#as always if any other proof is needed i'm always here

[nyeddleblog]

SAW THAT YOU CANNOT GET BOB OUT OF YOUR HEAD MAY I REQUEST A MEET CUTE FIC WHERE READER IS A GIRLBOSS CORPORATE GIRLIE AND BOB IS WELL...BOB

Yes, but since I'm at work in a 10 hour shift, we'll forget about the cutesy aesthetic shit I usually do for my fics.

Warnings: Female presenting reader, use of reality warping powers, in a probably inaccurate way, written from my phone and not proof read.

--

You liked your job. Well, kind of. You liked getting paid for something that you actually did pretty well, and you liked that you could live from it. Yeah, it was a annoying having to walk around New York City taking care that your tights weren't ripped or that your high heels wouldn't give out for the next few blocks. Skirt always impecable, just below the knee. Blouse silky and not revealing too much cleavage. But the paycheck... Oh, the paycheck. And your boss was an okay guy!

You've dealt with all kinds of people before; the annoying ones, the narcisistic ones, the perverts... For someone your age, it was difficult to achieve the tranquility you had.

So you entered the coffee shop, mindlessly looking through your phone. It was a bit more expensive than others, usually empty around this hour. The cashier gave you a nod, urging you to just take a seat. You had paid a bit extra last time, since they didn't have any change; that meant, coffee was on the house. It made you smile, making a mental note to tip them well when you left.

Your heels guided you through the usual path, too invested on the screen to look up as you sat down. Your boss wanted something urgently, something you could actually do through your phone. It took you around five minutes to write down the email you needed to send to an investor, and another one to communicate that it was done. Only then, you looked up.

There was a guy sitting there. Considering his half eaten muffin and the stains on his cup, he had been sitting there before you even arrived. And he looked so troubled too, face flushed as he tried his best not to look at you. You blushed.

"Oh, I'm so sorry—"

But you looked around and frowned. This was usually where you sat and it shouldn't have mattered if it weren't for the amount of people around. Why the fuck was it so full? This had never happened before.

Your eyes reached a table were one of your colleagues sat. You wrinkled your nose; he was probably going to talk to you about work, so your eyes went back to the guy in front of you, softening.

"Is it okay if I stay here? If only until they bring me my coffee, then I can just take it to go."

He looked at you then, pink cheeks and a bit unsure if you were talking to him. You maintained eye contact, an easy smile on your lips as you awaited his answer.

"Y-yeah, no... No problem"

Your smile widened then, but you didn't say more. You knew how annoying it was when someone talked to you while you were minding your own business. It was the reason why you stayed there and didn't go to your colleague's table, after all.

Then the usual waitress brought you your coffee, in a mug. You let out an apologetic sigh, knowing that you'd have to ask her if she could change it to a plastic cup, probably ruining all of the barista's work in the process, but right before you spoke, he interrupted you.

"It's... It's okay. You don't need to, uh, leave." It came out awkwardly, almost strangled. The waitress looked at the both of you with a smile as she came back behind the counter, absent-minded of the position she just put the both of you in, "I don't mind the company. I'm about to finish anyways."

"Oh, well thank you" you answered politely. He truly didn't seem like he was about to finish, considering how slowly he was eating his muffin. And he was kind of cute, you realized. Messy brown hair, and adorable blue eyes. But you wouldn't stare.

You let your coffee air for a little bit, not wanting to burn your tongue. He was reading a book, you noticed; he looked invested. It was probably why he didn't mind your presence, despite being an obviously shy person. His fingers picking at the muffin and slowly dragging the bite into his mouth.

You brought the mug to your lips as you stared at the pastry. You should have asked for one of those, really, it looked tasty. Red velvet, your favorite, fuck. You were oggling at the muffin then, drinking your coffee and slowly zoning out. So many things to do, the meeting that afternoon. And tomorrow, too. Oh, how you hated meetings.

Your eyes slowly brought you back to reality as they slowly came up to his face. He was staring at you, probably because you were pondering to the reality where his muffin was yours. Either way, it startled you and a small drop of coffee fell into your impeccably white blouse.

Shit.

You let the mug on the table immediately, assessing the damage. It expanded quickly on the collar, leaving an ugly stain that you wouldn't be able to get rid of before the meeting. You groaned dramatically, covering your face with your hands.

It had to be the meeting with the one investor that always stared at your tits. That one unfiltered asshole that fucking humilliated women when they had chipped nails or a run on their stockings.

He'll say something, and you'll answer, and he'll find you rude, and then you'll show him how rude you can actually be and... You'll lose your job.

"They say putting some sugar on it may help get rid of the stain" he stuttered out, in front of you. You frowned, almost forgetting that he was still there in the first place and barely understanding what he was talking about.

"What?"

"T-The stain..." He pointed at your collar with a packet of sugar in his hand. Your frown losened as he left it on the table, near enough for you to reach, "It may be worth a shot?"

"It may be" you repeated in a murmur, staring down at the packet.

It sounded like bullshit, but you were desperate and the sugar couldn't possibly make it worse than it already was, so you opened the packet and poured it on the stain, looking defeated as it clinged to it. You rubbed it for a few seconds, unable to see how the eyes of the man in front of you briefly lit up bright golden. Then, the sugar turned brown and you wiped it away, amazed by the result.

"Hey, it worked!" you exclaimed in excitement, looking up at him, "I can't believe it!"

Your bright smile made his cheeks heat up, and he avoided your eyes as he gave you a sheepish smile back, shrugging.

"That was ama...! What was your name?" you interrupted yourself to ask. As he replied, you continued "That was amazing, Bob, truly. You saved my job and made my day!"

"I-It's nothing."

You braced yourself, for what you were about to say, unable to hide the smile of awe in your lips, "Well, Bob. It's everything to me," Maybe a bit of an exaggeration, you were dramatic like that, but it was honest nonetheless "So, could I buy you a muffin sometime?"

His pink cheeks turned red as he stuttered over his reply, and by the time you finished your coffee, his number was already saved in your phone.

You stood up, giving him sweet smile and putting the promised tip in the jar before leaving.

He stared at you until you were out of view and you didn't know why, but it made your heart beat a tiny bit faster.

[chikutoon]

Hi-

Sorry I'm always bothering you it's just that I rlly like it when you see my hc and opinions on quest

Or maybe I'm just happy that I'm able to interact with someone with the same interest more than once....

Cupbros parents absence:

[The images below is showing moments where it gives off mother/caretaker is going through something] interesting that after "the accident " we can visibly see cuphead genuinely being worried and caring unlike before he was covering it by being a jerk

I hc cupbros parents don't spend much time in their life throughout their childhood but mostly teenhood till adult. Remember that post about Mugman where I said "a child having the responsibility to take care of another person can affect mental health "?

I know there are parents who don't spend much attention to their kids after they reach teen hood because they want them to be more responsible of themselves but at the same time didn't give them proper education (things only parents teach and not school) . Cuphead could possibly be a high school dropout for starting a fight ✋😭 AHEM sorry fell outta topic

Sometimes when taking care of a another one the caretaker can neglect themselves of their ACTUAL needs. It will/can lead to:depression,(seperation)anxiety?,paranoia?.Since their mother MIGHT have left them it's either because

1.running away from something like a secret debt

2.dont wanna deal with her family anymore

3.divorced

All of this makes Cuphead the 3rd parent (and main since they don't pay attention anymore)

He'll be all tough, cocky, a-hole, stupid and dangerous

But the moment Mugman gets injured the "asian mom mode" turns on 👀 with the teary eyes and everything lol (I specifi Asian cuz I never heard or seen any white moms scolding their child while tending their wounds and comforting them after and still scold them but then be extra nice to them without explanation but only for an amount of time,real experience trust✌)

Totally not bothering! I'm happy to read through (and at least try to reply to) anything I'm sent and such, just may take me a hot minute.

I'm definitely of the belief that their parents were probably absent, quite a bit of proof towards the idea. Maybe it was accidental but I'm here for reading too much into shitty written characters, pfft.

And, quite frankly, it sort of seems like they were homeschooled, because, all though I can totally see Cuphead being a dropout (lol), I feel like Mugman wouldn't have actually gotten into half the shit he did if he was in school. Plus, it'd explain them not being the smartest if their *only* teachers were absent parents (one of which literally just left). And, it'd also add to the fact that they've literally only had each other, since it is genuinely so difficult to make friends when being homeschooled (I'd know, pfft). - But that's just one of many ideas for their upbringing, I don't think we'll ever really have a canon answer towards any of it.

But, Cuphead does give off the vibe of someone who has had to do the parenting and does care, but generally did not get a chance to really be a kid himself, so he's sort of all over the place (relatable, my guy).

[mspaint-flower]

hi everyone my living situation has only been degrading the past months and now i'm not going to describe everything (cause most of it is described in the link anyway) but if you want to support me, you can do so here or comm me (although my motivation to do anything has severely degraded but i'll still do it no matter how long it takes me)

if you can't then it would be nice if you could share really, i just wanna live a normal life again

thank you

[shirogane-oushirou]

this shouldnt really be relevant to anyone following this blog up until now lmao, but that post i rb-ed on main made me remember that, now that i have a dedicated space for mature posts, this blog is no longer mdni. my main is still 18+ just because it's my catch-all blog for all types of posts, as is my art blog bc i'll occasionally post haha funnie adult humor + i want to retain the option to post some suggestive art if i ever feel like it, but at least here things can be more chill ✌🏻

[ozzgin]

Just read your arranged marriage kidnapped by a most post and the humor in the servants always thinking reader is in peril. The same going for monster hubby (He just thinks they're submissive and breedable)

Like none of them realize they are a moster fucker cause they hide it so well. Like just imagining reader be like "oh be gentle with me I'm a dainty maiden" and then giving him the night of his life is hilarious. Or them having dinner and the servants feel bad for them cause monster hubby is eating human meat but their just thinking about other things he can use his tongue on.

Or maybe someone comes to rescue them from the terrible monster finally. But they don't wanna leave and instead fight the knight off. The knight thinks they've been brainwashed or something. Meanwhile the servants think the knight just wasn't good enough to rescue them.

Content: gender neutral reader, monster romance, NSFW! [Part 1] | [More Monsters]

The servants are not blind by any means: they can tell, quite plainly, that their monstrous Lord has a soft spot for you. Not only that, but the beast nearly worships you! They've come up with many theories, the latest one involving witchcraft. Surely you must have some sort of magical trickery under your sleeve in order to subdue their Master. There's no other way around it. All previous humans have been devoured, or have died in a pitiful attempt to escape, terrified to the bone upon gazing at his blasphemous Majesty.

You can't blame them. It's probably better for everyone involved if you omit the fact that your source of witchcraft lies in your...genitals. Well, not just that, of course. Your husband had started to lose hope. His appreciation of humans never came to fruition before your arrival. He was expecting you to cower in fear, not throw yourself at him.

He wondered if you wanted something from him in return, but no one could possibly pretend so flawlessly: the way you clung to him unprompted. The way you hungrily took him in, tears welling in your eyes, refusing to let go until you could feel his load avalanching down your throat. The way you'd trap his hips with your legs, despite being weak and feverish, asking that he doesn't stop yet. If that wasn't proof enough, your whines and moans were loud and clear. To think he could have his own little human, one who isn't repulsed by his monstrous form. He would've been content with mere tolerance, yet someone who begged to be fucked by him? He's been delirious ever since.

He loves everything about you, naturally, but he can't deny the shameless addiction he's now developed towards your body. He'd pound you anywhere and anytime if he could. If he needs to leave for official matters, know that the return will burn in the back of his mind.

"An important date, Sir?" one traveling servant will ask, glancing at all the scribbles in the calendar.

"Indeed", he answers solemnly. It's the times when he can finally fuck you dumb.

While the servants worry about their devilish Master being put under leash, for the other fellow humans the opposite seems to be true. You recall your last "rescuing" attempt distinctly. During one of your evening walks, burly, foreign arms swept you off in an instant. Before you knew it, you were holding onto the armored shoulders of an unknown man, as he made his way out of the traditional garden.

"I'll get you out of here", he promised between heaving breaths.

You stared in confusion. What was he saving you from? A good dicking? No matter how much you explained that you do actually like your newly appointed husband, the hero wouldn't budge.

You ended up just walking back home when the man fell asleep.

"That was quite the long walk", your monster partner remarked, polishing his weapons.

"Oh no, I was kidnapped", you state casually. "Got us some fruits on the way back."

Would it have been better to lie about it? On one hand, you do feel terrible for whoever attempted to retrieve you from the claws of the tyrant. Your husband is very possessive, and you know he'll scorch the Earth until that treacherous pest is gutted and fed to the pigs.

On the other hand...he becomes particularly savage after such incidents. You won't be able to sit properly for the next few weeks, but it's worth it.

Tough luck, you tell yourself, lounging in bed with a satisfied smirk and torn apart hole.

[artficlly]

lessons in lovemaking [part two]

marvel au bucky x blackwidow!reader You and Bucky Barnes go undercover as a married couple, but when a fake kiss gets too real, he unexpectedly finishes in his pants—leaving you both stunned.

Warnings: 18+ content minors dni, smut, fem reader, dry humping, blindfolding, grinding, soft dom vibes reader, soft sub vibes bucky, bucky is touch starved, clothed ejaculation, vague mentions of previous sa, ex black widow reader, very consensual, safe words, kissing, bucky barnes needs a hug, if you squint, there's some plot, fluff, angst, bickering, reader is lowkey depressed, mentions of past violence, death and war, no use of y/n, lmk if i've missed anything

Word Count: 8.6k

A/N: hey guys, i'm literally so nervous posting this... it's been sitting in my drafts for like a month now and i finally worked up the courage to post after spending a couple hours editing :( i'm literally scheduling this to post at like 3am my time so i'm not awake when it goes live i'm so anxious bahaha. the start of this part is a bit slow, pls hold on because theres some light smut and angst at the end. i have plans for further parts that'll look more into the other avengers finding out and the development between bucky and readers relationship and their shared healing. sorry for any typos - not proof read.

main masterlist | series masterlist

It was only on rare occasions that the full team of Avengers (and co.) were in the same room. A momentous historical moment, in fact, normally reserved for two particular occasions:

The world was ending (in some gloriously diabolical way that usually involved aliens, interdimensional warlords, or some ancient, forgotten god with a vendetta) or

Tony Stark was throwing another one of his famously exclusive penthouse parties (which, despite being ‘exclusive,’ still managed to include half of New York—most of whom showed up just to gawk at the Avengers like a travelling circus act sent to entertain them personally.)

Today, it seemed, was neither of those occasions. Thor and the rest of the Asgardians—Bruce Banner included, oddly enough—were busy rebuilding after the destruction of Asgard. Wanda and Vision were off playing happy family elsewhere, and Clint was busy with his own quickly expanding family. The others, agents, specialists, the people whose names you never bothered to remember, were preoccupied with their own missions. Which left you here, filed neatly into the elusive extra category. Not quite an Avenger. Too valuable to be let loose, too unpredictable to be fully trusted.

You leant back in your chair, only half-listening to the conversation beside you. The skin around your thumbnail was raw. You picked at it absentmindedly, peeling back the edge where it had already started to flake, a sting flaring along the nail. You were thinking—too much, maybe—so you let them talk, let yourself disappear as they debated which bar had the strongest drinks and the least pathetic men.

The three of you were early. By some miracle, morning training had ended ahead of schedule. Natasha had wiped the floor with you, to the point where it probably would’ve been more productive to stay on the mat rather than waste your energy hauling yourself back up.

“What do you think?” It took you a second to realise Yelena was talking to you, elbows propped on the table, chin resting in her hand. She was watching you expectantly, sharp eyes narrowed.

You didn’t look up. “I’m not coming.”

She sighed dramatically. “You never hang out with us.” She leant back in her chair with an exaggerated huff, muttering under her breath, “So mysterious and cool. You think you’re better than us?” 

Natasha watched on amused, the redhead poised as always. “She doesn’t want to drink in front of us in case she spills her secrets.”

You scoffed. “What secrets?”

“I don’t know.” Natasha leant forward, watching you a little too closely now, like she was gauging your reaction. “How about how that mission went with Barnes?”

Ever since the gala mission, the two had been trying to get you alone, a few drinks in, hoping for something—a slip, an offhanded remark, anything that would confirm whatever hunches they had. You knew what they were fishing for. They weren’t subtle.

You just weren’t playing.

Neither you nor Bucky had said a word about it.

That, apparently, was suspicious.

“She is right, you know. Neither of you will say a word about it. I’m beginning to think something happened—” Yelena cut over her sister with a grin.

“Nothing happened,” you interrupted smoothly, finally lifting your eyes from the wreckage of your thumbnail. “You keep asking, but you’re not going to uncover some dirty secret. Sorry to disappoint."

“Then why the silence? No one would care if you fucked him, you could just plead innocence, overcome by playing the perfect, doting wife—”

You shot her a look, one withering enough to turn bone to dust and ego to rubble. 

“I mean… maybe people would care, but I wouldn’t judge you! Super soldier, metal arm… so hot, or whatever.” Yelena prattled on, and you ignored her, exhaling through your nose.

"I think he’s just mortified that people assume something did happen. He’s got enough brooding energy as it is." You muttered. 

“I just don’t believe nothing happened, trapped in that hotel room together for a week. Apparently, you were convincing enough to keep the targets off your scent, and we all know Barnes’ acting is as stiff as a cadaver on ice—”

Your face twisted into a look of exasperation before you could control yourself, straightening in your seat. “God, you two really are like vultures, picking around for the slightest bit of gossip—”

“Wow, defensive—” 

“Isn’t that the joy in life? Digging for gossip?” Natasha cut back in with a sharp smirk.

“You two are insufferable!” You interrupted, slapping your palms onto your thighs. "I think I’ll keep my secrets. I’ll leave the both of you to continue plotting this fantastical mystery you’ve created in your minds—”

“It’s only fun because you get so worked up about it,” Natasha cut back with a grin you could only describe as predatory. “Plus, I do love watching Rogers squirm listening to all the theories."

“You know,” Yelena mused, swirling the thought around before letting it slip, “I don’t think Steve is as innocent as we think he is. I’m pretty sure I heard him and Sharon—”

She cut herself off just as the door swung open, and the rest of the team filtered in.

You schooled your reaction, easily slipping back into the picture of nonchalance. Bucky’s blue eyes flickered towards yours for a split second before darting away. It had been two weeks since your first ‘lesson’. Two weeks of carefully measured distance, of subtle glances that never lasted too long, of conversations that stayed just professional enough to not raise questions.

Bucky had been doing well—shockingly well, actually. He was receptive to your touch, followed your guidance with careful precision, and was beginning to trust you, bit by bit. You hadn’t gone much further than heated make-out sessions that usually ended with him finishing in his pants, but you weren’t in a rush. You were still feeling out his comfort zones, making sure he never felt cornered or overwhelmed. There wasn’t exactly a handbook for this kind of arrangement.

You slumped in your seat even further, shaking off the feeling. It was fine. No one knew.

Still, the way Bucky avoided looking in your direction made something prickle under your skin.

