#gold plated wrist watches

[kaashusa1]

Explore the Top Types of Fashion Watches That Never Go Out of Style

Fashion watches are more than timekeeping devices—they're statements of style, elegance, and personality. These accessories have stood the test of time, seamlessly blending functionality with fashion. If you're looking to elevate your wardrobe, understanding the different types of watches is key. In this guide, we’ll explore the timeless styles of fashion watches that never go out of trend, ensuring your wristwear stays relevant for years to come.

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[cinnahoons]

‎‎‎‎‎ㅤ‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎𝐏𝐋𝐀𝐂𝐄𝐇𝐎𝐋𝐃𝐄𝐑 𝐒𝐘𝐍‎𝐃𝐑𝐎𝐌𝐄 ;; " 𝗆𝖾𝖾𝗍 𝗆𝗒 𝖼𝗎𝗋𝗋𝖾𝗇𝗍 𝖻𝗈𝗒𝖿𝗋𝗂𝖾𝗇𝖽 ! "

// 𝗉𝗅𝖺𝗒𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝗍𝗁𝖾 ‘𝗆𝗒 𝖼𝗎𝗋𝗋𝖾𝗇𝗍 𝖻𝗈𝗒𝖿𝗋𝗂𝖾𝗇𝖽’ 𝗉𝗋𝖺𝗇𝗄 𝗈𝗇 𝖾𝗇𝗁𝗒𝗉𝖾𝗇 ✧

ㅤ( 𝟤𝟣𝟨𝟣 ) fluff, f!reader, established relationships, flirting, lots of offended boyfriends lol ── 𝖡𝖮𝖮𝖪𝖲𝖧𝖤𝖫𝖥 ｡⠀

✶ LEE HEESEUNG 

it’s late, and you’re both sprawled out across heeseung’s bed, legs tangled somewhere in the sheets. the glow of your phone screen keeps casting soft shadows across his face. he’s got his arm resting loosely over your stomach, his thumb tracing thoughtless circles just above the hem of your shirt. the soft scent of detergent fills your senses, and you fight the urge to burrow your face into his skin. 

heeseung’s half-awake. he scrolls with one hand, his lashes low and mouth parted slightly as you shift beside him and prop your phone up against a pillow. you hit record without ceremony, turning just enough to smile at the camera.

“just winding down with my current boyfriend,” you murmur, light and easy.

there’s a pause, in which he blinks a couple times and then turns his head toward you: eyes soft, expression unreadable, his thumb still idly moving against your side.

“…current?” he repeats, voice rough with sleep.

you hum. he holds your gaze for a long moment; not offended, not jealous, just faintly amused. then he lets out a breathy laugh, shifting to rest on one elbow. the blanket falls slightly off his shoulder.

“huh,” he says. “current’s a weird word for someone who keeps stealing my clothes.”

you grin at him. “they’re comfy.”

“mm.” he pauses like he’s considering something. “so is exclusivity.”

you laugh, nudging his shoulder, and he’s still watching you with a lazy, half-lidded look, the kind  he gets when he’s on the edge of falling asleep and still doesn’t want to miss anything.

“you want me to say last boyfriend?” you ask.

he shrugs, but his fingers tap twice against your wrist, all soft and rhythmic. “you don’t have to.”

“but you’d like it.”

“...i’d like it,” he says, simple and sure.

your smile softens. heeseung shifts closer again, pressing a kiss just under your jaw before settling back into the pillow, his voice quiet as he adds:

“just in case you forget where home is.”

✶ PARK JONGSEONG 

you’re leaning against the kitchen island while jay finishes plating up dinner, the sleeves of his button-down rolled up and gold ring glinting on his hand as he reaches for the pepper grinder.

your phone is already recording before he glances up, catching your eye.

“filming again?” he asks, amused.

“mhm,” you hum. “just getting a clip with my current boyfriend.”

he freezes. not just a little pause—a full on, blank stare. he doesn’t even blink.

you watch, holding back a laugh, as his expression flickers through at least five emotions.

then, very seriously: “you mean husband.”

“husband?” you laugh, incredulous. “you’re my current boyfriend.”

jay sets the pepper grinder down with surgical precision, walking over to you like a man on a mission.

“say it with me,” he starts, holding up one finger. “H.”

“jay—”

“U.”

you’re giggling now, but he’s persistent, stepping closer, one hand bracing on the counter beside your waist.

“come on. you wanna do this on camera? let’s do it right. say: husband. i’ll even do the dishes.”

you raise a brow. “just for that?”

he leans in, voice low against your ear. “also because i love you more than anyone on earth and your mom already likes me. but mostly the dishes.”

✶ SIM JAKE 

it’s golden hour, the sky split open in orange and peach, and jake’s standing barefoot on the patio with one hand on his hip and the other brandishing a pair of tongs like a weapon. he’s got an apron on and his sleeves are pushed up just enough to show the veins on his forearm. the air is filled with the tantalizing scent of grilled meat and seasoning, a light breeze fluttering your hair.

you’re sitting on a cooler, filming him from behind your lemonade.

“just grilling with my current boyfriend,” you say casually, zooming in on the way he flips a burger. he glances over his shoulder, unblinking.

“yep,” jake says, cool as ever. “me and my girlfriend at the moment.”

you pause, and he flashes an innocent smile at the camera. “she’s on a trial run. depends on how these burgers turn out.”

“oh my god.”

“what?” he shrugs, teasing.

you try to act annoyed,  but he’s already walking over with a plate of food, nudging your knee with his hip so you’ll make room for him. he sits beside you, setting a plate down in front of you. “you get the first one. for old time’s sake.”

you stare at him, unimpressed. “we’re still dating.”

“for now,” he says, ignoring his own words and biting into your burger.

“you’re insufferable.”

he wipes his mouth with a paper towel, grin crooked. “but still your boyfriend… currently.”

✶ PARK SUNGHOON 

you’re both in the bathroom getting ready to go out. the mirror lights are on full blast, hair tools scattered across the counter, and the air smells like his cologne and your perfume layered on top of each other. he’s standing behind you in a crisp button-down, adjusting the cuff of his sleeve with impeccable focus.

you set your phone up on the edge of the sink, press record, and lean slightly into the frame with a small smile.

“filming a quick ootd with my current boyfriend,” you say casually, tilting the camera to catch both of you in the mirror.

you’re smiling. he’s not. his fingers pause on the second cuff, gaze flicking up to the mirror. not at the camera, not at you, just a slow, almost imperceptible blink like he’s just been personally wronged by god.

you try to stifle a laugh. “hoon?”

no answer. he inhales slowly through his nose, finishes the cuff, and then continues his routine like nothing happened. except now, he’s noticeably quieter and calmer, almost eerily composed.

“...what?” you prompt again, already giggling. “you’re not gonna say anything?”

he finally speaks, his voice polite: “you’re gonna want to run that back.”

you lose it.

cut to a second clip.

same mirror, same lighting. but this time, sunghoon’s standing closer, arms crossed loosely over his chest, one brow lifted at the camera. you hold the phone up properly now, barely containing your smile. “filming a quick ootd with my husband,” you say sweetly.

he nods once, solemnly. you turn the camera toward him. “anything you want to say?”

he looks directly into the lens, a satisfied smile gracing his lips.

“just that i accept your apology. and that i’ll be changing the dinner reservation name to mr. and mrs. park.”

✶ KIM SUNOO 

you’re curled up together on the couch in your usual configuration: legs tangled under a shared blanket, your foot tucked beneath his thigh, his head propped up on a throw pillow that he fluffed to perfection before sitting down. the TV is playing something you’ve both already seen three times, which means sunoo is only half paying attention, scrolling his phone with idle little pouts at whatever he’s reading, his fingertips occasionally brushing yours like he just wants to make sure you’re still there.

he looks peaceful, relaxed, and completely unsuspecting. it’s perfect. 

you smile to yourself and lean over slightly, propping your phone up against the base of a candle on the coffee table. you clear your throat just enough to get his attention.

“just relaxing with my current boyfriend!” you coo.

you don’t even get to blink before sunoo’s head snaps up so fast you swear you almost get second-hand whiplash. “current boyfriend?”

you nod. he lets out an indignant gasp so dramatic it startles the cat lounging on the arm of your couch.

“current?”

“yeah,” you say sweetly. “just for now.”

he yanks your phone from where it’s sitting and stares into the camera like he’s on a reality show. “for the record, i’d like to say i’m being emotionally manipulated.”

“sunoo—”

“no. no. because i have done nothing but love her. i let her wear my moisturizer. my laneige. the expensive one. i call her pretty every day.” he turns to you now, eyes wide with betrayal. “do you know how many people want to be me?”

you’re laughing so hard you nearly fall off the couch. he reluctantly lets you pull him back, though not before delivering one final glance at the phone and whispering:

“delete it. or caption it current boyfriend who deserves better.” 

✶ YANG JUNGWON 

your room is quiet except for the soft shuffle of notebook pages and the occasional scratch of your highlighter dragging across text. the two of you are camped out on the floor, your legs draped over his as he leans back on one hand, casually quizzing you on terms you definitely should’ve memorized three days ago.

he’s halfway through peeling the corner of a granola bar wrapper when you set your phone on the edge of your nightstand, screen angled just barely toward the two of you. it’s subtle. he clocks it, but doesn’t say anything. you click record.

“study night with my current boyfriend,” you announce softly, eyes still on your notes.

jungwon doesn’t miss a beat. he finishes unwrapping the granola bar, breaks it in half, and offers you the bigger piece without looking up.

“hmm,” he hums. “temporary. that’s new.”

you glance at him. he’s still reading over your notes, impassive, like you didn’t just call him disposable to the internet.

“nothing to say about that?” you tease, poking at his knee with your foot.

he finally looks up, entirely unaffected, the corners of his mouth lifting just slightly.

“should i be worried?” he asks, tone light, eyes sharp. “is this the part where you trade me in for someone who doesn’t double check your citations?”

you laugh, but he’s already pulling a highlighter from the pile and uncapping it for you.

“no, really,” he continues, gesturing toward your notes. “write that down. that’s good. current boyfriend. sounds professional. clinical. a little sterile, but i’m sure devon will love it.”

“who the hell is devon?”

“your next boyfriend,” he replies easily. “hopefully he likes sour gummies. i just trained you out of the orange ones.”

you’re already losing it, giggling into your sleeve, and he just shakes his head, flipping back to your vocab list like this is all part of a recurring bit he’s well-versed in.

“let me know if he needs my login for the quizlet,” he adds absently. “seems rude to leave him hanging.”

you reach for his arm, pulling him toward you with a laugh, and he lets you, leaning in close with that same unbothered grin.

“mm,” he murmurs, tucking a lock of hair behind your ear. “current boyfriend, huh?”

you grin at him. “maybe.”

he leans in, tapping his pen lightly against your forehead.

“then i guess i better make you fall in love with me again tonight.”

✶ NISHIMURA RIKI 

he’s deep into a match when you come in, his legs folded pretzel-style in his desk chair, controller balanced loosely between his hands. he’s got his headset pushed down around his neck so you can hear both the game audio and his occasional muttered commentary. the screen casts a glow across his face, all cool blues and blinking reds, but he still looks impossibly pretty like this. focused, relaxed, and completely in his element.

you snake your arms around his shoulders from behind, pressing your cheek to the side of his head. he doesn’t startle, just shifts slightly to let you in closer before pressing a quick kiss to your cheek, tapping something on the controller with the practiced ease of someone who could do this with his eyes closed.

“say hi,” you whisper near his ear, already angling your phone to catch both of you in the shot. “this is my current boyfriend.”

he glances at the screen, grinning without missing a beat. “yo.”

you snort, turning to look at him. he catches your movement in the corner of his eye.

“what? you think you’re slick?”

you hum innocently. he turns his head a little more now, squinting at you. “fine. run that back. say final.”

you laugh, already shaking your head. “final?”

“i’m not getting replaced,” he murmurs, mock-offended.

you try to answer, but the laughter bubbles up too fast to stop. he clicks something on his controller, dies instantly in-game, and turns to face you immediately. he points a finger at your phone camera, which is still recording.

“hey. first and final.”

you laugh. “riki—” 

“no, no. it’s fine.” he leans back dramatically, eyes fixed on the ceiling. “i’ll just reinvent myself real quick. learn french or something. start doing pilates. maybe become emotionally unavailable and change my name to something mysterious like... lucien.”

you snort, forehead pressing into the curve of his shoulder. “you already dye your hair every six weeks. you don’t need to be more mysterious.”

“exactly,” he says, with the kind of confident shrug that suggests this was his point all along. “i’m the final boyfriend. nobody’s falling for your little prank.”

© cinnahoons please do not steal, plagiarize, or reupload my work.

[milfsloverblog]

Yield (nsfw)

Brienne of Tarth x Fem!Reader

A/N: I’m in my Brienne era, dreaming of a female Knight in shining armour—vowing their life to me. Ha, a girl can dream! I hope you’ll enjoy this fic, I sure did giggle and kick my feet writing it!

The sun burned low in the sky, stretching the shadows of the field long and gold. Dust curled in lazy plumes where hooves had pounded earlier in the day, and the crowd now buzzed for the final match, eager for blood, for victory, for the thrill of steel meeting steel.

Brienne of Tarth stood tall in the centre of the arena, a vision of quiet strength, her armour catching the last of the light. Her grip on the sword was firm, but her stance relaxed, confident, composed. She was favoured to win. Of course she was.

You watched her from across the field, adjusting your helmet. The weight of it grounded you, familiar and steady. You could feel your heartbeat in your throat, steady but hard. You hadn’t fought her before. Not like this. Not in front of so many eyes. Not with your identity buried beneath plate and leather.

No one knew what you were about to do—not even her.

Especially not her.

Your armour bore no sigil. No name. You were simply a late entry, a nameless challenger allowed into the ring thanks to coin, anonymity, and the chaos of an already packed roster. Your heart clenched, not with nerves—but with something hotter. Heavier. You had something to prove. Something to feel.

You wanted to face her. Not as her lover. Not as the woman she kissed behind tent flaps and starlight. But as her equal.

The horn sounded.

You advanced.

Brienne’s expression shifted at once. Curiosity narrowed her eyes as she raised her sword, taking you in with a practiced gaze. You knew that gaze. It had scanned battlefields and challengers, had lingered on your face in candlelight.

She didn’t recognize you.

Yet.

The first strike was yours. Fast, clean, testing. She met it with ease, parried with the grace of someone who’d fought all her life. But there was no condescension. She didn’t underestimate you.

Steel rang as she countered, a measured blow that caught your side and sent you staggering back a step.

You grinned beneath your helmet and lunged again.

The crowd roared at the speed of your retaliation, your blade clashing with hers in a flurry of sparks. She blocked high, then low, pivoting around you with growing focus. Her brows drew tighter, suspicion creeping in.

You fought harder. Pushed her. She was taller, stronger—but you were fast, fluid, unpredictable. You circled, ducked, feinted, then struck low to draw her balance. Her blade scraped your vambrace. Yours barely missed her thigh.

She grunted softly, more in surprise than pain.

“You’re quick,” she muttered, just loud enough for you to hear. “But reckless.”

You danced away, giving her nothing.

She came at you again, this time with real force behind the blade. You blocked, barely, the impact jarring through your wrists. Brienne pressed forward, step after step, until you were nearly at the edge of the ring.

Her sword pressed lightly to your shoulder.

“Yield,” she ordered sharply.

Still, you said nothing.

You dropped and rolled out of her reach instead, dust clouding up in your wake. The crowd erupted again, some cheering for you now, others laughing at the way you'd ducked a knight like her with no name, no house, no honor.

Brienne turned to face you, her lips parted, breath rising. Her eyes had narrowed in recognition—not of you, not yet—but of something familiar. The way you moved. The way you tested her limits.

She was starting to sense it.

“You fight like someone I know,” she said quietly.

You didn’t answer.

You just struck again.

The fight continued, longer than anyone expected. Sweat beaded beneath your armor, trickling down your spine. Brienne’s hair stuck to her forehead in golden strands. Your limbs were aching, breath coming harder now, but neither of you relented.

She locked your blade in a twist and leaned close, her voice low and urgent.

“Yield, damn it. You’ll get yourself hurt.”

