#how's it feel to fucking win finally after 25 years

[sapphire-weapon]

imagine being so disconnected from RE fandom that you think that Leon only became popular starting with RE2make

[joelsgoldrush]

“give me the first taste” | 10k

logan howlett x f!reader

part 2 of “GUILTY PLEASURE”

"Your hungry flirt borders intrusion / And I'm building memories on things we have not said / Full is not heavy as empty, not nearly, my love / Give me the first taste / Let it begin, heaven cannot wait forever / Darling, just start start the chase, I'll let you win." The First Taste by Fiona Apple

SUMMARY: From the moment you first laid eyes on Logan, you knew he was a tough nut to crack. But if there’s one thing you love, it’s a challenge. As your relationship grows, you’re determined to show him that, in this universe, he can also be loved.

WARNINGS/TAGS: mdni - smut 18+ fluff. angst. drinking. dirty talk. slow-burnish. age-gap (reader is 25). once again wade saves the day. domestic!logan. soft dom!logan. logan calls reader “kid”. they watch (500) days of summer. oral sex (f and m receiving). fingering. thigh riding. thumb sucking. throat fucking. multiple orgasms. unprotected p in v. creampie (i would say i’m sorry but i’d be lying)

AUTHOR’S NOTE: jeez. hi guys!!! hope you’re doing alright. this is the 2nd part to “guilty pleasure.” writing for these two has been a total rollercoaster, but god was it worth it. as i always tell you, english isn’t my first language, so if you come across any mistake and you feel like letting me know, there’s no problem. thank you so much for all the support you’ve been giving my posts. i’m happy strangers out there take the time to read my silly stories :)

A girl and a mutant walk into an apartment…

Actually, you’re still trying to come up with the rest of the joke. But one thing’s true: Logan’s about to set foot in your place.

You curse under your breath, putting both your hands to work as you struggle to open the door. “Fucking swollen wood. I hate humidity,” you mutter, glancing back at Logan, who frowns as you keep trying different maneuvers to get the door to function properly.

It’s a shitty situation overall. And having that gorgeous man practically glued to your back isn’t helping in any way. You can tell he wants to give you a hand, but you’re not having it—women in STEM or something of the sort.

“May I—” he starts, though you cut him off before he can finish.

“I’ve got this. Just need to—” you say, ramming your shoulder into the door with enough force to make it finally give away. Almost stumbling over the carpet but managing to catch yourself, you sigh in relief. Meanwhile, Logan stands still, scrutinizing you until you gesture for him to enter. “Welcome to the smallest apartment in New York City. It's nothing fancy, but it’s got everything you need for a comfortable stay on a budget. Make yourself at home!”

Logan narrows his eyes, the tiniest smirk playing on his lips before stepping inside. Each of his movements seems to be premeditated as he tosses his jacket onto the couch, surveying the room. A portrait of when you were a kid, probably six or seven years old, catches his attention. He tilts his head, picking up the picture to examine it more closely, and then flashes you a lopsided grin. “How cute.”

“Well, I’ve changed a lot,” you take the picture from his hands, returning it to the shelf where he had gotten it from. 

“Well,” he echoes, mocking your tone, “your beauty certainly hasn’t.”

His eyes bore into you as you meet his gaze. What amazes you most is that he’s being completely honest. In a heartbeat, you look away, wondering what’s gotten into you. Usually, you’re not this awkward—you’ve learned how to take compliments over the years, knowing how to smile just right, to flutter your eyelashes. To blush and giggle in command. Those were the tools that helped you to survive countless first dates—your dearest aces up your sleeve.

There’s no use denying that they remained just that: first, failed dates. You hope you never have to go back to dating apps after this.

“Are you hungry? ‘Cause I’m starving,” you say, trying to walk away from him, although he’s faster, catching your hand in his. 

“Hey,” he urges you to make eye contact with him, his voice perplexingly soft. “Is everything okay?”

You nod so vigorously that you nearly strain your neck. “I’m fine, I swear. I just never get past this point.”

Inching closer, he presses his lips together for a split second, his brows furrowing in confusion. “You lost me there.”

“Guys who come into my apartment don’t tend to call back,” you admit, a flush creeping up your face, cheeks getting hotter. “I happen to believe it’s a curse, though I’ve kissed, like, a hundred toads so far and it still won’t break.”

“So y’think you’re gonna scare me off,” he raises an eyebrow, grinning. His rough fingers become gentle as they tuck a strand of hair behind your ear. “It’s sweet. Should be the other way around.”

Wow. You two are a match made in heaven.

As you detach yourself from his embrace and head to the kitchen, you decide to look for something edible in the fridge, finding different trays of food from days ago, none of which look appetizing or suitable for feeding the Tin Woodman standing behind you.

All of a sudden, the unmistakable metallic sound of Logan’s claws unsheathing rings in your ears, forcing you to spin around. The image that unfolds before you is peculiar, to say the least: he’s cornering your cat against the door.

Why is he about to fight a cat?

“Please don’t kill him?” you take a step in his direction and scoop the little ball of white fur into your arms. Logan stares at both of you, eyes squinted and brows knitted. “I’m sure he’s the cutest feline you’ve ever seen. Have mercy on him.”

“I didn’t know you had a cat.”

“Earnest wasn’t aware of your existence either,” you reply, scratching along the animal’s back. He purrs beside your neck, his yellowish eyes never leaving Logan’s. “Earnest, this is Logan. He has claws just like you.”

“Don’t you dare compare me to that,” Logan warns you, retracting his claws with a sigh. You can’t help but wonder if he ever feels tranquil, at peace. “Y’know, you’ve doomed him to bad fortune with that name. Is he at least toilet trained?”

“Are you hating on The Importance of Being Earnest?” you ask, expecting a retort, though apparently the play’s title doesn’t ring a bell for him. “Oscar Wilde?”

“Who do you think you’re talkin’ to, kid?”

Now’s your time to roll your eyes, setting the cat down and letting it run away. He likes to hide in the bathroom—don’t ask why, because not even you know the answer to that. You flick your gaze up back to Logan, placing your hands on your hips. “See, you gave him trust issues.”

“He’ll survive. Don’t they have seven lives?”

This is the perfect conversation to have with someone who just ate you out thirty minutes ago: how many lives do cats have. Jesus.

At some point, Logan flops onto the couch, stretching out. You shudder as you hear him crack his neck, the popping sound getting on your nerves. He pats the empty side of the sofa, spreading his thighs until he’s almost taking up all the space. “Come here.”

Putting aside all your thoughts, you accept the invitation. You sit down, motionless, and his arm grazes the cushion behind your head, pulling you closer to him. You rest your cheek on his chest, letting out a deep sigh, one that you’ve been holding in since you got to the apartment. Is it possible that he knows you craved this? This proximity, this kind of affection. To be held—it’s been your only wish for months. He drums his fingers on your shoulder blades, then starts rubbing your back ever so lightly.

Far from dozing off, you feel alive.

It’s hard not to lose track of time and space when you find yourself immersed in the warmth he offers, and that’s when you realize how deeply you’re falling for this man. “Logan?” the mere thought of asking him what’s been on your mind terrifies you. The last thing you want is to ruin things—or whatever it is that you have. He hums, a low, heavy sound in his throat, indicating you to continue. “I have a question.”

“Ask away.”

You lift your face from his chest and look him in the eye. The city’s still alive outside, with music and chatter sneaking in through the window. Everything seems to be perfect, and you wish you could stay like this—just staring at him as if he were a painting in a museum, and you the critic who can’t stop writing articles about its beauty.

Okay, that was… weirdly specific. 

Logan tries to hide his smile as you peck his lips repeatedly. For a moment, you almost forget what you were going to ask him in the first place. But then he’s ready to listen, and you a wave of nausea washes over you.

“I know that we came here to… engage in adult practices.”

“Fucking, you mean.”

“I didn’t want to be that straightforward, but yeah,” you say, shaking your head as to rearrange your thoughts. “Would you mind if we stayed like this?” to emphasize your point, you kick your shoes off and put your legs on top of his lap. He observes the whole sequence without daring to utter a word. “Don’t get me wrong. I’d love to try that too. I truly do. But… right now, all I want is to cuddle,” he’s still silent, making you even more nervous. “I’m sorry. Is that okay with you?”

His whole body engulfs yours, your cheek coming to rest once again in its original position. You can feel the rhythmic beating of his heart, each breath he takes, the air he exhales dampening your nape. Logan peppers your neck with chaste kisses before pressing his lips to your temple. His voice comes out strained, partially muffled by your hair. “Who do you take me for, huh?” he’s right there, beside your ear, fucking everywhere. There isn’t a single centimeter of your exposed skin that he isn’t touching, marking as his. You don’t give him an answer, in part because you’re unsure of what to say. He takes your silence as a cue to keep talking. “Let me take you to bed.”

“I can walk on my own.”

“I know,” he mutters, standing up with you in his arms, one arm beneath your knees and the other one under your shoulders. Logan’s not used to being this cautious, this patient with someone he’s known for less than two weeks. You see it in his eyes when he lets his guard down—something that has cracked, a shell that’s been broken.

As he places you gently on top of the covers, he lingers for a moment, crouching beside the bed and searching for your lowered gaze. His fingers are warm as he tilts your chin up. “I didn’t come here just to have sex with you. That was a possibility, of course—but it’s not the main reason why I’m here,” he rasps, words accompanied by the light brush of his lips against yours for a quick, brief kiss. “I care about you. A lot. I’m fine with whatever we do as long as I get to be close to you,” he grabs your hand, giving it a reassuring squeeze. He then goes back to his usual bossy self, his demeanor changing. “And I don’t want to hear you apologizing for not wanting to have sex ever again. Understood?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Now you’re making jokes?”

“I can’t have serious conversations,” you confess, observing the look of pure confusion on his face. “It’s true. I once spoke at a funeral and they cut me off forty seconds into my speech.”

Logan laughs at your sudden confession, his eyes crinkling at the edges. Rising to his feet, he begins to unbutton his flannel, pausing after the first few buttons are undone, waiting for your approval. “Do you want me to stay tonight?” 

“If that’s what you want.”

“It is what I want.”

“Are you sure?”

“Don’t make me change my mind.”

His words don’t hide any real threat—that you know.

You stifle your laughter, shedding your clothes. Instead of going to the bathroom to change, you toss your work clothes carelessly to the floor, opting for an old pair of pajamas that are the complete opposite of sexy. They surely have seen better days.

Logan’s eyes trail over you, taking his time to analyze the faded lettering on your wrinkled shirt. “Keep calm and eat pizza?” he reads aloud.

“Hey. I bought it when I was seventeen.”

“You could use a new wardrobe.”

“Well, what about you?” you tease, toying with his belt. “You’re gonna sleep like this in my bed?”

“Can’t wait for me to get my shirt off, huh?” he grins, that all-too-familiar smile on his lips.

You play along, folding your arms over your chest. “You think so highly of yourself.”

Without breaking eye contact, Logan unbuckles his jeans, letting them pool around his ankles. He then shrugs off his flannel, leaving him in just his briefs and vest. You scan his body, and the room suddenly feels a hundred degrees hotter, the air between you thickening. Logan notices your reaction, chuckling. “Don’t get too excited. This is all you’re getting today.”

“I think I’ve already heard that before.”

“Kid.”