You were certain the super soldier would combust on the spot if any of his coworkers caught wind of what the two of you had been up to. Hell, he turned red enough just having you perched in his lap during lessons, whispering sweet nothings into his ear. And yet, during meetings, training, or any moment the two of you were forced into the same orbit, you couldn’t help but wonder—did he think about those moments? Did his mind drift back to the ghost of your touch the same way yours did?

You weren’t usually the sentimental type. Nostalgia was a luxury, a foolish indulgence you had long since trained yourself out of. But there was something about him—his quiet hesitance, his wary but willing surrender—that stuck with you. It was a service, nothing more. A transaction in which you gained no tangible benefit, so why did you linger on it? Why did the thought of his gaze meeting yours send a sharp thrill through your chest? Was it because he treated you like a person instead of a tool? Because he understood pieces of you no one else even tried to?

He wasn’t like the others. Never cruel, never greedy. He never reached for more than you offered, never treated you like something to be taken. Maybe that was why you kept coming back. Maybe, for once, you liked the control. Liked the feeling of choosing, of being wanted on your own terms. Of knowing that, for once, you weren’t a marionette dancing on someone else’s strings.

You swallowed the thought down and let your gaze flicker to him. Bucky sat curled in on himself, as if trying to shrink into nothing despite the broadness of his frame. He looked like a wounded animal—no, worse. He looked exhausted. The dark circles beneath his eyes had deepened, his hair unwashed and slightly greasy at the roots. He wasn’t sleeping. He wasn’t taking care of himself. You didn’t need to be a genius to figure that out.

He stared blankly at the grain of the wooden table, shoulders hunched between Steve and Sam, who were deep in conversation about something you didn’t care enough to eavesdrop on. And for reasons you weren’t ready to name, that quiet, hollow stillness of his sat uneasily in your chest.

You had… concerns for Bucky after what he had confessed to you. But you weren’t sure what to do with those concerns. Or those confessions. You held them close to your chest, unwilling to betray his trust, but understanding instead. You knew it was probably irresponsible of you to sit on them, but you didn’t want to overstep. Besides, Steve and Sam didn’t know you. You’d had maybe three conversations with each of them, most of them mission-related. To them, you were just Natasha and Yelena’s friend—Red Room collateral. You weren’t social, you weren’t a part of their circle, and you sure as hell weren’t someone they trusted.

And if they knew about your arrangement with Bucky… well, you didn’t want to think about what conclusions they’d draw—

“Hi!”

The sudden, chirpy voice nearly startled you out of your seat.

Kate Bishop had arrived—loud, bright, and effortlessly excitable, like a golden retriever in human form. She had that kind of energy that made you suspicious. No one was that happy all the time. Her dark hair was pulled into a ponytail, messy strands framing her face. She was dressed in casual, slightly dishevelled layers, looking like she had just come from sparring but didn’t have the same dead-in-the-eyes exhaustion you did after a training session.

“I’m Kate!” she announced, beaming at you like you were about to be best friends. She pushed her hand out. “Kate Bishop.”

You blinked at her, ignoring her outstretched offer. “I know.”

Her grin didn’t waver, and she coolly withdrew her hand.

“You’re Clint and Yelena’s pet project.” You spoke again, your tone perhaps a little more hostile than necessary. 

“It’s apprentice, actually.” Yelena cut in before Kate could argue. “You know, you’re starting to hurt my feelings. Stark has an apprentice, so why are you always giving me shit—”

“Oh yes, Stark’s pet project.” You gave an exaggerated sigh. “What was his name? Paxton, Peyton, or was it Parker?”

“Did I ask for your opinion, K.G.B. Barbie?” Tony Stark’s voice cut in lazily as he walked past, sitting at the head of the table like he owned the place—which, unfortunately for you, he did. As usual, he didn’t look pleased to see you, and the scent of entitlement wafted off of him in waves.

You met his gaze evenly. "No, but I was under the impression that unsolicited opinions were your love language, considering the amount your hand out.”

He scoffed, shaking his head. “Remind me why we let you sit at the big kids’ table again?”

"You don’t." You glanced at Stark, unimpressed. "But I was invited, shockingly enough. Or are you reckless enough to ignore Fury’s instructions now?"

There it was. That smirk. He smirked at you, and you knew in your heart he had the foulest, most cutting rebuke to lay upon you. He hadn’t even opened his mouth, and you were already grinding your teeth in frustration as you stared back at him, eyes locked onto his smug face—

Kate cleared her throat, stepping in before you and Stark could escalate any further. “So, what do you do?”

Stark held his tongue, so in return, you slid your gaze back over to a nervous Kate. And in that moment, you knew you couldn’t help yourself. Natasha had already shot you a warning look, but the redhead's trained patience for the playboy Stark had unfortunately never extended to you. 

"Infiltration, espionage, recon." You shrugged, expression carefully neutral. "I gather information, and then the big boys get to swoop in, throw a few punches, and take all the credit. Isn’t that right, Stark?"

Maybe you had woken up grouchier than usual—not that you could even call the few hours of restless tossing and turning sleep. Or perhaps it was the fact that you’d spent the morning eating the training mat, then had to suffer through Natasha and Yelena’s constant interrogations that had soured your mood. Either way, you weren’t exactly in the best headspace to deal with him.

Truthfully, you thought Stark was a prick, and unfortunately, you had never been exactly shy about that opinion. You and Stark had just never really clicked. Not in the way he had with the others, not in the way Natasha had seamlessly folded herself into the team, or the way Yelena had bulldozed her way in, loud and brash. You existed somewhere in between, tolerated but always lingering on the outside. It wasn’t that you didn’t get along with them. You could banter with Sam, hold an easy conversation with Steve when necessary and trade dry humour with Clint in a way that made you feel almost at home. Even Stark, for all his grating personality, wasn’t always intolerable. But there was always something between you and them—an unspoken distance, a careful line you never crossed. They didn’t entirely trust you yet, and you never gave them a reason to try.

Not because you didn’t want to.

But because trust had never been a luxury you could afford.

Your job was reading people—analysing, dissecting, and manipulating. You understood them better than they understood themselves, saw the cracks in their foundations and knew precisely where to apply pressure. It made you valuable. Indispensable even, but it also made people wary. The team knew what you were, even if they didn’t know the full extent of what you had been. But deep down, you knew they were smart enough to assemble the pieces.

So you kept yourself at arm’s length. You wanted to believe you could have that feeling—belonging. But wanting and trusting were two very different things that you did not dare confuse.

Kate’s eyes lit up. “That’s so cool.”

“That’s a polite way of putting it,” Stark interjected, leaning against the desk. “She’s just a pretty face we send in to distract while the rest of us do the actual work.”

There it was.

Your jaw clenched, but you didn’t rise to the bait. This was your hubris. You could already hear Natasha’s scolding—You really shouldn’t egg him on like that. The two of you are as bad as each other, always trying to get under each other's skin. A bunch of alleycats fighting it’s ridiculous—

Somewhere across the table, Bucky’s eyes had shot up. The movement startled you, and your eyes met briefly. It was milliseconds, maybe not even that, but as soon as you registered your brief exchange, Bucky shied away like a spooked animal.

And when you looked back at Kate, Natasha and Yelena, you found that Natasha had been watching the whole thing. She didn’t speak, didn’t even react. There wasn’t the slightest twitch in her brow or twinge in her lips. She stared like some kind of omnipotent god, and deep down, you knew. You knew she knew. 

Maybe she didn’t know the full extent, but the way she stared… it made you shudder.

Fuck.

Kate, however, frowned, turning back to you. “That’s not true, right?”

“Of course not,” you deadpanned, not letting the dread pooling in your stomach let you miss a beat. “I do much more than look pretty. Sometimes I get to torture people—”

Kate’s face pale, then through several stages of grief, trying to figure out if you were joking. 

You weren’t about to help her.

“Relax, Kate Bishop, she is messing with you,” Yelena said with an amused grin, though it was tight. A silent warning behind her eyes told you to keep your mouth shut.

Kate still looked mildly concerned, but she shook it off quickly. “Okay, but—so you can fight?”

“Of course.”

“Not as well as me,” Yelena cut in before you could elaborate, grinning smugly. “Don’t worry, Kate. You’re being trained by the best of the best. Me? I am the best. You know this.”

You rolled your eyes, and Kate beamed. That girl was too fucking cute for her own good.

The door swung open before anyone could respond to Yelena. Fury stepped inside, long coat sweeping behind him, his boots heavy against the floor. His usual expression—somewhere between perpetually pissed off and quietly judgmental—was firmly in place beneath the shadow of his eyepatch.

"Hope I'm not interrupting anything," Fury said, his voice edged with dry amusement, though his gaze flicked between you all with razor-sharp scrutiny.

"No, sir," Steve said, back straightening. Natasha, ever composed, merely leaned back in her chair. Stark didn’t even spare a glance.

“First off, I’d like to extend my deepest, most heartfelt gratitude for your attendance,” Fury began, spreading his arms in a broad, insincere gesture, his tone so dry it could have turned the room to dust. “I know how much of a hardship it is, taking an hour out of your busy lives to sit in a comfortable chair and listen to me talk.”

Sam snorted. Yelena smirked. Bucky, as usual, remained unreadable.

Fury’s eye landed on you and Bucky before he tossed a slim tablet onto the table, the display already flashing with the text of a mission report you hardly cared to examine in detail.

“Congratulations are in order. The gala infiltration went exceptionally well despite the odds stacked against you.”

You dipped your head in acknowledgement, catching movement out of the corner of your eye—Sam begrudgingly sliding Fury what seemed to be a twenty-dollar bill. Asshole.

Fury tapped the screen embedded in the table, replacing the mission debrief with a new set of images. An aerial view of a club, snippets of surveillance footage, a grainy close-up of a man slipping out of a side entrance, bodyguards in tow.

“And thanks to that intel recovered,” Fury continued, “we now have a location on our next target. Dmitry Karpin. Friend to H.Y.D.R.A. Dealt in smuggling high-profile weapons in and out of Soviet countries for a time, but now he’s taken to smuggling drugs. Serums, to be specific.”

Across the table, Bucky had gone still. Tension coiled in his shoulders, his hands resting stiffly on the surface, knuckles taut. H.Y.D.R.A. Serum. The words alone were enough to suffocate the room when Bucky or Steve were around. You didn’t let your eyes linger on him long nor allow your frown to deepen. 

Fury didn’t acknowledge the shift—maybe he was used to it by now, or perhaps he just didn’t care. His voice remained steady, rolling over the tension in the room as if he were reciting lines from a well-rehearsed script. Karpin’s security detail. The club’s weak points. Entry and exit strategies. The words blurred together, dissolving into background noise beneath the low hum of static in your head. It was hard to focus when you could feel Bucky sitting across from you, motionless, barely even breathing, his whole body locked up like a loaded fucking gun. And the worst part? He probably thought he was doing a good job hiding it.

You didn’t stare, didn’t let your concern show. Instead, you leant back in your chair, tilting your head just enough to feign disinterest. “So, just another fun-filled evening of chatting up sweaty old men for me? Sounds like a dream.” Your voice came out dry, with just enough sarcasm to mask any wobbles. 

Fury didn’t spare you a glance. “If that’s what you need to tell yourself,” he said, tapping the screen again. More grainy footage. More blueprints. The details kept coming, but you barely registered them.

You picked at your thumbnail hard enough that the cuticle began to bleed.

Eventually, the meeting drew to a close. Chairs scraped against the floor as the team rose, murmuring amongst themselves as they filed out. You stood, ready to follow, but—

“You two, stick around,” Fury instructed.

You hesitated, glancing at him, then at Bucky, who had also stalled mid-step. Natasha and Yelena exchanged a knowing look, their amusement not at all subtle. You ignored their barely concealed grins as they disappeared through the door.

Fury exhaled, hands bracing against the table as he surveyed the two of you. 

“I’ll be honest,” he said finally. “I wasn’t convinced it would work when I paired you two. Thought maybe you’d kill each other before you got anything done.”

Bucky scoffed quietly, gaze flicking away.

“But you proved me wrong.” His good eye narrowed as he continued. “The mission was a success. You handled yourselves well.”

A beat of silence. Then, just as flatly, “I want to know if you’d be open to working together again. Similar style of operation.”

Your eyes slid over to Bucky, gauging his reaction. You didn’t want to appear too eager or give any more credence to the stories Yelena and Natasha were spinning, but most of all, you didn’t want to put words into Bucky’s mouth. You weren’t in the business of pressuring him in or out of the bedroom. 

Bucky was quiet as if silently working through some thoughts before deciding. Finally, he offered a dismissive “Sure.”

You nodded slowly, offering Fury a nonchalant shrug. “I’m fine with that.”

Fury’s lips twitched. Not quite a smirk.

“Well, that’s the most enthusiasm I’ve heard all day,” he deadpanned before shaking his head. “Damn, you two are depressing. Sitting there all broody, staring at me like I shot your goddamn dog.” 

Neither you nor Bucky reacted, which was met by a low chuckle from Fury. “Regardless, I appreciate the hard work. You made me a nice chunk of money winning some bets.”

Your brow furrowed. “You bet on us?”

Fury raised an eyebrow, unbothered. “Course I did. Had to make it interesting. Half the team thought you’d get caught or kill each other before the first day was up.”

You blinked. “...Who bet against us?”

“Stark.” Fury’s lips twitched again. “He didn’t think you’d make it past security.”

Of course he did. Prick. 

—

"Alright, I’m in position."

You blinked. Bucky sat there like he was awaiting orders, his posture rigid as if he were about to breach enemy lines.  His hands hovered awkwardly at his sides, fingers twitching like he wasn’t sure where to put them like touching you required the same level of strategic planning as a high-stakes extraction mission.

You stared, straddling his hips, your fingers ghosting over his collarbone, feeling the tension thrumming beneath his skin. He didn’t quite meet your eyes, his gaze fixed somewhere just past your shoulder as if making direct contact might detonate something neither of you were ready for. For a split second, you half expected him to press a finger to an earpiece and murmur something about securing the perimeter.

In the dim glow of his bedroom, he looked every bit like a man being held hostage rather than one about to receive a very generous favour.

Lately… something felt off. The signs had been subtle at first, the way he always seemed a beat too calculated, his hands found the same places every time, and he would grow still like he was waiting for a command. 

And now, looking at him, so wound-up he might actually vibrate, it finally clicked.

Every touch and kiss was executed with the precision of a soldier running a drill rather than a man lost in the moment. It was methodical. He was analysing a strategy rather than experiencing pleasure. You half expected to glance down and see him taking notes—touch here, kiss there, don’t forget to do this. The thought horrified you, but if you were honest… it also amused you. 

You pinched the bridge of your nose.

“…Bucky, are you seriously treating this like a mission?”

He stiffened beneath you, his reaction just a fraction too quick, too defensive.

“What’d you mean?” His voice was steady, but there was an edge. He was already on guard, bracing for imaginary discipline. 

“The way you’re…” You trailed off, head inclining as you studied him. His jaw was clenched, brows drawn tight, the creased skin between them betraying him entirely. One could mistake him for a soldier behind enemy lines, waiting for the crack of a rifle. There were dark smudges under his eyes, no worse than usual. You knew he didn’t sleep well. Nightmares haunted him and left him running on fumes more often than not. You recognised the signs, and it was like you were looking into a mirror. 

“It’s like you have a mental checklist,” you murmured, watching for his reaction. “Like every move you make is planned like you’re running through a strategy in your head instead of just… feeling it.”

Bucky remained silent, his lips pressing into a firm line.

Gently, you squeezed his shoulder, fingertips pressing into hard muscle. He was tense—too tense. “You’re not clearing a building, Bucky. You’re not scanning for threats. You’re here with me. Just relax a little, won’t you?”

“I am relaxed.” He bit the words out, though neither his voice nor expression were even remotely convincing.

You let out a short laugh, shaking your head. “I appreciate the attempt to lie, but when I can feel the fucking tension in your body, it’s a little, well, very obvious.” Your hands traced along his shoulders, fingers kneading into the tight knots beneath the fabric of his shirt. His muscles were rock-solid, never fully uncoiled. His body had forgotten how to rest.

“See?” You gave a pointed squeeze. “This is not ‘relaxed,’ Bucky. This is as solid as a goddamn steel beam.”

Bucky scoffed a tiny huff of air through his nose. “Those are my muscles. I work out. Don’t you?”

You gasped in mock delight, lips parting in exaggerated shock. “Oh my God. Did you just make a joke? Bucky, was that a joke?”

Something flickered in his expression for the first time, a sliver of amusement breaking through the ever-present brooding. He finally met your gaze, eyes crinkling just slightly at the corners, and the sight sent a flicker of warmth through your chest.

You grinned. “Well, isn’t that a first? Guess I should mark the calendar.”

His smirk was brief, fleeting—but it was there.

You softened, your voice dropping just a little. “But seriously, you need to loosen up.” Your hands smoothed over his shoulders, slow and deliberate.“Attraction, desire… sex. It’s messy, it’s unplanned. It’s not a mission. This isn’t the army.” 

You didn’t dare say the following words in your mind aloud. 

This isn’t H.Y.D.R.A. 

But you knew that was where his thoughts drifted, that unspoken trouble that plagued you both. Your fingers ghosted along the silver chain at his throat, the faint jingle of his dog tags barely audible under the fabric of his shirt. “You don’t have to follow orders. You can just be.”

“I know.” The words came low, rough, frayed at the edges. You could feel yourself losing him, his eyes growing foggy as if pulled away to a place you couldn’t quite reach to drag him out from.

“I just…” Another breath, deeper this time, as though steadying himself. “They used me. For so long, they used me as a weapon. I don’t know if I can ever be anything different than that. I don’t want to lose control—what happens if I lose—”

“Hey.” Your hands framed his face now, thumbs brushing against the sharp angles of his cheekbones, anchoring him. “Hey, look at me.”

His eyes lifted, hesitant, guarded.

“You are more than that.” The words were gentle but unwavering, as steady as your hands on him. “We are more than that, okay? You’re Bucky. Just Bucky. And you are in control. Say it.”

His fingers curled against your thighs, knuckles pressing into the cotton fabric of your shorts. He was quiet momentarily as though testing the words in his mind before speaking them aloud. Then, slowly, he nodded.

“I’m in control.”

“You’re in control.” You echoed, smoothing your thumb over the faint stubble on his cheek. “And you still want to do this?”

His breath was slow, deliberate. “Yes.”

Your fingers had drifted higher, threading into his hair, the strands silky and cool beneath your touch. You swept a loose lock from his forehead, letting your fingertips linger against his temple. “And if you don’t want this at any point, what do you say?”

“Stop.”

“And what will happen if you say that?”

“You’ll stop. We’ll stop.”

“Good.” You praised him, your smile widening as you felt him squirm beneath you. There was a subtle hitch in his breath as your hands began to trail lower, palms smoothing down to his chest. The pulse at his throat fluttered beneath your fingertips, quick and uneven, betraying the calm he was trying to hold onto. You leant closer, your breath warm against his skin as you pressed a slow, lingering kiss to his temple. Then lower—to the sharp line of his cheekbone, the edge of his jaw, and finally to the hollow of his throat. A shudder ran through him, his grip on your hips tightening just a fraction. “Is this okay?”