Still, you didn’t break. Didn’t speak. You shoved back with a surge of strength, forcing her off-balance for just a second.

It earned you one final clash—one last, desperate flurry that ended in a brutal pivot and the flat of her sword knocking yours from your hands.

The crowd howled as your blade hit the ground with a thud.

Brienne stepped in fast, placing her sword to your chest, her shoulders heaving. “Yield.”

This time, you did.

You dropped to one knee, panting beneath your helm. “I yield.”

Relief rippled across her face. She lowered her sword an inch—but didn’t step back.

You reached up slowly and removed your helmet.

The shift in her face was instant.

Shock, horror, disbelief.

Her mouth parted, but no sound came. Her eyes swept over your face like she couldn’t trust it, like she wasn’t sure she was seeing you at all.

“Gods,” she whispered.

You gave her a slow, crooked smile.

“Told you I’d find a way to fight you.”

Her sword lowered all the way now, slipping to her side like she'd forgotten she was holding it.

“You can’t— What were you thinking?” Her voice trembled slightly, but not with fear. With anger. With disbelief. “If they knew—if anyone knew—”

“They don’t,” you said calmly, getting to your feet. “They won’t.”

“But you could’ve— I could’ve hurt you.”

“You were supposed to try.”

She stared at you like she didn’t know whether to kiss you or drag you out of the arena by your collar.

You stepped a little closer, letting your smile soften just enough to cut through the tension. “You beat me fair and square, Ser Brienne.”

The official was announcing her victory in the background. The crowd roared her name.

But she wasn’t looking at them.

She was only looking at you.

And there was something in her eyes—rage and heat and longing all tangled up beneath the armor.

You let the tension hang there between you as the moment passed.

Later, when the moon had risen and the wine had quieted the campfires, you’d find her again.

You didn’t return to your own tent after the match.

Not right away.

You wandered the edges of camp instead, letting the quiet settle back into your limbs, into your chest. The tournament had drawn to a close with laughter and mead and the clang of mugs against steel, but you kept to the shadows, avoiding the firelight and the curious questions.

No one had recognized you. No one had pieced it together.

Except her.

She hadn’t looked at you during the celebration. Not once. Hadn’t approached while the other knights clapped her on the back, praising her victory. Her smile had been hollow, her eyes always fixed somewhere just beyond the crowd.

You knew that look.

Brienne was angry. Not because you’d lost. Not because you’d surprised her. But because she couldn’t say what she wanted to say.

Not there. Not in front of them.

Which was why you weren’t surprised to find her in your tent.

You slipped inside quietly, lifting the flap with a practiced hand. The lantern was already lit. She sat on the edge of your narrow cot, legs apart, elbows on her knees, hands clasped like she was trying to hold herself together.

She’d removed her armor, though the padded tunic beneath still clung to her frame. Her hair was damp from a rushed wash, curling slightly at the edges.

She didn’t look at you when you entered.

“I could’ve hurt you,” she said, voice low and tight.

You closed the flap behind you. “You didn’t.”

“You could’ve broken something. Your wrist. Your ribs.”

“I didn’t.”

“You could’ve ruined us.” Her voice rose then, only slightly—but enough to twist the air taut between you.

You stood still. “But I didn’t.”

Brienne finally looked up.

Her eyes, storm-dark, caught yours like a snare.

“You’re reckless.”

“I wanted to know if I could hold my own against you.”

“That wasn’t the way.”

You stepped closer, slow and quiet, like you might spook her.

“It was the only way. If I asked, you would’ve said no.”

She looked away.

“That’s not true.”

“It is. You’d have said no to protect me.” You crouched before her then, knees aching a little from the day’s battle. “And I love you for it. But I needed to do this. I needed to see.”

Brienne’s eyes flicked back to yours. “You could’ve said something.”

“In front of all those people? Who still think I’m only the King’s niece with a fondness for swords? You know what they’d do if they found out about us. About you.”

Silence stretched.

Long and heavy.

And then—very slowly—Brienne lifted one hand, rough and callused, to your face. Her thumb brushed the curve of your cheek, soft as a breath.

“I knew it was you,” she murmured. “Not at first. But something about the way you moved. I kept thinking: she fights like someone I know. Someone I—”

She stopped herself, but you heard it in the space between the words.

Someone I love.

You leaned into her touch. Let her feel you, warm and real and unbroken beneath her fingers.

“I never meant to frighten you,” you whispered.

Brienne let out a soft exhale. “You didn’t. You just… undid me.”

You stood then, slow and deliberate, your eyes locked with hers. Her hand dropped to her lap as you stepped between her knees. Her breath caught when your fingers gently found her jaw.

You kissed her—softly at first. Testing. A question.

She answered in kind, her hands finding your hips, her mouth moving against yours with slow, desperate hunger. Like she’d been waiting all day to touch you. To taste you.

When you broke the kiss, your lips barely brushed hers as you whispered:

“Yield.”

Her breath shuddered against your mouth.

And then she did.

She slid from the cot, dropping to her knees before you with a grace that made your stomach twist. Her hands smoothed over the backs of your thighs, reverent. Her eyes stayed on yours, blue and burning.

No hesitation. No shame. Only need.

“I would,” she murmured. “Only for you.”

You threaded your fingers into her hair and smiled, the kind of smile meant for no one else but her.

The kind that said mine.

Her breath hitched softly when your fingers curled tighter in her hair. She looked up at you from her knees—flushed, devoted, undone. No armor. No titles. Just Brienne.

Your Brienne.

You stroked your thumb across her cheek, marveling at the heat in her skin, the way her pupils stayed fixed on you like you were a star and she, a knight who’d spent a lifetime following the wrong light.

“Take your time,” you murmured. “No one’s watching now.”

Her lips parted slightly. You saw the hesitation flicker in her expression—respect, restraint, reverence—but you didn’t want reverence tonight. You wanted to be known.

You stepped back, just enough to unlace the front of your trousers, fingers a little clumsy from the nerves still buzzing under your skin. Brienne didn’t help. She waited, watching, breathing unevenly through parted lips.

When you bared yourself to her, you saw the change in her eyes—how they went darker, heavier with want. Still, she didn’t move. Not until you whispered:

“Please.”

That single word undid her.

She leaned forward, kissing the inside of your thigh first, just above your knee, soft and reverent. Then higher. Another kiss. Then a third, closer now, her breath warming your skin until your legs trembled beneath her. Her hands slid up to hold your hips—firm, grounding you—just before her mouth finally found you.

You gasped.

Her tongue moved slow, deliberate, drawing a long stroke through your folds like she meant to memorize you. She groaned low in her throat at the taste, the vibration sparking deep in your belly. Her hands gripped your thighs tighter as she licked again, pressing firmer now, more sure.

“Gods, Brienne—” Your head fell back, knees threatening to buckle, but she didn’t let you fall. Her arms wrapped around your legs, keeping you steady, holding you right where she wanted you.

Her mouth worshipped you like she was praying—gentle, rhythmic, unrelenting. Every flick of her tongue pulled another sound from you, raw and breathless, until you were panting her name in broken syllables.

She didn’t speak. She didn’t need to.

Everything she wanted to say was in the way her lips wrapped around your clit, the way her tongue flattened and lapped, the way she kept moaning softly between your thighs like this—you—was the only thing that had ever made her feel alive.

When your fingers tangled tighter in her hair and your hips began to rock against her mouth, she didn’t stop. She adjusted. Let you chase it. Let you grind against her tongue as if nothing in the world mattered but getting closer.

You came with a cry muffled against your own knuckles, stars bursting behind your eyes, thighs shaking around her shoulders. She held you through it. Steady, patient, reverent still—as you rode the wave down, gasping her name.

When you finally opened your eyes, she was still on her knees, lips wet, eyes burning.

You tugged her up to you by the front of her tunic, crashing your mouth into hers, tasting yourself on her tongue. She kissed you back, deep and hungry, like she needed to remind herself you were real.

You pulled away just enough to murmur against her lips, “Lie with me.”

Brienne didn’t answer. She simply scooped you into her arms and settled you both onto the narrow cot like you weighed nothing at all. Her hand found yours between your bodies, fingers lacing together.

And in the dark, tangled in sweat and breath and silence, you pressed your forehead to hers and whispered:

“You can always ask me to yield for you.”

She smiled then—small, shy, and entirely hers.

“I know.”

————————————————————————

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[riddlesrizzler]

Tackled at the Tailgate

summary: Who knew tailgates could be romantic? characters: frat bro! mattheo. sweetheart! reader. frat boy! slytherin boys warnings: mentions of alcohol word count: 1.7k

By the time the morning light spilled across the lawn of Sigma Nu, the world had already shifted.

Sunlight broke through the clouds in soft golden beams, casting a honeyed glow over the dew-slick grass, which shimmered like it had been kissed by stardust overnight. The entire street pulsed with an undercurrent of excitement-a barely-contained buzz in the air, like the seconds before a storm breaks, only this storm smelled like beer, cheap cologne, fresh-cut grass, and something distinctly electric.

Banners flapped in the breeze, fraying slightly at the edges, their bold letters spray-painted in colors that had long since faded from too many seasons of tailgate glory. Empty cans rattled down sidewalks like windblown tumbleweeds, pushed by the same breeze that carried the bass thrum of music into the sky. The Sigma Nu snake, regal and coiled, stared down from every flagpole and cooler with a smug kind of pride-an unspoken dare to any other frat who thought they could compete.

Mattheo Riddle stood at the edge of it all-silent, composed, watchful. His broad shoulders tensed beneath a charcoal gray hoodie already dusted with grass stains and pollen, the sleeves pushed up to his elbows, exposing strong forearms inked with memories and mischief. He sipped slowly from a red Solo cup, watching pledges scurry with folding tables and speaker cords like ants desperate to impress their queen.

He didn’t speak often during tailgate setup, but when he did, his voice cut through the chaos like a blade.

“If that table wobbles,” he called, not even looking up from his drink, “and she spills anything-you're walking home from this tailgate.”

They knew exactly who she was.

And then-like a scene written by fate-she arrived.

Her glitter-dusted Jeep pulled up in a swirl of sunlight and dust, the engine humming like the opening chord of a favorite song. She stepped out like the universe had slowed down to watch. Cooler in one hand, sunglasses perched on the tip of her nose, a cropped Alpha Delta Pi jersey tied at the waist, and white sneakers so clean they glowed. A dainty gold necklace glinted at her collarbone, catching the light with every step she took.

The Sweetheart of Sigma Nu.

The crowd shifted as if pulled by her gravity. A few girls waved, a few boys tripped over themselves trying to offer help, and one pledge abandoned an entire stack of plates just to grab her cooler. She moved through it all like she was born for this moment-composed, radiant, the kind of beautiful that didn’t feel real unless you were lucky enough to see it in motion.

Mattheo’s smirk betrayed him before his words could. He didn’t move to greet her. He didn’t need to. She was already walking toward him.

“Morning, Sweetheart,” a voice called.

“Morning, boys,” she replied, her laugh dancing through the air like wind chimes.

She passed Mattheo with a sideways glance and the ghost of a smirk-one he knew was meant only for him. And when she winked, like a secret shared across a battlefield of red cups and dented coolers, something settled in his chest. Something heavy. Something familiar.

By noon, the party was in full bloom. The Sigma Nu lawn had become a tapestry of noise and motion and color. Cornhole bags flew lazily through the air, music spilled from truck beds and balconies, and someone had tied gold streamers to the backs of barstools just because it looked festive. The air smelled like sunscreen, hot dogs, and something that would become nostalgic in later years.

The porch was a patchwork of peeling paint and sun-faded frat pillows, but she made it look like a throne.

Tucked into the corner of a battered couch, legs folded beneath her like a cat in the sun, she had Mattheo’s Sigma Nu hoodie wrapped loosely around her shoulders-its sleeves pushed up to reveal delicate wrists stacked with beaded bracelets and a faint smear of glitter along her forearm. Her cheeks were flushed with heat and laughter, eyes half-lidded behind oversized sunglasses as she sipped lazily from a half-empty Solo cup.

The chaos of the tailgate buzzed around her-music pulsing from the lawn, someone yelling about a lost frisbee, Blaise singing off-key into a broomstick-but she sat above it all, untouched and glowing. Like she belonged to a slower, sweeter world tucked just out of reach.

Mattheo returned from the grill, balancing a paper plate in one hand, condensation dripping from a cold can of Sprite in the other.

“Figured you’d forget to eat,” he said, holding out the plate.

On it: a cheeseburger-perfectly seared, still steaming, bun slightly smushed at the edges-and a handful of chips with no napkin in sight.

She blinked up at him, lips parted in surprise. “Wait… did you just voluntarily bring me food?”

“I know,” he said, deadpan. “Call the Pope.”

She laughed as she scooted over, patting the seat beside her with the heel of her palm. “Did you make it?”

“Watched it cook. That’s close enough.”

He dropped down beside her, his thigh brushing hers. The couch groaned under his weight, the springs protesting like they knew exactly what kind of tension they were holding.

She peeled back the foil all the way, the smell hitting her immediately-grilled onions, melty cheese, that warm toasted-bread comfort. Her stomach growled audibly.

Mattheo smirked. “Told you.”

“Fine,” she said, breaking the burger in half and handing him a piece. “You can stay.”

“Lucky me.”

They ate in companionable silence for a moment, the kind that only came with familiarity-the kind built on midnight study sessions, long walks back from parties, and whispered confessions on rooftops no one else knew how to find.

She wiped her mouth with the back of her hand, laughing when Mattheo offered the corner of his sleeve.

“Gross,” she said, but used it anyway.

“I’m a man of many talents,” he murmured.

“Apparently. Grill master. Sleeve provider. Sweetheart handler.”

His expression softened, gaze dipping to her lips before he quickly looked away. “I don’t handle you. That would be impossible.”

She smiled down at the burger like it was suddenly the most interesting thing on earth. “You’d be surprised.”

A gust of wind tugged at the streamers tied to the porch rail. She shivered, more from the weight of the moment than the breeze, and instinctively curled closer to him. The hoodie smelled like him-cologne and soap and bonfire smoke, earthy and warm and unmistakably him.

He leaned back, arm stretched lazily across the back of the couch, fingers barely grazing her shoulder.

“You always show up like that,” he said suddenly.

“Like what?”

“Like a goddamn movie scene. That Jeep rolling up. That laugh. The sunglasses. The glitter.” He turned his head slightly, eyes finding hers. “You wreck the whole party in three seconds flat.”

She didn’t answer right away. She couldn’t.

Instead, she looked down at her half-eaten burger, heart thudding against her ribs like it wanted out.

“I never know what to say when you talk like that,” she whispered.

“You don’t have to say anything,” he replied, just as soft. “You’re already the best part of my day.”

The game played on somewhere in the background, Theo screaming at the radio, Blaise doing a keg stand for no reason other than the crowd had started to chant his name. Enzo ran laps around the lawn with a Sigma Nu flag billowing behind him like he was leading a charge into war.

But on the porch, time folded in.

And for a moment, it was just them. Sharing a burger on a broken couch, wrapped in sun and shadows and something that felt dangerously close to forever.

But Mattheo stayed seated, eyes on her.

Until the football came flying.

It landed with a soft thud beside her sneakers, rolling to a stop like it knew it had found the most important person on the lawn.

“Oh no,” she said, holding her drink like it was fine china. “Absolutely not.”

“You’re playing,” Theo shouted. “House rule!”

“I bruise like a peach,” she argued, already laughing.

“Two-hand touch!” Blaise yelled back. “We’re not monsters!”

“Let me guess,” she said, standing. “If I’m playing, Mattheo is too?”

Mattheo arched a brow and drained the rest of his drink. “Obviously.”

The teams formed quickly, lines drawn in the grass with crushed cup borders and sun-faded frat shirts.

Mattheo stood behind her as quarterback, fingers brushing her waist to guide her forward.

“Run left,” he whispered near her ear, his breath warm against her skin. “I’ll find you.”

She shivered. Not from cold.

The game was glorious chaos-wild laughter, tangled limbs, and the kind of fake competitiveness that comes from people who know each other too well. She juked left, then right, her laughter ringing out every time someone missed a tag. Her cheeks flushed with sunlight and adrenaline, her eyes bright and wild.

Then she ran straight into Mattheo’s arms.