You raise your hands in surrender, showing him your palms and mouthing ’sorry’. Approaching your bed, you pull back the covers and slip into it. When you see Logan still standing there, you frown. “Where are your manners? Come here. I’m very impatient.”

He grumbles something under his breath, but he doesn’t make you wait long. He proceeds to get under the sheets beside you, occupying that side of the bed that’s always been empty. As you both settle in, facing each other, you can’t help but giggle, your contagious laugh getting to him. “What now?”

“You’re beautiful,” you whisper, tracing the bridge of his nose with your index finger, a featherlight touch that has him closing his eyes. In the soft glow of the night, with the city’s distant sounds filtering in, he looks breathtaking. “I mean it.”

“Do you have an off switch?”

“I’m… not sure. Let’s find out tomorrow.”

“You need to sleep,” he pulls you onto his chest with firm but gentle hands. He intertwines his legs with yours, holding you close.

“Wait. I have a game to play.”

“It’s late.”

“Please?”

He sighs. “Okay.”

“We have to make confessions until we fall asleep.” 

“You just want to talk—that doesn’t even qualify as a game.”

“It does in this universe,” you reply, feeling his chest rumble with a chuckle as you settle more comfortably against him. “I’ll start: remember the first night you came to the bar?” he hums in acknowledgment. “It wasn’t Burger Night. We don’t serve food. I just wanted an excuse to talk to you.”

He kisses the top of your head, his arms tightening around you. “I knew. You don’t have a kitchen down there, baby,” he falls silent, taking his time to come up with a confession of his own. “I have a fear of flying.”

“Really? You, of all people?”

“I wasn’t expecting to be judged.”

“Oh, don’t be such a crybaby,” you tease, burying your face further into the crook of his shoulder, inhaling his scent. He shivers slightly where your nose touches his skin. “I like you. It’s kind of scary, and I’m sure saying something like this probably goes against the rules of dating 101, but I do. I feel safe with you, like—like this is where I’m supposed to be.”

Almost as if the pieces of the puzzle finally fit together, you think to yourself, though the words stay unspoken.

You’ve come to learn that Logan’s not a man of many words—he’s more of the “show, don’t tell” kind of guy. So when he makes you lift your face, you’re not surprised by the way he kisses you: hungrily. Passionately, like a starved man at an all-you-can-eat buffet. A soft whimper gets lost somewhere in your throat as his tongue makes its way into your mouth, languidly stroking yours.

“We didn’t brush our teeth,” you whisper against his lips, laughing when he groans in exasperation.

“You love having the final say, don’t you?”

“I’m being serious, Logan. Cavities are a real issue for me.”

“You can always get new teeth.”

“But my morning breath—”

“It’ll stink anyway, and so will mine,” he responds, taking a deep breath and clearing his throat once he settles into his ideal sleep position. “Good night.”

“Night,” you murmur, nuzzling your cheek against his neck. Despite your efforts to ignore it, being cradled like this feels incredible. You can’t believe you went twenty-five years without it.

Just as you’re about to drift off, curiosity strikes. “Can you get tattoos?”

“Bub, I was actually falling asleep.”

“Oh, okay. Sorry,” you mumble, feeling a bit sheepish.

More silence.

“Logan?”

“Hmm?”

“What was the Great Depression like?”

“Fuck me,” he mutters, his voice gruff as he shifts lightly. “It was fine. Now go to sleep.”

And you do, but not for long. An abrupt coldness wakes you up, eyes wide open, feeling disoriented. It’s still pitch black outside, far quieter than when you first fell asleep. The clock on your nightstand reads it’s 3:17 am, though it feels like you’ve only been in bed for five minutes.

Then you see him—he’s twitching in his sleep on the far side of the bed, his painful grunts reaching your ears. Most of what he says is unintelligible, but there’s one word he keeps repeating over and over again without fail: “No.”

You don’t usually have nightmares. What’s the best way to wake someone from one? You’re still thinking when he starts mumbling again, his voice thick with distress, and now he’s throwing his arms in the air as if he were fighting off something—or someone—in his dreams.

Pressing your hands to his cheeks, you attempt to hold his face steady. He clenches his fists, his breath quickening the more he battles whatever’s haunting him. “Logan,” you whisper at first, subtly shaking his shoulders, but his eyebrows stay furrowed, deep in his nightmare. This time, you tighten your grip, fully sitting on top of him. “Logan. Logan! Wake up!”

Without warning, you’re on your back, pinned against the mattress. Logan’s straddling your hips, caging you in with his body, the weight of his adamantium skeleton pressing down. Your hands are trapped beneath his, and you watch as he clenches his jaw, teeth bared in a way that looks painful. His eyes are so dark and wild you barely recognize him, prominent veins throbbing in his neck with each labored breath he takes.

“Logan,” your own voice sounds unnatural, forced, as you do your best to bring him back to reality. “It’s me. You’re alright.”

That seems to get through him. Logan stares at you in disbelief, his eyes softening as they take in your terrified expression. He abruptly pulls away, retreating to the nearest wall. He’s gasping for air, slamming his eyes shut, his legs trembling. The only sound you can hear is his rapid breathing. You get up from the bed, taking a step in his direction, but you don’t manage to go any further since he stops you with a shout.

“Stay right there!” he’s growling, pointing his finger at you. “I’m serious. Don’t come any closer.”

“Logan…”

“Please, no!” his voice increases in pitch, not being able to meet your eyes. “Please. Just stay there.”

You comply, not wanting to upset him any further. Sitting back on your knees, you try to appear calm. A man so strong, capable of things you can’t even understand. A weapon turned against himself now stands before you, pushing you away as if his presence were poisonous. He slumps to the floor, the fabric of his vest soaked with sweat.

Once he’s fully conscious, you cautiously crawl toward him, watching his every move. On a random day, this might have been funny for both of you, but right now, there’s no room for laughter. Logan shakes his head, his shoulders tensing when you reach out to hug him, wrapping your arms around his broad frame. It takes him a couple of minutes, but eventually, his body sags against yours. For a while, neither of you speaks. You just thread your fingers through his hair, hoping the closeness will help soothe him. “Feeling better?” you whisper in the shell of his ear, and he pulls back to look you in the eye. You caress his cheek, his stubble rough against your skin. “Welcome back.”

“I’m sorry,” it’s the first thing he says, covering your hand with his. One by one, he kisses your knuckles, still shaking his head. “I don’t know what came over me.”

“You had a nightmare—it’s not like you could control it.”

“But I could’ve hurt you,” he says, lowering his gaze to your wrists, where his fingerprints have left their mark. “God. I’m so sorry. I have to go.”

“Wait!” you grab his arm, your mouth setting in a hard line, stopping him from leaving. “Don’t run away from me, not now. Don’t push me away, Logan.”

“I could’ve done something much worse.”

“But you didn’t. It was a nightmare, baby. You didn’t know,” you kiss his forehead, hoping to talk some sense into him. “Please, stay. Let’s try to get some more sleep.”

“What if—”

You hold his face close to yours, your noses brushing. “You won’t hurt me.” 

This time, he lets you keep him close, the roles now reversed. You can see him fighting his exhaustion, not wanting to fall asleep. But the more you play with his hair, the harder it is for him to stay awake.

“I’m alright,” he says, seemingly reading your mind. It’s hard to tell whether he’s reassuring you or himself.

“I know,” you knead his shoulder, aiming to ease the tension knotted there. “You better sleep, or I might start rambling again.”

A faint, tired hum escapes him, at long last allowing his eyes to close. “I like hearing you talk,” he murmurs, his breath warm against your collarbone, drifting off soon after that.

You continue to hug him, feeling the weight of his body gradually relax against yours as his breathing evens out. The room is quiet, but your mind is far from it: a tornado of emotions swirls within you—concern, relief, love, and something else you can’t quite decipher. It isn’t until sleep finally claims you too that your brain stops going a hundred kilometers an hour.

The most surreal Sunday night of your whole life.

“So… when will you let me see Lolo again?”

Wade’s question makes you stop mid-pour, flicking your eyes between the drink and him. A few seats away, you hand a glass to Adam. Returning to where Wade’s currently sitting, you dry your hands on your apron. “Why are you even here?” you ask, raising an eyebrow, and he gives half a shrug. “Last time I checked, I wasn’t holding him against his will.”

“He’s been crashing at your place almost every night. You have your own methods, woman,” he raises one finger, then quickly adds another, pointing at your shirt. “Two methods, in fact.”

At that, you laugh mirthlessly, shaking your head with a grin. “I’m surprised anyone would willingly date you.”

“I could ask you the same thing,” he retorts, taking a tentative sip of his beer and leaning back in his chair.

You glance at him while you wipe down the bar, looking for something to occupy your hands. “He’s not my boyfriend—yet.”

Wade mimics a punch in his chest, just where his heart’s supposed to be, though you’re starting to question whether he has one. His lips form a small, exaggerated pout. “That must hurt, doll. You got yourself into a situationship with a goddamn fossil. Good luck getting out of that.”

“It’s not that bad,” you say, rolling your eyes. “We’re cool this way. There’s absolutely no need for a title.”

“Okay, let’s rehearse that one more time because you look like you’re about to cry,” he lifts an eyebrow, drawing nearer. “You want the title, right?”

“I don’t.”

He props his chin on his hand, laughing at you. “Yes, you do. You can’t fool me.”

“I said I don’t.”

“I said I don’t,” he mocks you, kicking his legs and puckering his lips.

You can’t help but throw the towel down on the counter with irritation, giving in. “Okay! Of course, I want the fucking title.”

“There she is!” he exclaims, throwing his hands up in a triumphant gesture. “Glad we’re speaking the truth now,” he tilts his head to the side, noticing your sudden silence. “Hey, drop the long face. I’m sure he’s been thinking about it. In order to understand Logan, I usually compare him to elders over ninety.”

“Why would you do that?” you ask, your tone a mix of mild annoyance and curiosity.

“Just think about it! Senior citizens didn’t date for too long in the past. They’d go straight from strangers to lovers. Take my grandparents, for example: in the span of one year, they met at a party, then got married, and had five kids. Do you really want to have a litter of Logan’s grumpy, hairy puppies?”

“Wade, that’s not even possible.”

“The point is,” he continues, finishing his beer and wiping his mouth with the back of his hand, “Logan’s rusty in this area, alright? I’d bet a thousand dollars he probably dated Cleopatra.”

“How did you pass History in high school?”

“I never graduated, but keep that between us,” he lifts his shoulders, shrugging. He spins the empty bottle, contemplating his next words. “You should tell him how you feel and what you want. That’s what works best for Vanessa and me. It’s easier that way—you can’t expect him to just guess.”

You wrap your arms around yourself. “I just wish he’d realize it on his own.”

“Well, sometimes you need to give the other person a bit of guidance. I’m just laying out the basics of a relationship here. Did your parents hate each other or something?”

The irony of it all. “They got divorced when I was little.” 

“Oh, god,” Wade sighs, rubbing his temples before glancing at you. “Let me get this straight: Mommy and Daddy weren’t exactly the poster children for love. And you also happen to be a bartender. Anything else, honey? Please tell me you’re at least getting laid, because otherwise, I’m going to feel tremendously sorry for you and your mental health.”

Just then, you hear your name being called. Smiling at Wade, you mumble: “Saved by the bell.” Once you’re back from taking some orders, Wade jumps to his feet, coming around the counter to hug you.

“Dude, what’s the matter with you?” you ask, loosely returning the hug. 