“Yes.” He uttered after a thick, audible swallow.

You pulled back just enough to study him, to see how his lips parted slightly as though chasing the warmth of your touch. A quiet, almost reluctant noise rumbled in his chest, just shy of a whine. You traced your fingers along his jaw before tilting your head, considering him. “I want to try something.” You hummed to him. “You can say no if it’s too much, but I think it might help you.”

His brows furrowed. “Yeah?”

“I want to blindfold you—”

“You want to what?” He went rigid beneath you, every muscle tightening again as if you’d flipped a switch and snapped him back into defence mode.

“Hold on, just let me finish.” You held up your hand, hoping to counteract his immediate, instinctive reaction.

He huffed, rolling his shoulders as though shaking off the response, but said nothing. 

“I want to blindfold you,” you repeated, slower this time, words deliberate. “And I want to kiss you. And touch you. I want you to focus on feeling good rather than anticipating something bad. I want you to just… be here with me. Not thinking about what comes next, not waiting for an attack. Just focusing on feeling. That’s all.”

His expression was cautious before turning to contemplation—as though weighing the idea against everything instinct told him.

“You can say no,” you reminded him gently.

“No, I—” He hesitated, his fingers twitching against your hips.

You shifted back just a little, offering him the space to decide. “It’s okay. We don’t have to do it.”

“No, I—shit—” He exhaled, shaking his head. “I mean—no, I want to. Yes. I want to try that.”

Your gaze searched his. “You’re sure?”

His lips pressed together, and then he nodded once, firmly. “Yes.”

You grinned, pressing a sloppy, lingering kiss to his temple before slipping off his lap with ease and rolling onto the bed beside him. “Do you have something we could use?”

“Uh, I don’t—”

“Like a tie, maybe? You wear suits, right? Or does Stark demand them back the second you step foot in the compound?”

Bucky let out a huff, eyes narrowing. “I don’t want to talk about Stark right now.”

You shot him a knowing look, but before you could tease him further, your gaze flickered downward—and you smirked. Even through the soft material of his sweatpants, you could see he was already half-hard. “Sure.”

A faint flush crept up his neck, staining his ears and cheeks pink. He cleared his throat, voice rough. “Top drawer. In the wardrobe.”

You were on your feet before he could finish, slipping into his walk-in wardrobe. Every apartment in the compound had one, though Bucky’s was noticeably bare. His clothes were monochrome, muted shades of grey, navy, and black. No bursts of colour. No sign of impulse. It was not a lack of wealth. You knew that for sure. No, this was intentional—a desire to blend in, to disappear.

You’d always known he was the type who preferred the shadows, slipping between crowds unnoticed. No wonder he hated the tailored suits Stark and Fury forced him into—arm issues aside. For some reason, S.H.I.E.L.D. were determined to parade him around. Look, the Winter Soldier. He’s a good boy now. He plays nice. Nothing to fear anymore. You were unsure how he felt about such displays, but you were sure it wasn’t too far off from how you felt about it. You had once been in his shoes, though more in the eye candy territory. A doll to dress up and play with, to smile and play the part.

Powerful men enjoyed degrading that which they knew to be dangerous, enjoyed playing with fire, and enjoyed the illusion of control. 

Shaking off the thought, you pulled open the top drawer, sifting through a few neatly folded ties. You selected a smooth black silk, running the cool fabric over your palm before returning to the bedroom.

Bucky was still seated at the edge of the bed, stiff as a board. His hands curled into fists atop his thighs, knuckles taut. His throat bobbed as he swallowed.

You slowed, holding the tie between your fingers like approaching a spooked animal. Visible to inspect and assess. No threat.

“Yes?” you asked, giving him another chance to change his mind.

His jaw tightened, but he gave a short nod. “Yes.”

You smiled softly. “Just breathe, yeah? Like we always do.” You inhaled deeply through your nose, then exhaled slowly and steadily through your mouth.

After a beat, Bucky mirrored you, chest rising and falling with measured breaths.

You moved behind him, settling onto the bed. He sat still, poised for an attack. Carefully, you draped the silk tie over his eyes, looping it around his head and securing it with a loose knot. It wasn’t tight—one purposeful tug and it would slip free.

You could feel the tension radiating from him. Even blindfolded, he was hyper-aware, attuned to every rustle of the sheets, every shift of your weight. His breathing had turned shallower, the serum sharpening every sound, every sensation.

“If you need to stop for any reason, just say so.”

He jolted slightly at your voice, caught off guard in the quiet. “O-okay.” His voice wavered, and then he cursed low under his breath in Russian.

You grinned. Some habits died hard.

“I’m going to touch you now.” You crept closer, lifting onto your knees behind him. “Just focus on me and how it feels. Nothing else. Can you do that?”

He gave a slow, hesitant nod.

You started at his shoulders, palms skimming over firm muscle, feeling the warmth of his skin beneath your fingertips. Every dip and ridge, every knot of tension. Your hands slid to his collarbone, then across the joint where flesh met metal, mapping out the contrast between warm skin and the smooth, cold vibranium.

He was solid beneath your touch, every muscle taut and solid as it stretched across the bone.

You had noticed the way his shoulders gave him grief. The slight tilt of his frame and the way his left arm always sat heavier. It was incorrect weight distribution; the metal limb was too heavy compared to its flesh counterpart. S.H.I.E.L.D had surely offered him physical therapy—massages, treatment plans—but you doubted he had ever taken them up on it. He didn’t like to be touched by strangers. Too wary. Too untrusting. 

“Can I take off your shirt?” you asked softly.

He stilled.

“I don’t—” His voice was lower now, rougher. “My scars. They’re not—”

“I don’t care about that.”

He swallowed hard. “You don’t?”

“No,” you said firmly. “Why would I?” 

Without a word, his hand reached behind his head, gripping the collar of his shirt. He yanked it over his head in one fluid motion, tossing the fabric to the floor. You adjusted the blindfold where it had shifted, then let your gaze drift over the broad expanse of his back.

His shoulders were massive, sculpted with muscle. The scars on his left shoulder were brutal—jagged lines of gnarled tissue where the vibranium met flesh. It might have been seamless after the amputation. Painless even. But it had been H.Y.D.R.A who had ruined him, left scars so deep even the Wakandans couldn’t erase.

And H.Y.D.R.A didn’t care for comfort. They cared for necessity. Likely, you suspected, they had wanted him to suffer.

An endless reminder of their ownership.

You swallowed, then placed your hands on his shoulders again, thumbs pressing gently into the base of his neck. You started slow, careful, massaging along the muscle, working your way down. His skin was warm beneath your palms, the mass taut and unyielding at first, like stone beneath your fingers. But you took your time, applying gradual pressure, thumbs circling into the knots built over time.

Beneath your hands, Bucky let out a low, guttural sound—a half-growl, half-sigh of approval. His head dipped forward slightly, chin brushing his chest, an unspoken invitation to continue.

You kept going, kneading deep into the knots in his shoulders, feeling the tension resist before you coaxed it loose. With each press and roll of your fingers, the stiffness unravelled like a cord being undone, thread by thread. You worked methodically, digging your thumbs along the curve where his neck met his shoulders, pressing firmly enough to elicit another low, unconscious groan from him.

You bit back a smile as you felt him lean into you just a little.

Trailing downward, you traced the slope of his shoulder blades, following the ridges of tendons and old wounds. The scars on his left side were tougher, the tissue uneven where flesh met metal, but you didn’t hesitate. Your fingers brushed the seam between the vibranium and skin, then continued downward, thumbs pressing slow, firm circles along the fuse.

Bucky shuddered.

His breath hitched as you dug into the deep-seated strain along his spine. A sharp inhale, a low exhale—he was losing himself to the sensation, surrendering to your touch. You didn’t rush. You worked him slowly, thoroughly, feeling him yield with each measured stroke. When you reached the dip of his lower back, you flattened your hands, smoothing over the tightness that lingered. He was warm now, his skin melting like wax beneath your fingers.

Satisfied, you finally pulled back, smoothing your hands along his spine one last time before shifting your position.

Rising onto your knees, you moved around him, hands trailing over his shoulders as you slid into his lap. His breath stuttered, but he didn’t pull away. You settled against him, straddling his lap, your arms draping lazily over his shoulders. The blindfold was still secure, and he looked… calmer now. Less wound up, his jaw no longer locked so tightly.

“You okay?” You murmured.

His throat bobbed as he swallowed. “Yeah.”

“Good,” you hummed, tilting your head, lips just inches from his ear. “I think you needed that.”

Bucky exhaled a breathy, almost disbelieving laugh, but he didn’t deny it.

Your fingers trailed up the nape of his neck, nails scratching lightly against the short hairs, and you felt him shiver beneath you. You leaned in, lips brushing over his cheekbone, just at the edge of the blindfold, before trailing downward. You kissed along his jaw, soft and teasing, pressing your lips into the warm skin beneath his ear, down the column of his throat.

His hands fidgeted at his sides, tightening around the sheets. Then, as if giving in to some internal battle, they rose—hesitant but desperate. His fingers found your waist, sliding over the curve of your hips before gripping tight.

You grinned against his skin.

“There you go,” you murmured, voice a breath of silk against his throat.

A sharp exhale left him, his fingers tightening, pressing you closer, holding you in place. You cupped his jaw, tilting his face up before pressing your lips to his.

Bucky groaned into the kiss.

It was soft at first, your mouth moving against his, teasing, coaxing him deeper. But it wasn’t long before he cracked. The tension he had held onto for so long—his control, his restraint—it frayed at the edges with every pass of your lips against his. You pressed closer, shifting in his lap, and the moment your hips rolled against him, his breath stuttered.

A broken sound escaped him, part groan, part whimper.

You did it again just to hear it.

His hands flexed against your sides, his hold firm, frantic, but he didn’t stop you. He only breathed harder, his forehead falling against yours as you peppered kisses along his lips, his cheeks and the bridge of his nose.

Then you moved again, grinding against him slowly, carefully, and Bucky outright whimpered.

He made no effort to stop you—no attempt to control the rhythm, no resistance left in him. His mind was no longer caught in the tangle of right and wrong, of what he should or shouldn’t do.

He only felt.

Only responded.

You kissed him again, deeper, fiercer this time, and he met you with equal hunger.

Bucky’s hands roamed, sliding up your back. Then, his vibranium hand found your face, cradling it between cool, unyielding metal, and you shivered at the contrast—the bite of cold against your flushed skin, the sheer strength in his hold, barely restrained.

He kissed you like he was starving.

You sighed into his mouth, rolling your hips down to meet his, and he groaned—deep and guttural as his body jerked beneath you. He was fully hard now, the evidence pressing against you through his sweatpants, and you couldn't help the soft, breathy giggle that escaped between kisses.

Bucky growled, his grip tightening, his body chasing yours as you rocked against him.

Your hand trailed down, slipping between your bodies, fingers teasing along the waistband of his sweatpants. You could feel the heat of him, the way his breath hitched as your fingertips ghosted lower—

Then he flinched, catching your wrist in a shaky grip.

“Too much,” he muttered, voice barely above a whisper, but the strain was evident.

Immediately, you withdrew, pulling your hand away without hesitation. “I’m sorry. Do you want to stop—”

“No.” he replied quickly, breathlessly.

You cupped his jaw, kissing him slowly, tenderly, as he shuddered beneath you. His hands flexed where they held you, his body still trembling with need, but he didn’t pull away. You kept your movements soft and gentle, pressing your forehead against his, letting him breathe as you kissed him repeatedly. 

“Is this better?” you checked in between kisses, voice warm, reassuring.

“Yes.” He muttered against your lips.

You kissed him deeper, tongue sweeping across his bottom lip and into his mouth.

His body convulsed beneath you, hips twitching up to meet yours, his breath turning shallow and erratic. You could feel the tremors coursing through him, his muscles tensed, his restraint crumbling with every slow, dragging roll of your hips.

Then, with a choked groan, he stiffened.

A broken moan tore from his throat as he came, his body shuddering beneath you. His breath hitched, then stilled, his head falling back onto the bed as he panted heavily, completely spent.

You smiled, watching his chest rise and fall, his body finally wholly relaxed.

You let him catch his breath, your hands smoothing over his chest in slow, soothing strokes. His eyes were still covered, the black silk of the tie snug against his skin, and for a moment, you just watched him—his expression relaxed in a way it so rarely was, his lips parted as he inhaled deep, steadying himself.

Reaching up, you brushed your fingers over his jaw before carefully undoing the knot at the back of his head. The tie slipped away with ease, and his eyes fluttered open, blinking as he adjusted to the room's dim light. His pupils were blown, irises hazy, but there was something else. Softness. An openness you didn’t often see.

“Hey,” you whispered.

His lips twitched in the ghost of a smile. “Hey.”

You leant down, pressing a gentle kiss to his temple before shifting off of him, allowing him to breathe. He hesitated momentarily before sitting up, his movements slow, almost reluctant. His sweatpants were clinging damply to his skin, and he grimaced slightly before rubbing a hand over his face.

“I should, uh—” He cleared his throat. “I’ll be right back.”

You nodded, watching as he climbed off the bed and disappeared into the bathroom. The soft sound of running water followed soon after. You stayed where you were, fingers idly playing with the silk tie as you listened, giving him the space to clean up and gather himself.

When he returned, his sweatpants had been swapped for a fresh pair, the fabric hanging loose around his hips. His hair was damp in uneven patches where he’d raked wet fingers through it, a lazy attempt at tidying up. He lingered in the doorway, weight shifting from one foot to the other, eyes flickering over you like he wasn’t sure what to do next.

You patted the empty space beside you. “Come here.”

His shoulders loosened just a fraction before he climbed back onto the bed, settling beside you with a quiet sigh. He was warm—solid and steady. Without thinking, you nestled closer, resting your head against his chest. His arm came around you automatically, like muscle memory, pulling you in and holding you there.

For a while, neither of you spoke.

Then, barely above a whisper, you asked, “Did you like it?”

Bucky exhaled a deep, slow breath. “Yeah,” he admitted, his voice lower than usual, like he wasn’t used to saying it. “I did.”

You smiled, tracing absentminded circles against his chest. “What did you like about it?”

He was quiet for a long moment, his fingers toying with the hem of your shirt. When he finally spoke, his voice was careful.

“It made it easier,” he murmured. “Not seeing. I could just… feel. Focus on what was happening instead of everything else.” His thumb brushed lightly against your side. “Didn’t have to worry about if I was doing something wrong.”

You frowned slightly, tilting your head up to look at him. “Bucky, you’ve never done anything wrong.”

“I know,” he said, but his voice was tight, a shadow crossing his expression. “It’s just—” He stopped, mouth pressing into a thin line.

You reached up, smoothing a hand over his cheek. “Talk to me.”

His throat bobbed as he swallowed. Then, so quietly you almost missed it, he said, “I’m scared of it sometimes.”

Your brows furrowed. “Scared of what?”

“Pleasure.”

His fingers tightened slightly against your side like he was bracing himself, but he didn’t look away from you.

“I was taught…” He inhaled sharply. “That it could only be taken. Taken from me. That it was never given freely.” His voice dropped lower, almost a whisper. “That it wasn’t mine to have.”

Slowly, carefully, you sat up, shifting so you were fully facing him. He looked at you, expression guarded, but there was something vulnerable beneath it, something fragile in the way he held himself.

You reached for his hand, threading your fingers through his. “Those people, the ones who taught you that, they were trying to hurt you, degrade you,” you told him firmly. “Pleasure is to be shared equally. It’s something you deserve.” You squeezed his hand, your voice softening.

His lips parted like he wanted to say something, but no words came.

“I want you to know that you don’t have to do anything to earn it,” you whispered.

He swallowed hard, his grip on your hand tightening. His voice was barely above a breath when he said, “I don’t know if I know how.”

You smiled softly. “That’s okay. We have time.”

You lifted his hand again, pressing a lingering kiss to his knuckles before settling back down beside him. His warmth seeped into you, but the ache in your chest remained—persistent, lingering. It had nothing to do with exhaustion, the tension in your muscles, or even the way your body still hummed with remnants of touch. No, this ache came from somewhere deeper, from the thoughts unravelling in your mind like a loose thread tugged too far, too fast as you contemplated his confession. 

You had always been a giver. That was your role, your purpose. You gave and gave until there was nothing left. Until you were hollow inside. And yet, the world kept asking for more. You wondered if, over time, it had chipped away at your soul, piece by piece, until there was nothing left.

The words left your lips before you could stop them, before you had the chance to weigh whether you truly wanted to say them aloud.

“Do you ever feel like you’re not… whole?”

Bucky turned his head slightly, his brows furrowing in the low light, lids heavy as he blinked his dark lashes. He didn’t press or demand, didn’t look at you as if he needed clarification. He just waited, silently, like he knew you weren’t finished.

So you kept going.

“Like with every mission, every fight, every demand, you lose something? A tiny piece of yourself, given away without even realising it?” Your voice dropped lower. Bucky was still beside you, completely still, only his breath tickling your cheek with each slow rise and fall of his chest.

“I don’t even know if I’m still the person I was when I was born or if I’ve just been rebuilt from borrowed parts. Pieces given to me, made for me, shaped to fit what I was supposed to become.” You exhaled a sharp breath. “Or maybe… what they wanted me to become.”

The words were bitter on your tongue, and yet they kept coming.

“And I think��� maybe I’m afraid that if I ever showed the real me, the world would reject me. That they’d be disgusted by my soul. By everything I have done.”

A shaky breath left your lips, your voice barely more than a whisper now.

“Because sometimes… sometimes I think the only way people will keep me around is if I give them something in return.”

Silence.

You turned your head toward him, searching his face, waiting for something—anything—that would tell you what he was thinking. You hoped for a look, a breath, a word to ground you. But as your gaze swept over him, you realised his breathing had evened out, his lashes fluttering softly against his cheeks. The sharp furrow of his brow had smoothed, his lips slightly parted in a way that spoke of exhaustion finally pulling him under.

Asleep.

Your words had been lost to him.

You weren’t sure if that was a relief or a disappointment.

Maybe it was for the best. He needed the rest, the peace of slumber more than you did. Even now, in the soft glow of the room, dark circles remained etched beneath his eyes.

You let out a slow breath, staring at the ceiling momentarily before carefully slipping out of bed. You moved with quiet precision, gathering your things without making a sound. When you reached the door, you hesitated, glancing back.

For a second, a small, selfish part of you wished he had—wished he had heard you, had held you, had given you something, anything, to quiet the storm inside your chest. But he hadn’t.

And maybe that meant you could take the words back.

Tuck them away for another time.

Or hold onto them forever, maybe all you had needed was to say them aloud, even if only silence itself was listening.

Bucky didn’t stir from his slumber, not even when the door clicked shut behind you.