He caught her easily, one hand around her waist, the other bracing her fall. They tumbled into the grass like a moment suspended in amber-time slowing as they landed in a mess of limbs and breathlessness.

She was beneath him, wide-eyed, laughing. Grass tangled in her hair. The sun turning her into a painting.

“Did I win?” she breathed.

He smirked, leaning over her, weight balanced on his elbows. “You always do.”

She stared up at him, and for one long moment, the party faded-voices distant, the world blurry around the edges.

He brushed a blade of grass from her cheek.

“Do you ever think,” he murmured, “we’re just… meant to end up in moments like this?”

Her breath caught. “You mean sweaty, grass-stained, and slightly concussed?”

He laughed, soft and full. “Something like that.”

The cheers called them back-Theo yelling about penalties, someone screaming about a pizza delivery.

Mattheo stood and offered her his hand.

She took it.

Their fingers threaded together, instinctive now.

As he pulled her to her feet, their laughter trailing behind them like confetti in the wind, neither of them noticed the way the sun dipped lower, casting everything in a golden haze.

It had started as just another tailgate.

But the way he looked at her-like she was a secret only he knew, like she was already his and just didn’t realize it yet-told a different story.

One that wasn’t finished.

One that was only just beginning.

[revelboo]

Feel free to ignore this, but I just thought it would be a funny scenario/match because of just How Much™️ it is:

🌶️Megatron x Reader x Predaking🌶️

🤣 R.I.P. those holes ✌️

😂 that poor human somehow has both scary dogs? Predaking is at least civilized, unlike Megs. 🔞 mass displaced mechs 🌶️

Scenario-Bargaining chip

TFP Megatron x Reader, Predaking x Reader

• How’d you get in this situation? Had never imagined that just talking to the big, lonely, alien dragon could backfire so badly. Frowning up at Megatron, you wonder exactly how much of that glowing purple stuff he’s snorted to decide this was a good idea. And he’s hooking a clawed servo in your harness to tug you stumbling closer. Know you should probably say something, put a stop to whatever this is, but when you glance at Predaking, there’s a vulnerable hunger in his stare that keeps you from protesting. Realizing you want him.

• Grinning crookedly at your indignant frown, he grips your shoulders and turns you. To face the mass displaced predacon before shoving your robe off your shoulders to make you gasp and he has to grab your wrists to keep you from grabbing for it. “Think of it as a perk for your loyalty to the cause, if you will,” Megatron says, meeting Predaking’s optics over the top of your head. And for all your annoyance, he’s seen how relaxed you are with the bigger mech. More at ease with Predaking than him even if he hates it. “My pet likes you well enough.”

• “Your pet,” Predaking growls in offense, optics narrowing. Hating that the warlord views you as a toy to be passed around. It’s dishonorable, a slight against you. But as you look up at him, he can’t deny he wants you, that he’s tempted to steal you as his. To protect you and treat you like should be. “Give the human to me if you want my loyalty.” And Megatron laughs, servos tangling in the leash at your throat, his palm landing on your hip. ‘Not an option,’ the warlord growls, tone firm before his hand slides lower to stroke you.

• Grabbing onto his wrist as he presses a servo inside you sending you up onto tiptoes with a gasp. Playing with you while Predaking watches. And those gold optics never look away as your body heats. Hear yourself whimpering “please” and you don’t know if you’re asking Megatron to stop or for Predaking to touch you.

• Aware of the fact that the other mech is bigger than he is when he’s used to towering over his followers, he curls his other hand around your neck, encouraging you to lay your head back against his shoulder. To relax into him. Just because he’s willing to offer you as a treat to ensure Predaking’s loyalty, doesn’t mean he’s willing to give you up. You’re his. Cheek brushing yours, he smiles as Predaking’s attention dips to his servo lazily stroking inside you. “You don’t mind, do you, Pet?”

• A growl rumbling from him, Predaking’s spike stirs behind his plating hearing those soft, needy noises you’re making and seeing how slick Megatron’s servo is as it slips free of you. Wanting, but hating that you’re being used as a pawn to win him over.

• Face reddening as you meet Predaking’s optics, you tremble. “I don’t mind,” you manage, embarrassed and aroused. Because Predaking is everything Megatron isn’t. Chivalrous, kind, and honest. And his growl roughens as Predaking strides closer, looming over you and Megatron both. A hand lifting and stopping just shy of cupping your cheek. A question in his expression and you lean your face into his big palm. ‘I accept,’ he growls. You feel Megatron press his mouth against your neck, before pushing you forward to stumble into Predaking.

• Smirking when you glare back at him, Megatron’s amusement falters when Predaking tips your chin his way, hooking his other arm around you to hoist you up against his chassis. And it’s almost too intimate when the bigger mech leans his head against yours. Lips brushing your cheek as you loop your arms around his neck. This was his idea, but he suddenly hates it, hates someone else touching you.

• Cupping your face, Predaking’s mouth slides against yours as he kneels with you. Aware of the warmth of you in his arms, the beat of your heart. And he’s laying you down, knowing how much of a risk he’s taking just to have this moment. That if Megatron plans to betray him, it’ll be now when he’s distracted. Vulnerable. “Are you sure?” He asks and you kiss him. Freeing his spike, he cups you, servos carefully exploring as his mouth slides against your neck. Finds you slicker than he expected and he grips his spike guiding himself to you. Groaning at how tight you are as he sinks deep.

• Arching when he sheaths himself, stretching you with a slight burn so you feel every ridge of his spike, and you hang onto him as he begins moving. Hips pumping lazily. Unhurriedly claiming you as his optics never leave your eyes. And it’s completely different than Megatron’s urgent, rough dominance. Losing yourself to the drive of his hips, the heat of his mouth, and the rumbling sound of his venting.

• Freeing his own spike and gripping himself, Megatron watches you writhe under the bigger mech. Listening to those sounds you’re making for Predaking and jealousy twists through him. That you might prefer the predacon over him. And you’re arching on a cry, the other mech’s thrusts becoming more urgent, before he groans and shudders against you. Overloading inside you. Then brushing his cheek against yours, whispering to you. Making Megatron painfully aware of how addictive you are. That this might have been a mistake.

• Reluctantly slipping free of your slick heat, he brushes his mouth against your temple. And stiffens when Megatron shoulders past him, bumping him. “Such a good, pet,” he snarls, kneeling and flipping you onto your belly. Tensing as the warlord sheaths his spike inside you, rutting against you rough and fast. Making that urge to steal you grow even stronger. To treat you like a treasure to protect.

[xichilie]

Imagine THIS for Mydei’s secret friend fic

Mydei and his friend are full on sparring at the training grounds, and phainon witnesses it. He would be shocked but also admire her for her strength, and how she keeps up with mydeis relentless blows and even managed to match his blows with her own, he definitely Wana spar with her too

Omg yes, phainon would be like 😲

Mydei x (fem)reader

The sun blazed overhead, casting long shadows over the training grounds. The air thrummed with anticipation, the rhythmic clash of metal against metal echoing across the vast space. Phainon had come to check in on Mydei, but what he stumbled upon instead left him frozen in place, eyes widening in astonishment.

Mydei and Y/N were locked in a brutal, dazzling spar.

Mydei lunged first, his armored fists gleaming under the sunlight, golden plates covering his forearms and knuckles. With each strike, a pulse of crimson energy crackled from his blows, sending shockwaves through the ground. Y/N barely dodged, rolling to the side before pivoting on her heel, bringing her greatsword up in a sharp arc to counter.

The sheer force of their attacks sent bursts of dust into the air, the heat from Y/N’s flames mingling with the intensity of Mydei’s crimson crystals. Sparks flew as their powers clashed, the training ground bathed in a flickering dance of red and gold.

Phainon gawked.

Y/N matched Mydei’s relentless aggression, blocking his punches with precise movements, her greatsword a barrier of unyielding strength. She wasn’t just defending—she was striking back with just as much force. Every swing of her weapon ignited the air, leaving streaks of fire in her wake, the heat distorting the space around them.

Mydei smirked, eyes gleaming with something akin to respect. He rarely found opponents who could withstand his unrelenting onslaught, yet here she was—meeting him head-on, undeterred.

Y/N stepped forward, shifting her stance before slamming her blade into the ground, sending a shockwave of flames racing toward him. Mydei didn’t falter. Instead, he lifted a fist, crimson energy surging around him before he punched the ground in retaliation. A web of jagged, crimson crystals erupted, shattering the incoming firewave in a brilliant explosion of color and force.

The sheer impact forced both combatants to skid backward, their feet digging into the dirt. Mydei wiped a bead of sweat from his brow, but his grin remained. “Not bad.”

Y/N smirked back. “You’re not bad yourself.”

Phainon, still spectating, crossed his arms and let out a low whistle. “Damn.”

Not willing to let up, Mydei shifted his weight and launched himself at Y/N with blistering speed. His fist, encased in golden armor, arced through the air like a comet. Y/N barely had time to raise her sword in defense. The impact rang out like thunder, the sheer force of it pushing her back several feet, her boots digging trenches into the dirt.

But she recovered fast. With a flick of her wrist, the greatsword became wreathed in flames, its edges glowing white-hot. She dashed forward, her weapon a fiery blur as she swung in a rapid series of strikes. Mydei blocked with his forearms, the clash sending sparks flying as crimson energy flared against fire.

Y/N pivoted low, aiming a sweeping strike at Mydei’s legs, but he leaped over it, twisting mid-air. With a powerful downward punch, he sent a crimson crystal spike erupting from the ground beneath her. Y/N reacted instantly, slamming her greatsword down, splitting the jagged crystal in half as flames burst outward in a violent explosion.

Mydei landed, rolling with the force before coming up in a crouch. The air between them shimmered with heat and energy, both warriors breathing heavily yet grinning.

Phainon gawked. He had never seen anyone keep up with Mydei like this—besides himself. And now, watching Y/N hold her own, power and precision in perfect harmony, something ignited within him.

“I definitely wanna spar with her next,” he muttered to himself, eyes gleaming with excitement.

Mydei and Y/N exchanged a brief glance, as if silently acknowledging the intensity of their duel. Then, without a word, they surged at each other once more, their battle a perfect blend of raw power, agility, and skill.

Phainon watched, captivated, knowing he had just witnessed something truly rare—Mydei had found an equal.

The battle raged on, their movements growing more fluid, a dance of raw strength and expert precision. But as time dragged on, Y/N’s stamina began to wane. Her swings became slower, her footwork less precise. Sweat dripped from her brow, and her breath came in ragged gasps. Mydei, however, remained as relentless as ever, his attacks unyielding, his pace unchanged.

A final, crushing blow from Mydei sent Y/N sprawling onto the dirt, her greatsword clattering from her grip. She lay there, chest rising and falling rapidly, utterly spent. The fight was over.

Phainon expected Mydei to simply stand over his fallen opponent, triumphant and indifferent as usual. But to his astonishment, Mydei stepped forward, his expression softening ever so slightly. Without a word, he reached down and extended a hand to Y/N.

Y/N blinked in surprise before grasping his hand. Mydei pulled her up with ease, steadying her when she swayed slightly on her feet. He didn’t let go immediately, his grip firm yet careful, his golden-armored fingers wrapped securely around hers.

“You alright?” His voice was gruff, but there was an undertone of concern that caught Phainon completely off guard.

Y/N gave a breathless chuckle, wiping sweat from her brow with the back of her free hand. “Yeah... just exhausted.”

Mydei nodded, releasing her hand only after he was sure she had regained her balance. His gaze lingered on her for a moment longer before he turned away, crossing his arms over his chest.

Phainon, still standing off to the side, watched with his mouth slightly open in shock. He never thought he’d see Mydei act so... considerate.

“Unbelievable,” he muttered to himself, shaking his head. He had seen Mydei defeat countless opponents, leaving them in the dust without a second glance. And yet, here he was, checking on Y/N, ensuring she was okay.

Phainon ran a hand through his hair, still processing what he had just witnessed. “What the hell is going on?” he murmured to himself, his disbelief only growing stronger by the second.

Meanwhile, Mydei shot Phainon a glare. “You got a problem?”

Phainon threw his hands up defensively. “Nope, nope. Just... taking it all in.” He smirked. “Guess even the mighty Mydei has a soft spot.”

Mydei scowled. “Shut up.”

Y/N laughed, shaking her head as she stretched her sore limbs. “You two are something else.”

Phainon chuckled, eyes still dancing with amusement. “Oh, trust me, I know.”

[sassatoru]

DAD I’M FROM THE FUTURE

pairing. bruce wayne x daughter!reader

warnings. time travel shenanigans, canon typical violence

summary. reader is Bruce’s daughter from the future.

a/n. i was watching the batman trilogy last night and this came to me. doesn’t follow the dark knight timeline, gonna do a battinson one later.

You’d gotten yourself in quite the situation, messing around in Central City helping out the speedsters with their problems and then accidentally getting yourself thrown back in time. You landed somewhere familiar at least, Gotham City just.. older, less advanced.

From when you were younger, lucky for you the people of Gotham tried to mind their business, nobody spared a glance at the girl in a batsuit, dark purple and a gold orange. Despite the streets looking different the path wasn’t.

You worked your way across the rooftops, swiftly and agile. You made it to Wayne manor in a matter of minutes, going through an open window on the highest floor and creeping through the halls quietly and down to entrance of the cave.

Pressing the three notes on the piano in the centre of the room the hidden door behind the glass shelves swinging open, you step through into the old elevator, going down.

What you don’t know is that Bruce is already waiting for you down there, watching on the cameras. “Who is that?” He asks Alfred, who merely shrugs in response. “Not a clue, Master Bruce.”

The elevator hits the underground floor, before you twist to the side out of the way of a batarang coming your way. “What the hell?” You scowl, dodging when you’re lunged at, you move to hit back but are stopped by Bruce’s hand catching your wrist.

“Let go,” you mutter, he doesn’t budge. “Bruce!” You shout, the name foreign on your tongue.

You see his eyes widen behind the mask and he steps back, “how do you know my name?”

“Let go and I’ll explain.” You retort, his eyes scan your suit, hardened Kevlar plates on titanium-dipped tri-weave fibres, just like his suit.

“Fine,” he releases your wrist, crossing his arms and watching as you pull your mask off. “I’m from the future,” you say, “a future where you’re my dad.”

Alfred chokes on the tea he was drinking and Bruce shoots him a look. “You don’t believe me, i get it. No proof, but dad— Bruce you gotta believe me. Everything i know is because of you.”

Bruce stares, “why’d i take you in?”

He almost smiles at the look that flashes through your eyes, hope, care, pride. “You saved me, you saved all of us. We were like you, orphaned, well me and Dick at least. You didn’t want us to go down the same path as you did, so you taught us.”

Something about you reminded Bruce of himself, a version of him that was happy, younger. “Why’re you here?” He asks, hesitantly taking his mask off, you know better it’s a show of trust, he’s giving you a chance.

“You know Flash? I got mixed up helping out speedsters, got into a fight and thrown back in time. Not sure how long I’ll be here until they figure where in time I’m stuck.” You say, “but shouldn’t be too long.”

“Hm,” he hums gruffly, you don’t take offence to his lack of response, it’d be more concerning if he gave you actual words. Your eyes flicker to the array of screens behind you, case files on the desk, pictures of bodies. “The Riddler case?” You ask, Bruce raises a brow at you.

“You know about it?”

“I’m a little rusty on the details but i can help?” He doesn’t say no as he turns away, despite this not being your Bruce, you could still read him.

MEANWHILE

Barry grunts as he’s slammed into the wall, Bruce scowling down at him. “What do you mean you lost her?” Bruce hisses.

“I mean she’s gone, Bruce. Thrown through time,” Barry groans, breathily due to the way Bruce’s forearm is pressed to his neck.

“Bruce, cmon. We need him to get her back,” Dick, ever the voice of reason.

“We have other speedsters,” Bruce scoffs, his signature glare present. Despite wanting to break every bone is Barry’s body, Bruce lets him go. “How do we find her?”

“Thats easier, magic.” He hears from behind, Zatara.

“This isn’t a league mission,” Bruce mutters.

“But you need us,” Dick adds, Bruce doesn’t deny it, he’s not a speedster or a sorcerer. Dick takes his silence as a ‘good to go’, motioning for the rest of them to begin. “This is hers,” Dick says, handing Zatara a fluffy blanket with the Flash logo on the back.