“You’re a fucking survivor,” he whispers in your ear, genuinely sounding concerned. “I don’t know how you do it—you seem so put together. I would’ve lost it by now. A life without sex sounds awful.”

“Jesus, Wade! Get off!” you stretch your arm to punch him in the back, earning a groan from him. “Back to your seat, gentleman. I certainly don’t need your pity.”

“I’m a certified sexologist. Your secret’s safe with me,” he declares with a smirk, gesturing to his empty beer. “But first, I’m gonna need more of this tasty apple juice.”

“I hope you’ve got some cash on you,” you say, getting him another beer. “Why do I get the feeling Logan would kill us if he knew we’re talking about this?”

“Isn’t that what makes it even better?”

Swaying on your feet, you scrunch your nose, momentarily lost in thought. “He won’t let me touch him. I don’t know if it’s me that does something wrong. We do have our… moments, but he takes care of himself. And usually in the bathroom.”

Wade goes white in front of you. “How long has this been going on?”

“Over a month.”

“Oh. That’s bad, like, really bad.”

“Thanks! I’ll be sleeping on the highway tonight. You can always join me.”

“Doll, it’s nothing that can’t be fixed, alright?” he waves his hand dismissively, then sets his palms flat on the counter. “I know I’m starting to sound like a broken record, but talking to him is your best bet. This isn’t something you can just brush under the carpet. You’re like a goddamn radio—put it to good use.”

Just as you’re about to reply, you spot Logan entering the bar. You raise a hand in greeting, waving at him. He meets your gaze and smiles briefly, and so your eyes drift to Wade’s, shooting him a warning look. “If you keep this to yourself, I won’t charge you for today,” you mutter through gritted teeth, to which he answers by pretending to zip his mouth closed.

Logan takes a seat next to him, ignoring his presence. Instead, he focuses entirely on you. “Hey, kid.”

“Hey, homey.”

“Hiya, Wade,” Wade greets himself with a mock cheer, patting his own back, which makes you laugh. He turns to Logan and his whole face lights up. “I’m afraid to tell you I can’t sleep when you’re not around.”

Logan rolls his eyes. “Get your shit together.”

“You’re the worst roommate ever! Can’t believe you got yourself a girl and completely forgot about your bro,” Wade murmurs under his breath, just as his phone rings. “Thank God. I’ve got to go. My love nugget’s calling,” he announces, heading for the door. Before leaving, Wade blows the two of you a kiss. “I hate you both, but I also love you. Peace out, my friends!”

Logan and you exchange glances. “He’s a funny guy, isn’t he?”

“You could say that,” he replies, leaning in to kiss you on the lips. Logan intends to deepen the kiss, but you pull away after a couple of seconds. He frowns, clearly confused. “That’s how you greet me?”

You bite your lip, trying to suppress a giggle. “My tip jar is practically empty, and I hate to say it, but it’s your fault.”

“Do you want me to say I’m sorry?”

“Oh, no.”

“Good, ‘cause I’m not,” he plants a quick kiss on your cheek, making you smile. “You have classes tomorrow, right?”

“Yeah, at 9 am,” you almost grunt, not feeling too enthusiastic about it. “I’m gonna need your help. I can’t sleep through my alarm, okay? The professor said tomorrow’s class is an important one. Midterms are right around the corner, and I can’t take the liberty of failing them.”

“That won’t happen,” he assures you, and you believe him. “I can be of help, don’t worry. You won’t oversleep.”

Oh, Logan. Sweet, lying Logan.

Turns out you ended up oversleeping. Twenty-five years on this earth, and you still haven’t learned not to trust a man, even if his puppy-dog eyes silently beg you to do otherwise. The thing is—you love them. You love men. And you’re especially fond of the one currently sleeping in your bed.

The first rays of sunshine hit your face, waking you up. You attempt to raise a hand to shield your eyes, but moving any limbs feels like a Herculean task. A warm body is pressed against your back, one veiny arm draped over your stomach. Logan remains fast asleep behind you, his steady breathing succeeding in making you feel at ease. You reach back, running your fingers through his messy hair, and he grumbles in his sleep, instinctively pulling you closer.

What a nice, domestic morning. Yep, you’re getting used to this. And nope, you don’t regret it, not even in the slightest bit.

Though there must be a mistake, because you’re preeeeetty sure you had something important to do. 

Oh. You have classes. Had—past tense.

You reach for your nightstand, blindly groping for your phone. The charger is lying on the floor, the plastic of it all damaged. Perhaps Earnest had chewed on it while you were sleeping? You gently pry Logan’s arm off you, sitting up, and your bleary eyes land on something barely peeking out from under the bed.

It’s your fucking phone. The screen is completely shattered, with three distinct holes in the middle of it. Three holes, how strange! You can’t help but wonder who might have left them. Clutching your pillow, you whack Logan in the face with it. “Rise and shine, Sleeping Beauty!”

He groans, trying to take the pillow away from you. “What the fuck is wrong with you, kid?”

“I wish I had a UNO reverse card because I should be the one asking you that!” you jab your finger into his chest, showing him the ruined phone. “You broke my fucking phone!”

“What?” he asks, voice laden with sleep, still disoriented. He holds the phone, carefully scrutinizing it. “I think I don’t know how to hit the snooze button.”

“No shit, Sherlock. I believe you’ve made that very clear,” you huff, tossing the phone aside as you flop back onto the mattress. The clock on your nightstand says 11:05 am, and you cover your face with your hands, taking a deep breath. “Next time, when it goes off, just wake me up and I’ll do it.”

Logan settles beside you, resting his head on his forearm as he watches you. “I’m sorry, bub. I’ll get you a new one.”

“It’s fine,” you murmur, sighing. This is your free ticket to be a menace. “I should’ve known dinosaurs and phones would never get along. My bad, pal.”

You don’t even get to see his reaction because he starts tickling you, the room filling with your laughter. Squealing, you try to wriggle away, but his fingers dig into your ribs, expertly finding your most ticklish spots. Your giggles escalate into breathless laughter, your eyes squeezed shut as you desperately attempt to push him away. He’s relentless, chuckling when his own laughter bubbles up. 

“L-logan, stop!” you gasp between fits of laughter, aiming to grasp his hands.

“We dinosaurs love tickling people. Sorry, sweetheart,” he manhandles you until you’re perched on his lap, fisting the fabric of your (his) shirt. Leaning forward, he captures your mouth in a heated kiss. “I’m sorry about the phone,” he slurs the words against your cheek, his lips trailing down to your neck. You tell him that it’s okay, trying to find a comfortable position on top of him, and that’s when his thigh presses against your core, your eyes widening at the unexpected sensation. Logan’s no fool, noticing the way your breath hitches. “What’s wrong, baby? You woke up needy?”

“No, I just—” you trail off as he does it again, his strong thigh coming in contact with your clothed cunt. You search for leverage by placing your hands on his shoulders, glancing at him. “Logan.”

“I’m all ears,” he rests his back against the headboard, the tent in his boxers impossible to ignore. “You want to get off on my thigh,” he states with certainty. It’s not a question—it’s a full-on statement. He knows what you want, what you crave. “Come on then. Grind against it.”

You do as he says, not caring to think twice. You start moving, rubbing your wet pussy against his muscular thigh. The friction sends jolts of pleasure through you, and soon, you’re whimpering his name, your hands trailing down his abs. Why hadn’t you tried this before? It feels fucking amazing.

From his position, Logan stares at you, his lips slightly parted, eyes clouded with lust. Your arousal drenches your panties, soaking through them, the fabric clinging to his coarse leg hair. He glances down at the mess you’re making, his grin widening as he takes in the sight. “Goddamn, woman. I’m gonna make you clean it off, I swear to God.”

“Need your help,” you whisper, lowering your head, the heat in your cheeks intensifying. The coil tightening inside you is almost unbearable. A kiss is what you lean in for, desperate for more, though Logan appears to have other plans. He fists your hair, pulling at your nape and yanking your head back. The roughness of the movement pulls a moan from your lips, your mouth parched like a desert. 

“Eyes up here, okay? You look at me when I make you come,” his raspy voice makes you feel tingly, each word sending shivers down your spine. His hands fiercely grab the flesh of your hips, guiding you, helping you grind harder against his thigh. You think you’re on the verge of drooling when you catch the way his abdomen flexes, working to push you toward that long-awaited release. “That’s it, there you go,” he rasps, relishing the sounds he’s eliciting from you, each of your gasps feeding his desire.

Time slows as the warmth in your belly finally erupts, your eyes fighting to stay open through the aftershocks of your orgasm. No actual words leave your mouth, just a string of whines and moans, some carrying Logan’s name. He swallows every single sound you make, everything you give him, grunting as your legs tremble and shake atop him.

He lets you collapse onto your back, your breathing gradually evening out. “I think I saw fireworks behind my lids,” you confess, your mouth dry, expecting Logan to flop onto the mattress beside you. But he doesn’t. Through your blurry vision, you contemplate as he positions himself between your parted legs, getting dangerously close to your cunt. “Logan, what are you— Oh, fuck,” you moan mid-sentence when you feel him pulling your panties aside to lick a slow strip through your folds, collecting your arousal. He points his tongue, dipping it into your entrance, and you wince, squirming. “Santa Claus, is that you?”

Logan grins against you, closing his mouth around clit for a moment. He then shifts until he’s eye-to-eye with you, two of his fingers sliding into you in one smooth motion. “Give me another one,” he murmurs, his other hand slipping under your shirt to play with your nipples, pinching them. 

You never imagined two fingers could bring such intense pleasure. You just lie there, taking it like a good girl, as Logan sometimes call you. “Please, I need you,” you cry out, your fingernails scraping against his torso.

“I know, darlin’. I’m right here,” he rasps against your temple, moving his fingers in and out of you with more enthusiasm. But what he doesn’t understand is that you need all of him. Your hands itch to touch him, to feel the weight of his cock. The corners of his mouth turn up as he watches you struggle to find words. “Wish you could see yourself like this. Such a pretty girl, so gorgeous like this,” his fingers keep grazing that bundle of joy deep inside you, and he goes in for a kiss, the sour taste of your slick invading your taste buds. “Tightest pussy I’ve ever had. Need to stretch you real good before fucking you with my cock.”

Bingo! That last sentence does it for you, and you come for the second time in the morning, your cunt clenching and spasming around his fingers. You hide your face in his neck, mouthing at his Adam’s apple. He hasn’t trimmed his beard in days, and it shows because you can now feel a burning sensation on the soft skin of your inner thighs.

“You’re allowed to break all my phones from now on,” you suggest, only to hear Logan’s laughter in your ear. He snakes a hand through your hair, shoving it back away from your face. You feel him kiss your sweaty forehead, and as you press yourself closer to his body, something hard nudges your hipbone.

Absentmindedly, you trace the waistband of his boxers with your index finger, your eyes snapping to his face. Logan freezes on the spot, and it’s almost as if he’s stopped breathing. Without a word, he rises from the bed, his movements sudden and almost mechanical. You watch him, puzzled, as he heads toward the bathroom, the intimacy of just moments ago being abruptly replaced by a dreadful silence.

“Logan, is everything okay? Do you need something?” you ask and he pauses at the bathroom door, his back to you. For a brief second, you think he might actually open up, but when he turns around, his expression is neutral, masking whatever thoughts are running through his mind. At last, he flashes you a quick smile.