PART THREE

---

taglist: @civilbucky @buckysbbydoll @rosegarbage @fleurenoir @oikarma @blackstabbath6 @kcbug1128 @ellesbellswrites @thaynarajejheje @wunder-blunder @oceanaroma @dyscalculiaaa @murdocklvrr @pursuedbyamemoryy @fantasyheroine @chronicallybubbly @nikkinss @maryevm @doilooklikeagiveafrack (sorry if it didn't tag anyone properly)

[sungstars]

slut me out | njm x fem!reader

i.e you needed to give your situationship the time of his life after seeing his instagram story.

word count: 2.8k (not proof read)

content warning: situationship, open ending, smut lol, oral (m. rec.), fingering (f. rec.), explicit sex, unprotected sex(no!), creampie, lmk if i missed anything thanks!

author's note: two fics in one day! can we believe this LOL. would you guys be surprised if i said that i have a mark one that i'm hoping to finish and it'll be queued up for tomorrow morning/afternoon. i hope you all enjoy this fic and as always, dedicated to my crazy and delusional bffs. likes & reblogs are appreciated as always. requests are open till october 5th! i'm still working on my jay fic, and hoping to have that out by tuesday!!

“you’re fucking crazy,” you said once the phone picked up after the first ring, “you can delete that story, i saw it.”

jaemin let out a hearty laugh, “hmm? but jisungie looks so cute, what if one of my followers wants me to put them on with him?”

you jeer, fingering hovering over the red button on the screen, “you definitely could’ve posted him without making sure your shirt is unbuttoned and they can see the chain that i bought you peeking through. what if they’re crazy like me?”

“don’t worry, nobody has you beat in that department.” jaemin added quickly, “you can come over if you want.”

did you want to? absolutely. you needed to rock his world so hard that it was likely to be rated a category 9.5 earthquake.

“you can come to me,” you quipped back, “and hurry up, i dont have a lot of patience. don’t change either.”

“you’re so demanding,” jaemin whined, a glint of playfulness evident in his voice, “i have to stop at my other hoe’s house first, but i’ll be there.”

“not even funny.” you hung up the phone, rolling your eyes.

focusing back on your room, you jumped up in a panic. you needed to change and also pick up the clothes you had thrown all over the place.

realistically, you didn’t know if jaemin was kidding about seeing somebody else first, but if he wasn’t, you had about twenty minutes including traffic before he got to your place.

you shoved all the loose piece of clothing into whatever drawer or laundry basket they would fit into. doing a once over your room, you were satisfied with what you were able to do.

looking at your floor length mirror, you didn’t care too much about what you had on. a big t-shirt with snoopy playing baseball on the front.

easy access for jaemin, but you should probably change your dingy halloween panties from victoria secret into something cute.

perhaps pink? that seemed on brand for tonight’s theme.

you were digging through your underwear drawer looking for that lacey pink thong you got from the mall a few weeks ago when you heard a knock on your door.

“fuck,” you said, slamming the drawer shut to no avail and rubbing your hands down your hair to smooth out any frizz, “fuck.”

the knocking got louder, causing you to practically trip on air as you ran to grab the door.

“took your sweet time letting me in,” jaemin pouted. leaning against the doorframe when you opened it, “that mad at me?”

rolling your eyes, you pulled him in by his silky pajama shirt and closing the door behind him, “guess she wasn’t that good if you got here within the same hour of calling.”

jaemin smiled, dropping down onto your couch and sliding his shoes off, “i’d say she was pretty damn good if i got done quickly and i’m not here.”

you crossed your arms, scoffing at his comment and began to walk to your bedroom.

“you’re such a dick.”

“i heard that,” he said, jumping off the couch to chase behind you, “i'm just kidding y/n, you know it's just you."

"are you sure? cause you keep making comments about other girls, are you trynna compensate? i don't care if you see other people."

jaemin laughed at you for the nth time this evening, making you want to just slam your bedroom door in his face and lock him out, but unfortunately for you, seeing jaemin in those pink pajamas and gold chain sent you into borderline ovulation.

you grabbed jaemin by the arm, leading him to sit on your bed and standing between his legs.

"it's just you," jaemin reassured, a hand coming up to rub your hip gently, "just like driving you crazy 'cause i know you're really fucking insane."

jaemin got a whiff of your secret cloud perfume as you leaned down and kissed his neck gently.

"i'm going to turn you every way but loose tonight," you whispered into his ear, teeth grazing the shell of his ear, "and i'm gonna show you how insane i am over you."

a shiver went down jaemin's back as you kissed down his neck and to his adam's apple, making sure to suck dark marks into his skin before placing your lips on his.

his arms wrapped your waist, pulling you down into his lap as he deepened the kiss. your hands found their way entangled into his brunette locks, moaning as he slipped his tongue into your mouth.

the two of you fought for dominance over the kiss, though jaemin just wanted to put up a good fight before letting you win.

you then slipped your tongue into his mouth, removing your hands from his hair and moving them down to his shoulders.

you gently pushed him back and onto the mattress, letting your fingers skillfully undo his pajama shirt, enjoying the smooth silk under your fingertips before pulling the shirt open.

jaemin pressed his hips up, hoping to get a small bit of friction on his growing erection and moaning when you rut your own hips down.

pulling away from the kiss, your chest heaved as you did a lookover his body. his plush lips swollen and glossy with spit, dark splots decorating his skin from earlier, his own defined chest moving rapidly as he tried to catch his own breath.

"you look so pretty under me, jaem," you complimented, your fingers dancing across his exposed collarbones and down his gold chain, "a sight only i should be allowed to see."

jaemin exhaled heavily through his nose, "a sight only for you. . please, don't stop. i want you. . i need you so badly, y/n."

how could you deny such a request from a pretty boy completely at your disposal? you weren't a cruel or dumb woman, so of course you'll comply.

you leaned down to attach your lips to his collarbone, biting and sucking gently as you made your way down his chest.

moving the pink fabric away, you let your tongue teasingly flick at his nipple to elicit a whiny moan from his mouth before taking his nipple between your lips.

"fuck y/n," he groaned, "that feels so good."

smirking to yourself, you pull off and stand up. the boy's eyes widened, trying to hold back another whine because why did you pull off? and why are you standing?

"c'mon," jaemin said, voice cracking slightly, "don't be a tease."

"a tease?" you titled your head as he sat up on his elbows, "if you beg, i'll consider."

a bright red hue cascaded over jaemin's face at your request, but he couldn't get any more pathetic than he already looked.

"y/n," he pleaded, "please do something. i am so undeniably hard, and if i don't feel those pretty lips or pretty hands wrapped around my dick that i know you love, i will implode and you'll be out of a bomb dick appointment and home."

a laugh escaped, jaemin really knew what to say to make you give into him. it's why you liked him honestly. he was funny and charming, and did in fact have a great dick that drove you insane. you used to be normal before he stuck his dick in you.

jaemin reached forward, grabbing your hand and placing it over his boner. that action alone could've made you cum in your panties because pathetic jaemin was probably your favorite jaemin.

you instinctively wrapped your fingers around it the best you could while it was restrained in those silky pants, slowly jerking him off and watching a bead of precum stain the fabric.

"see how hard i am?" he asked, breathily, "all for you. all because of you."

stroking your ego was one of the many things jaemin was good at, so you decided to play nicely and give him something to relief this tension you could feel growing in his body.

"take 'em off," you said, releasing his cock from your grip, moving back to give him room, "show me that pretty dick, jaem."

if you weren't standing in front of him, you were sure he would've fell face forward onto your carpet from how fast he was trying to get his pants down and off his hips.

once they were at his thighs, you leaned forward and placed a chaste kiss on his lips before sinking down to your knees.

you were face to face with jaemin's cock, the tip an angry shade of red and precum still leaking from his slit.

spit began to pool inside your mouth the longer you looked at it, and you stuck your tongue out to swipe the precum dribbling from his cock.

jaemin moaned out, hands gripping the sheets beneath him, “stop. . put it in your mouth.”

you furrowed your eyebrows and looked up, “don’t make demands.”

the brunette’s jaw ticked, one hand coming up to your hair and the other grabbing the base of his dick.

he pushed your head back roughly, tapping the head of his cock on your lips and smearing more precum across, “don’t be a fucking tease.”

your eyes widened in surprise at the switch in jaemin's demeanor, but instead of giving him a hard time, you complied by opening your mouth for him.

without hesitation, jaemin shoved his cock into your mouth until it hit the back of your throat which caused you to gag and tears well up in your eyes.

"don't get sensitive now," he mumbled, swiping the tears from your face, "now be good and suck. show me why you're my favorite."

his favorite? you should been his fuckin' only like he said you were earlier. what is up with the inconsistency? he's gonna piss you off.

you used your tongue to lick the under part of his cock, pulling off to leave just the tip in your mouth.

jaemin's grip on your hair tightened, trying his best to let you have control, but wanting nothing more than to just fuck your throat until you're sobbing.

you pulled completely off his cock, bringing your hand to jerk him off while you used your tongue to lick a stripe on his balls and gently suck.

the brunette's eyes rolled back, a string of moans and high pitched whines leaving his throat as you continued to toy with his balls.

whenever your hand reached the tip, you would squeeze every so slightly, causing him to fuck into your hand.

jaemin was close, and you could tell by the way he was whimpering and trying to chase your hand.

you looked up at him, smiling to yourself before pulling off his dick completely, basking in his borderline sob at the loss of contact.

"why did you stop?" tears welled up in his eyes, feeling like he would explode, "you're so fuckin' mean."

cooing, you wiped tears away from his eyes like he did earlier, "cause i knew you were close, jaem."

he sniffled, grabbing you and pinning you down onto the bed in one swift motion.

sometimes, you forget how strong he can be, causing you to get even more wet if that was possible. your panties were sticking almost uncomfortably to your cunt, and you were hoping he would do something to relief that soon.

too lost in your own thoughts of pleasure, you didn't even realize jaemin was pulling your t-shirt up until the cool air hit your nipples.

he used his lithe digits to roll your perked nipples around, causing you to squeal at the contact.

"love the panties," jaemin teased, using one of his hands to snap the waistband against your skin, "so cute and so soaked. god, you really get off from anything as long as it's me, huh?"

"you fuckin' wish," you tried to bite, but it came out as a whimper when he pressed his hand against your core, allowing for some friction of pleasure.

"shhh," he said, "can't even muster an ounce of niceness when i'm about to fuck you?"

jaemin flicked your nipples, smirking at your almost pained moan before moving down to take your underwear off, eyes watching how they were sticking to your sopping cunt, "so wet for me, hm?"

you nodded your head in compliance this time, "all for you."

he swiped a finger up your slit, bringing it to his mouth and licking it clean, "taste so sweet, but act so so mean towards nana, wonder why that is?"

you huffed, hooking a heel behind his thigh and pulling him close so his cock would make some contact with your cunt, a noise escaping your throat when the tip came into rough contact with your clit.

"that needy? what was it you said earlier? beg. beg for it, dumb whore."

degrading was something you and jaemin never tried, but with how effortlessly it slipped out of his mouth, you wish he would've done it sooner.

"jaem," you grinded against his cock, "please fuck me, y'know you want to. please, i need it so badly."

jaemin just looked at you unimpressed, dragging his cock up and down your cunt, looking at how you falter when his tip catches your sensitive bundle of nerves, "beg more."

you wanted to burst into tears, he knows how much you want him, he can feel how wet you are and probably at more slickness slipping out as he teased you, "nana, please put it in. i'll stop being mean, promise. i need your cock--i need you. please fuck me."

his left hand came up to smooth your hair out, smiling all his pearls at you as he slowly pushed the fat tip of his cock into you, finally.

jaemin slowly pushed himself into your cunt, moaning at how easily you took his cock, letting his hand fall from your hair and place pressure on your clit.

"it's like you were made for me, fuck" he gritted his teeth, thrusting shallowly into you, "taking me so well every time, your cunt just fuckin' sucks me in.. ha."

all you could do was moan in response, eyes rolling back when jaemin's gold chain smacked you in the nose, "fuck, too good."

jaemin rubbed your clit roughly as he picked his pace up, hips snapping against yours as your arousal ran down your thighs and his balls, creating a wet sound between the two of you.

you clenched around jaemin's cock, letting out high pitched noises of pleasure as he fucked you harshly, the knot in your stomach tightening and traveling down your pelvis.

"fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck" you cried, placing your hand on his lower abdomen and trying to push him away, but he quickly snatched it and held it above your head, "jaem, fuck, please, it's too much."

jaemin ignored your pleas, "y'know you can take it, stop trying to run from it."

when jaemin snapped his hips harshly once more, you felt that knot in your stomach break and ecstasy overtake your senses.

you couldn't even muster the feeling of embarassment from how good you felt when liquid practically sprayed your thighs and jaemin's abdomen.

the boy tapped the head of his cock on your clit, groaning loudly as you continued to squirt before roughly showing himself back into you.

"jaemin," you squealed, back arching up, "i can't! i can't."

"you can," he said, fucking you harshly, feeling himself getting closer and closer, "and you will take this dick. you wanna whine about other people havin' it so bad, take it, slut."

with jaemin fucking you so soon after an intense orgasm, all you could do was sob and mumble his name. it wasn't going to take you long to cum again, and jaemin could tell about how you were clenching on his dick.

your fingers dug into his shoulders, creating red crescents as his chain smacked you over and over again, his orgasm approaching any second.

"i'm so close, angel." he whined, his thrusts starting to stutter and slow down, "fuck, can i come inside please?"

"o-of course," you nodded your head, your own orgasm approaching once more, "please cum in me."

one more snap of jaemin's hips and he let out a loud moan, stilling himself as white hot ropes of his cum began to fill you and create a creamy ring around his cock, "fuck, you were too good."

he began to thrust slowly to ride out your orgasms, kissing your forehead and whispering sweet praises into your ear.

once you pushed his chest away to let him know he was overstimulating you, he pulled out completely and laid next to you, chest heaving rapidly.

"y/n." he turned on his side, "i really do like you."

you smiled, grabbing his hand and intertwining your fingers, "i really like you too jaemin."

he pressed a gentle kiss to your cheek and pulled you closer to him, "it's always been just you."

end!

[ssweetreveries]

no longer | j.jh

🎧 slow down . chase atlantic

✩ jaehyun x reader

⋆ 18+ mdni!

⋆ word count! 2.4k

oneshot, nonidol!jaehyun, afab!reader, roommate!jaehyun, dom!jaehyun, sub!reader, unprotected sex, brief breast play, dirty talk, fingering, lots of kissing, creampie, jaehyun’s a bit possessive, use of pet names (baby), porn w/ little plot…

synopsis . your boyfriend did you dirty and upon learning it your roommate can no longer hold back his desires for you.

likes, reblogs, comments are appreciated!!

author note: finally got to writing this! tbh, idk how i feel about it.. hopefully you like it!

i apologize if there is any mistakes, this isn’t proof read and english isn’t my first language. enjoy!! ><

Jaehyun's head shoots up from the kitchen when he hears the door of the apartment slam shut. You left about an hour ago, telling him you were going to a party and probably not coming home for the night. So what were you doing here?

"(Y/N?)" he calls out, as he walks towards the door.

You just give him a hum in answer as you take off your heels.

When Jaehyun comes to face with you, he feels his heart skip a beat at the sight of you in that dress. His dark eyes quickly fleeting over your features, forcing himself to look away from your curves as he reminds himself of your boyfriend. He can't help but feel a flicker of anger at the thought of him. Your boyfriend was clearly a douche, Jaehyun knows he could do so much better. He clears his throat before speaking up. "You're back early?"

"You look.. good by the way," he says, his voice dropping lower, "really good."

You feel your cheek heat up at his comment, but it's quickly replaced with frustration as you remember the reason you're back.

You were supposed to meet with your boyfriend at the party, with plans of getting laid by the end of the night. You really needed that after surviving the stressful week of finals. Seems your boyfriend also did, since you found him some room, balls deep in a random girl you don't even know the name of.

Honestly, you weren't even sad, you only dated the guy for a few months. You were mostly angry at his audacity. He practically begged you to be with him and you had to convince yourself that he was cute, just for him to pull shit like this.

"Yeah, well, the night didn't go as planned, okay?" you say, tone harsher than you intended it to be.

Jaehyun raises a brow, a bit confused. "Why? Sum' happened?"

You let out an exasperated sigh as you drop your other heel to the ground, "Let's just say I didn't expect to be single by the end of the night."

Jaehyun opens his mouth, but you offer him the explanation before he can ask. "Caught him cheating."

Jaehyun's brow furrow in anger, "Fuck, I'm sorry." He says, but he's not really sorry, that guy didn't deserve you anyways.

You wave him off and shake your head as you make your way into your shared apartment. "It doesn't matter, wasn't like I was in love with him anyways, just pissed." You rant to him, always having been comfortable with your roommate.

"Pissed?" he asks, "Not even sad?"

You shrug as you grab yourself a glass of water, "Mmh, pissed. Was expecting to at least get some dick tonight. Guess it's better like this though, fucker can't even please a woman properly."

Jaehyun's eyes darken briefly at your words. He doesn't answer, lost into his thoughts about the many ways how he could please you. And he would—but no matter how many hints he seemed to drop over the years, you never seemed to catch them, and if you did, you didn't acknowledge them.

You set the glass down on the counter, the silence getting loud. Were you too blunt? You lift your head to meet his eyes, only to find him already looking back at you, eyes dark. "Jae?"

He closes his eyes and forces himself to focus on the conversation at hand, "So you wanted to get fucked, that didn't happen, and now you're mad." He states.

When he puts it like that... "Yeah, basically." You reply.

Jaehyun swallows dryly. Fuck it, he thinks. "D'you still wanna get fucked?" he says, his deep voice thick with an emotion you can't name.

He asks it so casually, you almost choke on your own spit. I mean, there's no way your hot roommate of two years was really suggesting that, right? "What- what do you mean by that..?"

"I'm asking you," he starts, "Do you want to get fucked tonight, or not." His hands twitch at his sides, itching to touch you. The way you're looking at him—with those same eyes he'd fallen for years ago—it's making it all to hard to control himself.

"I- uh," you're too flustered by his sudden straightforwardness to say anything. Jaehyun was always a gentleman, always kind and respectful the two whole years you've been living together. Hearing something of the such coming out of his mouth, it does more to you than you'd like to admit.

This whole time, you forced yourself to bury any feelings you might feel for him. He was hot, too hot for you, and way out of your league. Or so you thought. Not to forget the fact that he was your roommate.. Yeah, you didn't want to make things awkward, but the way he was looking at you right now...

He takes a step closer to you, never breaking eye contact. "Two years," he starts.

"Two years of pretending you don't affect me the way you do. Two years of holding myself back from doing something I'd regret. Two whole years of loving you while you keep going back to those shitty guys, Y/N."

When he's finally done, his jaw tenses, fighting the urge to pull you against his chest.

You're left speechless, his words too much to take in all at once.

He takes another step closer, body almost pressing against yours as he leans in near your ear. His breath comes out ragged against your neck as he whispers, "Tell me to stop, or I won't be able to."

Your breath hitches, and you don't answer. You'd be lying if you said you didn't want to see where this would go. "Don't.." you whisper back.