Barry can’t help the little smile that crosses his lips, you’ve always been one of his biggest fans. he remembers the first time he met you, you were at least seven years old, and you just stared at him silently. eyes wide with adoration, and later you mentioned the Flash being your hero.

His smile drops when he sees the glare Bruce throws his way.

—

“So dad— Bruce, sorry man. Keep forgetting,” you grin sheepishly at the Batman, he doesn’t reply per usual.

“What’s the story here?”

“Nothing,” he replies dryly as you spin in his chair, he seems unamused but sighs and keeps his mouth shut, letting you enjoy the little things. Alfred steps in, setting a plate of cookies and two glasses of milk down on an empty spot on the table trashed with stacked up files and strewn papers.

“We’re not children—” Bruce complains before cutting himself off when you eagerly reach for a glass and a cookie, Bruce cracks an amused smile, before nodding a silent thanks to Alfred. The butler chuckles before making his leave.

“How long until I— your dad comes for you?” Bruce questions, with a raised brow, taking a glass for himself.

“Should be soon, you’ve probably got everyone busting their asses to get me home.”

Home. It’s a strange concept to him, that anyone else, let alone a dozen children think of his manor as a home, let alone him as one too.

“You’re a good dad, B.”

You pause for a moment before continuing, “i mean you have your moments of… less good dad moments but overall. You do great with us, you’re gonna doubt it a lot a times. But you gotta remember in the future you’re not alone anymore.”

He stays silent, “I’ve enjoyed this,” he admits.

“The idea of having a daughter, let alone more kids. I like it, I can see why i adopt all of you in the future, especially you. I know I’m doing right if you’ve turned out like this, you’re a good kid, and a great hero.”

You want to cry, you always do when you hear him praise you. But the moment is cut short when Barry is suddenly in the middle of the cave.

You shoot up, “Barry?”

“Kid!” The speedster grins, he’s at your side in less than a second. “You had me worried, i thought Bruce was gonna kill me— oh hi Bruce.”

Your father — past father? future father? — seems unimpressed, glaring at the man in red. A hole rips through the air, and through it you can see your father, current dad, you can see the worry in his eyes, the sight of his greying hair all too familiar, comforted by the sight of him.

Beside him you see Zatara in some soft of trance, you don’t question it as you rush forwards towards the portal to get to your dad. Before you can pass through you turn back around rushing back to past Bruce’s side.

Bruce’s arms wind around you when you topple in his arms, hugging him tightly, “thank you.” You whisper, your dad watches from the other side of the portal, his heart twisting, he knows how much this would mean to past Bruce.

“How do i find you?” Bruce asks softly, he holds you tightly, not wanting to let you go.

“Don’t worry, I’ll find you.” You reply, pulling away. “I promise.”

He lets you go, with the promise that you’ll find each other. You’ll find your way home, you know that much. You’ll find your dad, whether he exists in whatever universe you’re in or not. You’ll always find Bruce Wayne, whether its his memory or a picture of him, whether he’s real or fake.

You and Barry make your way through the portal as it closes, past Bruce can see the relief in his future selfs eyes once you’re back with him.

Nobody sees how later that night your dad doesn’t leave your side, the fear of ever losing you settling in.

He’ll savour whatever moments he can get with you now.

© e-nonsense. do no copy/steal/translate. do it and I’ll bite your toes off

[hermesserpent-stuff]

hey hey hey hey hey @honey-minded-hivemind remy meeting a tiny creed!

lost time au is getting a small start

“Did pa put you down here to-to to punish me?!? I havent been that bad… Im trying. The monster is trying.”

Tears start to fall from those golden pools and Remy finds his heart breaking. The kid looks maybe thirteen. Maybe younger. Hard to say with all the malnourishment. Remy slowly stretches and starts examining his own chains. He keeps his voice warm and clam.

“Non, he dont got no power over me. Plus if I be a workin’ for him, why he gonna lock me in chains too? Non. he dont like my peepers.”

The kid blinks and seems to be trying to see Remy’s eyes himself, a spark of curiosity there despite everything. Remy grins and winks at the kid.

“Mind if I shimmie over? It’d be easier to see my eyes if I get closer.”

Wide 20.83eyes watch him. 

“If pa… well if he didnt put you here to punish me… I shouldnt be talking to you.”

“Aw, wasnt askin’ for you to talk to me. Just if you minded if I got closer. You dont have to say yes.”

Remy states plainly. He starts fiddling with his cuffs again. He could blow up the hinges with a small spark but hes not sure what power lay in the new fushia that had taken over his sparks. He examines it sticking out his tongue and tilts is head. He could bobbyp\pin it. Less easy but, less likely to knock off a wrist.

“Yes.”

The reedy whisper comes out. And Remy nods and pushes himself as close as the chains let him. He leans forward so his eyes are easy to see. The kid’s mouth opens into a little ‘o’ and Remy can see some wickedly sharp teeth there. The kid slowly lifts a shaky hand, that Remy can now see is tipped with razor-sharp claws. He lowers his head just a little so the kid can touch his face easily. Kid is a mutant. Like Remy. and however Remy feels being stuck in the past… Remy knows he cannot let this stand. He had seen the plate of fangs that he now knows belonged to this little kid that is staring at Remy’s eyes, head tilting to get a better look. 

“You smell funny mister.”

“Remy aint no mister petit.”

Remy responds softly as the kid’s nose scrunches.

“Still smells funny.”

“Thats probably cause I make sparks sometimes.”

“Make sparks?”

The kid has a heavy curiosity that makes the gold eyes glitter. Remy grins and slowly raises a hand to the side. The hand leaves his face as the kid’s brows scrunch up tight. Remy lets one fushia spark slip out and pop. The kid grabs his hand and starts sniffing it over. The kid freezes as Remy adjusts how he is sitting. Eyes look up at him through a sheet of hair, fear echoing loudly from the kid. Remy gives a soft grin and looks away like he would for his cats when they were being flighty. Warm air passes over his fingers as he hears snuffling. His fingers are moved about and gently investigated.

[writerbee-ffs]

Summary:

000: https://www.tumblr.com/writerbee-ffs/784659392500023296/000

001:

Atlanta, 1992

ShaNiece McIntyre, 33

Oh baby, baby, baby

I got so much love in me

Ooh (baby, baby) baby, baby, baby

‘Cause if you’re gonna get me off

You gotta love me deep…

ShaNiece swayed her hips to the newest TLC track, wine cooler in hand, curves dipping low with every beat. She was in her element. Vibing. Glowing. Free.

Her mama had finally caved and agreed to watch Shanaye for the night. Fifteen or not, that little girl had more energy than most grown folks, and ShaNiece—thirty, fine, and flying solo—needed a break.

Sure, she’d made what Big Mama still called “the biggest mistake of her life” at eighteen. But that baby saved her. Made her sharper. Wiser. Stronger. She went to college, graduated top of her class, and broke into finance like a storm in heels. In a world full of men trying to “rescue” her from single motherhood, she was already saving herself—six figures deep, child in tow.

She was good. Or so she thought.

“Damn, Niecy! Slow down on them drinks, girl!” Belinda—BeBe to the crew—called out, passing her a murky shot of something strong.

ShaNiece laughed, tossing it back without hesitation. The burn kissed the back of her throat and lit her chest with fire. “Girl, I don’t get out like this often. Let me shake this ass in peace!”

The bass dropped, and the house party roared to life. BeBe kept the shots flowing, and ShaNiece kept dancing like the night owed her joy.

Then he came.

He didn’t ask. He just stepped behind her like he’d been invited by the rhythm itself. He’d been watching, she could feel it. His body slid into place behind hers, close but not too close, letting the music guide them. He wanted to catch what she was throwing—and baby, she threw it well.

When the next beat hit, she paused, teasing, until his breath brushed her ear.

“You scared now?”

His voice was smooth, deep and sure. Her hips responded before she could. Fueled by liquor and laughter, she rolled her ass back into him like it was their song playing—and it damn sure was. He matched her every move, gripping her waist, hips meeting hers with intention. A few heads turned. Let them watch.

“That’s it, lil’ mama,” he murmured, before spinning her to face him.

ShaNiece caught her breath. His golds flashed when he smiled. Coogi sweater. Baggy jeans. Mustache thick and neat. Skin the color of sweet caramel. His eyes were hidden behind shades, but she didn’t need to see them to know he was fine. Real fine.

“You tryna fuck me on the dance floor?” she teased, snapping her fingers in his face. “Helloooo?”

“You always got an attitude like that?” he asked, raising one brow as he pushed his shades higher.

She smirked. “Only when men act brand new after grinding on me for four songs straight. What’s your name?”

“You can call me Stack.” He lifted his hand to show a gold-plated ring spelling it across three fingers. “Yours?” He already knew it. He’d heard her friend call her name throughout the night.

“I’m sure that ain’t what your mama named you,” she said, popping her gum and patting her finger waves. “But I feel you.” Her gold earrings swung with flair—Niecey etched on both. “My friends call me Niecey”

“So we friends now?” he asked, grinning.

“We danced, didn’t we? That counts.” She winked, stepping back into the crowd. “Later, Stack.”

“Hol’ up,” he said, catching her wrist.

A jolt shot through both of them. He dropped her hand like it burned and shook his head like he forgot what he meant to say. “Uh… take my number.”

She smirked as he scribbled digits in her palm before they vanished in opposite directions.

⸻

It was close to 2 a.m. when they stumbled out, trying to make the one-block walk to BeBe’s apartment.

“Biiitch, I’m drunk,” BeBe groaned, hunched over a fence. It was their third stop in a five-minute walk that was now dragging into twenty.

“You ain’t lyin’,” ShaNiece muttered, pulling tissues from her fanny pack to dab the sweat from BeBe’s face and spit from her mouth. “Here. Drink.”

BeBe slumped to the grass. “Go without me!”

“You dramatic.” Still, ShaNiece knew they weren’t making it home like this.

She pulled BeBe’s cell from her jeans and called the number in her palm. A shot in the dark.

“Hello?”

That voice. Smooth, like that dark brown liquor she’d been downing all night.

“Niecey?” His tone softened her name like he already missed her.

“Yeah, um… it’s me. I know it’s late but—”

“Where are you?”

She gave him the corner.

BeBe gagged. “I hope this nigga ain’t no murderer! What you know about him?”

“I know he’s giving us a ride. Hush!” ShaNiece palmed her blade, just in case.

Stack pulled up minutes later. The ride was quiet except for the radio—and his humming. She joined in softly, their voices finding a rhythm even without the music.

When they reached the building, he tapped her thigh. “Take your girl in. Come holla at me.”

She paused. “Or… you could come in.”

She wasn’t the one-night stand type. But something about Stack made her brave.

They carried BeBe to bed. ShaNiece made sure she was okay before returning to the living room, kicking off her Reeboks and tugging her earrings off with a chuckle. “We might’ve gone too hard tonight.”

Stack kicked off his sneakers and sank into the couch beside her. “This every weekend?”

She shook her head. “Not even. Between work and my daughter, I’m booked and busy.”

“Then let’s not waste this rare time.”

He leaned in. Kissed her neck. Hands roaming. Mouth hungry.

By the time their lips met, she was pulling him into the spare room.

Clothes hit the floor in rhythm. His Coogi sweater. Her button-down jersey. Her lace bra fell away and he growled, mouth on her chest. Her shorts slid down and she took him in—his strong chest, curved girth springing free. She reached for his glasses.

He pulled away. “No”

“What’s wrong?”

He didn’t answer. Just kissed her deeper.

ShaNiece gently reached again, this time with both hands, easing the glasses off.

His eyes were unreal—shifting hues of shimmering silver, and something old. They sparkled like a curse and a promise all in one.

She couldn’t look away. She didn’t want to.

“Damn,” she whispered. ShaNiece kissed his lips to reassure him before leaning back.

She stroked her clit watching him take over. He kissed her down to her center, tongue working slow, fingers thick and skilled. She shook beneath him, whimpering, reaching for him.

“I need you,” she moaned, staring into those eyes. “Please.”

He slid into her slowly, possessively. With every stroke, he seemed to pull lightning from her bones.

“Yeees, Stack!” she cried out.

He zoned in on her neck.

Just a taste, he thought hearing her blood pulsating. Calling out for him.

“You like that, baby?” he whispered in her ear. “I’mma keep fucking you until I’m the only thing you think about.” He growled into her ear licking the tip of it.

She screamed his name, eyes wet with pleasure. He flipped her, stroked her deeper. She climbed on top, riding him backwards. He couldn’t resist that pulsating force.

When he bit her neck, she gasped. The bite—sharp, precise.

Pain bloomed, bright and quick, but it unraveled into something else. Heat. Wetness. A pull so deep it made her knees buckle.

She felt the suction of his mouth, the way he fed—not ravenous, but sensual. Worshipful.

Her breath caught, then spilled out in a moan. Her body trembled against his, hips arching, thighs clenching. It was as if he were drinking more than blood—like he was pulling memories, want, soul from her skin.

She was floating. Melting.

And Stack groaned against her, one hand sliding to pinch her chocolate perky nipple.

“You look so fuckin’ delicious,” he moaned, licking the blood. “Had to taste.” His eyes sparkled more.

She turned to kiss him, tasting herself and him and whatever magic sparked between them.

“You’re mine now, baby,” he whispered against her lips. “Whatever you had before—dead that.”

She stared, expecting a laugh. None came.

Their bodies slapped in time, her bangles rattling like wind chimes. She gave him everything—and he took it, pushed her further, until the world fell away.

When they were done, tangled and sweaty, he whispered, “You’re beautiful,” against her frizzy finger waves.

She laid there, one hand on his chest, circling gently.

He meant every word.

She told herself it was just the drinks talking. Tomorrow, he’d be a faded memory.

But tonight?

Tonight, he was everything.

⸻

Atlanta, 1992

Elias “Stack” Moore POV

He should’ve never touched her.

The moment her ass backed up into him on that dance floor, something in his chest cracked open. He hadn’t felt that kind of pull in decades—not since Mary. But this? This was different. This woman wasn’t casting a spell. She was the spell.

ShaNiece. Niecey. That name settled on his tongue like honey and heat.

When she called him later, voice soft and a little slurred, asking for a favor—he didn’t hesitate. He was halfway to her before she dropped the cross street. It wasn’t just lust pulling him. It was instinct. Fate. Hunger.

He helped carry her friend inside, eyes flicking to every corner. He didn’t sense any other presence. No one watching. No threats.

Except the one inside himself.

When she invited him in, he knew he should’ve said no. He had rules. Boundaries. Protocol. Fallon would curse his whole bloodline if she knew he was entertaining a mortal woman this drunk, this vulnerable.

But she wasn’t vulnerable. She was vivid. Fully alive. That rare kind of woman who knew who she was and didn’t apologize for it. And that laugh? It had weight.

He couldn’t explain it. Didn’t want to.

So he followed her into the back room, watching as she stripped with casual grace, like she’d done this dance a thousand times for no one but herself.

Then she reached for his shades.

“No,” he said too fast, too sharp.

She blinked but didn’t flinch. Just eased her hands back. “What’s wrong?”

But he saw it in her eyes—curiosity. Maybe a little hurt.

He couldn’t let her see. Not yet. Not until he knew what the hell was happening between them.

Because something was happening.

And it scared the hell out of him.

When she touched herself, moaning his name, his resolve cracked. She smelled like warm rain and vanilla and the faintest trace of something familiar. Not perfume. Not lotion.

Bloodline.

The first time he tasted her, tongue pressed to that aching pulse between her legs, it was electric. Tense. She trembled like her body already knew him—like her soul was calling out something her mind hadn’t caught up to yet.

Then she begged for him.

“Please.”

He gave in. Sank into her slow, controlled, trying to keep the beast leashed. But the moment her nails dug into his back and her cries filled the room, he felt it rise The thirst.

He pressed his mouth to her neck and just breathed, trying to ground himself. She smelled divine. Real. Unfiltered. Not the sterile, synthetic blood bags he forced on himself. This woman carried something pure—unspoiled by darkness.

Just a taste, he told himself. Just enough to remember who he used to be.

When he bit down, she gasped. He moaned against her skin.