“I’m fine,” he says, his tone gentle but distant. “Just gonna take a shower. Then we can have breakfast together, right?”

You nod, his words easing the growing sense of frustration gnawing at you. He disappears into the bathroom, and the sound of running water soon follows. You sink back into the bed, staring up at the ceiling. You take your pillow and bury your face in it, letting out a muffled groan. There’s something he isn't telling you, something hidden deep beneath his usual gruff exterior. Although you try to piece together the fragments of his behavior, they don’t quite fit.

The minutes drag on, and the sound of the shower becomes a distant, constant background noise. You close your eyes, visualizing your happy place, but your thoughts keep spiraling. All you can do is wait—wait for him to come back and act as if nothing had happened.

Logan’s right there, just a few feet away—yet in moments like these, he feels miles apart. It’s one of those days in which, no matter how hard you try, you can’t seem to bridge that distance. 

It had all started with you asking Logan “Have you ever watched (500) Days of Summer?”

Of course, he had refused to watch the movie at first, and of course, you had threatened him with phoning Wade to let him know that Logan wanted to have a sleepover. That had done the trick.

You had asked for a day off at the bar, and surprisingly, your boss hadn’t objected. That turn of events led to this moment: sprawled out on the couch with Logan, the two of you watching the final minutes of your favorite film. Logan takes a long drag of his cigar, eyes trained intently on the screen. He’s only wearing sweatpants, which had caused your attention to drift from the plot a few times. The fact that you managed to sit through the entire movie without needing to pause it makes you feel particularly invincible.

Hey.

You again.

Yeah. I, uh, was just wondering if maybe after this, if, um, you— you want to get some coffee or something.

Oh, I’m sorry. I’m sort of supposed to meet someone after this.

Okay.

“That poor fella,” Logan murmurs, taking a slow sip of his beer. You look up at him from where your head rests on his lap, a contented smile playing on your lips. His fingers absently stroke your hair.

“Just wait,” you say, pointing to the screen of your laptop.

Sure.

What’s that?

Why not?

Okay. Well, then I’ll just, uh— I’ll wait for you.

We— we’ll figure it out.

We’ll figure it out.

“They’ll figure it out!” you exclaim, but Logan quickly shushes you, his attention unwavering.

My name’s Tom.

Nice to meet you. I’m Autumn.

When the movie comes to an end, you’re met with Joseph Gordon-Levitt breaking the fourth wall, staring straight at the audience as if he knows he’s about to get himself into a mess with another girl named after a season. You sit up, your eyes eagerly searching for Logan’s. “So? Did you like it? I’ve watched it seven times now. Can’t understand how it gets better each time.”

Logan closes his mouth around his cigar, inhaling deeply before answering. “Yeah, it was pretty good,” he says, his hand finding your cheek, thumb brushing softly against your skin. “Summer’s a bitch, though.”

“I respectfully disagree,” you tell him, grabbing his beer and giving it a try, only to grimace at the taste. Shuddering, you set it back down. “Why don’t you like her character?”

“Well, for starters, she did Tom dirty. Played with him like he was a damn rag doll.”

You raise an eyebrow, hugging a cushion closer to your chest as you lean back into the couch. “He knew from the beginning she didn’t want to be his girlfriend. Summer was clear—Tom just though he was smart enough to change her mind.”

“They acted like boyfriend and girlfriend the whole movie,” he scorns, placing his cigar down into the ashtray with a bit more force than necessary.

Is your first argument going to be over a movie? Exciting.

“Logan, they weren’t even official.”

“But she made it seem like they were,” he insists, the frustration in his voice growing.

“They were in a situationship—the perfect example, really. That’s not the same as being a couple.”

His gaze dips to the floor, brows knitted in a deep frown. “I think you’re relying on the technicality that they never used those titles. I mean, they did everything together. Isn’t that what normal couples do?”

Lord have mercy.

“Logan, who am I to you?” you inquire, crossing your arms over your chest.

He hesitates, narrowing his eyes, the question clearly catching him off guard. “You are—what? I don’t understand. Is this some kind of mind game you’re playing?”

“It’s actually very simple: if someone were to ask you about me, what would you say? Am I a friend? A bartender?” you inch forward, holding your breath, your tone faltering slightly. Meanwhile, Logan’s hands tighten into fists at his sides. “A fling? Your girlfriend? You complain so much about Summer, yet you can’t even name what we have.”

The living room falls into a heavy silence. Logan blinks slowly, his forehead creasing as he processes your words. “Why are you doing this to me?”

“Because these are the kinds of conversations we need to have. I understand you don’t want to have them, but I do.”

“Fine. Then tell me what it is that you want,” he asks, his mouth snapping shut when he sees you snorting in response.

“I don’t— I don’t know! To know how you feel, if possible?” you stand up from the couch, taking the cushion with you. You grind your jaw, gnawing on your bottom lip. “Why is it that every time I try to touch you, you push me away?”

He scrunches up his face, mirroring your movements and rising from his seat. “Bub, can we please talk about this tomorrow—”

“No! You don’t get to make all the choices, that’s not fair. Deciphering you isn’t easy, Logan. I’m not asking you to tell me everything you’ve been through. I just wish I could know how you feel about me. I can’t stand in front of you and pretend I don’t mind where this is going, because I’m more than sure I’m falling in love with you. “

“You can’t. You shouldn’t,” he says, his expression hardening. He turns his back to you, running his hands over his face in frustration before heading to the kitchen.

“Well, what were you expecting?” you follow him into the kitchen, finding Earnest on top of the fridge, beholding the scene with a curious gaze. “You basically moved in here, gave me a free trial of what life with you might be like, and now you have the audacity to appear surprised when I tell you I’ve caught feelings?” salty tears start rolling down your cheeks, and you spread your arms wide in exasperation. “Oh, but you’re right. How could I’ve been this stupid, to fall for the damned Wolverine!” you laugh bitterly, expecting him to break eye contact, but he doesn’t. “You think you’re so bad, so broken. Guess what: you’re not, because I love you, and I couldn’t care less about your past. You may think you’re unlovable, but you’re not, you hear me?”

For a heartbeat, the world seems to pause. And so he says:

“You are the most exasperating person I know.”

“Wow. Thank you so much!” you retort, your voice dripping with sarcasm. You run a hand through your hair, infuriated. “That makes me feel better!”

“Let me do the talking now,” he says, taking long strides toward you, and the proximity makes you lower your head. “You’re not getting the final say today. Just because I’m not over-sharing my feelings all the time doesn’t mean I don’t have them! In fact, I do. I may not express them openly, but they exist. And I wish you could see inside my head! You’d be delighted at how much time I spend thinking about you,” you cackle at his words, rolling your eyes. His fingers grip your chin, forcing you to meet his gaze. “There hasn’t been a single moment since the day we met that I have stopped wanting you. Your voice is like a goddamn radio that, no matter what I do, I can’t turn off. It’s like I’m infected by you, and I hate it!” his eyes burn with a mix of anger and affectionpur, his pursed lips softening as he continues. “No good ever comes from caring this much about someone. So excuse me for being scared of ruining the only good thing that’s happened to me in years!”

You hit him with the cushion—not with enough force to make him hurt, but enough to make a point.

“Drop it, kid.”

“I’m—” you hit him again, “not—” and again, “stupid. I know what I’m getting myself into,” as you attempt to raise the cushion once more, Logan takes it from your hands, throwing it on the counter. Your shoulders sag, trying to find the strength to keep going. “And I know for a fact,” you add, glancing at his conflicted eyes, “that the easiest thing for me would be to walk away from you, but I can’t. It’s too fucking late.”

“You don’t know what you’re saying.”

“I do! These are my feelings, okay? Mine, not yours. You don’t have the right to decide who I love and who I don’t.”

Logan’s eyes squint, scanning your face. “You’re… obnoxious.”

“Yeah, tell me something I don’t know.”

“And I—I love you,” he confesses, his nostrils flaring with emotion. Opening your mouth to say something, you close it moments later, your gaze locked on his. “You could take what you said, pretend as if I didn’t exist, and I wouldn’t say a thing, y’understand? I would move cities if you asked me, because I love you that fucking much, and I want you to be happy.”

You reach for his hand, briefly intertwining your fingers with his. Looking at him through your eyelashes, you rub your fingers over his stubble. “And what if my happiness comes from being with you?”

Logan lets out a harsh breath, his arm curling around your waist, pressing his chest to yours. “I can’t promise I’ll be the perfect boyfriend. I’ll probably makeplenty of mistakes.”

“Fine with me.”

“And you’ll be mad at me. A lot.”

“Don’t worry about that. I’ll make sure it’s mutual.”

Both of you laugh then, and you’re taken aback when he brushes his nose against your cheek, silently seeking permission to kiss you. His lips move hungrily against yours, trailing his hands down your spine, pulling you closer. He breaks the kiss and laughs at your eagerness when you chase after his mouth. You end up perched on his lap as he settles into one of your kitchen chairs. Logan stares into your eyes, his gaze drifting lower. “I won’t push you away this time. Not anymore.”

That’s your cue to finally do what you’ve been yearning for weeks. You fall to your knees in front of him, shaky fingers that graze the hairs on his happy trail. The bulge in his sweatpants is close to your face, and your mouth waters at the thought of having him between your lips. “Can I?” you ask, your voice a touch higher. 

He draws a long breath, tilting his head slightly. “You may, baby.”

You pull at his sweatpants and boxers, sliding them down his legs just enough to free his hard cock. As you take a look at it, you find yourself at a loss for words, the sight overwhelming. Nothing could’ve prepared you for the first taste of his precum as you envelop his head between your lips, that musky scent of his hitting you.

A whimper escapes you, and Logan hisses when you run your tongue along the slit, his hands gripping the back of your neck tightly. “Fuck, darlin’. Thought about your mouth so many times, but never imagined it’d feel this good,” he cants his hips up, causing your movements to stutter. “You can take a bit more, can’t you?” his question ends with a guttural grunt, his fingers tightening on your hair. “Gotta show me how much you want this.”

Logan takes all that you give him. You lower your head further, taking in another inch of him. Sex’s supposed to feel good, but this? It feels even greater. And he’s not even inside you yet, you hear a voice murmur in your head. The hand on your nape encourages you to move faster, and you sneak a hand between your bodies, grasping him by the base. You swallow around him, eyes fluttering open when he tugs sharply at your hair..

“Thaaaat’s it, honey. Just like that, want you to choke on it,” he grumbles, running his mouth just the way you like. The tip of his cock nudges the back of your throat and tears fill your eyes. You pull away to catch your breath, still stroking him as you regain composure. Logan’s gaze is intense, and he stares into your soul, his chest heaving. “What’s wrong, sweetheart? Dick got your tongue?”

You’ll definitely get back to that joke later.

“Will you—can you—”

“Come on, beautiful. I don’t have all day.”

God, you love it when he’s mean.

“Fuck my throat,” you plead, your voice barely above a whisper.

A smile dangles on the corner of his lips. “We both know you can be nicer.”

The fucker makes your pulse race. “Can you fuck my throat?” you ask again, more insistently. “Please.”

He guides himself into your mouth, smirking as he watches how your eyes roll back in pleasure. “How polite of you to say please. Some good manners you’ve got.”

You whimper around him, your body responding to the rhythm he sets, fully immersed in the intensity of the moment. And for a while, you drift away, losing your sanity with each thrust of his hips, every tug at your hair. It’s almost impossible not to compare him to your past hookups. You try to recall at least a single instance when another man made you feel this way, but no memory surfaces.