Those whispered words seem to shatter whatever restraint he had left. His hands coming to grab your waist, pulling you flush against him, closing the distance between you.

"Say it again," his grip on your waist tightens as he speaks, his body tense against yours with years of pent-up longing.

"Don't stop.." You whisper more clearly this time.

When he pulls back slightly to look at your face, his dark eyes are filled with emotion—desire, jealousy, and something more?

The feeling of your body pressed against his after countless nights dreaming about this, it's too much.

"Fuck.." he rasps, voice breaking slightly as he lets his head fall against your shoulder.

His hands roam over your back, taking in your curves through the fabric of your dress.

"Not one day goes by I don't think of having you." he confesses, "Not one fucking day."

His eyes are burning with intensity as they flick between your eyes and lips. The way you're looking up at him.. it's driving him wild.

"Gonna make up for all that time now," he murmurs, hovering just above your lips. "Can I?"

You nod frantically, desperate to feel his lips on yours.

His lips crash down on yours in a searing kiss, pouring his years of longing into it. You kiss him back, loving the way his lips move against yours.

Jaehyun pulls back briefly, his breath warm on your lips, "I don't think I'll be able to stop now," he whispers.

You answer by pressing your lips against his once more. He kisses you back—this time deeper, hungrier. His tongue swipes against your bottom lip before tangling with yours in a messy kiss.

His hands slide down to grip your ass, pulling you flush against the hardness of his arousal.

When you finally break apart, he presses his forehead against yours, "You're mine," he whispers. "Starting tonight"

His mouth crashes down on yours and without warning he lifts you up effortlessly, your legs instinctively coming to wrap around his waist as he carries you towards his bedroom.

The soft press of your lips against his make his breath hitch. For a moment he just savours the sweetness of it—the way your mouth molds perfectly to his, like you were made to fit together. One of his hands come up to cradle your face as he carries you, thumb brushing your cheekbone as he depends the kiss slowly.

His fingers tangle gently in your hair, tilting your head just enough to take the kiss deeper. His tongue slides against yours in a slow, sensual dance, savouring every taste, every sigh you give him. When he finally pulls back, his breathing is a bit uneven, dark eyes hooded with desire.

His foot kicks his bedroom door open, and he wastes no time dropping you on the bed. The second your back hits the mattress, he’s on you again—lips pressing against yours in a kiss that leaves you breathless.

His hands works to rid of your clothes, fingers playing with the hem of your dress. “I need this off,” he rasps out, a tinge of desperation in his voice.

You lift up a bit, allowing him to remove the article.

His touch is desperate—hot palms skimming up your bare thighs, fingers digging into your hips as he pulls you against him. The hard length of his arousal pressing against your core through the thin fabric separating you.

“Gonna ruin anyone else for you” he promises lowly, teeth grazing the sensitive skin of your neck. “Make sure you never forget this night.”

“I won’t” you assure him, voice coming out weaker than intended.

His hands slide up your sides, calloused fingers tracing the soft skin of your stomach before moving higher—finally, finally—cupping your breasts with a small groan as his thumbs brush over your already hardened nipples.

His mouth follows his hands, mouth sealing around one perked nipple, licking and sucking hard enough to make you arch off the bed. His free hand slides down your legs, fingers pressing against your clothed heat.

He lets out a shaky breath, “Already wet for me.” he comments, voice thick with satisfaction.

His fingers hook in the waistband of your panties, yanking them down your legs with a single rough pull. His eyes darken as he takes in the sight of you before him—spread out beneath him, completely at his mercy.

“Perfect,” he whispers, stripping off his own shirt in one swift motion, his toned torso on full display. “Fucking perfect.”

He climbs back over you, his lips finding yours again in a deep, filthy kiss as his hand slides between your thighs, fingers teasing your slick folds.

“Gonna make you feel good,” he promises against your mouth, two fingers sliding inside your tight walls without warning, curling just right.

His thumb circles your clit as his fingers pump in and out, his dark eyes locked onto yours—watching every flicker of pleasure cross your face.

“Say your mine” he whispers, voice tinged with something you can’t exactly pinpoint, “Even if it’s just for tonight, say you’re mine”

A choked moan escapes you as your voice comes out whiny, “Y-yours,”

“Fuck—” his voice is wrecked, his cock throbbing painfully against his pants as he continues pumping you full of his fingers.

His fingers press deeper inside you, thumb pressing against your clit in tight circles. His lips crash down on yours, swallowing your whimpers as he drinks in every shudder, every twitch of your body beneath him.

His hips grind down against your thigh, letting you feel just how hard he is for you.

He spreads your legs wider apart, settling himself between them with a groan. His fingers withdraw, glistening with your arousal, and he gives your pussy a light tap before bringing them up to his lips with a satisfied smirk.

“Taste fucking perfect,” he growls, licking them clean before freeing himself, gripping his cock and giving it a slow, tortuous stroke.

Without warning, he flips you onto your stomach, pulling your hips up until you’re on your knees. Any self restraint he had left is gone, one hand coming up to grip the back of your neck, pressing your face in the mattress as his other guides his cock to your entrance.

“Gonna fuck you so deep,” he starts. “You’ll feel me for days.”

And then he’s pushing in—one brutal, unforgiving thrust—burying himself to the hilt in one go and you have to hold back a scream at the sheer size of his length. A ragged groan tears from his throat as your tight heat envelope him, tight walls fluttering around him like you were made just for him.

“Fuck—” his hips snap forwards, setting a punishing pace from the start. “So—” Another hard thrust. One of his hands coming to tangle in your hair, “Fucking—” His grip on your hair tightens, “Perfect.”

His free hand snakes around to your front, fingers finding your clit again, rubbing rough circles as he fucks into you with single-minded intensity.

“Come on my cock,” he groans, “Let me feel you squeeze me as you come undone—”

His thrusts grow erratic, his own breathing ragged as he chases his own release—but he won’t let himself go until you do. Not after waiting for so long to have you.

“That’s it—” He chokes out, feeling your walls start to flutter around him. “Come for me, baby”

And you do, coming with a muffled scream in the pillows, knuckles turning white from how tight you’re gripping the sheets.

The sight of you unravelling beneath him—your body trembling, your fingers clawing at the sheets—sends a surge of raw, possessive pride through him. His grip tightens on your hips, holding you still as he fucks you through it, his thrusts unrelenting even as you shudder around him.

His fingers dig in the soft flesh of your ass, spreading you wider as he drives into you, harder, deeper. The wet, filthy sounds of your bodies joining fill the room, mixing with your breathless whimpers and his ragged groans.

He leans over you, his chest pressing against your back as his lips find the shell of your ear.

“Gonna fill you up,” he rasps, “Can I, baby—?” his voice cracks as his hips start to stutter, his control slipping.

You whine and nod against the pillows, and that’s all it takes for Jaehyun to reach his peak.

With a final, punishing thrust, he buries himself to the hilt, his release hitting him like a tidal wave. A guttural groan tears from his throat as he spills into you, his body shuttering with the force of it.

He collapses over you, his forehead pressed between your shoulder blades as he struggles to catch his breath. His fingers trace lazy patterns over your hip, his voice rough but satisfied.

“Mine…” he murmurs, pressing a soft kiss to the sweat-slick skin of your back.

© ssweetreveries follow for more!

[endearng]

Like father, like daughter

Pairing: teenager dad!Spencer Reid x fem!reader Summary: Sometimes, you think Spencer made your daughter all on his own. Here are a few times that their manners supported your claim. WC: 2.7k Warnings: brief mentions of Spencer's past; mentions of underage drinking and bullying; he's an overprotective dad (because of course he is); JJ and Emily as a godmother couple <3<3<3 A/N: okay I'm super duper happy with how this one turned out. Yay!!! | Masterlist

Sitting together on your front porch, you and Spencer share the intimacy of the peaceful silence. Well, as far as peace goes — your 7 year-old son, Benjamin, plays with the dog, running back and forth, giggling and covering his entire overalls with mud. Barefoot in the grass, all you could do was pray they didn't mess the entire house when they eventually got back inside, but eh, that's a problem for future you. By your side, Spencer sits, focusing on going over his lecture plan for the day ahead, as barefoot as you are. There is a smudge of dirt in his cheek and your hands were feeling a little dry, proof from your earlier activities with Benji and the dog. After a couple minutes, Spencer places the paper aside, glancing lovingly as his son enjoyed being a kid.

You know, the whole projection thing. Spencer, as he raises his second child with you, feels as if his own childhood baggage means little to nothing now. Both of your kids are showered in the most pure love, and even though sometimes you struggle, like any other parents, you are proud of what you've achieved with them. Sometimes, Spencer just watches. Mesmerized. Entranced, as Benjamin discovers how the world works. They sit together by the small piano keyboard as his son attempts things in his own way, at his own pace. It is reinvigorating, to say the least, that the light given by your children and current life is able to burn some of the darkness that lingered in the back of his mind.

Between you two, Spencer is the quieter parent, while you often are seen as the ruler of the house due to his quiet nature. Despite it, all decisions regarding your children are taken together and, overall, you figure that it's how you've managed to stay together for this long. You are constantly discussing your relationship, both as a married couple and as parents, negotiating when some things get too rough or obscure for either of you, resigning when it's needed, but most importantly, loving each other all the way through.

Something that always catches your eye is how he manages to find his way into your heart every single day. You can only hope that's the case for you, too.

Running up to you, followed by a happily-wagging tail Midas, Benjamin giggled as he clutched your knee, resting his sweaty cheek on your thigh. "Mommy, Midas is doing it again.”

You stifle a laugh. Midas is a, thus far, small Samoyed puppy that reached about above Benjamin's knees. The fluffy friend had been a gift from his godmothers, JJ and Emily, after lots and lots of convincing that it would be good for the little boy. Despite the chaos he brings, you and Spencer find that Midas is great for your son's development and general well-being of the people in the house. In fact, Midas seems to have taken a special liking to you and to the little boy, following the two of you around the house whenever he could. Oh, well. Now you have three kids.

Anyway, by it, your son means to say that the dog was trying to climb him again, which, according to Benji, makes him feel ticklish. You gasped. "Oh, no! Midas, play nice!" You say, petting the dog's short ears as he wiggled his tail excitedly.

Benjamin seemed satisfied enough with your reprimand and Spencer smiles by your side, leaning down to plant a kiss to his son's cheek. "Daddy!" He shrieks, squirming and clutching your knee tighter, shoulders shaking with a childish giggle that makes you smile again.

Too involved in the moment, you two almost miss the arrival of your older daughter. Phoebe was almost turning 16. While having been a great child, not one to give you much trouble, her teenage years had been a challenging rollercoaster. First, during her early teenagehood, she struggled a lot to make friends after you and Spencer moved away from Washington, right after Benjamin's birth. You spent your days feeling worried and guilty for having seemingly taken her life away from her, and the thought ate you and your husband alive. Spencer barely slept, too focused on finding somewhere things might have gone wrong, where he might have done her wrong. After some therapy sessions and conversations with you and Spencer, she opened up to the two of you, quelling a bit of your blame. According to her, she felt homesick because the kids around her made her feel different from them. She didn't say anything further, and both you and Spencer respected the confidentiality between her and her therapist, who had filled you in on her behavior and guaranteed that there was nothing for us to worry about. Reluctantly, you believed her word, but never failed to keep her company.

Spencer, during that phase, went out of his way to be close to Phoebe. He took her out to the movies and they spent countless hours discussing them, taught her way around whatever subject she would have trouble with at school and the two of them danced together when she came home with an A+ on her tests. Besides, he delved deeply into her hobbies — you would never forget the day that they came home after a skating session and Spencer had a tear in his pants that exposed a bruised, bleeding knee. You tried to be as close to her as she let you, showing her around town, having weekly hangouts at her favorite ice-cream parlour, going shopping, listening about her days... One day, Spencer had traveled to be a consultant for the BAU for one particular demanding case. You two cared for Benjamin all night long and, pensively, Phoebe glanced between you and the baby securely cradled in your arms.

You had gotten the hint. Or so you thought.

"Hi, mom. Hi, dad. Benji. Midas." She greets, a bit awkwardly, wavy brown hair flowing with the soft breeze of wind.

"Midas says hi." Benji smiles, now back to being good friends with the dog, the two of them sitting on the grass in front of you and Spencer.

“Hi, sweetie.”

“Hi, Ladybug.” Spencer greets back, beaming.

Ladybug. It was the second nickname that Spencer had come up with after formally introducing himself to your newborn baby.

The baby was as red as a tomato from all the exertion of the moment and from her loud crying. Tears rolled down your face as you cradled your daughter against your chest, taking in her soft features, already feeling the sheer force of an overwhelming love. She had the soft curve of her dad's nose, her small pout reminiscent of Spencer's on his baby pictures. You almost wanted to feel frustrated for carrying her for nine months for her to come as a doppelganger of her dad. As you rocked her softly, her skin touching yours, her crying subsided, giving way to big curious eyes looking all around — guess which color. Damn it.

Next to you, Spencer kneeled to get a good look on her face. He was mesmerized as he found in her eyes and soft little pout the traces of his complexion. “Hi, Phoebe… you're so pretty, baby. I'm Spencer, your daddy. Look, this is your mommy…”

As he picked her from your arms, with the utmost care in the world, terrified that he'd drop her or break her were he to use too much strength, he felt complete. There would always be someone to look up to, to be someone for. And the thought made him equally frightened as delighted. "You look like a little dragon," he mumbled playfully instead, trying to downplay the tears that were forming in the corner of his eyes.

Biting back an amused grin, tears brimming in your own eyes, you scolded, "I'm not letting you call our beautiful daughter a dragon, Spence!"

Obediently, he settled for an endeared whisper of Ladybug.

Phoebe mirrors her dad's expression. Sometimes, she looks eerily like him. The features, mannerisms, interests... "I was thinking that, um... since finals are over, maybe I could go to the movies?" She asks, nervously. The same fidgeting hands from Spencer all those years ago. You try not to swoon.

Spencer gives her a weird look, but she's too busy waiting for your answer that she misses it. Naturally, she would ask for your permission, just like Spencer himself and Benjamin went up to you to check if it was okay to make physics magic — you had once stepped on one that they had left lying on the floor, and it wasn't pretty. Neither the ache in your foot, nor your reprimand.

You smile, happy that she's taking upon herself to have her own free-time activities. "Of course, sweetie, it's alright." You answer neutrally, not missing to read the subtle glance that Spencer throws your way. "Who are you going with?”

“Some friends.”

“What friends?” Spencer inquiries.

Fidgeting, she answers, “Kristen, Charlie and Alison.”

“I don't know any of—”

You cut your husband's mutter off with a nudge of your elbow on his rib. "Alright, sweetie. I can drive you to the cinema.”

"No need!" She says, rushed. "We'll meet at Charlie's to walk there together.”

Spencer looks alarmed with anxiety. You were amused, but still played the part, feeding into both Spencer and Phoebe's own perspective of the right outcome of the situation. “Are you sure, Phoebe?”

“Yeah, mom. Don't worry.” She says, shyly, that little look in her eye that tells you she is hiding something. “Thanks for offering, though.”

“Of course, baby.”

Smiling softly, she dashes back into the house. Spencer shrieks by your side, “why would you do that?!”

You remain composed as ever. “Do what?”

He glares at your feigned-innocence tone.

"Spence, darling, Phoebe needs to trust us. Aren't you happy she's making friends and taking the initiative of going out?”

Spencer looks conflicted for a second. "Still, I don't know any of these people. They could be doing all sorts of wrong stuff, not to mention the influence they can have on Phoebe.”

“Spence, Charlie lives down the street. She's the one who was here the other day.”

He falters for a moment, searching his brain for the Charlie girl as you make a small gesture above your shoulder, meaning her haircut. “They are teenagers!”

“Darling,” you say, placing your hand on his shoulder. “They're going to watch a movie. Trust her judgment, okay?” You ask, biting back a grin, amused by his sheer nervousness. You search Benjamin's eyes as if to say, can you believe this guy?!

You don't find them, though. Midas is trying to climb him again at a distance.

"Oh, so you're not taking this seriously, huh?" He asks, mildly upset.

"Darling, I am!” You say, smiling. “But Phoebe is a good kid. I think you're overreacting." You mumble the last part, glancing back at Benjamin. Midas is licking his face. You try not to think that just earlier, the dog was chewing on a dirty shoe.

"Overreacting?!"

You look at him, softening. He looks almost panicked. "Do you want me to call their parents? I'm sure she's left their numbers, like we always asked and she's rarely done because she doesn't leave the house without us." You say in a light tone, standing up, making your way inside the house to grab your cell phone. Spencer waits behind, anxiously, keeping an eye on Benjamin and his friend who were now playing fetch.

Barely sitting back on the chair, he starts, "A research shows that around 22.7 percent of high school students have consumed one drink of alcohol on at least one day in the month prior to this specific survey? Do you know how alarming that is? Besides, the results concluded that alcohol consumption is higher among female students.”

"Gee, and you're telling me we have one of these sleeping under the same roof as us?" You ask, amused, scrolling through your phone, and you can hear him huffing softly. Finding your and Phoebe's messages chat, which, like expected, were now spammed with the adults’ phone numbers, you show it to Spencer.

He breathes in. "I'm not convinced." He grumbles.

"Spence, come on, sweetheart... We've always been so careful with Phoebe. I think we should give her a little credit and be happy that she's taking her own steps." You say, now with an earnest tone. He sighs. “Plus, we do know which kind of behaviors and environments lead to underage drinking. We have a safe space.”

"You're right, you're right. I just... I'm so scared, you know? I guess I was secretly relieved to see that she was quieter like me, but I guess that's just me frustrated that she now gets a life of her own. And, you know, I've seen it all... I don't ever want anything to happen to her. Or to Benji. Not you, either. God, not you. Hell, not even Midas."

You chuckle softly, placing your hand on his shoulder again, giving it a gentle squeeze and kissing his temple. "We have the best one on our backs all the time. Can't go wrong with that."

Spencer smiles, seeming to finally have believed you. You two share a knowing, happy glance that spoke many things. Amidst them, there is the unchangeable, non negotiable, explicit truth: I'm so happy you're the one I'm doing this with.

As he stands up to clean up both Benjamin and Midas before they enter the house back again, you check the location that you had asked for her to share when you were inside the house. Cinema. Oof.

What? Even teenagers scare teenagers. How would they not scare you?!

—

Soon enough, Phoebe's social life blooms into weekly hangouts with those friends. Eventually, they began to come over to your home and Spencer was slowly warming up to them. The house, which barely registered Phoebe's voice before then, was now filled with laughter and young voices discussing things such as pop music, bands, politics and celebrities. Things go smoothly as ever. There is just a single problem that Phoebe chooses not to address. Whenever the girls go to the movies, Phoebe always feels a presence looming around. Call it sixth sense or being a girl, but sometimes, she can't help but feel like she is being watched.