The blood hit him like a lightning strike. A rush of her hit him—heat and copper, sun-drenched laughter, a child’s cry, an old gospel hum from a porch swing on a Sunday afternoon. Her blood poured over his tongue like silk, thick with grief and joy, survival and sweetness. It wasn’t just sustenance. It was a story.

He gripped her tighter as her body bucked beneath him, her moans hitching on the edge of pain and pleasure. Her heartbeat pounded in his ears, steady and brave. She didn’t scream. She gasped. Then melted.

“Damn, you look so fuckin’ delicious,” he groaned, licking the wound gently, sealing it with his tongue.

The moment he did, her body arched again. Her orgasm hit with tremors—shaking both of them. The taste of her climax still clung to his lips when she turned to kiss him, like she needed to taste what he’d taken.

She kissed him like she knew something.

She didn’t flinch. Didn’t push him away. She turned and kissed him like she knew. Like she wanted him still.

He wanted to stop.

But he needed to finish.

So he fucked her like he’d been waiting lifetimes.

Because maybe… he had.

She came apart in his arms, all curses and moans and fingernails, and he held her through it, burying his face in her hair like a man at prayer.

Afterward, she curled against him, fingers tracing lazy circles on his chest. Her breathing slowed. Her eyes fluttered closed.

He stared at the ceiling, wide awake.

Not from the sex. Not even from the bite.

But from the knowing.

ShaNiece wasn’t just some fling. She wasn’t random.

He’d felt this before—decades ago, in shadows and dreams. Every couple of years or so, someone would spark that flicker, but it always faded.

This? This burned.

He looked down at her, sleeping like she trusted him.

He didn’t deserve it.

He’d tasted her blood—and buried in it, something simmered beneath the surface. Not just sweetness. Not just warmth.

Something immortal.

Something dangerous.

And for the first time in a long time, Elias “Stack” Moore felt something close to fear.

Because he didn’t know if he’d been sent to protect this woman… or destroy her.

Atlanta, 1992- The Next Day

Elias “Stack” Moore POV

The sky was still painted indigo when he walked into the back office of the club. The city wasn’t fully awake yet—but Fallon was.

Of course she was.

She leaned against the desk, arms crossed, in a black turtleneck and gold hoops. Her eyes—that sharp hazel gold—tracked him like prey.

“Where the fuck were you last night?”

Elias didn’t answer right away. He took off his sweater, dumping it to the side. Peeled off the rest of his clothes one item at a time down to his boxers. He needed to shower.

Fallon didn’t move. Didn’t blink.

“You didn’t check in,” she said, voice low and flat. “And you didn’t feed yesterday.”

He looked up then, jaw tight. “I fed.”

“You fed,” she echoed, nostrils flaring. “Not from a bag.”

He didn’t answer. Just walked past her to the small bar and poured two shots of bourbon. It burned going down, but not enough. He still tasted her.

“I told you,” she said, stepping closer, “the girl from the party. She’s not clean.”

His hand stilled on the glass.

“I didn’t say she was dirty. I meant she’s… special. Like she’s different or something.”

“You think I didn’t feel that?” he muttered, turning toward her.

Fallon’s eyes narrowed.

“So you did see her?”

He didn’t respond. Didn’t have to.

Fallon’s jaw locked. “You bit her.”

He stayed silent.

“You fucking bit her?” Her voice dropped, but it hit like a punch. “Jesus, Elias. What the hell is wrong with you?”

“She was already in it,” he said quietly. “Before I touched her. Before I knew her name.”

“Don’t give me that ‘destiny’ bullshit,” she snapped. “You felt a pull? Great. You know what that means.”

He looked at her then, really looked. Her face was tight with fear—not anger. That scared him more than anything.

“She didn’t scream,” he said. “Didn’t push me away. When I bit her, she leaned in.”

Fallon shook her head. “You don’t get it. That’s worse. That means she already in trouble.”

He stilled. “What?”

Fallon lowered her voice. “Mary.”

A long silence stretched between them.

Then she whispered, “The Juke, Elias.”

“Don’t” he growled.

“They died, Stack. And it tore a hole in you big enough to crawl through. Don’t pretend like this ain’t déjà vu.”

He turned away, gripping the edge of the desk until the wood creaked.

Fallon stepped closer, softer now. “You said she was the only one who ever made you feel like this until she didn’t”

“She broke me on purpose.” He thought of her and the curse she forged in him.

“But this one,” Fallon pressed, “ShaNiece. She’s making you feel again.”

He nodded once. Slow. Painful.

Fallon’s voice trembled. “Then we got a problem. Because if you felt that bond, Stack, if you took ShaNiece’s blood because it called you—you know what comes next.”

He closed his eyes. “Mary.”

Fallon nodded. “She always knows when you give yourself away.”

@rolemodelshit @chaneajoyyy @soufcakmistress @thickemadame @jackierose902109 @blackisy2k @scrumptiouslytenaciouscrusade @bxrbie1 @honeytoffee @wakandamama @fd-writes @lovelymari4 @raysunshine78 @l-auteuse @twistedcharismaaa @dameshaemonique @artsninspo @eye-raq @reci1996 @destinio1 @tastingmellow @ghostfacekill-monger @thehomierobbstark @erikismybitch @theogbadbitch @bakarilennox @passionxwrites @sheabuttahwrites @spicypiscesssss @belleofthefloor @hairhattedghooligan @hippiesandpeacesigns @zillasvilla @wawakanda-btch @triplet-k-a @moihasarrived @stacksrackz @madibee0905 @spideyverseprblms @freyanistics @anniensmoke3 @jayymaria @just-a-little-nut @thefutureemmywinner

[mountainofgoats]

Crawl Home to Her

(Or, Caitlyn and Vi gear up for battle.)

(Or or, this viewer felt robbed of a tender moment between them and decided to write it.)

TIME: Hours before the first shot is fired

LOCATION: Piltover's Council Chambers, lower levels, the Armory

Caitlyn walks into the armory to see Vi holding up and appraising the black and gold chest plate. Her face is screwed up with disgust, like it’s something particularly nasty she’d found under her boot.

“Not your style?” Caitlyn teases from the doorway.

Vi’s eyes dart up to Caitlyn’s and she pouts. “Hell no. Look at it.” She holds the offending chest plate an inch higher. “It’s bulkier than the gauntlets. How the fuck is anyone supposed to move in this?”

Her petulant tone pulls Caitlyn’s lips into a tiny smile. “Not a problem for most people. Though most people don’t move like you, do they?”

Vi smirks. “That’s right." She shrugs a shoulder. "One of a kind.”

Caitlyn moves closer as she speaks. Vi watches her, and the mirth in her eyes dims by degrees as she approaches.

A veneer, Caitlyn knows. A wall against the same nerves and dread that keeps the smile from truly spreading across her own face.

How many times has Vi had to put on a brave face? Stuff her own fear down so deep she hardly feels it for the sake of bolstering the people around her?

Caitlyn reaches out a hand, runs a fingertip lightly against the metal of the armor. “I suppose you don’t have to wear it if you think it will… slow you down,” she says. She stares at the armor. Swallows thickly. “But it’ll help if… I don’t want you to wish you had it if-“

Her voice dies in a rasp. She swallows, tries to dislodge the lump in her throat. Doesn’t work.

Vi’s hand lands gently on her wrist, giving a squeeze. She looks up, and Vi offers a fragile smile.

She hefts the armor a smidge higher. Soft as morning sunlight, she whispers, “Gonna help me out, cupcake?”

Caitlyn half laughs, half sobs, suddenly thrust back into a dark alley a lifetime ago, the smell of gunfire and blood thick in her nose. Back when her biggest problem was hauling an injured undercity menace through the depths of the fissures.

God, how young and stupid they were back then.

She takes the armor from Vi’s hands. So carefully, she guides Vi into it, tightens the leather around her shoulders. Vi watches her silently as she drifts her hands down to her sides, skims her fingers lightly over the wound under her tank top. Caitlyn breathes deep and lets her palm press on the spot, feels the bandages underneath cloth. She holds there, breathes out slow. She swallows, then cinches the leather into place.

She drifts to the other side. Her fingers drag softly against Vi’s waist as she goes. Vi’s eyes follow her as she tightens the other strap so her armor sits squarely and securely over her chest.

One more buckle sits at Vi’s back. Dragging her hands along Vi’s shoulders, Caitlyn moves until she’s standing behind her, so close her breath moves the hair on the back of Vi’s head. She tightens the leather, buckles it into place so it sits flush against Vi’s back. She brushes red hair away from Vi’s neck, skims her fingers over the gears sitting proud and stark against her skin.

A shudder cascades across those broad shoulders and down her back. Caitlyn leans in and presses a kiss, feather-light, against the back of Vi’s neck. She leans there, eyes closed, breathing, fighting the lump in her throat and the nearly animalistic urge to take Vi by the hand and run.

They can’t. Even if there was somewhere to go, anywhere safe, neither of them could live with that.

She breathes out, presses one more greedy kiss to the back of Vi’s head, and moves back to her front. Vi takes a step closer, her hands curling around Caitlyn’s waist as Caitlyn fusses with her shoulder straps. She knows they’re fine, they’re tight and straight and it will protect the precious heart beneath the metal.

Her hands linger anyway.

Vi lets her fuss for a moment, then callused fingers intertwine with Caitlyn’s and gently move her hands away from her shoulders. “Think you got it, hotshot,” Vi murmurs.

Caitlyn huffs wetly and nudges the tip of Vi’s boot with her own. “How would you know? You’ve never worn armor before.”

“I don’t. But we’ll miss the whole thing at this rate if you keep messing with it.”

Would that be so awful? Caitlyn doesn’t say it.

Vi looks at her like she knows though. All soft, sad blue eyes and a barely there squeeze of her fingers. “It’s your turn now,” she says. She lets go of Caitlyn’s hands to turn and grab another chest plate from the wall. Buckles clink and leather creaks as she holds it up, a silent plea in her eyes.

Caitlyn nods, and Vi repeats their slow dance from before- gently settling the metal over Caitlyn’s chest, tightening straps and making sure it all sits straight and true. She brushes light fingers over the skin of Caitlyn’s neck, over the fabric covering her sides and shoulders, anywhere not concealed by black metal.

She stands so close to Caitlyn’s back that she can barely maneuver the straps into the buckle properly. When she fumbles a second time and breathes a tiny huff of frustration against Caitlyn’s neck, Caitlyn chuckles softly. “Having trouble?”

VI’s hands pause for a split second. Then she’s poking Caitlyn’s lower back. “Shut up,” she breathes. Her voice is a warm rasp of amusement. Caitlyn’s eyes slip closed and she soaks it in, a starving plant suddenly thrust into the sunlight.

Vi finally slips the buckle into place and the armor sits sturdy across Caitlyn’s chest and shoulders. But Vi doesn’t move. She leans against Caitlyn’s back, her arms loop around her waist, and she pulls Caitlyn against her chest. Her face nuzzles into the crease of Caitlyn’s neck and shoulder, and she takes a long, slow breath.

Caitlyn grips Vi’s forearms and leans back into her. Vi’s armor digs uncomfortably into her back, but she can’t let go. Can’t bring herself to do anything but lean and hold on wish they could somehow fuse together. Stay warm and safe and surrounded by one another.

Fuck the plan, she wants to say. Fuck all of it. Please, we have to stay together. We’ll be fine if we just stay together.

We’re always better when we’re together.

“We’re gonna be fine.” The words are breathed against Caitlyn’s neck. Warm. Shaky. Almost too quiet to hear.

Almost like they weren’t even meant for Caitlyn at all.

Caitlyn turns in the circle of Vi’s arms. When Vi looks up at her, the raw desperation in her eyes nearly brings Caitlyn to her knees.

God, she wants to run. If only to chase that look off Vi’s face.

She cups Vi’s face, rubs her thumbs over her cheekbones, over the tattoo. She curls her fingers into the baby hairs on the back of her head. Vi leans into her touch, eyes fluttering, hands gripping onto her waist.

Caitlyn presses her forehead to Vi’s and closes her eyes. She sinks into her, breathes into her.

We’re meant to lose this fight.

She could never forgive herself if she comforted Vi with a lie right now.

She takes a deep breath and presses a long kiss to Vi’s forehead. A soft whimper chokes out of her and she clutches at Caitlyn’s waist.

“Please, Cait,” she whispers.

Caitlyn pulls back just enough to look at her. To brush away the tears running down her cheeks. She holds her and says the only thing she knows down to her bones to be true.

“I promise to do everything in my power to come back to you.” When Vi sucks in a ragged, wet breath, Caitlyn presses their foreheads together fiercely. “Vi, I promise. I promise.”

[hey-itsdollie]

hii! could you maybe do one where reader is having a romantic date night (preferably at a super nice/fancy restaurant) with kaiser and ness, like a 3 person date?

thanks, ur work is great btw.

Date Night!

Yessss I love them so much

‧₊˚ ┊In which you're out on a date with your boyfriends

⋮ ⌗ ┆cw ⪼ fluff, female reader, polyamorous relationship, use of pet names

"After you Liebling."

Kaiser and Ness stood outside the expensive car, the blonde's hand out stretched for you slightly bent forward. Taking his hand you stepped out of the vehicle, Ness walking to the valet worker to hand him the keys to the car.

Kaiser's hand looped around your waist his head leaning down, lips grazing the top of your head. "You look beautiful..."

"You've said that many times tonight, my love." You hummed as you waited for Ness to come back. "We might miss our reservation." Ness spoke coming to your side.

Your boyfriends were dressed quite neatly; Ness wearing a dark gret button up with black slacks, his leather belt matching the color scheme nicely. A single silver chain hanging around his neck, resting on his collarbone.

Kaiser wore a similar outfit: a white button up shirt, slightly unbuttoned at the top with black slacks. His rings and necklace were primarily gold matching him quite well. Kaiser's rolex rested quite nicely on his left wrist.

Their colognes different yet mixed well as their smells mixed in the air around you.

Ness had personally ordered your outfit for the night, the dress, heels, jewlery. Everything. He customized it, completely to your liking. From the material to the style.

Kaiser had paid for your hair to get done, your makeup, and for your nails. A full spa day just for one date night.

This was the least the two males would do for you.

The three of you walked to the desk, immediately being brought to a table in a secluded part of the restaurant. The table was pre set up for you all; an ice bucket of wine and water sat at the far end of the table, a basket of bread and butter in the middle. A plate of oils next to it.

The table was circular, you sitting in the middle of Kaiser and Ness. Kaiser's hand was looped around your waist as Ness's hand was on your thigh, squeezing every few minutes.

"Would you like me to pour you something sweetness?" Ness questioned, his voice smooth and light. His head leant down slightly, deep eyes meeting yours. "Yes, please." Ness hummed, "Wine or Water?"

"Small bit of wine."

The dark-haired male reached over and grabbed the wine bottle from the ice bucket taking a wine glass, cleanly pouring you a small glass of alcohol.

The wine was deep red as he swirled it slightly placing it in front of you, a reasonable distance from the edge of the clothed table.

"Watch your dress." He hummed, Kaiser had called a waiter over, requesting some Russo-Baltique Vodka. You and Ness weren't shocked from the unique request, the blonde often enjoying to show his wealth through his taste in drinks.

"So what were you thinking of getting?" Kaiser questioned giving his attention to you as he rested his chin on his hand. A smirk stretching on his features.

"Hm not to sure, might just go with some steak." You hum going through the pages of the menu.

Ness would point out different dishes that he thought you would like considering your taste. Kaiser would grumble on certain dishes being gross or distasteful.

As the waiter came to get your orders, Kaiser made it clear for your food to be brought out first. Ness ordering your own dish so you wouldn't have to. "You didn't have to order for me you know. And I could wait for my dish with you guys." You laughed softly at your boyfriends' antics.

"Well it's not polite to make our woman wait." Kaiser scoffed squeezing your waist.

Dinner went smoothly, Ness was making sure no food was left around your lips or on your dress, his napkin ready to wipe anything he needed to.

Aft a hesitant request to try Kaiser's vodka, he grinned and cupped your chin. Muttering a soft "Drink it slowly" before he poured the drink into your mouth. A lipstick print being left on the edge of his glass.

Kaiser laughed as you coughed after tasting his drink, knowing it was too strong for you.