Time seems to stretch and warp. You don’t really know when it happens—he pulls you off his cock, cradling your face, examining you. “You fucking love that, don’t you?” he asks with that sweet, syrupy voice, brushing away your tears. There’s no room left for embarrassment, so you nod, closing your mouth around his thumb. Defeated, Logan shakes his head, pressing his finger against your tongue. “I was planning on coming on your mouth, but I think I’ve got a better idea.”

In the blink of an eye, you’re in your bedroom. Not even a metaphor—he picks you up and basically runs to your room, closing the door behind him. You prop yourself on your forearms, trying to process what’s about to happen. Logan, already naked, climbs onto the bed after you, He kisses you slowly, tracing the curves of your body. “You still want this?”

“I do. I’m just… nervous, that’s all,” you admit, flashing him a quick smile. “It’s been two years of celibacy for me. Will it fit?” you ask, glancing down at his cock, and Logan stares at you in confusion. “Also, how many girlfriends have you had? Just curious.”

“I don’t think this is the time for that conversation.”

“You’re right,” you agree, lying back on the mattress, bracing yourself for what’s to come. “Were they pretty?”

“Bub.”

“Yes?”

“Shut up,” he replies with a smirk. “Focus on me, okay?”

Despite your tries to crack jokes at the worst possible moment, things escalate pretty quickly. Logan’s got three fingers inside you, pumping them in and out. He’s already made you come once with his mouth—to get you more relaxed, he had said. Wanting sounds slip past your lips as he doesn’t miss the chance to hit that spot that makes you squeeze your legs together. The tip of his nose drags long lines up and down the skin of your neck, mouthing at your jaw.

“I’m ready,” you mumble after some minutes, reaching for his cock and stroking him. “Let’s break the bed.”

“You’re lucky you’re this cute,” he says, catching your lips in a kiss. “Condom?”

“Negative, Sergeant.”

“You don’t have any?”

You shake your head, biting the inside of your cheek. “I don’t want you to use one.”

The way his gaze darkens doesn’t go unnoticed by you. His hand guides your face toward his cock. “Get me wet,” he commands, and you oblige, sucking him into your mouth. You hum around him, unable to contain yourself, and you hear Logan chuckling above you. “Can’t believe this is what it takes for you to shut up. Gotta keep your mouth full all the time.”

Once he’s satisfied with the way you’ve slicked him, he positions himself over you, caging you between his arms. Logan pins you down with his body, his hot breath mingling with yours. When you stare into his eyes, all you see is pure love, and your heart swells with affection. “Will you fuck the bad jokes out of me?”

Logan laughs, rubbing his length along your folds, grazing your clit for a fleeting second. “I sure as hell will,” he assures you, lining himself up with your wet entrance. He looks into your eyes for approval. “Ready?”

“I was born rea— Fuck!” you nearly scream as his head breaches you, your eyes squeezing shut. Turns out his fingers weren’t enough. “Fucking mutant dick.”

“You’ll love it, believe me,” he husks next to your ear. His arms shake where they rest on each side of your head, seemingly as affected as you are. Logan pulls out, and then fucks into you with a little more force.  “How are you still so tight? You’re killin’ me here.”

“I’ve got no idea, but you feel—amazing,” you gasp, latching onto his back, holding him close to you. His thrusts gain strength, and suddenly he’s bottoming inside you. “Oh, god. I can feel you in my stomach.”

“I know, baby, I know. Can feel it too,” he curls one of his hands around your throat, keeping you in place. From his position, he can watch the way your face contorts in pleasure. Lowering his head to envelop one of your nipples between his lips, he sucks hard. “You were desperate enough to get on your knees in the damn kitchen. You’ll be good now too, am I right?”

“Yes. Yes. I can be good,” you pant, eyes wide and pleading. “Anything you want. Just don’t stop.”

“I’m not stoppin’, princess. Don’t worry,” his mouth curves into a wicked grin as he drives into you again, this time even deeper. His hand on your throat tightens slightly, just enough to make you feel the pressure, grounding you in the moment. “That’s my girl,” he murmurs against your chest, his voice laden with need. 

Each thrust has you gasping, your body arching off the bed to meet his. Logan’s grip on your neck loosens as his hand slides down to grasp your hip. He squeezes your tender flesh, pulling you harder against him, as if he can’t get close enough. The bed creaks under the intensity, but you barely notice, too far lost in the rhythm of his movements.

“You’re perfect, all I’ve ever wanted,” he slips his free hand between your bodies to find your clit, and the moment his fingers make contact with it, you can’t help but whine. “So fuckin’ perfect,” you hear him repeat, more to himself than to you, his voice stranded as he tries to hold himself back, letting you chase your own release first.

The pressure inside you builds up, tightening with every skilled flick of his fingers. You’re sure you must look like a mess, sweaty and sticky, though the way he looks at you makes you forget everything else. “Logan, I’m—” you croak, the wind being knocked out of your lungs with each relentless thrust. “I think I’m gonna come.”

He picks up speed, snapping his hips faster. “I’ve got you, let go for me. I’ll take care of you, baby, I swear,” his pace becomes erratic, digging his fingers into the softness of your thighs as the headboard keeps slamming against the wall. Your body obeys him, a shuddering release tearing through you, moaning Logan’s name and gripping him like a vice. “That’s it, fuck, that’s it,” he doesn’t stop, driving you through your orgasm. His eyes snap to your face, contemplating how wrecked you look. “Tell me where—please, sweetheart.”

“Inside.”

“What?”

“I said inside. Come inside me, Logan.”

He’s not strong enough to deny you such a thing. Logan buries himself to the hilt, groaning your name as his cock twitches and paints your walls with his thick seed. Beside your head, his claws unsheate, tearing into the pillow. He ruts against you, his body trembling and writhing against yours, already apologizing for the pillow incident while pressing his forehead to your shoulder. “Sorry, I’m sorry. That hasn’t happened in a while.”

When Logan collapses beside you, he pulls you into his arms, kissing you eagerly. You return the kiss, wincing as you feel a bit of his cum slip out of you, rolling down your thighs. He stares at your glistening cunt without an ounce of remorse, and you close your legs. “That’s private.”

“It wasn’t very private a minute ago.”

“Logan?”

“Tell me, bub.”

“Knock, knock.”

He must truly love you, because he plays along: “Who’s there?”

“Ice cream.”

“Ice cream who?”

“Ice cream for you all night long.”

“Guess I didn’t succeed in fuckin’ the bad jokes out of you,” he teases softly, letting his head fall back on the bed. “But it’s fine. I’ll just have to keep tryin’.”

This is the story of how you end up dating a man who’s two hundred years old. But it’s also the story of how that same man learns to let his guard down and open his heart. So, remember this, kids: the sky’s the limit, especially when it comes to love—and yes, even when it involves dating mutants.

dividers by: @/cafekitsune thank you!!! :)

[ilyrafe]

after seeing so much one direction content these past couple of days, it got me thinking. one direction really was the last boyband to ever happen. no one will ever come close to what they did in only six years. it’s a once in a generation kind of thing to happen. they didn’t even win the x factor and ended up being the show’s biggest act, 14 years later.

yes, they were manufactured, but at the same time, they were the least manufactured band to ever exist in recent times. they didn’t dance, they weren’t actually meant to be a band, they got everything they had because of charisma and talent. these boys were so talented and charismatic. they didn’t really dress the same, they were working class teenagers with a dream and they did it. and it was beautiful.

after seeing their statements, it’s finally downing on me that one direction is really over and i will never see all five of them together again. 11 year old me is absolutely devastated, and so is 24, almost 25 year old me.

the fangirl in me never went anywhere, it turns out. i still have my 1d concert tickets (the only one i went to and zayn was still in the band!), my albums and dvds, books, theater tickets and every once in a while i would take them out of the box and reminisce of the good old days, never thinking i would mourn one of them so soon. i genuinely thought i would be way older when they would go.

i can’t help but feel so sad that liam’s last years were so erratic and horrible. he was hurting deeply and he deeply hurt other people, and there is no excuse for what he did. i mourn what he once was, what he could have been and how it all ended up being. i take maya’s allegations seriously and i encourage you to do the same. what she is going through right now is impossible to imagine.

for those saying they’re glad “an abuser died”, think about what you’re saying. his death helps no one. his victims will never get justice, he will not take accountability for his actions. no one will ever get closure.

for those saying they feel bad for hating or mocking him, you really should. he was called an opportunist for showing up at the boys’ concerts and yet, when harry would do it, everyone loved it.

liam wasn’t perfect, he fucked up a lot, but like anyone, he had the right to, at the very least, apologize. 31 is too young, and no one deserves to go like this.

all i think about is his little son, who will grow up without his dad. no kid should ever lose their parent, especially at such an young age. the fact that he never once exposed his son to the media (like many celebrities do) to protect his privacy tells me that he loved his boy and knew all too well the damage this exposure would cause.

i saw that some 1d songs are trending again, and as much as i would love to take the day to listen to them, it is too soon. i haven’t been able to watch friends since matthew perry died, haven’t been able to watch brooklyn 99 since andre bragher died and will not be able to listen to 1d for a while.

it’s too soon.

call me dramatic, i don’t really care. the most magical part of my adolescence has ended tragically and i am really at a loss.

for those who are conflicted as i am, take your time. it is okay to be sad he’s gone and, at the same time, feel disappointed or even angry. it is okay to mourn and, at the same time, support maya.

edit: i would also like to express my support to his parents, sisters, cheryl, kate and friends.

[gamblersdoll]

PUT MY NAME ON IT, NOW IT DESIGNER 4

cw: pure smut, maybe heavy for some, fluff at the end.

“hak–!” you yelped, feeling the sting on your ass.

currently, you laid across his lap, naked and your ass bare. it was pretty red, almost bruised and practically hot. and it was in the same spot you were in. even though hakari was sitting back, practically manspreading, he had a wide lap.

“count the number or ill restart.” he threatened, rubbing your poor abused ass cheeks. you were given 25 slaps… and only on ten. that fucker knows he has thick and heavy hands.

“ten…” you said, how pitiful.

another slap, had you biting your lip and whimpering. “eleven!” you yelped again, feeling him rubbing his hand on your cheeks, giving you some form of relief. “baby please!”

“baby please.” he mocked back, slapping your ass again. “cmon babydoll, keep up.” he said, mockingly.

“twelve!!” you whined, squirming and kicking your feet slightly. only causing hakari to grow annoyed and yank you back, dragging his thick fingers up and down your puffy and soaked slit, exhaling as he felt his cock finally get a little thicker, too.

“fuck , mama…” he whispered in your ear, adding another digit to rub your slit. “pussy is practically droolin for me, huh?” he said tauntingly.

“is too much.. spanking too much..” you said, feeling and knowing that you have to wear loose clothes now, because your ass would be raw.

hakari flipped you on his lap, holding you while he kissed your cheeks stained with sweat and tears while rubbing circles on your puffy clit. it made your hips buck against his fingers.

“poor baby needing her pussy finger fucked, huh? how do you ask?” he said, making you look at him. he plunged a finger into your precious pussy, feeling how warm and juicy you were, you really hadnt had any action in a year? fuck he could tell why you always acted out, that bitch boy boyfriend couldnt put it on you.