Spencer, before meeting you, was as quiet and reserved as a stranger in a new country, only opening his mouth to speak about facts and relevant information to the cases in which he worked. It was well after your relationship that he began to speak more freely, more spontaneously. After six dates, you found out how his laughter sounded. It was shy, but it had an inherent adorableness to it that it was easily distinguished from the rest. It is an oddly endearing sound that Phoebe knew all too well, too used to hearing it from his (existential) dad jokes.

When she gets home, wearing a shoe of each color, matching with Kristen, Phoebe doesn't mention the familiar laughter at the movies. Instead, she just greets her dad and they have a glancing contest, a conversation in which you are nothing but a spectator. In the silence, they bloom together.

It was when Benji was almost turning eight, on a bet with his sister that he couldn't find the presents you and Spencer had gotten him earlier, that he found a love letter filled with soft pink lipstick marks under her bed. Benji showed it to you and your husband to ask why someone would kiss paper. After Spencer stuttered out an excuse and your son left to sit on the couch, you grinned. “It runs in the family,” you teased, remembering how Spencer would struggle to speak properly around you back when you were simply dating.

The lipstick shade matched the one Kristen was always wearing. Phoebe couldn't look you in the eye for a week after she got home and saw you and Spencer examining the paper in your hands, struggling to find the words to talk to Benji.

At Benji's birthday/Halloween party, Phoebe and Kristen dressed up as Marceline and Bubblegum. You, Spencer and Benji wore Scooby Doo's gang costumes with small pride pins on your chests. Midas wore a rainbow tie. A silent manifestation of your support, willing the two of them to speak at their own pace.

As you cleaned up as much as you could, guests already on their way home, Kristen approached you, an almost apprehensive edge on her voice, “Mrs. Reid, may I speak to you and your husband for a moment?”

You and Spencer shared a knowing look, already familiar with the outcome of that moment.

This is the simplest yet rarest joy in your life. To share it with Spencer.

[sashaisready]

Starting Over: Chapter 1 - Betrayal

Mob!Bucky x Female Reader

Series Masterlist

When Bucky throws you out of the house for a betrayal and won't listen to your side of the story, you know the only way out is through - it's time to start over. Maybe this was never going to be your happy ending.

Warnings: Swearing, angst, betrayal, mean!Bucky,

Hi! This kinda came outta nowhere lmao. Apologies for the angst, I just needed to do an angsty/sad fic cos I'm in my feels. As always, I appreciate your comments and reblogs. This is a two part series (standalone, not linked to any of my other fics, not the same characters as in Sweet and Sour) second part coming soon...

Wordcount: 3.7k

💔

“I can’t believe you’d do this to me, Doll. After everything we’ve been through? Was it all a lie?”

“Don’t deny it! That’s your voice on the recording! Banner proved your phone was there, it pinged there – we’ve got the proof. Even now you’re lying, you just can’t help yourself, can you?”

You had read about people being too stunned to move or speak, but you always thought it was a little embellished for dramatic effect in books. Surely, you could just push through? Surely shock did not have such a profound effect on your body that it rendered you temporarily paralysed and mute?

But you had calmly walked down the stairs towards the lobby of the house twenty minutes ago and hadn’t moved since. You just stood there now, rigid and dumbfounded, trying to understand how your entire world had just collapsed around you mere minutes beforehand. Now, you got the ‘stunned’ thing. You understood.

The aftershocks of Bucky yelling at you echoed around your head. What had just happened? You’d been sleeping peacefully just before he stormed in your shared bedroom, roaring at you before your eyes had even opened. You’d never seen him like that before. This wasn’t your Bucky, this was work Bucky. The one he’d always worked so hard to keep you from.

Why wouldn’t he listen? What did he mean, the recording? The phone ping? Your skull ached as you tried to make sense of it all. You would never do a thing like that to him. You loved him. You’d die before you purposefully tried to hurt him. Why didn’t he understand that?

You briefly considered going back upstairs, finding him wherever he was in the labyrinth of this house and straightening this whole mess out. Telling him you loved him, and he had to listen. Taking him in your arms, kissing him softly.

But the memory of the look in his eyes, the sheer rage they contained, the hatred that lay there, stopped you.

There was nothing to go back for.

You managed to pull yourself from your paralysis and move towards the hall closet near the front door. Well, it was more like a small room than a closet. An overflow from the walk-in closet just off the master bedroom upstairs. A huge space packed with a selection of Bucky’s jackets and shoes. He liked keeping some of them downstairs, getting the staff to rotate them when he wanted a change. Some of your things sat in there too - a few high-end coats, beautiful shoes. 

Correction, past tense - they were yours. Not now. 

“You’re a liar! You lied to me…Bet you loved spending my money too, didn’t you? Laughing all the way to bank as you sucked me dry…”

You screwed up your face as the memory of his voice flooded you. He was just so angry…he just wouldn’t listen. He wouldn’t believe you…

You pushed it all aside and opened the closet door, darting and shuffling through the combined thousands of dollars at your fingertips - the Dior, the Gucci, the Prada. You knew it was in here somewhere.

Then you spotted a flash of red behind one of the shoe racks in the far corner. There she was. 

You moved towards it, grabbing at the red fabric and tugging. It squeezed past the luxury shoes and revealed itself as you pulled it toward you - your faithful red backpack.

A relic of your former self.

No designer labels here, just a bag that had followed you throughout your life - high school, college before you’d dropped out, various apartment moves and vacations. The once-bright crimson colour had faded over time, but it was still sturdy and strong, still TARDIS-like in how much you could pack inside. It stuck out like a sore thumb in the closet against the glamour and opulence. 

You knew how that felt.

You unzipped it and dug through the contents. A pair of jeans, a sweater, a couple of T-shirts and your beaten-up old sneakers. Some pairs of underwear and bras. A few other simple garments. All polyblends and cheap textiles. No fancy labels to be found. No fine silks or luxe fabrics that Bucky had liked to spoil you with. 

This backpack was all you had to your name when you’d moved in here. Funny how life went in circles, because once again it was all you had now.

At the time Bucky had taken it from you and insisted you throw it away - you wouldn’t need it! He’d buy you a whole walk-in closet full of clothes! 

And he did. 

A dizzying amount. More than you could ever wear. A mix of designer labels and custom pieces that fit you perfectly. Fine tailoring and exquisite details. Dresses. Blouses. Pants. Jeans. Organic cotton t-shirts. Skirts of every length. Winter coats that had cost the same as two months of your rent in the city. Underwear sets so pretty and delicate that you were almost too nervous to wear them. 

And accessories, too. Handbags. Jewellery. Shoes. Oh, the shoes. Heels, flats, boots, sandals, sneakers and slippers. Shoes for fancy parties and shoes for hikes. Shoes for the grand vacations. Shoes for just lounging around the house. Shoes you only wore for sex.

All gone, in an instant.

It didn’t matter, anyway. You always told him you didn’t need any of it. And you weren’t lying. You’d never lied to him, despite what he believed now. You were always happiest in sweats and loungewear, you just liked being comfortable and yourself. You just liked being near him.

At the time you’d talked him round about letting you keeping the backpack - nostalgia, you know? You’d had it years, after all.

But he didn’t think you needed it. That was then, this was now. Why keep an old bag when you could get anything you’d ever want? He’d buy you a hundred backpacks, he said, he’d get your initials embroidered, he’d let you design your own, he’d have your favourite designer make you one - especially for you.

But that wouldn’t be your bag. The bag that had seen everything. Your constant companion. 

You persisted. What was one little backpack in a big old house like his? It would take up no space at all. He wouldn’t even know it was there.

He relented eventually, he’d always loved how down to earth and low-key you were. He was fond of your sentimentality. You’d never been interested in his money; you’d kept the love notes he wrote you - not the shopping receipts - but he still liked to spoil you. You deserved it. 

Or so he’d told you then. But it was a different story today. 

The bag had been hastily stashed here in the closet the first day you moved in and had been there ever since, languishing amongst the Italian tailoring. 

Until now.

Part of you wondered if deep down you had always known this day would come. Maybe your gut had sensed it was all too good to be true, and you knew you needed to store a parachute for the inevitable fall. 

You sniffed, wiping away the threat of more tears. There would be time for that later. 

You looked down at the slip you wore, the slinky, silly nightie thing he’d bought you that you’d worn to bed. Not very practical now you’d be out on the street. 

Your brain suddenly switched into survival mode, most likely in an attempt to stop yourself from falling apart, but you couldn’t think about it all now. You needed to find somewhere to stay. And you couldn’t do that in a silk nightdress. 

You quickly shrugged the gown off, leaving it in a tangled pool on the floor of the closet and mentally apologising to Martha who would have to pick it up tomorrow. You grabbed the backpack and pulled on the jeans, a bra, one of the tees and the sweater. You rolled the Dollar Tree socks onto your feet. Kicked on the sneakers. It was all a little musty from being folded up in the bag for so long. But it would do. 

You caught a glimpse of yourself in the closet mirror and gasped. Aside from the wild eyes and tear-stained face, you looked like a version of yourself you hadn’t seen in a long time. Another life.

Hello again.

Next: where to go. The obvious places were Wanda’s or Nat’s homes. And you’d go there. Either would work. Either would welcome you with open arms, being the true friends that they were. Bucky’s betrayal had made you question everything you knew about love, but not the faith in your friends to catch you when you fall. That was unshakeable. 

Maybe you could alternate who you stayed with until you got back on your feet, so you weren’t too much of a burden to either. You just couldn’t face either of them tonight, you needed to be alone. 

You frantically rummaged through the backpack again until you found what you were looking for at the very bottom. You let out a little yelp of relief.

The battered old wallet had seen better days, but it was hanging on. You opened it up and breathed a sigh of relief that you’d never transferred your driver’s license into the Gucci wallet Bucky had given you on that first day. Thanks, lazy past self. It wasn’t like you’d driven much anyway, not with his all drivers on the payroll and the Uber account he’d loaded onto your phone. 

The wallet also contained debit and credit cards you’d never cancelled but hadn’t touched since Bucky gave you your very own black card. It was funny how you used to obsessively count every penny and now you could charge whatever you wanted without a second thought.

Not now, then, you corrected. You needed to get used to your life with Bucky being referred to in the past tense.

“You were working with the feds this whole time, Doll? Is that it? You were all laughing at me? Laughing at how easy it was to let you in? The cute little waitress doing her ‘oh shucks!’ routine, catching me hook, line and sinker?? God I’m such a fucking idiot…”

You stifled a sob, but continued hunting through the wallet.

You thought about your purse sitting out on the side table by the front door. You could take that with you and charge a hotel room it. He probably wouldn’t even notice such a small charge amongst his wealth, and even if he did, he wouldn’t begrudge you a few bucks for a roof over your head for one night. Would he?

No. Enough. 

He had ended it. He had implied you were a leech. He didn’t listen, he didn’t trust you. He didn’t believe you. If he truly thought you’d done what he said…he couldn’t ever have loved you. Not really. 

No more spending his money, even though you never really felt comfortable doing so anyway. The showdown tonight had confirmed your biggest fears - he’d always resented you for spending his cash. You couldn’t live like that anymore. 

Besides, you didn’t want him to know where you were. Not that you thought he’d come after you…but still. 

Fortunately, the wallet had a ream of stale bills stuffed in one of the sections. You exclaimed in excitement; you remembered them now. It had been your last day at your waitress job. You’d quit right before you came over to this place to move in, and Lou had given you the rest of the week’s pay plus tips. You had fought him on it, insisting you didn’t need it - but Lou had asked you to take it. For his sake.

“I want you to be happy, hon’,” he’d told you kindly when you had shared your plans. “And I know you’re a smart girl. But you’re getting mixed up with…a different kinda world. A…different kind of guy. You never know when this might come in handy”.

You’d frowned at him at the time, not quite sure what he meant. But as you stood there in the closet clutching the cash, you sent him a silent thank-you for his foresight. God bless Lou. He was exactly right.

You shoved the money and the wallet back into the red bag and moved from the closet into the hallway. The house was completely silent. If Bucky knew you hadn’t left yet, he’d made no effort to stop you. You admitted that a tiny part of yourself had hoped he’d come after you and admit he’d made a terrible mistake.

But he wasn’t coming. 

You slung the backpack over your shoulder as you headed to the front door. As your hand curled around the handle, you turned and took one last look at what had been your first real home. What you’d hoped would be your last home. 

You looked over at your phone which you’d tossed onto the dresser next to the closet in your panic. You briefly pondered taking it, but it wasn’t yours anymore. You’d buy a burner in the morning and get a new cell plan once you were back on your feet. 

Wow. You were surprising yourself with this pragmatism. But you also knew you were hanging on by a thread.

But the fact was - you’d survived before Bucky, and you’d survive after him, too. You always kept going. You’d been dirt poor before, you could do it again. You’d been alone before, too. You’d been alone most of your life. 

You could do it again.

‘Tenacious’ - that’s what Nat had called you once. You weren’t sure if you agreed with her at the time, but now you wanted to prove her right. You wanted to be the person she believed you to be. 

You already knew it would be much harder now, as you’d had a taste of the other side. How the other half live, as they say. Before, you didn’t know any different - you didn’t know what you were missing. Now you absolutely did. Not just the money…the comfort…but being cared for, being loved. 

On some level, you’d always known this wasn’t going to be your happy ending. You knew deep down that the house of cards would eventually fall, because it always did. 

You just wished you weren’t always right. 

You opened the door and stepped out into the dark.

💔

You walked for thirty minutes towards the city. Bucky lived on the outskirts and most of the journey had been leaving his estate along the single, winding road that led up to his property. None of his men paid you any mind. Not the ones with guns pitched up along the perimeter. Not those waiting in cars half a mile from his house, keeping an eye out for any potential threats as they did every night. They all knew who you were, so word must’ve spread fast. Otherwise they would’ve been falling over themselves to check on you and find out why the boss’ girl was out walking by herself at this time. 

You wondered if Steve or Sam had put a message out on the comms. ‘They’re over. Don’t worry about her anymore’ or words to that effect. Something cold but concise. That’s how this operation worked. 

You’d developed friendships with some of these men. Chatted to them and even brought them coffee when they kept watch on cold nights. You would watch then from the windows and tell Bucky you were worried about how freezing it was out there, and he’d laugh it off and say it was part of their job and they were fine. But they were always grateful when you came out with a thermos, always told you how much it meant to them. 

All of it forgotten in an instant, you were disposable as anything else in Bucky’s empire. You understood that now. Just like when he wanted a new car or a new watch, he’d toss away the old model - then find himself something newer and shinier. 

You walked a little further as signs of civilisation starting to appear and Bucky’s acres of land disappeared behind you. A gas station. A boarded-up strip mall. You were a little frightened walking alone by yourself, but the sheer adrenaline your situation propelled you forward. 

You breathed a sigh of relief when you eventually found a tired-looking Holiday Inn up ahead. A few of the lightbulbs on the neon sign were out, meaning it spelled out H LIDAY INN. A leaky drainpipe dripped a steady stream of water over the entrance. Oh dear. 

But it would do for now. 

You took a deep breath as you went inside and checked in at the front desk, paying for a basic room with your waitress cash. The disinterested receptionist gave you the key card and sighed with boredom, barely looking at you as she barked the directions to your room and resumed Candy Crush on her phone. She didn’t seem surprised to see a lone woman turning up in the middle of the night, arriving to a roadside hotel on foot, paying for two nights in crumpled bills. She didn’t even ask to see your ID. That all gave you a pretty clear idea of what the staff were used to here.

You passed an ancient-looking PC that guests could use, which surprisingly, as it looked like it was last updated for Windows 95, had WiFi. You made a mental note to log on tomorrow to message Wanda and Nat on social media and fill them in …and hopefully get one of them to come pick you up. 

You grabbed some chips and soda from the vending machines then walked towards the elevators. Not quite the glamorous dinner you’d become accustomed too, but it would do. For now.

You hit the button to call the elevator as you slumped against the wall, the exertion of your long walk and the evening finally catching up with you. The elevator creaked and spluttered but it finally got you to your floor. 

You scanned your keycard and swung the room door open, dumping your backpack and snacks onto the wood-veneer desk before flinging yourself onto the double bed. The no-frills basics were worlds away from the fancy hotels you were used to staying in with Bucky, but it was clean and comfortable. And most important of all, it was private. 

“Just get the fuck out. We’re done here so save your tears. Over. Finito. I don’t need some liar in my bed, being sweet to my face then sticking a knife in my back – then not even having the guts to admit to it when she’s caught red-handed”.

Finally alone, you allowed yourself to weep. To mourn the end of your relationship and the man you thought Bucky was, versus the man he turned out to really be. To grieve, to bid farewell to the life you thought you had (and would continue to have) with him, and the way you thought he saw you. It wasn’t just about losing him and tarnishing your memories, it was also grieving for a future and a life you thought you were going to have. 

“I don’t care. You’ll figure something out, sweetheart. You’re just lucky this is all I’m doing after everything you’ve pulled…”

Large, wracking sobs took over your body as you curled up on the hotel bedspread and allowed yourself to feel it all. You ate the chips and drank the soda, barely tasting either. You turned on the TV and let the black and white movie on the one working channel serve as background noise. Fatigue eventually swam over you, smothering you like a weighted blanket.

Soon there were no tears left and the well had finally run dry. Mercifully, sleep finally came for you, and you gave into it without a fight. 

And you slept. And slept. 

💔

Bucky was at his desk looking at paperwork when Steve came back into his home office. He was doing his best to ignore the nauseating rush in his gut, trying his hardest not to think about you and the way your face had crumpled as he confronted you. Most likely it was just your guilt, anyway.

“Barton said the shipment arrived right on schedule, everything accounted for,” Steve advised as he poured himself a shot of bourbon from the small bar setup in the corner of the office. “And Sam’s out at the shipyard, running through the plan with Rumlow”.

He was desperate to address the elephant of the room and ask Bucky how he was holding up, but Bucky had previously insisted nobody bring your name up. So he didn’t. 

“Good,” Bucky replied curtly. “And Stark?”

“All on board. Said we can iron out the details next week”.

“Perfect, thanks”.

Steve nodded, downing the last of his glass as he placed it on the ornate tray and headed to the door.

“Oh, and Steve?” Bucky called out to him.

“Yeah, Buck?” He turned to face his friend.

“Do you….you uh know…where she went? After…what happened?” He asked, the tiniest hint of hesitation in his otherwise firm tone. Most people wouldn’t have spotted it, but most people didn’t know Bucky like Steve did. 

Steve shook his head, “No, Buck. Some of the men saw her leaving on foot a little while ago”.

Bucky swallowed but his face betrayed no emotion, “On foot?”

“Yeah. I guess she didn’t have a lot of options…” Steve shrugged.

Bucky nodded, “Yeah…I guess I just assumed she’d book a cab…or call one of her friends…” he said wistfully as he looked back down at the papers across his desk.

“She left her phone. Scott found it by the front door, next to her purse. I’m not sure she took anything with her, actually,” Steve mused.

Bucky frowned, “No…phone? No…money?”

Steve shrugged, “I don’t think so. But that’s good, right? You said yourself she was probably just playing a long-con to get your money too…”

Bucky’s gaze dropped back to the desk, his grip on the fountain pen he was holding tightened, the nib shaking from the force of his strength.