The live band of the restaurant played a soft melody as the three of you ate, their hands never leaving your body. "Was your food to your liking Liebling?" Kaiser muttered leaning closer to you his accent making his voice more huskier.

"Yes, it was delicious, we should come here again some time." You grin at the both of them. Ness smiled feeling happy you had a good night so far and Kaiser smirked as if he already knew you'd react this way.

"Let's finish up here, and go back home hm? The night is still fresh after all."

Loved writing this omg

©hey-itsdollie please don't copy, change, or steal my work. Thank you!

[aurorasgate]

Hi, Luna!

Could I request cozy + soft kiss with Vincent, please? Thank you! 🩷

vincent valentine x reader

falling for you event (event requests closed)

this is my first time ever writing for vincent and ahhhh i actually really loved how it turned out. i hope you like it and thank you for requesting for my event!

on chilly sleepless nights with the wind howling and the trees scraping against old glass one might not be too keen to walk through eerie hallways of old manors and into dusty rooms, let alone dare to open suspicious coffins they may find lying in the dark. 

but your restless mind and body are exactly the reason you’re down here, tip-toeing through the shinra manor as if the man you’re looking for, longing for, won’t hear you coming anyways. like the coffin he spends most of his time in is as familiar as your own bed rather than part of funerals and scary stories reminiscent of vampires. 

unknowingly, you hold your breath, step even lighter, from the moment you pass through the threshold into the room where vincent's oak coffin sits quietly. if he had heard you coming, he doesn’t bother getting up or making a sound but perhaps he had known it could only be you foolish enough to come searching for monsters that lurk in the basement, hoping to help ease the pressure in your chest and settle your mind that just won’t stop moving.

the gold plating along the coffin is cold to touch but begins to warm under your hesitant fingers that are frozen there rather than pushing off the lid or knocking? would that be more appropriate? but as you linger there, over thinking that maybe this was all so stupid to begin with, that he wouldn’t possibly want to be bothered with.. well - whatever the fuck was going on with you tonight that brought you straight to the man who had stolen your heart without trying. and maybe without him even wanting-

before the painful thought can fully form, the coffin lid begins to move, the familiar click of metal that often accompanies vincent's metal clad hand a quiet jingle in your ears that both calms your anxious soul and makes your heart nearly jump out of your chest.

holding your hand to your chest, as if the moving lid had splintered your hand, you swallow your heart in your throat and feel it get caught in the swarm of butterflies that flutter wildly in your rib cage as you stare into the coffin, captivated by the red eyes looking back at you, one of them seemingly glowing in the dark.

finally you let out the air you had been holding in the form of your tumbling words that you couldn’t stop or make more coherent no matter how much you tried. “vincent! i - i’m s-sorry - i was just - you see i - well i didn’t mean to - i mean -”

“what’s wrong?” he asks, an urgent graveness to his voice but it’s his touch and not his words that stop you in your tracks, the leather of his glove warm and gentle around your wrist. a tenderness he hadn’t thought himself capable of any longer until he had met you.

the breath you take in is shaking and when you don’t immediately reply, you watch quietly as ruby eyes start to look you over, half hidden by dark hair, thick lashes and knitted brows. when he finds you unscathed and still silent, his intense gaze returns to yours and you know you have no choice but to tell him.

“nothing’s wrong, really. it’s just.. i.. i just couldn’t sleep,” you reply, your words turning into a quiet murmur as you break your eyes from his and looking down at your feet, past where he still holds you with care and worrying your bottom lip between your teeth, wishing the floor would swallow you whole.

“hm.” he seems to think for a moment before letting go of your wrist. “i see.” 

you aren’t unused to his answers like this but tonight it makes you worry you had only been a bother. reluctantly, readying yourself to make your way back through shinra manor with a heavy, foolish, heart, you dare to look at the source of the muffled sounds of him moving back into his coffin.

vincent settles in quickly, like you’re sure he has hundreds of nights before, and closes his eyes, pulling his cape up with a swoosh. he holds it open expectantly, as if waiting for you to curl inside his makeshift wing.

patiently he waits while you slip off your shoes and hold onto the edges of the wood to carefully climb inside. you don’t get a chance to overthink how the both of you were going to fit in here before the hand holding his cape is at your back, guiding you into a comfortable position that leaves you practically on top of him and the red fabric of always wears lays over you like a makeshift blanket.

you can hear his heart beating steadily in your ear, your every breath full of his scent that carries a hint of bergamot, can feel the rise and fall of his chest under your palm and shamelessly relish in the weight of his arm around your middle, keeping you safely pressed against him.

your restless mind settles, the warmth of your bodies quickly drawing out the tiredness you tried so hard to feel in your own bed but couldn’t replicate on your own, without vincent beside you. and you wonder if perhaps, just maybe, your presence lessened the weight of his own burdens and self proclaimed sins.

slowly, your tired fingers trace the delicate details of one of the many straps on his chest, accompanied by a wiggle of your toes that brush against his leg but he doesn’t seem to mind. he’s still and quiet, the only sign of life being the shallow intakes of his breaths and the fingers resting on your back that twitch at the feeling of your hand on his chest moving upward, over the fabric of his cape that covers his neck until you’re met with the soft skin of his jaw.

“still so restless.” he says, the timber of his voice vibrating your flushed chests and instinctively bringing you closer to him, coaxing the press into the bottom of the plush lined coffin with your toes so you can be face to face with him. he peaks open one eye, the glow of chaos illuminating back at you. “should i put the lid on to help settle you down?”

suppressing your chuckle, feeling relaxed and comfortable and bold, you lean in close, enough so you can feel the heat of his breath, the slight chapness of his lips. “‘m sorry. i’m not trying to be a bother.”

“i didn’t say you were.”

his hand not at your back reaches for your face, brushing stray hairs from your cheek to behind your ear and needing no strength to pull you close, erasing the last bit of distance between your lips that slot together perfectly, so incredibly soft you might have thought you dreamt it had his next words not been undeniably real in your ears and as they wrap around your heart.

“come find me again when you can’t sleep,” vincent cradles the back of your skull in his large palm, the hand at your back holding you tighter, pulling you into another tender kiss, a seal to this promise, “i’ll watch over you.”

main masterlist

[gangplanksorenji]

Kinknuary Day 17: Brat Taming 

Pairing: Choi Yena x Male Reader

Word Count: 5,832

[Kinknuary Masterlist]

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You can’t always get what she wants and she can’t always get what she needs—these two clauses never contradict as it's different in each way yet aimed towards the same intent: fulfillment.

Choi Yena is a girl you’d watch yourself into, as she’s the living definition of a brat, in your own words. Not really a specific brat, but she really tends to be selfish all of the time, and that isn’t really ideal considering how you’re always making her change but always ends up defeated and your advances deemed to be useless against her.

She has an iron wall that’s tough to break, but under specific circumstances, there’s always the Achilles’ heel to be used against it.

“Well, this sucks…” Yena chides boredom, sighing deeply as she’s deeply restive within the supposedly delicious food in front of the table and with her discontented countenance, you advance to confront her as you’re confused on why she’s acting like this.

“Don’t like the food, princess?”

“Nu-uh. It’s bland and soggy—look!” Yena grabs a minuscule sample of spaghetti with her fork, presenting how incredibly unacceptable it is on her own perspective as she voices out her frustration with it, and you, absolutely stunned with her complaints as you don’t see anything wrong with the food presented.

“Oh yeah, I forgot—should’ve treated you to eat some gold, huh?” You batted out a joke towards her, in which she took it a little seriously, punching your shoulder playfully as her pouts emanated such strong channels of chagrin, not satisfied with the meal she’s been supposedly enjoying.

“Yah! I’m not like that, but I’d like to eat something way better than this…”

Of course, she’ll be luring you into another set of her tricks, opting for you to fall down of her trap but with two years and a half of being with her, you knew exactly what she’s up to for you to fulfill her wants. You read her mind like a book but of course, you’ll choose to play along with her game to bait her and let her be the victim of her own medicine.

“Like what?” You feign such fake innocence, in which Yena takes as an opportunity to voice out her naughty desires and just like that, she stepped into your trap.

“Like daddy’s—” You tighten the grip of her wrists under the table, making her wince in pain as you stop her from her advances of such dirty talk in public.

“You know what Yena, just eat your goddamn food and we’ll get out of here, okay?” You grew impatient with her own antics, making her opt to the possible endgame before the anticipated climax soon.

“But I don’t like it! I don’t like it!” Yena whimpered as she didn't like the words that came out of your mouth and knowing that you’re setting her up to further make her miserable, she stepped up and voiced out her frustrations towards you and you’re not absolutely having it. “I won’t bother finishing these—”

“Alright then, Yena…” You averted your attention onto finishing the food on your plate as your demeanor became stern and commanding and Yena’s face suddenly feigned fear and anxiety, not wanting what may happen next. “It’s just fair to not reward my princess something if she didn’t finish her food.”

Yes, you read her like a goddamn book and guess what, it’s working more than well. Knowing how insatiable you are for her that can’t bear to not be rewarded with your load for a day says a lot, and she’s willing to do everything just to get that desired prize of hers that you would love to use as an advantage against her—Yena’s kryptonite that will flick a switch inside her, making her reevaluate her own selfish decisions.

“Okay then, daddy…”

Well, if she’s willing to provoke the sleeping beast inside you, then you’ll let her, because at the end of the day, you know that she’ll regret it and will absolutely be damned to be punished and used, like the slutty brat she always became, all for you.

---

Royalties and class, two things that exude Yena as every movement of hers is either sophisticated, intense disgust or her own primal needs taking over her. Limited choices yet it doesn’t matter, because it will revolved around that and it will never change—maybe when you’ve fucked something out of her, then maybe the stars will re-align but chances would be slim to none.

There’s no fucking chance in this planet she’ll be able to make others bear her bitchy, bratty attitude and you are the only worthy to handle her as you know exactly how to make her be yours and to tame that living beast inside her, even if it means to do the nastiest things to her.

Well, that won’t be the case for now but knowing how she’s luring you into a challenge, really makes everything inside you be in that state of fury as her words captivate you and turn you on, and it’s damn dangerous to be this riled while driving on a high-speed highway.

Guess the feelings are mutual between the both of you; she can pick the locks inside you as much as you can with hers, and it’s not even close to exert much effort.

“Yena, you know we can’t—not here, princess, alright?” You peacefully pointed out how risky and not suitable for you to really do this, let alone doing such a sinful act on a highway even though it’s just the both of you that will be blessed by the sight.

Not really surprised about her responsive actions of your denial, and you’d love to see that knowing how her frustration and the needy sounds she makes sends you into a state of delight. “Come on, daddy! You’re no fun!”

Yena pouts as she faces you, frustrated with your own selfish acts of your definition of fun as she crosses her arms right after, letting you know how she seriously wants this.

“If you want us to crash because of your selfish needs to blow my dick, then sure, Yena.” With your encouraging words with sarcasm laced on it, Yena faced you with a glare as you can see it evident on your peripherals. As much as you don’t want to, you might just give it a shot and to maybe even risk your life in terms of a pleasurable service and to literally just make Yena shut up with your own length inside her bratty mouth.

“You’re just playing with me, daddy—I know you—”

“Do you want to blow my dick or not? ‘Cause I’m getting pretty impatient, Yena.” You stated, your tone demanding and laced with subtle rage as you continue to drive, unfazed with her own presence that will soon draw onto your own treasured prize and given the green light, she acted up immediately and didn’t waste any of your time. Drawing her attention towards your clothed nether region, her hands then hastily finds its way onto the button of your pants while carefully not hitting anything, and with her subtle touch makes you lose a hint of focus yet you fight it as the last thing you would want to see is crashing on a highway. Carefully unbuttoning your pants and bringing them onto your knees, her eyes lit up in excitement as she can see your member getting erected and that’s all because of her.

“Ooh, getting turned on I see, hm, daddy?” Yena delightfully mocks you as steam comes out of your nose, a bit annoyed with her current antics as there’s no in any planet you would deny how it’s not her fault that you’re getting this hard.

“Then do something about it and don’t kill us, Yena.” She then resumes her advances of undressing your final clothed defense, finally freeing your throbbing length from its prison and she is met with your member, her eyes now lit in awe yet a click of your tongue makes her stop. “Five minutes only.”

Yena whimpers as she looks at you deeply with her signature duck pout, making you rethink your decision as she persuades you with all her might. “Please, can it be longer, daddy? Please, please?”

Even if she bats out her hundred of pleas you will just ignore it as a brat doesn't deserve such reward—she should be grateful instead of complaining but you know that girls like her will be rewarded truly if they earned it, and this is probably just one of the few tests you have in plan.

Guess, you’ll be just the judge while your mind’s focused on driving straight for the both of you to not crash and god, you’re really fighting for it.

Maybe you’ll be the one who’s going to be tested as it’s all deteriorating once she laid her soft lips onto the head of your shaft, as you give in the pleasure yet focus on the highway.

Five minutes—five goddamn minutes.

---

“Kneel down, princess.”

“Yes, daddy…” Yena immediately obliged your command as her face anticipates what you may have in store, her eyes glistening with need and lust that no one can define, maybe not even herself can.

Of course, she won’t be leaving your place without a load dumped inside her or painted on her because of how addicted she is to you and how she’s always a victim of indulging towards her primal desires the second you’re within the vicinity of her sight.

She’s crazy about you as much as you are towards her but Yena’s just on a whole new level—way above the charts of your expectations and it’s not really surprising at this point.

In most terms, she’s always been a pain in the ass the deal with, even with your entire length plunged inside her, she can’t seem to really change her bratty demeanor, like it’s glued onto her by default and it’s bittersweet—bitter in annoyance and sweet because you love taming her, getting the absolute value of each others’ needs.

Even without serving her desired prize on her speedway blowjob earlier, her eyes are still refulgent with anticipation and eagerness—not to mention how she complains so much when her time is up and without a load deep down her throat, completely opposing her current needs for you.

“You better finish what you’ve started earlier alright, princess?” You relax onto the cold, marble wall as Yena nods eagerly, and then advance her way onto your fully-erect length as she eyes it like her favorite meal and with a mischievous smirk planted onto her mouth and her evil eyes, you know exactly how she’ll start this off. You moaned almost inaudibly once her soft, plump lips became in contact with your swollen head and right from the start, her masterclass is absolutely at its peak finest.

Her mouth is one of your treasure features of her, not just by the fact that you could embrace yourself to initiate such a torrid kiss with her but it’s just the fact on how soft they are that it’s just sculpted perfectly to service gratification to you, not even including her sinful gags and the vacuum-like suction that makes up the elements of a mind-boggling blowjob that she always excels at.

Speaking of oral talents, she has it all, and maybe even multiple.

“Keep doing that, princess… Keep t-that mouth all the way in.” Even if it spirals out of control, you’ll be cursed to encourage her ultimately as she takes your whole length slowly, ensuing a leisure bobbing that aims to build up the pleasure and your own libido. 

She didn’t gag, not yet, as she continues to reach new depths, making herself accustomed to your whole length and the inevitable snaps, gagging prematurely as she tried to keep it in without pulling out but was not deemed successful, coughing a little right after her former struggles.

She wouldn’t let herself disappoint you as she grabbed your already saliva-sheathed cock as fast as she could and directed it inside her mouth, blowing you rapidly as her thrusts in quick succession never fails to set yourself on a blissful trance. Her hands find themselves onto the porcelain skin of your thighs, caressing it to voice out how comfortable she is and the other, fondling your sensitive balls in order for better stimulation and better quality of pleasure. Simultaneous gags, drool seeping out of her mouth, tears running down her cheek and her rapid pace lives up tot eh epitome of a blowjob—and she’s cursed to be great at this.cheek and the cherry on top, her rapid pace that adds up to the filthiness of a sinful image she’s been into and god, if you could just take a picture of this, let along record this as a video, you’ll absolutely do it but getting occupied by Yena’s soft lips and tight throat would be just better than anything that can bother you in this world, and you leave it as it is.

Her head frantically bobs like she’s set to hypnotize you as her techniques really live up to her title, every movement she does to stimulate you is making you feel way better than the previous, and it’s really working more than well. She constantly slurps as more drool seeps out of her hungry mouth, also a way to voice out her utter satisfaction with being rewarded with an insatiable candy that she can’t get enough of. Because of her great work between your legs, you dive into the inevitable bliss as your hands find their way to her vibrantly pink locks, grabbing a fistful of it to form a makeshift ponytail in order for you to have such strong leverage to guide her and fight for the utmost gratification.