“please..” you said, only able to muster that. how pathetic, because you were just talking big girl shit a couple minutes ago, what happened to that? you never knew. all you did know was that your was was raw and tingling , and hakari is like a personal oven at four hundred degrees right now.

“ill let it slide.” and he curled his fingers, only moving the tips of his fingers like he beckons your g spot to come to him. “so what are we gunna stop doin now..?” he whispered in your ear, feeling his body heat get even hotter.

“fuckfuckfuckfu-“ you said repeatedly, eyes threatening to roll back but only snapping back to hakari when he speaks. “not to- oh shit..– not to talk back– ha fuck!” you moaned out, legs trying to close back together until hakari separates them. he was always so big and strong, he just made you feel weak with him.

“yeah, baby. was talking all big and bad, and now look at you.” he said, with a hint of sass and rolling his eyes. he kisses on your neck, sucking so slightly and his fingers were vicious, faster than they were before. he felt something familiar , like he knew it was his fever coming hard, those fevers as if he was going to land a huge loan and win even bigger.

“i cumin! i cumin—!” you chanted, holding onto his beefy arm, hiding your face in it, trying to close your legs but for no avail, just to have hakari slam them open—

JACKPOT!

you came with a cry, body convulsing and the arch of your back could make him feral, feeling your walls spasm on his fingers as he rubbed your clit in circles and sucked on your neglected tits. you finally caught your breath after some cooing and praises from him, along the lines of “good fuckin girls” or “thats my girl, thats it.”

you tried to close your legs, until he slotted himself between you as you lay on your back.

“uh uh, i ain done with this pussy yet.” he said, freeing his cock and him hissing at the cool air. he rubbed your hips, to at least ease your body before he fucked you. your body was so fuckin pretty, he just doesn’t understand how you havent been touched in a year.

he kisses your plump lips, biting so softly and low growls coming from him. he kisses your neck, down to your collarbone, to your chest and your mounds.. your stomach, and your little tummy where your poor uterus was. he puts his forehead against yours, as he slides the fat of his cock in.

holy fuck did you not forget that.

you both had a small moan, remembering when you both were younger and fucked on the daily, at most three to four times a day. he wasnt even in all the way.

“pussy remembers who fucks it the best, already clamping down on my cock and im barely all the way in.” he snickered , looking down at you. “you wan me to show you where it is, mama?” you nodded.

“okay babydoll, this right here…” he slightly pulls his hips back, and slams it back into you, watching you throw your head back and moan so loud. “is your cervix.” he says, thrusting slower and moans a bit, trying to not get too crazy with it since he basically had to take your virginity back. “fuck you feel too good..” he whines.

“fuckohmygoddaddy–“ you whimper, gripping his shoulder with your nails and biting your lip, barely able to keep your thighs apart. you feel hakari kiss on your neck, groaning whenever he thrusts faster and hits that gummy spot. “oh shit..!”

“there you go.. take all that dick im givin you..” he said, moving your attention back to him. he looks you in your eyes as he thrusts, trying to maintain eye contact. only for him to fail and roll his eyes back. “huuuuuhhh fuck!” he groans out, pressing his forehead against yours and have some combination of thrusting and grinding together, drawing a whine from you.

“kin!—“ you moan out, coming on his cock, rolling your eyes back as your toes curl. the convulsions of your pretty pussy pushes hakari more to his climax, his hips thrusting into you faster with vigorous motion and him growing desperate was apparent.

“fucken fuck!” he shouts, pulling out and jerking himself until he feels his seed spurt out on your tummy, a little on your breasts, and just barely your chin.

you were barely conscious at this point, only just regaining consciousness and feeling a warm rag on your soft tummy, causing you to flinch.

“relax.. its just me ma.” he says, cleaning your body and wiping your pussy down ever so gently. youre so glad you taught him how to wipe you. “imma get you some clothes and im gunna take you to get some food.” he says, already half dressed.

you nod, getting a sip of your now room temperature water and sipping it. “ can we also go to wally world?” and both of you start grinning.

“oh shit!” you whisper, running into aisle h after you were just in l. walmart was your wally world, and you both always act a damn fool.

“y/n!” hakari laughs, trying his best to hold it in and holding you. “oh youre a fuckin moron.” he laughs, kissing your forehead several times. both of you being in the toy slash athletic department, looking at whatever to play when you made it back to your apartment.

you pick up a random toy, looks electronic and it somehow turns on, startling you and you throw it back and it makes a loud “CLANK!” hakari bursts into a laughing fit, as you walk away, pretending you dont know what just happened. hakari comes up behind you, hugging you from behind as he towers over you and kisses you.

“get off!” you say, because hes a giant and youre little, and hes heavy. you giggle, holding him back.

“not in a million years, babydoll.” he says, using his finger to tilt your head up and kiss you. “lets get some banquet and call it a night?” he says, raising an eyebrow. you know exactly what hes talkng about, causing you to swat at him.

“fuckin up my day!” you say, mocking that one tiktok sound and you both made it home by at least eleven fourteen at night, crashing on the couch.

hope you guys enjoyed this one… i opened up a can of worms.

[mielwriting]

Natlan Archon Quest Act 1, 2 Reaction

Had to split it into multiple parts cause it's so long...

That empty expanse between Sumeru and Natlan that doesn’t have any people or wildlife is jarring. I only realized AFTER I got there that there was a teleport waypoint past all that that had automatically unlocked, but I couldn’t see it cause it was hidden by the archon quest symbol. 

Can’t believe the Traveler and Paimon didn’t wanna ask how the Echoes’ Chief suddenly recognized us. 

Love the cutscene of the Traveler switching between elements. 

Kachina reminds me of Bennett. I expect us to learn about his origins in 5.X

There are fantasy giraffes?!

Nice to see them calling him Dvalin, not Stormterror

*running away from the researcher guy cause I don’t want to be forced into a conversation and he literally starts chasing when you get too close*

Oooooooh so when Neuvi said “Natlan is plagued by wars” waaay too many of us assumed wars between the humans, not wars vs the abyss. 

So if someone who isn’t an Ancient Name Bearer makes it to the Night Warden Wars, does their name become an Ancient Name for future generations to potentially receive?

“Danger is the nature of war” Mualani says. But Kachina told us all ancient name bearers are required to compete - even kids like her. I can see how this mentality might have been manipulated by others to force Vennessa’s tribe into oppression. 

Also what the fuck? Not sure I’m buying the whole “not a single Natlan person wants to leave” after hearing they force people to fight like this. Mondstadt (& Liyue to a lesser extent) continues to be the only nation I’d feel safe in. What the hell. 

And yeah sure the archon can resurrect them. But like. That doesn’t fix the trauma. It’s still fucked up. 

THERE ARE EXCEPTIONS TO THE REVIVING

Citlali was introduced in the trailer by her strong insistence on not participating in the Pilgrimage. I can see why. I already like her. 

This whole situation sounds like the recipe for burn out (literally too. Death). 

Kinich cannot be older than 25. And he’s just casually stating he’s died before… 

You people need therapy

Also what’s up with Ajaw? He’s such a bully. What the hell man. 

I say that now but I assume his situation of “I am mighty and I will conquer the world!” (and everyone treating them like a kid) is like King from Owl House. 

Though of course, I only started sympathizing with King from Owl House because of character development. Something that Genshin Impact rarely gives its playable characters. 

Anyway, this whole “ancient names are forgotten if the bearers fail”. Is that a conscious effort to erase these people from records, or is it more like an Irminsul erasure?

“Feast until the bill gives the Archon a heart attack” finally, an archon with mora!

Kachina “I can’t keep using my age as an excuse”. If only Lisa or Alhaitham or Venti were here to teach her the importance of giving yourself grace and letting yourself rest. 

“I have to prove I’m not trying to avoid the wars” babygirl you are 9 years old

Kachina you have a 7 or 8 Pilgrimage losing streak?! Do these things happen once a year? How young were you when you first participated…

Kachina always prepared with her backpack… she’s like Dora but with gifted kid issues…

All these other playable characters with their “trauma” from “near-death” experiences”. Try actually dying a few times; then you can cry PTSD!

But of course, being raised in the US, I recognize this is partly the influence of a very individualistic culture. 

And about the whole revival thing. That’s Chekov’s Consequence-Free Traumatic Death Scene! Place your bets now; who’s gonna die in the archon quest, and then be revived?

So, what if someone with a (not pyro) vision wins the competition? Do they become pyro archon, overriding their previous elemental vision? 

Does this mean Mavuika has 3 names: her regular name, her Goetic name, and her Ancient Name? 

Is it possible for people without a vision to be gifted an Ancient Name? 

Oh my god you send a team of FIVE to fight the entire abyss?!

So you CAN have a vision that doesn’t match your tribe’s element. Atea, of the Peoples of the Springs, has a pyro vision.

[fragileizywriting]

watched a recap of a romance erotica book called twisted love and i'd never heard of it up until like yesterday when i watched the video bc i have no idea what's going on in the tik tok world as well as the book world because i'm very bad at doing my hobbies. anyway, jesus christ what a wreck of a book. i can fix this. i can make a better adaption. i can write this story but better.

HERES HOW WE CAN STILL WIN, (felinette version woohoo o/ !!)

marinette, our main character, is a college student going for fashion design in paris at the age of 25. she's bright and bubbly and cheery, who works very hard at school and part-times at her parents bakery. she has a boyfriend— well, had a boyfriend— adrien agreste, known socialite, who had spoken wax of poetry over and over and over about how much he loved her, telling her that as a graduation present he'd buy her a boutique, an apartment, a car...... he decides to ghost everyone in his life after a breakdown, seemingly moving out of the city, for reasons that i haven't figured out just yet. i just need him to kick himself out of this city.

marinette, of course, is heartbroken. this sucks. she's grieving so hard.

enter felix, adrien's identical twin brother who has nothing to do with this, barely existed in her life up until now, but is attempting to snatch his brother right back from whatever dumb, impulsive ridiculous thing he did— adrien had a girlfriend, a solid apartment, a solid life, adrien had mentioned that he was so close to asking marinette to marry him...— finally knocks on marinette's door one afternoon. identical twin yet marinette has barely talked to him; the man's busier than anyone should be reasonably allowed to be, and isn't much of a sunshine as adrien is. i will routinely mention in this book that the light in marinette's livingroom/dining room makes felix's hair look whispy and nearly white against adrien's sure-fire sun-like flare of hair. even though felix's eyes are green just like adrien's, they're somber, and almost bluish at times.

marinette, obviously, wants nothing to do with felix.

"please leave," she tells him, because she's tired and lonely and is craving yet another box of icecream she keeps in the freezer for— well, moments like these, really. apparently. she's going to cry herself asleep for the fourth week in a row. girlboss behavior. "i kind of don't want to deal with your entire family right now."

"i understand," felix says, and he doesn't look all that convincing, because the man is standing there, awkwardly, hands fisted at his sides trying to figure out how to speak to her in a way that implies more than 'i've only ever seen you for a few hours every christmas when adrien invites family over and i'm the only family he has because our parents are all levels of fucked up and we don't really need to talk about this in depth right now'. and then, as a garnish, 'i've always been really thankful that adrien miraculously turned out fine from the whole ordeal considering that i had to go to therapy for multiple years, decades, in fact, to deal with our family, and i always thought he was fine everytime i'd see him probably four times a year, but apparently not, at all, and now i'm stuck dealing with his grieving... ex? girlfriend? ex??? and i don't know how to deal with women at all because i am an introvert the size of the moon but i'm really trying, here'. "i just don't think it's best to leave you alone."

