aquabus, Elphane giving her tour for the other passengers.

“It was so-so. The only thing that changed was the food—Tasses Ragout, lasagna, macarons, and local sodas. Other than that, business was usual that day.”

“Ah,” should you express sympathy for the lack of celebration? Did Wriothesley even expect a fancy party? Was he sad about it? It’s difficult to read his face now, it’s gone more stoic than you remember. You say nothing after that, and he doesn’t ask any questions. Not a word was said the rest of the ride.

-to be continued-

Part 2 is hereee