“You okay, Buck?” Steve asked tentatively as he watched the way the pen shook.

Any hint of vulnerability was immediately snuffed out as Bucky’s eyes snapped back to Steve. 

“Of course. Fine. Let me know what Sam says”.

Steve nodded, “Right. I’ll call him now”.

As Steve closed the door, the pen snapped in Bucky’s hand.

[im-so-tired-sorry]

The Yellow Blanket

fantasy!kiribaku x pregnant!reader

a/n: this was an inbox ask/request but it was anonymous so idk who to tag ;-; but ik @ashthesalamipiece wanted to be tagged too so here that is lmao also lowkey inspired by the kiribaku fantasy series by Yuzuya on yt also also didnt really know how to end it so its a little rushed sorry

cw: pregnancy, lowkey dont know who the father is woops

--------

Your feet were killing you. You had been walking and standing at this new market that had been touring the village for a good couple hours. With your need to see what vendors and good were available in the town for such a limited time, you gained the motivation to leave the house, even if the rounded weight that centered in your lower abdomen compelled you into a waddle type of walk.

You knew you were due in a couple of weeks, at most a month. And as much as you loved your child more than anyone in the world and as much as you prayed for the healthiest birth, you needed to push this baby out now. The constant aches, pain and general discomfort had you begging your baby to come out already. But as much as you cringed at the sting from your heels and ankles as you took each step, you were beyond excited to meet your addition to your family.

Well, maybe not as excited as your husbands were.

Bakugo and Kirishima and been preparing for the last nine months to be the best dads in the world. Bakugo, learning safety precautions for you and the baby for the birth and the first couple weeks post partum. Kirishima, on the other hand, looked into proper care methods for him and Bakugo to learn in case you weren't around/out of the house. Both of them spent their time building furniture, baby proofing the house, and most importantly, pampering you for the past couple months to make sure you were in the most comfortable state of mind. You were the one carrying their child after all.

If we're being completely honest... none of you knew whose baby it was. The little kicks you endured starting your second trimester had Bakugo's passion and intensity, but the constant hunger and cravings indicated that Kirishima's endless stomach was inherited. Not to mention that no matter whose it was, it was a dragon soul and you had researched that regular humans have experienced more intense births when it was to a dragon soul. Did that freak you out? Maybe. But you knew it would be worth it and that you would take any type of pain as long as your child came out beyond healthy and happy.

"Jewel!" You heard your nickname being shouted across the market by the only dragon shifter, the only man, who would call you that. You turn to see Kirishima making his way through the crowd towards you, and you noticed Bakugo closely behind him.

"Hey, what are you doing here love? Are you ok? We thought you were going to be home by now." Kirishima instinctively scanned his eyes over you to make sure you weren't injured in any way. When his scan came out clean, he placed his hand on your stomach, almost as if to check the baby's vitals as well.

"I'm fine Ei," you placed your hand over his, "just saw there was a market in town on my way home and I wanted to check it out is all."

"Not in this weather. It's a million degrees out." Bakugo scolded as he fanned you. Your husbands were obviously protective of you and the baby, and they always meant well, but sometimes it seemed to sprout an idea of paranoia. Like now, they want to make sure the weather doesn't bother you and they know that the weight has been causing a pain on your feet recently. But it probably has devolved into the idea that any bead of sweat is the last before a heat stroke and that your legs will crumble if you take another step.

But he did have a point; the summer season was coming around and living in the warmer region has slowly been bringing an intense heat. Reluctantly, you agreed it was hot and allowed your husbands to carry your things as you three walked home.

Before reaching the end of the market however, you noticed a particular stand. There were various types of clothes, fabrics, handkerchiefs, and blankets. Out of the selection of blankets, one had caught your eye. You walked towards the stall, leaving your husbands behind, and you grabbed the blanket. It was a small, yellow one, made of soft cotton with a satin lining. The feeling of the cloth was perfect; as soon as you had grabbed it, you couldn't do anything but imagine your baby swaddled up in it.

"When is the little one due?" The merchant lady had asked. She was an older woman, her white hair wrapped in an updo as she fanned herself under the shade of her stall's tent. "Within the next month." You answered, a gleam of excitment hitting your voice as you answered.

Kirishima and Bakugo walked back towards you at the tent and examined what you were holding.

"Do you want it?" Bakugo asked, easily prepared to spoil you. All you had to do was look up at him and nod with a smile on your face before turning to the vendor. "How much for it?"

The old woman looked at you three for a moment. She noticed how Bakugo had placed his hand on the small of your back as he had approached you; how Kirishima held your hand while examining the softness of the blanket with sparkling eyes as you showed it off to him. She knew that this baby was going to be loved by three people who would pour thier hearts and souls for this child.

"Consider it a gift." She answered.

All three of you gave the old woman shocked looks.

"Oh... no ma'am. Thank you but this material and quality is way too valuable to give up without a price. Just let us know-" You were cut off by the woman enveloping her two hands into yours.

"My price is that you swaddle this baby up every night, not only with this, but with all the love and care it deserves. That is all I ask of you." Your eyes began to water; you coudn't tell if it was the genuine kindness or the hormones that were making you so emotional. Either way, you thanked the merchant profusely, and your husbands guided you away before you started crying in front of the stranger.

You held the blanket in your hands all the way home, thinking of how long the blanket could last; you thought of how long it would stay ith your child. A year? Five? Could this blanket possibly be passed down generations? In any way, you vowed to keep the old merchant's wish. Of loving and caring for your baby every night, and to keep them warm and safe and happy, with or without the blanket.

[gothamhappiness]

You are my heaven (Bruce Wayne x f!reader) Part 1

It was supposed to be a little imagine of a dark and lonely Bruce Wayne switching place with another Bruce Wayne from a parallal universe, but I wrote more than I thought. It'll be into 2 parts, except if you ask for more. <3

Warnings: no proof reading, sexual activities, language, neglecting husband and father, kinda angst/comfort

Imagine Bruce Wayne with no child, no wife (you), no friends and no more Alfred. He was all alone, making his life even harder, more cruel, more violent.

He didn’t adopt any child - not even Dick - because Alfred died quickly after Bruce became an adult. Thus, Bruce needed to take care of himself, and he didn't feel like he could look after a child. He was too tired and too depressed. He didn't want to bring any child into such a dark life.

His hands were full with Wayne Enterprises and his Batman way of life, so he also didn't make time for the Justice League. He sometimes helped them when it was about Gotham but nothing else.

And he never succeeded in getting you. He knew you. Oh yes, he knew you. He always thought that Batman would be his sole obsession, destroying him and his body. But then he met you, and he grew half insane. He needed you in his life so badly; he didn't care about anyone else. You were such a ray of sunshine in his dark existence. But you didn't want him. He was too desperate for you. You were scared of the darkness surrounding him, and you hated that rich man who wasn't trying hard enough for Gotham's poor people. He would have loved to cover you in affection and gifts, but you always escaped him.

Imagine this same Bruce Wayne being switched from places with another Bruce Wayne from another universe. This other Bruce had children, was married to you, and was friends with the Justice League. Alfred was still around. But this Bruce was neglecting everyone a little bit. This man thought he was entitled to get everything. His relationships were just alright with everyone. You more than once thought about getting a divorce actually, but you loved your life too much to let it go, even if Bruce could be a disappointment.

Imagine the lonely and desperate Bruce Wayne waking up one morning with you in the same bed as him.

At first, he believed it was all a dream, so he happily pulled you against his chest and snuggled up against you. He kissed the top of your head. When his alarm sounded out, he simply turned it off and hugged you tighter. He felt good and warm for the first time since his parents died. He completely melted in pure joy when you gently kissed his chest and neck, stroking his scarred stomach. He leaned into all your touch. He had no idea when he was going to wake up, so he wanted to enjoy this as much as possible. He didn’t want to think of the cold and empty bed that was going to greet him soon enough. He just wanted to stay there forever, cherished by you. Your scent was bringing him such comfort. He was relaxed, feeling safe and at home. This was what heaven must look like, he thought.

"Not running to work already?" You softly asked, a little bit surprised you didn't have to beg your husband for morning cuddles

"I'm good here," Bruce mumbled into your hair, his eyes closed in bliss

"What have you done to my husband?" You laughed as you straddled the man, looking down at him.

Husband? Fuck, it sounded so sweet to his ears. Bruce opened his eyes, drinking into your form. He loved how the sun was softly shining against your skin. He moved his hands on your thighs and stroked your skin. You were a goddess to him

“You’re beautiful” He whispered

You hummed and leaned to hungrily kiss him. He almost moaned against your lips. He had dreamt so many times of the feel of your mouth against his. But it was different than usual, it was better than he expected. He felt so whole. You were his soulmate. He always believed it. And feeling you like that… He promised himself that once he would be back to reality, he would find a way to seduce you. He needed you. You teasingly bit his bottom lip, and he smiled. Bruce's hands greedily moved around your body before settling on your ass. He gently squeezed it.

“Naughty” Ypu giggled, and he smiled even more

“Not my fault. You’re a goddess of love and light” He whispered

You didn’t reply. You weren’t too used to your husband talking to you like that. Your Bruce was good to you, but he never called you such things. He never watched you with such devotion in the eyes.

You sightly moved away to remove your nightgown under his watch. This Bruce had no idea how gorgeous you were naked, on top of him. He realised it was his favourite sight from now on. Gosh, what he wouldn’t do to be allowed to be greeted like that every morning of his life? He had dreamt so many times to be allowed to see you like this, to touch you like a lover and to take care of you. He was happy he was shirtless when you leaned back against him so he could feel your skin against his. He gently switched positions with you so he could get down on you. He kissed your neck, breasts, stomach, and inner thighs before settling in between your legs. He would have taken the time to kiss your legs and feet if he hadn’t been so hungry for you. It was such a vivid and nice dream. And he wanted you so badly. The way your fingers moved into his hair and tightened their hold whenever he was making you moan in pleasure became his favourite sensation. After the second orgasm he gave you this morning, he started to wonder if he truly was dreaming. You felt so real. 

He didn't have time to think more about it as you brought him closer to you. You were softly panting, as he was happily kissing and stroking your skin. You were made to be worshipped, he thought. And he would love to be your most obedient and caring servant.

A soft knock at the door startled the two of you.

"Master Bruce, do I need to cancel all the meetings you had this morning?" Alfred's voice sounded out.

Bruce froze for a few fractions of seconds before regaining his composure. Was it truly Alfred? His dream was getting nicer and nicer. However, it was hard to think when you were affectionately kissing his skin and playing with his hair, looking at him with such tenderness in your beautiful eyes. He needed all his willpower to answer Alfred back.

"I'm on my way to Wayne Enterprises, Alfred," He finally replied, and you laughed because he really didn't look like he was. 

The sound of your laughter made his chest blow with a warm feeling he didn't know. He was so deeply in love with you. He was so happy. And yet, the word “happy” didn’t feel strong enough to describe how he felt in this instant. He leaned to kiss you with pure affection before getting up, even though he would have loved to stay in bed with you.

You decided to be a good wife who cared about your husband’s work and duty, so you didn't follow in the shower, knowing Alfred would indeed need to cancel all of the meetings. You wondered what you did last night for Bruce to treat you with such passion and love this morning. You wished things would be more often like that. 

You were still lying in bed when Bruce came out of the shower. Before looking for some clothes, he went back to you, like a magnet attracted to you. He kissed your naked back before kissing your lips.

"Time for some lunch with me, hon?" you asked, clearly pushing your luck, but Bruce seemed in a very good mood today.

You were ready for him to say no, though, like he always did.

"Of course, anything you want," He whispered, smiling.

He was excited you seemed to want to spend more time with him.

You didn’t add anything, truly wondering what you did last night. He kissed you again before dressing up. You enjoyed the view from the bed. Bruce loved the warm feeling of your eyes on him. He couldn’t get enough of your attention.

He reluctantly left the room after having stolen another kiss from you. He couldn’t get enough of you.

He properly greeted Alfred and thanked him for having checked on him.

Bruce was a little bit surprised to discover so many young adults and teenagers eating breakfast in his living room, but it was giving some life to his old manor. And in a dream, you couldn’t expect everything to make sense, right? So he simply greeted everyone and asked if they all slept well, like his father did when he was a child. They all seemed stunned by the question, but they still answered. What amazed them even more was that Bruce actually listened to their answers. He waved them all goodbye, wished them a good day, and went to work.

It was time for lunch, and Bruce hadn't woken up yet. His meetings were now done, and he could take some time to think. Everything felt so real so far. Usually, in dreams, when you read something, lines are blurry or the words mean nothing or the words change all the time... But it didn't happen. Apart from the people he didn’t know in his living room, everything seemed to make sense?

He typed away his name on his Internet browser and started to read about how he was dealing with Wayne Enterprises, how he was married to you, how he adopted or took under his roof many children. Bruce Wayne seemed quite… popular. He looked for Batman's work as well. It seemed he was often with the Justice League, and he had some vigilantes under his lead. He started to think about what happened last night - before he woke up with you in his arms.

He could now remember a very bright light engulfing him while he was fighting off some criminals.

"Where are we going for lunch?" You texted him, and the notification brought him back to the present

"That Italian restaurant near Wayne Enterprises?" He offered.

He always wished he could invite you there because he quite enjoyed this place. He hoped the place existed here, but with your answer it seemed it did.

"Oh yes, it's been a while!" You quickly replied. "I'll meet you there in a few. Love you <3" You added

"Love you too, wife" Bruce sent back.

Gosh, he never thought he would be allowed to send you such words and it was making his head spin.

But Bruce was a smart man, so he started to understand that he must have taken the place of the Bruce Wayne of this world. It couldn’t be a dream because it was too detailed and realistic. It couldn’t be an illusion, because something would have felt off to him. It wouldn't have been the first time he was trapped in an illusion, he would have been able to feel it. This place... everything felt true, real.

There were only two possibilities: someone brought him to a parallel universe or he died and went to heaven. 

He hurt one of his fingers to draw blood. He couldn’t be dead if he was still bleeding, could he? So if he was going with the parallel universe, it meant… It meant that the other Bruce Wayne had this perfect little life. Fuck, he felt a deep and raw jealousy stabbing his heart: why didn't this Bruce suffer like he did? Why did this version of himself get everything he ever wished for himself? Alfred, children, you? Even Batman seemed to be doing better here. Wayne Enterprises were thriving, the biggest and most powerful firm of Gotham. 

He needed to understand what happened... So he could forever stay here. There was no way he was going back to the Hell that used to be his life. He would kill himself at the instant he would get back. How could he survive being alone again? The other Bruce was a problem because if he was alive, he would want to get back here. But fuck him. Everyone seemed so surprised by how he was acting, so he was certain that the Bruce of this world didn’t deserve their love. And he would do anything to deserve it. It was his chance to finally be happy and he wasn’t going to fuck this up.

--

Part 2

[yanderedrabbles]

Misery - Part Three

Based on Misery by Stephen King

Stuck in the mountains, you foolishly decide to drive through a blizzard. The man that drags you from your wrecked car brings you to his cabin and patches you up. But as the snow piles up outside, you start to suspect that your rescuer's intentions may be far from pure.

Previous Chapter

After Andy left, you managed to change out of your clothes. The flannel shirt he gave you was worn down just enough to feel cozy and the smell of his cologne still lingered 'round the collar.

You settled against the headboard and almost dozed off before he came back. He'd taken off his jacket and carried a pile of firewood in his arms. He dumped the logs in the fireplace and stood up, revealing a wife beater and arms thick with muscle. You were right about his strength - his body was just further proof of it.

"Sorry 'bout that. I should have brought some in last night but well..."

He turned to you, dusting his hands. "I got a good look at the situation outside. You might not wanna hear it but we're totally snowed in. Phone lines are down too."

"Oh. I didn't realise it was that bad."

You felt a dull sort of trepidation. Andy had been nothing but kind to you, but being stuck out in the mountains frightened you.

"Any idea when things will open up again?"

He sat down in the chair beside your bed and stretched out. For a second, the only thought in your head was how dangerous and lean he looked. His dog tags caught the light and winked at you.

"Hard to tell. We're far off the beaten path. Only folks nearby are the Roydmans and they're a good few miles off. 'Sides, snows too deep to drive through so even if they clear off the main road, we ain't getting there anytime soon."

You felt your heart sink. "Do you think I need to go to the hospital?"

He raised a brow and skimmed his eyes across your body. "It ain't looking pretty, but I reckon you can handle it."

"Hurts like hell though."

"Sorry princess, but it'll take a while for this sort of hurt to heal. Best I can do is give you something strong for the pain."

Your ankle still throbbed mercilessly and hearing him say that made you all the more aware of it. You searched desperately around the room for a distraction.

The room was much larger than you realised, with a panelled wood ceiling and big bay windows. From your position, all you could see was the sky.

It was comfortable and starkly clean. Oh God, was this his room or a guest room?

"I haven't kicked you out of your room, have I?" you asked, suddenly unsure of yourself.

He grinned and rubbed his jaw. "I reckoned you needed a nice bed far more than I did."

"Shit, I'm so sorry!" Your hands fluttered to your lips. You felt terribly guilty. "I can't imagine how much I've put you out."

He waved you away. "It gets awful quiet up here. You have no idea how nice it is to have company."

His eyes dropped to the shirt you were wearing. "Real nice."

He reached up to play around with his dog tags and you finally noticed the tattoo across his forearm.

"Semper Fidelis?"

"Always loyal."

He reached forward and let you inspect his arm. You took hold of his wrist and traced the tattoo with your fingertips. The words themselves were small and neat, but the rest of it was an intricate pattern of barbed wire that wound round his forearm.

"Did it hurt?"

"Tell you the truth? It stung like a bitch."

He was watching your face and when you looked up at him, your eyes met. Those eyes on the other end of a gun would have sent you running for the hills. You pitied the soldiers that faced off against him.

You let go of his arm and swallowed.

"When did you get it?"

He let his forearm rest next to your thigh.

"When I was deployed for the first time."

He was close enough that you caught the scent of his cologne and the sweet smell of pine from the wood he chopped.

"How did you end up in the Marines anyway?"

"I've got you curious, do I?"

You felt yourself blush. "Maybe a little."

"Hmm." He rubbed at his jaw, like he was trying to rub away a smile.

"Maybe I'll tell you about it someday. For now though, you need to take some tablets and get some sleep."

"But what about you? I've kind of colonised your bed."

"First thing you learn in basic is to sleep standing up. I'll be fine sleeping on the couch. 'Sides, I ain't the one who went crashing off the road less than a day ago."

He reached into his jeans pocket and pulled out a blister pack of tablets.

"These are Novril. They pack a hell of a punch, so I expect you to sleep through the rest of the day. Best thing you can do right now is rest, got it?"

"Yes sir."

He dropped two shiny white pills into your open palm.

"Good girl. Now drink up."

He passed you a glass of water from the nightstand. The tablets left a slightly bitter taste behind, but you hurt too much to mind it.

Outside, the snow started up again.

You smiled at him. "How am I ever supposed to repay you?"

He studied you for a second.