"i'm fine," she replies, completely ignorant to his inner monologue. "i can handle myself. i'm an adult, felix."

and yet felix has the audacity to look— kicked, really. "i'm aware."

"could you give me some space?"

"of course." and then, because felix just apparently is all sorts of weird tricks up his business sleeves, blurts out: "not as much as i've always given you, though. right?"

"what do you mean?"

"i don't feel comfortable just leaving you completely on your own." there is an attempt for marinette to refute, to open her mouth and mention that she's still twenty-five, she's an adult, she's not a baby, and felix refutes it with a hand up in the air. "you're grieving because of my brother and i don't like the idea of not doing something about it."

and so, through reasons that i cannot at all comprehend how i will get here but i have to if i want to match (somewhat) the plot ("plot") points of the original book i'm rewriting, felix ends up (temporarily) moving into an apartment next door, for no other reason other than to make marinette feel safer and comfortable. just stick with me. ideally, there would be a plan of some kind here. for now, since this is only a tumblr post, i can just handwave that away. that's not my problem just now.

some of the main fixes i would make sure to change immediately is to change felix from a "ruthless alpha-lone-wolf dog behavior" to "i'm adrien's older brother (they are still twins but felix will routinely mention he's still the oldest born) and i feel a psychological, traumatic need to take care of him because i can't let my younger brother have any trauma from our parents, i refuse, i refuse, and if that means keeping his life together for him while he's gone, i'll do my best" and that means making sure that marinette is, at the very least, fine and not dead. that's a good plan. but as he spends more and more time with marinette, the more he realizes his mistake; he likes her as a friend, likes her a lot more, is impressed at her skills and slowly starts falling in love with her which is honestly very useful.

at some point, i'd have to have them have a solid "i'm not using you to replace him," she cries. "i just— love you." conversation. it's an important one. and a segue to the back half of the book that is just sex.

another thing that i would change from the original story is the ridiculous b plot of dark secrets and betrayal and incidents, because that's not necessary. i could carry this book entirely on sex alone as well as mutual pining. and felix's sad, kittenlike eyes whenever he's upset.

okay i'm done for now i gotta go clean the kitchen. please enjoy this

[debbiechanclub]

bestie…. i fear i need finlay match recommendations 😗

Bestie. I have loaded you up with 20 matches. I told you if you give me an inch where Finlay is concerned, I will take a mile.

Now, first things first. All but three of my recs are on NJPW World (and two are free to watch without an account). If you don't have an account, I'm more than willing to share my login with you in the name of spreading the gospel of Debbie Chan.

That being said, if you think you might want to sign up for an account, now is a GREAT time to do it because they're actually launching a brand new website this Thursday (11/9), complete with apps for Android and iOS, which they didn't previously have. It's only $9 USD/month, so I think it's well worth it. However, you won't be able to sign up until Friday, after the new site is live. Additionally, as part of the overhaul, they're upgrading a massive portion of the archive footage, and, unfortunately, nothing from prior to 2021 will be available to watch until they put it back up. (All my recs except for one on YouTube are from 2021 on.)

Again though, I will absolutely share my login with you (and you'd be able to log in right away and watch as mine is an existing account). Just let me know!

Okay, now that that's out of the way, onto the recs! And my apologies because this... is long.

FYI: I've listed these in chronological order, and they're best viewed in that order as it really helps to tell the story of how Finlay became who he is today :)

FinJuice vs. G.o.D (YouTube) - YouTube comes in clutch for a pre-2021 match! This is good viewing because 1) FinJuice was a well established and fairly successful tag team, and don't even get me started on all the messiness of Juice running around with Jay in Bullet Club Gold while Finlay is literally leading real Bullet Club now; and 2) Since overtaking Bullet Club in March, Finlay has almost exclusively feuded with G.o.D. (he finally put an end to it this past weekend at Power Struggle). And it's crazy seeing Finlay's evolution from then to now.

2021 New Japan Cup Quarter Final vs. Jay White (3/18 show) - This was a HUGE win for our boy because, going into this match, Finlay was on an 0-12 losing streak against Jay. And he and Jay will be forever intertwined because they came up in the NJPW dojo together and were roommates and best friends and everyone constantly compared Finlay to Jay (they still do now), and that created a MASSIVE chip on his shoulder that lead to him clocking Jay over the head and subsequently taking control of Bullet Club. So yeah. V. important match in the lore of Finlay.

2021 New Japan Cup Semi-Final vs. Will Ospreay (3/20 show) - I hope you're ready for a lot of Ospreay, because he and Finlay have history. Back in 2021, Ospreay defeated Finlay in the semi-final of the NJ Cup and then went on to win the tournament and the IWGP World Heavyweight Championship. This plays into why Finlay is gunning for Ospreay now.

Resurgence 2021 vs. Jay White - This match was for the NEVER Openweight Title. Jay retained... but Finlay eventually went on to win that title after taking over Bullet Club, which also used to be Jay's.

G1 Climax 32 vs. Juice Robinson (7/26), Will Ospreay (8/2), and El Phantasmo (8/10) - Finlay returned to Japan for the first time in over a year for the G1 Climax 32, and he had a really strong showing. This was when I first started to get the brainrot for him. I really recommend watching all his matches from that tournament... but these three are the most important to Finlay's character because of his history with Juice and Will and what would come later with ELP and Bullet Club.

Burning Spirit 2022 vs. Will Ospreay (9/25 show) - This match was for the IWGP United States Championship, the very one and same that Ospreay currently holds and that Finlay destroyed with a giant mallet at Power Struggle this weekend. Ospreay retained back then. But I have a feeling (and sincerely fucking hope) that there's a new title in Finlay's future.

NJPW World TV Championship Tournament vs. ZSJ (YouTube) - After coming up short in the G1 Climax 32 and against Ospreay (again), Finlay still had a chance to win the newly created NJPW World TV Title; and then ZSJ eliminated him in the second round. I really think this loss was the straw that broke the camel's back and really set the stage for Finlay's frustration and his comeback as the leader of Bullet Club.

2023 New Japan Cup vs. Tomohiro Ishii (3/6 Anniversary Event, free to watch without an account!), Tama Tonga (3/19), and Sanada (3/21) - And we've reached Bullet Club Finlay! Finlay's match against Ishii was the first match of the tournament, and no one―absolutely no one―expected him to come out in Bullet Club gear with Gedo, of all people, in his corner. And not only that, but he handily disposed of Ishii. He made it all the way to the final where he lost against Sanada, but he sent a loud and clear message during the entire tournament that this was a new David Finlay (and I was a goner).

Capital Collision 2023 vs. AR Fox (YouTube) - I think you've seen this one? But including it because it's a good match and also the night Finlay recruited Clark Connors, the first member of what would become Bullet Club War Dogs (and I was there!).

Wrestling Dontaku 2023 vs. Tama Tonga (5/3 show) - Remember how I said that Finlay eventually won the NEVER Openweight Title after taking over Bullet Club? This was when he did it.

Dominion 6.4 in Osaka-Jo Hall vs. El Phantasmo - This. This is the match and night that ruined me forever. After kicking ELP out of Bullet Club (basically because he was and is close with Jay and didn't respect Finlay), Finlay defended the NEVER Openweight Title against him and proved that he could back up all the shit he was talking. But besides that, this was the night the War Dogs were formed. I highly recommend also checking out the end of the IWGP Junior Tag Title match just so you can see Drilla Moloney turn on United Empire and join Bullet Club. It quite honestly altered me forever.

G1 Climax 33 vs. Tama Tonga (7/26), Eddie Kingston (8/8), and Will Ospreay (8/10) - Did I mention that Finlay has spent most of this year feuding with Tama/G.o.D? They tried to kill each other in this year's G1, and it was fantastic. He and Eddie also tried to kill each other. But Ospreay beat him in the quarter-finals. Just more fuel for why he's going after Ospreay now.

12-Man Elimination Match: Bullet Club vs. G.o.D. and Intergalactic Jetsetters (10/1 show, free to watch without an account) - Because I would be remiss not to rec a match with all the War Dogs (and Chase is there, too). This is a fun one, if not a bit of a clusterfuck. (And shout-out to Kevin Knight, who I also adore.)

Destruction in Ryogoku 2023 vs. Tama Tonga (10/9 show) - This is the last of Finlay's singles matches against Tama, and unfortunately he lost the NEVER Openweight Title back to him (which I don't think anyone expected). But it's a good match and Finlay looked strong despite his loss. And now that I know he likely (hopefully?) has a new belt coming to him after the start of the year, I'm honestly okay that he lost. (Because Tama doesn't even have the title anymore, believe it or not).

So there are my Finlay match recs. I'm well aware this is overkill lmao, but I really am excited that you want to know more about him, and I want to do him justice. Because he really is my favorite guy, and he deserves to be recognized as his own wrestler and person not just in relation to Jay or Juice or anyone else.

But I won't blame you if you don't watch all of these, because I know I went insane 😂

[handoverthekawaii]

We Go Together | Homelander x You | Chapter 25

Taglist: @hom3landr @theaudacitytowrite

After months of waiting, you and John are just one night’s sleep away from the big day — tomorrow, John will finally face Vought in court for the first day of the civil bench trial.

The legal proceedings have dragged along, with victories scored on each side. In one clash, Vought managed to convince the judge to institute a gag order on the involved parties until after the verdict. BUT, Em’s firm tracked down one of Madelyn Stillwell’s former secretaries, who is more than willing to share how much time her boss was spending keeping America’s favorite hero satisfied when he first debuted in The Seven.

Alvarez and his colleagues spent weeks reading box after box of discovery materials, practicing oral arguments, and prepping John to testify about his illegal contract with Vought. When you and John leave the law office for the day, you feel confident that there’s nothing more to be done to prepare. From here, you have no choice but to let the legal process play out, and to hope that the court can see through Vought’s conniving ways.

But John is still nervous — he won’t admit it, but you can tell by the way he keeps clenching and releasing your hand as you walk up the street toward a nearby park. It is nearly the end of summer now, so much warmer and sunnier than when you first started working at Vought back during spring. Now, it’s the perfect time of year to stay out a little late on the town, cut loose, and maybe take a step outside both your comfort zones.

Which is how a couple hours later, John ends up sitting on a barstool beside you, getting ready to participate in a trivia competition at a local Irish pub. He’s never been comfortable drinking — too many opportunities to make a truly catastrophic drunken mistake. Instead, you and he split an appetizer of pretzels and dip while you wait for the first question.

It took him months to be confident visiting public places, even disguised with street clothes and sunglasses. All summer long, he worried that someone would stop to squint at him and say, “You look familiar…” but it never happened. John is realizing that most people don’t gawk at each other the way they used to gawk at Homelander.

As it turns out, having a secret identity has its perks..

With a deep knowledge of American history, current events over the last twenty years, and Vought International’s many pop-culture offerings, John proves himself a standout trivia contestant. You can barely keep up, dropping a semi-confident answer here and there, but your efforts combined land you in third place when the scores are tallied. A perfectly respectable score, you and John reassure one another — and, next time, you’ll probably win the whole thing!

Now, sure, John makes a show of rolling his eyes and insisting to the bartender that he’s only here because of YOU. But in truth, he knows that you insisted on coming to take his mind off the proceedings tomorrow.