Of course, she knows what you’ll end up into once she felt your hands on the back of her constantly bobbing head: she could only anticipate it as you hips will gradually thrust into her suffocatingly tight throat, craving for more to the point that you’ll give in and fuck her face rapidly.

She knows you and reads you like a book—again, feelings are mutual, as well as your needs towards each other.

There’s no point in not giving in to using her mouth like a fleshlight, because it’s literally what she’s built for: to take the entirety of your length to the point of no-return and absolutely giving everything you want—what your hips can muster.

“I might need to fuck that bratty mouth of yours princess, you wouldn’t mind it, won’t you?” Your sinister tone makes her apprehensive yet nonetheless, she trusts you with all her might—and you won’t dare to break that—as she nods eagerly, her eyes begging for the absence of your mercy in order to use her mouth with what might you can as she wants it badly. 

“Oh, so you want it this badly, huh?” With her slow bobs, you groan with the pleasure she’s giving yet time wouldn’t be wasted as you grip her hair and make her look up at you, your tone now laced with the utter need of voicing out her primal desires. “Then say how badly you want this, princess”

With more greedy bobs onto your rock-hard shaft, she immediately pulls out as so, and let her lips release such wanton profanities that absolutely will arouse the living beast inside of you. “I w-want you to ram on m-my slutty throat, daddy—”

“How hard, princess?” It was a sudden response, aiming to mutter up an answer escaping her lips on her possible wants of your treatment towards hers.

“Want you t-to fuck my throat like h-how I deserve it…” She trembles between divisible of her own lustful words, the utter nervousness and adrenaline kicking in as she continues stating her needs. “Want t-to feel daddy’s c-cock ramming on my t-throat because of how m-much of a slut I am.”

Good thing she knows what she is and what she came to, at this moment. Given on how sincere she is in every word she says as her tone really pleads you to service her throat, states on how she badly desires her close-to-an-ultimate prize (punishment on you own perspective) and without wasting any second, you opted to give her what she wants and to full indulge to your own carnal desires.

“Okay, princess, hands behind your back—” You command her as you grow impatient with her lustful talks, wanting to make her struggle in the best way possible—also, you would not want to hurt her in the process—and to build up the rising climax of her anticipation. “—and your head up.” Of course, your hands aren’t idle enough to just appreciate the beauty of her waiting to be ruined, as you hands force its way onto the back of her head again yet this time, you grip onto her semi-disheveled pigtails, wanting to use them as handlebars and a leverage on what you're about to do to her—maybe she purposely tied her hair this way, knowing that she’ll maybe get her mouth fucked half open.

If this is what she wants, then she’ll get it but you should let her know why this all started: it’s all because of aiming to tame her properly and if your words can’t do it, then sure, maybe your cock will do the talking.

You don’t even need to command Yena to open her mouth as she does it involuntarily, begging you for more until it was all unable to beared and contained, letting everything but indulged within and you can just see your whole length being submerged into the depths of her mouth, taking more and fully encouraging you to even go deeper. The incredible suction of her cheeks never fails to bewilder you, let alone diving deeper as every inch of her walls results in marvelous groans of pleasure because of the warmth and the right tightness of it. You gave Yena’s mouth few thrusts to get herself used on your whole length again—in a better view, she doesn’t really need that since she’s sucking and getting her mouth used by you very often that it’s started to molded onto the shape of your cock—wanting her to feel every inch of it brushing down her throat as she gags when it hits the back of her throat. She fights it with all her might this time, and when you notice her gag reflex calming down, now’s the time to use the pliant princess’s heavenly throat like how she deserves it.

How does she deserve it? Well, it’s only a matter of time for her to find out.

With now a better feeling from both parties, your hips now ensued such a breakneck pace, catching her off-guard. Yena almost breaks herself free but knowing that if she does, she will be in big trouble and be prone to a worse punishment in which she wouldn’t want to. With that in mind, she fights herself onto your rapid usage of her whole throat as drool inevitably seeps out of her mouth, coating everything in its vicinity with her saliva that further adds to the lubrication with your ruthless advances. You tighten the grip on her hair, causing to add more mess to her already disheveled locks as you continuously rammed her throat like you want to prove something—you don’t need to prove anything but rather, prove herself worthy of your mercy.

“Is this what you fucking wanted, Yena? Your f-face to be fucked like a-an animal?” It’s a rhetorical question but an evident nod ensued right after, noticing it even with your rapid pace trying to open up Yena’s throat as you could find yourself getting harsher with one goal in mind: to tame her and possibly, fuck that brattiness out of her brat mouth.

You didn’t just mindfully thrust your hips like you’re in autopilot, but rather set series of forceful deepthroats, filling every inch of her slutty throat up to the brim, balls-deep and then resuming back onto thrusting—it repeats like a cycle, and that’s part of the plan: foreplay, to be build the suspense and then suddenly go berserk. You playfully tug her hair in order to force her down and then taking your entire length with thrusts ensued on a quick succession, each oscillation hits her saliva-sheathed chin with your own balls as the audible sounds of such skin clapping is arousing you even further.

“Fuck—this bratty throat feels good—can’t wait to even feel more of you, princess—fuck!” You continue to give her ruthless thrusts, breaking the velocity barrier your hips can muster as you pull out of her mouth and not surprisingly, she gasps for heavy breaths and multiple coughs because of your harshness down her throat.

“G-God, daddy—t-that was s-so good—hah, y-you’re going t-to make my throat sore…” Yena muttered between catching breaths and a broken voice, truly making you admire the masterclass you’ve done that she surely loved.

“Of course—need this fucking throat to teach a lesson.”

“A l-lesson? Am I the n-naughtiest student you’ve ever seen, d-daddy?” Yena seduces you with her vixen capabilities and her honey-laced words dripping with lust, and it forces you to sully her again, specifically her mouth.

“You know the answer to that, princess.” Yena looks up with you with a smirk, her mischievous plan starting to come together as she bites her lips and moaned uncontrollably, your hands finding its way on caressing her perky yet voluptuous mounds as you aimed to weaken her until she’s about to be fully submissive. With her hands still on her back, she can’t help herself to fight the pleasure as she can only just whimper and close her eyes, letting the serotonin course down her veins as every second that passes is fully treasured by the bratty princess in front of you.

“I would have used your throat more harshly but bad brats like you don’t deserve to swallow my cum—not even a single ounce of it.” Your hands then palmed her cheek as your fingers caressed it right after, admiring the sullied countenance of Yena’s face that deserves to be at the hall of fame on how it perfectly depicts the oxymoron, “the ruined goddess”.

“Brats need to be punished for being such a bitch and if my words can’t tame you—” Your suspenseful tone is intimidating her, sending chills down her spine as every word you say is laced with sincerity and full on lust. Her mouth shivers when she feels your hand teasing her cheek with your throbbing length, and it’s just becoming better for now considering how you’re building up such a stupendous anticipation that anyone can hook onto, even the both of you. “—then maybe my cock will.” 

You slap your length onto her cheek, making her yelp a little as you command her to stand up, her immediately obliging to your imperative advances, even with a visible struggle because of her lack of balance. 

“Sit here and wait for me, okay? I’ll get something and don’t you dare move away from this position.” You glared at her as she nodded slowly, her mouth curling up onto a smile as her eyes glistened with her own desires, only thinking further of what you may have in store for her.

---

“Wear it, Yena.”

“But don’t I look silly, daddy?”

“Just fucking wear it—it’ll be good on you…” You grow impatient with her complaints as she does what she’s requested to do, as she wears the belt-like leather collar around her neck, her hands trembling probably from her nervousness and there’s nothing to worry about it, knowing it’ll fade faster than the speed of light. With her collar now around her neck, you commanded her to go on all her fours on the bed and again, she quickly obliged, not wanting you to wait any further. Greed consumes over you, finding its way to succumb onto your lustful needs as you line your swollen head within the emanating heat of her lower lips as she moans in every tease you do, fueling up each others’ libido. 

As much as you want to tease the living brat out of her, your aim is to fuck it out of her and you’ll do exactly what you need to.

Not wasting any second, the climax of the show starts as you penetrate her with your whole length and in response, she screams in delight because of how big you are inside her, feeling that you may destroy her guts. You easily fill her up to the hilt, burying your entire shaft inside her and then withdrawing to slam back in hard, making her cry for your mercy and to further fuck her like an animal.

The comeuppance starts, and you’re willing to teach her a lesson she wouldn’t forget—you may have done this to her a lot of times but this time, it would hit differently and you would end this session making her know who you really are to mess with.

Grateful to the helping aid of lubrication with her juices coursing down, and around your shaft, you start off with a relentless pace and don't give her time to get used to your length, wanting to make her feel your wrath and how she deserves to be treated. She further moans in every withdrawal you do as the collar helps for a better leverage onto ramming into her tight core repeatedly, and as the cherry on top, you like the muffled sounds of her chokes every time you pull the chain of the collar, you could hear her broken moans and probably, even asphyxiating her—one of her kinks is you choking her, and you’re glad to be innovative and creative on fulfilling that and knowing this, Yena appreciates this truly as she voices out to even ruin her further.

“D-Daddy—r-ruin my slu—slut pussy! I d-deserve t—to be treated l-like this—oh gosh—holy fuck!!”

You continuously do as so, and with her repeated pleas, you grew annoyed with her ebullient noises and stated your frustrations towards her. “Just s-shut the fuck up and take my cock well, princess!”

With your further attempts of silencing her with your ramming clashes against her tight pussy, you vent out your frustrations and channel everything onto your thrusts, causing her to repeatedly plead and moan because of your aggressive actions. She wanted this deserves this, so she just deserves to be fucked like a true animal. Her arms grew weaker, unable to support her upper frame due to the constant overloading of pleasure she’s been feeling and wanting to bury her head with her advances, you won’t let a single trick up her sleeve be deemed successful against you as you pulled the collar towards you, making her compose such broken melodies that reverberated around the room, and around your ears.

You can hear her cries in every thrust you do, as it’s all starting to come to the point where she’ll fully succumb to her needs and submissiveness, which is your goal before this steamy session ends. It wasn't long before you gave her round, bubble buttcheeks the hardest spanks it deserves as it became frequent all of a sudden, making her yelp and cry because of your harsh actions against her constantly-rammed backside. With now your hands fully occupied to treat her like the slut she is and like the brat she deserves, Yena can’t help but just think of your cock ravaging her tight, little cunt rapidly as it clouds her, same repeated, wanton moans are the response of your actions and knowing she wouldn’t last long at this time and with her cunt constantly clenching, you double the efforts on fucking her onto oblivion as the lustful drive in you takes over. 

“You’re about to cum, right, Yena?”

She mutters a stuttered “yes” as she nods frantically before resuming her constant moans of pleasure. “But what if I don’t want my princess to cum? Will she not cum for her daddy or will she be punished for good? Because—” You let go of the tight grip on the chains of the leather collar as you inch closely onto her ear and whispered with venom, “—if you didn’t follow me, there will be serious consequences and you won’t like that, won’t you, Yena?”

Yena’s apologetic cries can be heard laced in her agreement, scared that she may provoke you that will make her needs be deprived. “I w-will do anything f-for you, daddy but p-please—-ahh!”

You kiss her nape, and then her neck, showing your affection towards her as you worship the musky scent of her body emanating sweat, perfume and sex as you respond, “Please what, princess?”

It took seconds for Yena to respond, the gratification becoming too much to handle as she composes herself, and pleads for you. “P-Please let me cum, daddy…”

A side of you is fainthearted: wanting to not make herself be lost and want her to engage on her high as much as possible but she needs to be punished, and your conclusion with that? To fully ruin her.

Thanks to the constant lapping of her juices, it didn’t became a struggle to lubricate her puckered hole as you insert your thumb in it, opting to stimulate her further as you continued to fuck her mercilessly. It wouldn’t take long before she reaches her high with of the kinky stuff and the most stimulating advances being done all in one session as she lets out whimpers, and knowing that her high is near and you know it’ll blast like a volcano, you wouldn’t put her to torture as lean in again to her ear and then whispering again, “Then cum on my cock, princess—let it all out.”

Giving her the final thrusts with her collar as a leverage onto a greater quality of such mindless abomination of fucking, she clenched tightly as you groan because of it and within a second, she’s in her own blissful trance, moaning out your name as she voices out her ecstasy.

“D-Don’t s-stop fucking me, d-daddy—oh fuck—I’m c-cumming so h-hard—fuck!!”

As requested by her, you continue ramming her pussy as she climaxes beautifully, voicing out series of ecstatic moans as she forms a rivulet around your shaft, dripping it all over her thighs, your balls and some even on the bed sheets which soon will be changed because of how filthy and messy it would be after the both of you are done. You continue oscillating at such an incredible pace that you didn’t mind making her recover on her high, making her yell in pleasure and utmost sensitivity. With a ruthless pace, of course, you didn’t ignore the chains as you pulled

“Are y-you close, daddy? Please c-cum inside m-me—fuck, p-please, daddy—ahh—mmfh-ahh!”

“Don’t tell me what to do, slut!” Of course, after her ephemeral orgasm, you resume onto your harshness, spanking and fondling her mounds as you draw circles down her taut buds, making her whimper because of the pleasure and sensitivity. You grew frustrated and enough of her bratty actions of eternal need as you choke her a little with the collar, further ramming into her tight cunt repeatedly as her thighs now quiver, her limbs growing weaker and letting herself succumb onto your own spell, hypnotizing her with the rapid sounds of bodies clashing together that adds up to the sea of sinful sounds that’s been kept inside this puny room right from the start.

Now chasing your own orgasm and to further commit onto fucking that living brat out of her body, you gave in to your primal desires, fucking each other like animals as within a few thrusts or seconds from now, it won’t be long until you meet yourself onto the promised land—in the possibly eternal state of bliss.

Now, having enough of the collar, you pull her hair as you draw yourself closer to your own orgasm, wanting to make sure that you’ll have one hell of a climax. You repeatedly spank her to further arouse yourself onto the hypnotizing jiggles of that porcelain flesh, making you indulge and draw yourself onto the red and soon enough, it wouldn’t be that long to meet it.

“I’m going to fucking c-cum in this tight, slutty, bratty pussy, alright, princess? Be sure to take it all because fuck—t-this pussy is literally the best!”

“Yes, da—daddy! Please c-cum in me—finally, p-please—ahh—mmfhh!” You continue your rapid thrusts as your fingers coursed its way onto her mouth, making her suck it as she wantonly savors your fingers like it’s your beloved shaft, sensually licking every inch clean as you buried your whole length in her, unable to pull back but just give in.

Series of thick shots flooded her velvety walls, causing her to moan on your fingers as she can feel the warmth of your semen coating each inch of her flesh white and god, she’s also in a state of bliss on how well she is filled by you. She continues sucking and you continue depositing, even thrusting slowly to extend your orgasm further and as it dies down, you leisurely pulled out—and of course, Yena whimpered because she feels empty without your whole length ravaging inside her—of the tightness of her core, a little exhausted because of your harsh work against her sopping wet cunt and what an incredible sight it bestowed you: her freshly-fucked folds full of your cum, some of it even leaking out of her due to the stupendous amount of volume deposited in it.

Guess her highfalutin came down on a sullied conclusion; it was an incredible display of a steamy session, much likely to be cherished as the once boisterous, sex-filled room has now toned down onto tranquil and silence—mostly just heavy breaths can be heard but it is close on silence.

Yena falls limp onto the bed, her back rests as her lips tremble within her voice, “Y-you c-came so much, daddy—i-it’s so thick a-and warm—hah…”

“Now, are you satisfied, princess?”

“More than t-that, daddy…” Yena voices out her utter satisfaction as her needs are now fulfilled by you and right after, she beams a bright smile onto you which makes you faintly grin in response due to her contagious happiness. 

“Also, I’m s-sorry about acting like that earlier, daddy…” You know her apologies aren’t sincere but at the same time, they are—it’s not sincere in a way that she’ll act like a spoiled brat again someday, but now, you’re glad that you’ve fucked your way to teach her a lesson—living the new, ephemeral disposition of hers that’s down-to-earth. You would treasure this truly, but Yena, on the other hand, isn’t in the same shoes with you.