The shirt you borrowed was missing a few buttons near the top and gaped open just a little at your tits, but you were too drowsy to notice.

He grinned that slow, lazy smile of his. "I'm sure you'll think of something, princess."

You hadn't fully realised just how intimate this all was. You were wearing his clothes. Sleeping in his bed. Entirely reliant on him to take care of you.

He stood up and shook his head.  "You must be hungry. Any requests?"

"Nope. I'll take anything at this point."

His eyes flickered to your chest and then quickly away. "I can make you regret that real fast, y'know."

"Come on, you can't be that bad of a chef."

He huffed and shook his head. "You just sit pretty and I'll be back."

He returned with a bowl of oats sprinkled with brown sugar. His fingers brushed yours when he handed it to you and he lingered for a second longer than needed.

"I'm afraid it's all hospital chow until you're stronger. It's too bad - I make a mean flapjack."

You played around with your spoon and then gave in. Plain oats or not, you needed your strength.

Andy was quiet while you ate, watching the snow swirl across the window.

He tugged at his dog tags again and spoke up, "Does anyone know you're out here? A boyfriend, a sibling, anyone that knows where you were headed?"

You carefully put your empty bowl down on the nightstand. With the tablets, the pain was mercifully retreating. Not gone, never entirely gone, but a tiny bit more manageable.

"No. I wanted to surprise a friend but they don't know I'm coming."

You felt unnaturally drowsy for this early in the day. He must have noticed it because he stood up and gently pressed at your shoulders.

"Lie down and I promise you'll be out like a light soon enough."

You listened to him and found your eyes drifting shut as soon as you hit the pillow.

"Y'know." Your voice was muffled by your pillow. "You're a really great guy."

"Thanks, but save that until after you're better, yeah?"

He pulled the duvet higher and carefully tucked it around your shoulders.

"Not a soul knows you're out here?"

You hummed in agreement. You were almost entirely asleep and barely felt the hand that drifted across your forehead, gently pushing the hair off your face.

"Just you and me, princess."

You didn't hear it, but there was a strange note to his voice. Fear, maybe. Or longing. Hard to tell, with how similar they can be.

Next Chapter [coming soon]

Masterlist

Taglist

@pleorexicz @lem-hhn @mybelovedjupiter

[kisakis-boyfriend]

Now, I never played Persona 3 but the protagonist looks breedable. So The Persona 3 protagonist (the male one) investigating an haunted/creepy site only to meet an horny male werewolf reader who fucks them 🎃

Author's Note: Makoto truly is one of the hottest persona protags (possibly even one of the hottest characters in general). Not to mention both of his English VAs did a fantastic job! I could gush over Makoto all day…so I'm just going to let the smut to the talking now 😶‍🌫️

Pairings: Makoto Yuki x male reader

Warnings: Male werewolf!reader, dom/top!reader, paranormal investigator!Makoto, adult Makoto, sub/bottom!Makoto, dubcon, finger sucking, dry orgasms, premature ejaculation(?)

This was supposed to be an easy job for once. Another "haunted" old cabin, multiple eye witnesses and videos and pictures worth of "proof", only to end up being a hoax unintentionally created by some local kids. He's been there and done that, time and time again. So, this place should not be any different, right?

Well… as luck would have it, Makoto would finally encounter something paranormal — a real experience, unlike the majority of his previous calls.

That's how Makoto ended up here; bent over a desk with the air knocked from his lungs while something wet drips all over the back of his body.

Drool drips from your snarling mouth, pooling on the back of the human's shirt, while your cock drips all over the ass of his pants and slides down the sides. You keep one clawed hand on the back of the human's head, and the other on his waist to prevent him from escaping.

The scent of iron and dirt burns Makoto's nostrils, invading every deep inhale as he's just short of hyperventilating. You're obviously not any sort of spectre, nor spirit nor ghostly being—you're really more of a beast, though your features are still quite human in nature. The man's best guess is a werewolf. Whatever you are, he's seen enough to know that he doesn't want to stick around any longer.

Attempts at wiggling free don't go so well, only building up Makoto's frustration and yours. Silly as it may sound to think a beast can understand the human language, he decides to try it anyway. “What do you- hnngh… what do you want?!” he hisses, “Are you the one…causing trouble, scaring the locals?”

You almost want to laugh at that absurd question. Causing trouble, he says. “Me? Please, ask yourself who's the real troublemaker here; the dozens of humans trashing my house and surrounding woods, or me, the guy who's lived here for decades — long before that filth migrated in.” you growl. Ignorant, ignorant humans as always.

“If anyone here is a troublemaker, it's you–” your razor-like nails dig into Makoto's side, and he winces, glaring at you with the eye not covered by his hair. “walking in here with that sexy body of yours, having the audacity to bend over and pick things up and present that fine ass for me.”

The human's heart leaps within his chest, pounding away loudly while he grips the edge of the table harder. “Your job is to help people, yeah? You wanna help these people? Then…” you lean down, covering the human's body with your heat, and whisper in his ear; “…give me the relief I need to not be so fuckin' grumpy, maybe I'll let some of their idiotic actions slide, hm?”

Truly, Makoto should protest, or try to run, literally do anything to fight this situation, but he doesn't. For some reason, he feels like…like he wants to see where this goes.

When you yank his pants down and flip up his jacket, he doesn't stop you. When you rest your heavy, leaking cock in between his cheeks and groan like a perv, he's not disgusted by it. When you let go of his head and stuff your fingers in his mouth, his tongue dances in between the spaces of your digits.

It's a surprise to you too, when the smaller human man lifts his ass up, almost inviting you—giving you permission—to fuck him. And you're not about to pass up a cute slut like this.

Makoto's knees shake when you spit on his hole, giving him at least a tiny courtesy before you break his body with your cock. Your tip pushes incessantly at his entrance, adding slippery precum to it as you swipe your cock up and down, then finally slip the head in. The human flinches, nearly causing himself to choke on your fingers, but he recovers just fine and makes no signs of protest.

Soon enough, you're moving a few inches of your length in and out, enjoying the tightness around only a third of your dick. “Sho mush…sho big…” he slurs, unable to properly enunciate with your fingers keeping his mouth occupied. Little does he realize how big your full length is. You push a little more, and the human moans again, drool spilling out from the corners of his mouth while his ass stretches to accommodate the larger girth filling it up.

“Big, yeah? You think this is big, little guy? This ain't even halfway in yet~” you taunt, keeping a tight hold on his waist. At this point, you're confident that he can take plenty more without breaking yet, so you go a little harder until half of your dick is pumping in and out. “Mmm feel that? Now that is halfway in. Feels even better, right?”

“aAahAAAHhhNn–!! gHNH-!” Makoto spasms on the table, whining something unintelligible while his body twitches. Slightly concerned, you ask him what the hell that was all about, but he doesn't answer you. Frustrated, you remove your fingers from his mouth and yank his body up by his hair, forcing him to stand while you inspect the situation.

It only takes a second for you to notice the puddle of translucent white fluid dripping from the edge of the wooden table and onto the ground, with a matching fluid dribbling from Makoto's flushed dick.

“Goddamn– cummin' before me…I haven't even fucked you yet, little guy. Is it that good for you?” you laugh, pulling the human's head back so far that he's forced to look up at you, meeting your gaze with pink cheeks and cloudy eyes.

With a newfound confidence, and a newfound horniness, you decide that your little slut is more than ready to take it all in. Makoto makes a little noise at first, but when you bottom out and, finally, begin thrusting with intent, those noises turn into happy little moans and whimpers. The fucked out look on his face is proof enough that your fat cock is hitting the right places—filling his tummy with butterflies with every long drag against his walls.

Makoto holds onto your arms for dear life, taking your length like the good boy he is, while you rail him with enough force to knock him over, if you weren't holding his smaller body. “Ah-ah-ah-yes-yes-yes-!!” he stutters, smiling like he's on cloud nine. “Ah! Hard-er! Harderharderharder~!!”

When you blow your first load in him, the tightness of Makoto's ass and the strong scent of his hormones are enough to make your eyes roll back. Your hips slam into him a few times to empty all of your cum in there, and each time only brings the human that much closer to a complete mindbreak.

“Ooohhfuck… haah~ That was fuckin' good er- damn, I never got your name, did I?” The human shakes his head 'no', panting as his dick stays stiff as a board, red from cumming a second time.

He mutters something under his breath, but you can't quite make it out. You ask him to repeat it and he replies, “it'sss…Makoto…” in a sleepy, worn out tone.

“Well, Makoto, you think you're up for more?” you're asking, but not really asking…because you're going to fuck him again regardless. After all, all of these dumbass locals keep you stressed out every damn day — at this point, a full 24 hours of sex probably wouldn't be enough, much less one tiny orgasm.

Makoto lazily nods along, grinning up at you while you scratch his scalp affectionately. He has zero time to react as you begin thrusting again, ready to pound his hole until it's permanently molded to your shape.

His ass tightens around you again, and a third round of cum shoots out of his dick as it slaps against his warm body. His dick seems to stay hard even after that, turning redder by the minute, all while you ensure that his ass will be left gaping and oozing with your seed long after you're satisfied.

By the time you fill him up again, Makoto has orgasmed five times before, and his sixth nearly causes his voice to crack as his whole body convulses in your arms — his twitching cock shoots nothing this time, and the human is left with only dry orgasms for the rest of the day. Meanwhile, you have no intentions of stopping yet, even if it means your new human will fall unconscious—he'll still be your fuck doll while he rests.

[rivalswrites]

Hi! Could you write about how Magik, Iron Fist and Bucky would react to their s/o being jealous? I‘m so happy there is finally someone writing for Rivals😭

Jealousy headcanons

Before you read, please be warned that I'm writing based on my impressions of them not only in the game (though it's the biggest inspiration), but some of them with the movies/shows in mind too.

Characters: Magik, Iron Fist, Winter Soldier

Masterlist

I apologize for how short or long they are, I can never get them the same length even if I try😭

Illyana is someone many could easily adore at first sight. She's beautiful, strong, and a sweetheart if you're close enough to her. She attracts both men and women alike with just her looks, but most seem to back off when they get to know her attitude- lucky you! But of course, there's always that one person.

Seeing you get jealous over her is very flattering. She sees it as proof of loyalty (not that she needed it), proof that you loved her just as much as she did you. And she thinks it's funny seeing you get your boxers in a twist due to some random person she could care less about.

It’s rare for her to stop you, she loves the attention and love you end up giving her during and after the person was around. If she liked your affection before, she loved it more during these moments- your grip on her arm that sat around your shoulders was comforting.

Of course, she tries comforting you, a rough hand on yours as she told you just how much she loved you, how much you were superior to everyone around the two of you.

To her, you were the only person that truly mattered in a room (other than her brother and some friends, but that's different).

He's very, very flattered when you get jealous. It's obvious you love him, you're dating him, but to genuinely not like someone because they showed interest in him? Yeah, he'd never get used to that.

Your glare and hold on him has him blushing, leaning into your arms and trying to calm you down. Again, while it flatters him, he doesn't want anyone to get hurt or even genuine hatred to be held.

Lin is a very handsome man, so it's obvious people will look and even try hitting on him, it's common for you to have to beat people off with a stick while out on dates. Not literally, but people come up to him so much you've both decided at home dates are the better option.

He's got no complaints, obviously.

He wraps his arms around you in return and pats your back, reassuring you no one has his eye than you, and it usually helps. His quiet assurances are sweet and calming.

It's rare he shares the same sentiment, getting jealous that is. He's very assured that your relationship won't break over a random person: not to say you aren't as well.

Your jealousy makes him feel special though, in a way he doesn't often feel. He's never had a full relationship before, sure a side thing here and there, but never an actual- full fledged- relationship, and your swooning and protectiveness over him has his cheeks flushing red and a dumb little smile growing on his face

First of all, Bucky rarely goes out, you'd have to drag him by his good arm- or else he'll just detach the metal one and stay in bed.

Second of all, it's very easy to tell that Bucky is a very, very, handsome man. Guys and girls alike can find something attractive about him, and damn if you didn't know it.

If you're hanging out at a pub don't be surprised if you come back from the bar or bathroom to find someone trying to hit on him; much to your amusement that he isn't paying any attention to them. But that doesn't mean you can't get jealous.

You'll slide into the seat next to him and crawl up to his side, pulling him in almost aggressively (which he doesn't mind at all) and cradling his face, asking him if he missed you. Usually that gets people to leave, but again- sometimes there's someone who thinks they're special.

He'll play along, adding fuel to your fire and leaning all his weight on you, his arms wrapping around your shoulders and enjoying your coddling. Something about being so bored without you will be said and tends to be all that's needed to get the person to leave.

But even then, he won't let go. He'll keep his arms around you and start teasing you, laughing quietly at your show of love over him. But don't take it the wrong way, he would do the exact same thing if the scenario was vice versa.

Your jealousy over him is heartwarming, reminding him that you really do love him just as much as he does.

And he uses people flirting every time he goes out as an excuse to stay in with you, laying on you like a blanket on the couch and watching whatever show you wanted: he'd be paying more attention to you anyways.

----

Taglist: @ihrtsamwinchester

I always forget to tag until after I post 😭

[paigebueckerlver]

Wet dream

Summary: Paige has a wet dream about her "straight" roomie(reader), somehow Paige can't get her off her mind...but she finds a way

Warnings: smut, 18+, plot, oral (r receiving), fingering (r receiving), Paige makes you feel good..

A/n: first post and I'm feeling fweaky.. ENJOY! (Did not proof read sorry for mistakes 😢)

1:07 a.m.

The touch of her roommate, feeling the warmth of her fingers against her back. The lingering scent of her vanilla perfume she always wears. Every inch she touched Paige's body...never missed a spot. Kisses on her legs, her soft cherry lips moving down to her heat.

Paige lets out a soft moan which awakens her sleeping roommate. She looks around still fighting sleep, turns her desk light on low to not wake Paige. She gets up from her cream colored bed to check on Paige. Paige is letting out slower groans so y/n decides to wake Paige.

"P?... are you ok?" As Paige hears her roommates voice she shoots up from her sleep tiredly rubbing her eyes to answer. "mmh? why are you up so late y/n?" Paige opens her legs a bit to stretch but y/n notices a wet spot on her bed. "Did you have a good dream Bueckers..?" Paige is still confused and her roommate points to the spot on her bed, Paige, embarrassed shoves her face into her hands. Y/n giggles as she sits next to Paige wondering what her dream was.

"Wanna tell me what that dream was about? Or who...?" Y/n smirking a bit. "N-nothing I don't remember" Paige quickly trying to save herself from this moment. "I think you know exactly what that dream was about Paige." Her roommate says as she lifts Paige's hands from her face to look at her. Paige takes a second to admire the hot roommate she's thought about for months. She was wearing a loose white tank with no bra so you could see a little under due to the dim desk lamp, Paige's red plaid pj's that fit her hips perfectly. Y/n's eyes still watching Paige as she studies her body. "Like what you see P?" Her smirk is growing bigger. "Fuck" Paige breathes out while moving her eyes back to her roommates. "You don't know how badly I have thought about you since the day you moved in y/l/n" Paige says as she's now putting her slender fingers on your thigh inching to your heat. "Oh really... I think it's time I switched .. I need you PB" As soon as Paige heard the soft spoken girl say the last word, she doesn't take a second to pull the girl on top her lap shifting her hips perfectly on her thigh. "Fuck you don't even know what I wanna do to you right now baby" Paige explains. "Show me then." Y/n whispers into her ear. Next thing you know Paige smashes her pink lips onto her roommates cherry ones. during this intense make out , y/n is grinding back and forth against Paige's thigh letting out whimpers here ad there. "Paige I need to feel you" the roomie says. Paige turns her around throw her onto her back and getting between her legs. "Paige!" Y/n yells not expecting Paige to do that. "Take them off" Paige says sternly pulling on her roommates pj's . Y/n complies and slips them down and throws them somewhere in their shared dorm,leaving her in her Calvin Klein grey underwear. As she does that Paige does the same leaving herself in her black boxers. Paige kisses down y/n's neck leaving light marks on her , knowing she isn't necessarily "gay"

Her roommate groans at the dirty touch of Paiges lips. She hears this and smirks against her neck moving down to her boobs. Paige looks at y/n for consent, she nods implying to go ahead. Paige lifts her tank, the yellow dim light reflecting off her roomies pierced nipples. Paige takes her mouth over one, licking and sucking her nipple, her other hand playing with the other, pinching and rubbing it. "Omg Paige, feels so good" y/n breathes out due to the pleasure she's never received by any man. Paige moves lower until she gets to her heat. "I'm gonna make you feel s'good pretty girl" as soon as Paige finishes the sentence, she dives into her roommates pussy, pulling her underwear to the side. Licking up all of her wetness and letting it drip from her nose.

"FUCK P, h-holy shit" Paige smirks and starts sucking harding and licking long strokes over your clit, she moans at the new pace “too fast P, s-shit” y/n whimpering at the feelings of her roomies tongue on her pussy. Paige shakes her head back and forth “You can take it come on” she speaks firmly and dominantly.

She pulls away from her pussy, and takes her two middle fingers to y/n's mouth. Shoving it deep until she feels her finger tips touch the back of her throat. Y/n leaking from the mouth, sucking and licking every inch of paige. Paige takes her fingers out, teasing her rommates tight hole. "I want you to cum for me, you got that y/l/n?" Looking up at her roommate, laying there with a sloppy mess all on her face, slowly dripping to the side of her cheek. "Y-yes P, please just touch me, I need you s'bad" She enters her wet pussy. fingers deep inside her as her thumb comes to rub on her clit “Too much baby. it’s too much” her roommate whimpers at the overstimulation. That sounds only motivates Paige.

Her fingers curling inside y/n, her mouth agape due to the overwhelming feeling over Paiges fingers inside her. “i love seeing you like this, all slutty and vulnerable for me" paige rambles, her eyes lock y/n's , holding a deep an intense stare. Paige continues to finger fuck her roomies tight hole, going knuckles deep into her, letting her juices leak out. "FUCK BUECKERS IM GONNA CUM" y/n yells not being able to hold herself back anymore. "Cmon be my good girl, cum on my fingers, let me hear it" Paige says as she's watching her roommates limp body under her

“P-Paige I can’t” her roommate whines as her cum runs down her hand, the overstimulation starting to catch up even more. Paige rides out her high and she pulls away from y/n's sore pussy. “You did s'good for me mama, so well my girl.” praising her for being good for her. Paige gets up to grab a warm rag to wipe her tired roommate due to the action... After she's done Paige lies down next to her roommate trying to get comfy. Paige looks over to her, but she's already staring . "What?" Paige questions."tell me what that dream was about" y/n mumbles tiredly. Paige gets close to her ear, "it was a wet dream...about you sweet heart" y/n smirks, nuzzling her head into the crook of Paiges neck. paiges hand caressing y/n's back until they both fall asleep...

______________________________________________

HEY GIRLIES! I hope I served as much as I thought I did. First Tumblr post WOOOOO. Anyways I hope your week is going amazing, can't wait to write more fics for you pretty girls! 😘 😘

-Jay