“I want some more, daddy—we can experiment on anything we want, tonight because—” Yena’s hands averted onto your jaw, making you face her as she continues, “—I’m all yours, daddy.”

Seems like she needed more than what you’ve given her and with that, you’re giving her anything to the point of no-return.

[thatsmzbitchtoyou]

Vibranium & Stainless Steel -Oneshot *Request*

Word count: 3203 Warnings: language, smut

Y/N was an Avenger.  Well, not like a big superhero type of Avenger.  She was mostly on the sidelines, and only called in when information extraction was needed.  Since Wanda was M.I.A. for the foreseeable future, Nick Fury had been on the hunt for someone who could read minds, and had sniffed Y/N out, a mutant, from some online mutant-safe chat rooms.  She had gone through some training, but overall she wasn’t needed in the field until the Avengers brought back bad guys as prisoners who refused to talk.

It was always a sight to behold when the bad guy would be plopped down on a chair in an interrogation room, looking warily at the room full of superheroes, then in would walk Y/N, a short, plump, bookish-looking woman with large glasses and an oversized dress and cardigan over top.  The bad guys would always scoff at her, until she touched their faces and dug around in their minds, finding everything the Avengers needed to know.

She loved being a part of something bigger, something that felt important.  And she was making new friends, some of them feeling as close as family.  The only problem she had came in the form of James Buchanan Barnes.  Boy was she glad he wasn’t the one who could read minds, otherwise she’d be utterly embarrassed on a daily basis.  Y/N never tried to read the Avengers minds, she had no reason to, and it felt like a huge invasion of privacy.  But every once in a while when she would stare at him too long she thought she noticed a hungry glance being thrown her way.  Surely it was a trick of her mind.

Y/N also could not stop staring at his vibranium arm.  The thing was a work of art, a technological masterpiece.  It fascinated her, intrigued her, and whenever he was close by if she wasn’t being distracted by his inhumanly attractive face, she was gobsmacked by his vibranium arm.  

Over time she noticed Bucky being closer to her, whether it was during group movie nights sitting next to her, staying close whenever they would bring in someone to have her read their mind, sitting at the kitchen table during meals, and he volunteered to give her gun training.  She decided to be brave and ask if he wanted to have a movie night in her room one day.  “You’ve gotta get updated with the best cinema of the last eighty years!” she exclaimed as she pulled up her online streaming accounts.

“And what great piece of cinematography are you going to educate me on?” Bucky laughed.

“Legally Blonde,” Y/N smirked as she looked at him and pressed play.  “Now pass the popcorn.”

As the movie progressed, Y/N was distracted once again, her eyes drifting from the screen to the metal arm that she had purposefully sat next to.  Bucky was leaned back against her headboard, smiling at one part of the movie, long legs stretching out on the bed and his hands intertwined on his stomach.  She eyed his metal arm as inconspicuously as she could.  The way it was formed, the metal manipulated to look like a human arm would, with the plates and divots following the natural lines of muscle that would normally be there was captivating.  The gold that peaked through the plates seemed to shine even in the dimly lit room, complimenting the dark gray color of the rest of the arm.  Her gaze strayed to his hand, matching in size to his flesh one, the smaller plates and glimpses of gold almost making it look, if she didn’t know better, like a really cool futuristic tattoo.  

He suddenly moved his metal arm and laid it flat between them on the bed.  “You can touch it if you want,” Bucky said quietly.

Y/N’s eyes snapped up to his face.  He wasn’t looking at her, still watching the movie, but he had a teasing grin pulling at his lips.  Y/N hung her head and started giggling, covering her face with her hands.  “I’m sorry, Buck.”

Bucky laughed.  “It’s okay.  I get it, it’s a bit strange,” he said, finally looking down at his arm.  He turned it over and rolled his wrist, then flexed his fingers.

“It’s vibranium, right?” she asked.

“Yep.  Designed by Wakanda’s best,” he said, glancing at her.  

“Can you…feel with it?” Y/N asked, her hand slowly reaching out and running a finger along his forearm.

“In a weird way, yeah,” Bucky nodded.  “It’s more of a pressure thing.  I can tell that something or someone is touching me.  It’s hooked up to my nervous system somehow.  I don’t pretend to understand anything Shuri told me about it when they first gave it to me,” he snorted.

Y/N hummed, her finger moving closer to his wrist.  “Can it do anything?”

“Besides bash people’s heads in?” Bucky asked with raised eyebrows.

Y/N rolled her eyes.  “Yes, we get it, you’re a big bad super soldier,” she scoffed.  “I mean does it have any features?  Like does it regulate temperature?  Or a hidden compartment for a gun in there?  Or rockets like the Iron Man suit?  Or–”

Bucky laughed loudly at that as he sat up and turned more to face her.  “No, but I wish!  I should talk to Shuri about that.”  He reached the hand out and took hold of her hand, putting her palm facing upright.  “It can regulate temperature,” he said, laying his palm on top of hers.  She felt it start to heat up a little and her eyebrows raised in surprise.  “Super strong, obviously,” he said.  “Vibranium can only be destroyed by other vibranium, so nearly indestructible.  And lately I found something weird,” he said with a frown.  He lifted his hand off of hers and held it up between them.  He focused on his fingers, and Y/N gasped as they started to vibrate.  “I don’t really know what that’s for, but it’s interesting,” he said, turning his hand over.

“That is…interesting,” Y/N said, gulping quickly as her thighs pressed together.  

Bucky hummed then the vibration stopped.  “Otherwise it functions like a regular arm.  I’m able to subconsciously do everything I do with my right hand.  I can also write with it,” he said with a lopsided smile.  “It makes me ambidextrous.”

“How funny,” Y/N smiled.  “Does it ever…hurt?”

“No,” Bucky shook his head, his gaze meeting hers.

“Good,” she nodded.  They stared at each other for a moment before Y/N blinked rapidly and looked back at the TV.  “Oh!  Here’s the bend and snap!”

“The what?” Bucky scoffed.

***

After that movie night whenever Y/N and Bucky were together he would reach out and touch her with the metal arm.  It was always something playful, like tickling the back of her neck when her hair was up, gently pulling her hair when it was down, poking her anywhere she had exposed skin while he made his finger ice cold, which made her squeak one too many times in important meetings.

Then the touches became friendlier.  When she sat next to him on his left side he would rest the metal arm behind her on the couch, let her hold onto it during scary movies, then reach over and squeeze her knee or thigh randomly.  Y/N was brave again and randomly grabbed his hand, holding it and examining it while everyone was hanging out and talking one night.  She intertwined her fingers with his metal ones, ignoring his eyes on her as she paid attention to the conversation.  It wasn’t the most comfortable thing, holding onto metal, but he didn’t pull away, so she didn’t let go.  Bucky seemed to enjoy the fact that the arm didn’t scare or worry her, and that someone accepted that piece of him that was considered so dangerous.

Y/N’s fantasies and dreams got progressively more spicy after seeing his fingers vibrate.  She woke up in a sweat most mornings, her hips trembling as the last memories of her dreams riddled with Bucky’s vibranium hand between her legs would flit away.  Her staring got worse by the day, until one night while they were in his room hanging out Bucky’s metal fingers snapped in front of her face.

“Jesus, doll, did you hear anything I just said?” he asked, his eyes narrowed at her.

“Oh, I’m sorry,” Y/N closed her eyes and shook her head.  “My mind has just been…elsewhere.”

“Does elsewhere have my metal arm as the star of the show?” he asked, arching his eyebrow and crossing his arms over his chest.

Y/N’s eyes widened, and she could feel a deep blush painting her cheeks.  “What?  No, I, uh…” she floundered.  He gave her an unimpressed look and Y/N sighed, looking away.  “I’m sorry, Buck.  I shouldn’t stare.  It’s just really cool, beautiful even!  And ever since you showed me the features I’ve been thinking about how it would—” she cut herself off with a gasp, covering her mouth with her hands.

Both of Bucky’s eyebrows raised.  “How it would…what?” He asked, slightly tilting his head.

Y/N shook her head.  “Nothing, uh, forget it,” she said, sliding off his bed and backing away towards his door.  “I um, I gotta go do something, I forgot–”

Bucky quickly stood and walked toward her.  “How it would what, Y/N?” he said, making her back up faster.  She didn’t realize how close she already was to his door and backed into it loudly with a huff.  Bucky’s arms caged her against the door, his head dipping down to be eye level with her.  She stared at him with wide eyes, her mouth agape as her breathing got heavier.  The look he was giving her was one she’d never seen before, at least not in real life.  His gaze flickered across her face, his own breathing becoming heavy.  “Answer me,” he grumbled.

Y/N swallowed harshly.  “H-how it would f-f-feel,” she stammered in a whisper.

“How it would feel…where?”  Bucky breathed, his head tilting again and eyes narrowing.

“On me,” Y/N replied.

Bucky let out a frustrated sigh.  “Are you always this infuriating?” he asked.  “Use your words, Y/N.  Be a big girl and tell me what it is you want.”

Y/N whined involuntarily and it made his eyes widen.  It was now or never.  “I want you to use your fingers as a vibrator on my clit,” she whispered in a shaky breath.  “I want to feel them inside me.  All over me.  I want y-you.”  Y/N slowly reached a shaking hand up and caressed his cheek.  “I l-like you…a lot.”

Bucky’s eyes fluttered at the feeling of her fingers on his face.  Then his hands slid from the door to cup her face, his metal thumb sweeping across her cheek.  “I like you, too,” he breathed, then leaned down and kissed her fiercely.  

Y/N couldn’t hold back the moan that traveled up her throat at finally feeling his lips against hers.  Her arms wrapped around his waist, hugging him close as he kissed her until she felt lightheaded.  Bucky’s metal fingers wrapped around the back of her neck and into her hair, forcing her head into a different angle to deepen the kiss.  His rougher treatment made her whimper against his mouth, and he opened his mouth to lick at her lower lip, then nip at it teasingly.  

Bucky licked into her mouth, tasting her tongue and groaning at how easily pliable she was being for him.  “Are you sure you want this, doll?” he asked quietly as he moved his kisses to her cheek then down her neck.  “I’m a bit of a mess.”

“My mess,” Y/N immediately responded.

Bucky huffed a laugh against her ear.  “Your mess,” he chuckled.  

Y/N’s hands felt him all over his back, his sides, and up his front.  Her fingers ran over something hard on his chest, and she followed the line of a chain up to his neck.  It was his dog tags.  She twisted the chain out from his shirt so she could grip the dog tags and pull him down harder as she kissed his mouth again.  Jesus, do I have a metal fetish? 

“Fuck!” Bucky growled.  His metal fingers fisted into her hair and tugged as he bit her lip harder then sucked on it.  Y/N whimpered again and he turned them both around and started walking towards his bed.  He released her hair and took a step back.  “Strip,” he commanded.

Y/N took off her clothes in record time.  Bucky looked her over slowly, the desire in his eyes making them look darker.  He took off his dog tags and hung them around Y/N’s neck.  The feeling of the metal hitting her sternum made her shiver.  He then gripped the chain like she had before and tugged her harshly towards him.  “Mine,” he grumbled.

“Yours,” Y/N nodded.

He then pushed her back onto the bed and she quickly crawled backwards until she was laying flat and watching him.  Bucky then started to slowly strip out of his clothes, his eyes never leaving her.  Once he was fully naked in front of her he started to crawl up the bed until he hovered over her.  He leaned on his flesh hand as his metal one reached up towards her mouth.  His fingers brushed over her lips, which she obediently opened.  “Get them wet for me, doll,” he said lowly.  Y/N nodded and sucked his fingers into her mouth.  She licked and sucked them heavily until he pulled them out of her mouth and brought them down in between her legs.  “That’s so hot, doll,” he said, looking down at her pussy.  “You’re good with your mouth, aren’t you?  Can’t wait to have you suck my cock soon.”

Y/N gasped then moaned as his metal fingers started slipping through her lower lips, rubbing her all over until they finally found her clit.  He rubbed it slowly, then looked at her face as his fingers started vibrating.  Her mouth dropped open in a silent moan, her fingers gripping the blanket beneath her for dear life.  The way the metal felt against her core was strangely addicting, with his fingers interchanging between warm and cool as he regulated the temperature while they vibrated on her clit.  He then left his thumb on her clit while the others dipped down until he could find her entrance, prodding one finger in, then another once he found how wet she was.  

“Oh my god!” she cried out.  “Buck…Bucky…I-I…fuck!”

“Is this what you wanted, doll?” Bucky smirked.  “Is it how you imagined it would be?”

Y/N’s head thrashed as his fingers thrust back and forth into her, the vibrating as they curled against that spot deep inside making her see stars.  “Better,” she squeaked.  “So much better!”

Bucky smiled wide and leaned down to kiss her again.  Within a few moments his touches brought her over the edge and she squealed into his mouth, her hot breaths fanning his face.  She was shaking as he slowly pulled his fingers out of her and brought them up to his mouth as he pulled away from the kiss, licking them clean and moaning at the taste of her.  “Goddamn, doll,” he said.  “Next time I’m gonna take my sweet time tasting you.  But right now I just need to be in you.”  Y/N nodded tiredly, still recovering from her orgasm.  He positioned himself in between her legs, lifting them up and over his hips as he gripped his cock with his flesh hand and pumped himself a few times then ran the tip of it through her wet lower lips.  “Do we need protection?” he asked suddenly, glancing up at her face.

“No,” Y/N shook her head, her pussy positively throbbing and begging to be filled.

“God I love this century,” he smiled.  Bucky started slowly pushing into Y/N and she shuddered, trying to breath through and adjust to the intoxicating stretch of his cock.  

“Bucky…” Y/N breathed as he finally bottomed out.  “You feel so good.”

“Fuck doll, you’re perfect,” Bucky huffed, his brow furrowed in concentration.  “Best pussy I’ve ever felt, holy shit…”

He leaned back down and started kissing and licking along her breasts, then slowly began his thrusts in and out of her.  Y/N felt like she was just trying not to lose her head, but was nearly delirious at how perfectly he fit inside her.  All she could focus on was him.  All she could see, feel, hear, and taste was him.  Bucky’s metal hand slid up her stomach and over her chest, tweaking whichever nipple he wasn’t currently sucking on.  It then slid up to her neck where he wrapped his fingers around her throat.  Her fingers gripped his metal wrist, her eyes widening as she stared up at him.  “Please,” she whispered.

Bucky watched her carefully for any signs of discomfort as he squeezed her throat.  He wouldn’t find any.  Y/N’s head tilted back, her eyes rolling back into her head as she gasped at the feeling of his fingers around her neck and the grounding effect it had while the restricting of her breath pushed her further into delirium.  “Fuck, Y/N,” he moaned.  “Where have you been all my life, huh?”  He let go of her throat, letting her breathe normally again, but his metal hand went to the dog tags resting in the middle of her sternum, and pulled them so her head was forced up, meeting him halfway.  His hips picked up a frantic pace, skin slapping against skin, their combined panting breaths making the moment feel intensely intimate.  “You’re mine, you hear me?” he growled, his nose nuzzling hers.  The dichotomy of sweetness and possessiveness made her pussy flutter around him.  “Mine.”

“Yours,” Y/N promised, nuzzling him back, then kissing his metal knuckles.  “Mine.”

“Fuck yeah, I’m yours, all yours doll,” Bucky smirked.  He kissed her hard, and it was finally enough to have her cumming again.  She screamed into his mouth, her fingers scratching his back and her legs shaking.  Bucky shuddered as her pussy gripped him insanely tight.  He was right behind her, cumming deep inside her and rutting it further into her until she could feel it leaking down to her ass.  His kisses became lazy as his hips came to a stop and they both calmed down, heavy breaths being swallowed by the other as he continued to lick into her mouth to taste her repeatedly.  “Shit, Y/N,” he huffed, making her smile.  

“Right back at ‘ya, baby,” she grinned.

Bucky’s gaze was flicking around her face, memorizing the moment, his eyes twinkling.  “I like being your baby,” he murmured, his metal finger tracing along her cheeks and her nose.

She turned her head and kissed his metal finger.  He grabbed the dog tags again and held it up to her lips, and she kissed them.  “I like being your doll,” she replied.