And it’s working, John thinks to himself. He won’t allow himself to fully relax until the trial is over but, at least for now, he can feel the weight on his chest lightening and his mood lifting.

All thanks to you — YOU made that happen for him.

He loves you so much that it hurts. And when you get home for the night, he’s going to tell you — no, he’s going to SHOW you — just how fucking much you mean to him.

“All rise!” the bailiff shouts, announcing that the judge is entering the courtroom to begin hearing the case of John Gillman v. Vought International Co.

Glancing around as you sit back down, you can’t help but be astounded by the array of people assembled in the courtroom today. Alvarez and John are seated at the plaintiff’s table, the captain of The Seven wearing his Homelander uniform for the first time in months. You, Em, and other staff from the law firm are lined up in a row of chairs behind the plaintiff’s table.

More of John’s supporters sit in the public gallery benches. Many of them are strangers — like the college kids wearing #freehomelander shirts — but there are also a couple familiar faces. Black Noir is standing in the back of the courtroom, and Translucent’s disembodied voice whispered a greeting as you and John exited the elevator.

No cameras are permitted in the courtroom, but the rest of the seats are filled with journalists, from NNC and the New York Times and USA Today, phones at the ready to start live tweeting once the proceedings begin.

Then there’s the opposing counsel, a small army of grey suits from Vought’s Legal Division flanking Madelyn Stillwell herself. She tried to approach John when she first saw him, but Alvarez heroically jumped in and herded the executive back to her seat.

No Stan Edgar today, though — the bastard must not think it’s worth his time to be here, John thinks to himself angrily as the judge takes a seat at the bench.

We’ll see about that, won’t we, Stan? [continued on AO3]

[crimeronan]

honest to god bota rewrote my psyche. the emotions especially chapter 25 and after like. feel fresh every time. still get chills and a taste of hopelessness and other indescribable feelings and it never gets old lol. it’s something i really enjoy in your writing all around but bota in particular :D

AAAA thank u 🥺 i still remember how satisfying it was to write, bota was my first heart project on that scale that i managed to complete and it was my most intricately planned project Ever to date. so it made me So Fucking Crazy to finally get to the bits i'd been sowing foreshadowing for from the beginning, especially since the plot twists still seemed to take people by surprise!

in the very Very beginning of the story there's a conversation where psii invites mai for dinner and she tells him that she can't meet him in person until their paths are doomed to cross. and as the story goes on she repeatedly emphasizes how angry he's going to be with her for Such a long time, and he refuses to believe this because he doesn't understand what could anger him like that when she's his friend and he understands that she has no autonomy in this situation and he loves her.

and i thought it must be So Obvious. that she was trying to warn him.

despite of course knowing that it wouldn't work. because she's already been with him after everything goes down and he's angry and there's nothing she can do about it. she just has this little space of time between when he knows who she is and When He Knows Who She Is to love him like she wants to. even though everything she's doing, INCLUDING helping him doom timelines, is a calculated manipulation to get him to make the choices that kill his family.

i thought it must be so obvious that this would turn out to be a true timeline story, instead of a canon divergence where the right allies help win the war. hang a gun on the wall, hang a dinner invitation in a pesterlog, etc

and instead most of the feedback i got was SHOCKED and HORRIFIED by the twist that psii had gotten it wrong, actually; this isn't a new story, actually; they've all been dead since the beginning, actually. of course the canon divergence tag does come into play after that, but the "we're in the true timeline" reveal?? i'd been planning it for three years and i was SO sure it was obvious and it felt SO good to write and be like yes, Woo, i hung the gun on the wall and then shot it in the third act.

so when people were surprised i was like. oh i see. this is one of those stories that's going to be fun (horrible) on the reread. it was all there the whole time

i don't know if i'll ever manage to craft a narrative like bota again but god Damn would i like to try.

[godraet]

ok this has been rotating in my brain (and i want it out of my brain before work) but i know i mention gan remembering all his lives completely out of order but here's some other fun facts- he's a different age in basically all of those lives too, and i can back that one up!

as he exists in his main verse, he's about 35 [as in he's in his early 30s when he finally shows up to meet with rauru] (at time of sealing), he has the build to prove it. i have no other way to describe this aside from he is just in general bulkier in build than younger lifetimes- and more lean than older lifetimes

"so what does that mean" ok so let's start with OoT (pre time skip), gan is still beefy because of course he is, but also he's notably more lean- broad shoulders yeah but damn he sure has a nice tapered waist lmao, also he behaves like he's younger- more prone to mocking his opponents and also he's impulsive and clearly doesn't actually have the current life experience to navigate through the hylian courts- this will come to bite him in the ass in TP timeline. so i slap pre-timeskip OoT gan at like ... 25 or so (which puts him at 32 or so after a 7 year time skip). he is a young ruler still, and his lack of experience shows, even if his words are pretty- and there's a fair chance that for as much as he thought he was playing the hylian court, they were actually playing him.

which leads into TP- if the premise of TP is that link goes BACK in time and tells people "yeah this dude's going to do shit", and soon after gan is sentenced to DEATH (and actually with what evidence other than the word of a kid who says he traveled time???), which means he's still that same rather inexperienced young man- and then he's banished to another realm since it turns out lmao he couldn't be killed by the sages!! and time passes weirdly there i'm sure, so his body has aged to maybe about 40 or so, he's definitely no longer the overconfident young man who first showed up to the hylian court!

in a similar energy, we have WW gan, who is definitely older- closer to 50 than 40 in looks; he's basically a wall of muscle, but he's also got a fair amount of healthy fat, which gives us our top tier dad-bod gan. except WW gan also has LIVED SO LONG and so he's super bitter because everything went to shit and actually not all of it was his fault!!!

HW gan is a more experienced warrior- he's got plenty of experience under his belt and is in his later 30s, pushing 40- he is a capable commander and it's more than just having natural charisma (which is something that he relied on as a young man in OoT- making up for a lack of experience with charisma and the ability to at least plan in some capacity- but in no way is OoT gan a masterful warlord, he's a better sorcerer than he is general, but a devoted king regardless),

anyway, all of these jumbled memories are why gan doesn't respond to rauru's summons until he's in his 30s (knowing if he goes when he's still "rather inexperienced" he's more likely to get fucked over), but it's also why he's overconfident (remembering how WW was ... arguably his win for a time, although it also means he has this sinking feeling that his victory will in the end be this lonely and hollow thing, and sometimes he wonders if it's really worth it) thanks for coming to my tedtalk

[ladyintree]

@slaughtyr sent [forehead]:  'placing a hand on the back of the receiver’s neck, the sender guides them close and rests their foreheads together.'

it's not fair to van for her to show up like this --- unannounced, impulsively, so many years after they'd seen each other last. worse, maybe, that tai didn't come here for her; she came here for herself, because everything feels so wrong, so out of her control, and there was only one person who could ever understand it before ( one person who had seen this other side of herself that was still, 25 years later, such a mystery to her, yet perhaps a friend to van. ) it's selfish, expecting van to drop everything to make space for her after all the time and all they've been through, but taissa couldn't be anywhere else. and despite everything, despite knowing it's wrong to feel this way, there's a sense of comfort between them that she hasn't found since she saw her last.

like feeling at peace, for the first time in a long time, despite knowing it can't possibly last. at least she can pretend for a moment.

so unwilling to admit to anyone how terrified she's been of the person she's become, the stress of the campaign bringing her back to a place she swore she'd done away with long, she was at a loss. her son taken from her, her wife hurt by her, all she really had now was the career she'd work so hard for --- but was it the win she thought it was if everything else was falling apart, along with the perception of herself she'd so carefully crafted? van was always a source of peace and clarity for her --- a source that tai no longer deserved nor was allowed, and yet here she is, unleashing all the truths she'd refused to admit even to herself until she got here.

how did she do that? van still knew exactly how to calm her down, a reminder of what tai lost ( what she knows she deserved to lose; van was always too good for her. ) she finally gives her what she wants, what van had always asked of her back then, but tai was always too stubborn to ask for herself: the truth. ❝ i need some fucking help, van. i can't keep doin' this shit. ❞   it's not the real help that simone has been begging her to get for weeks, though --- that kind of help still feels impossible, a loss of total control when she completely admits defeat. but this kind of help is what she's used to, what she's been missing, what she convinced herself long ago was all she needed. ❝ okay? okay, you're right, that's what i came here for. i need your help. ❞

[just-rogi]

I just had a follow up with my dr after my blood work came back and she told me I need to get down to 135-140 lbs. 130 ideally. My BP is phenomenal my lipids and cholesterol too but I should cut out everything that isn’t water, and eat smaller portions and run more- god I get a drinkie once in a while as a treat but now I’m losing that too. Man I want to scream… its literally not fair bc everyone else can eat whatever they fucking want and be skinny, I’m literally 100% vegan eating exclusively rice lentils beans and LOTS of green vegetables. Like that’s fuckjng it Im not a French fry and Oreo vegan (tho that’s fine too it’s just not my regular diet). I eat intuitively and that means I usually never finish my meal or clean my plate so I don’t over eat. My ‘special girl treat’ is fucking fresh fruit. I TREAT myself by buying like cherries… I don’t drink soda (if I do it’s a v rare Diet Coke), I don’t drink alcohol, I don’t drink juice, I drink unsweetened iced green tea and honey or coconut water… I don’t even eat three meals a fucking day- I get like one or two bc I don’t get hungry until 4:00pm!! I don’t even eat desert super regularly because there just isn’t a lot of vegan options that taste good!!! I don’t own a car so I literally have to walk everywhere and would walk to work every day- rain or shine- 30 minutes there and back!! It’s not fucking fair. I’m tired. I’m angry. What the FUCK man I don’t know what to do! My dr doubled down during my follow up that I NEED to lose weight but I don’t know what more I can do!! Why do I have to eat less of my already super limited diet but my roommate can come home from work eat three hotdogs and Mac and cheese and wine and be healthy!! It feels like I’m fighting a fucking uphill battle constantly!! Like fuckjng hell!! I don’t know what to fucking do??? Like I literally don’t know what more I can cut out! It’s just not fucking fair I’m doing everything right! I’m also literally a size small in all my clothes!! I don’t know where I’d even lose 25 lbs from!! It’s just such fucking bullshit that I can be so goddamn on top of my fucking health and go to the doctor and get told I’m obese but other 21 year olds are eating pizza and drinking and are fine fuck me this sucks everything Sucks and I can’t even cry in my room with a tub of icecream about it bc I’m a fuckjng vegan!!! FUCK!! Like I’m NOT going back to counting calories I cannot do that again I won’t let myself- I’m mentally healthy FINALLY not throwing that away- but I literally don’t fucking Know how much less I can eat!! I hate it! I hate it so much!!! Why can’t I be mentally healthy and physically healthy at the same time! Why the duck is it that the second I recover from years of unhealthy restriction I’m told to lose weight!! Why can’t I do anything in moderation Jesus fuck it’s not fuckjng fair!!! Man!! Weight doesn’t matter and it’s not an indication of morality but I’ve fought SO hard to be healthy and eat a balanced diet WHY CANT I WIN ONE FUCKJNG THING!! Why do I have to be either obese or literally starving myself god fuck I was DONE with goal weights and calorie counting but for the second appointment in a row I was told I’m obese now and NEED to lose weight and will have a follow up in three months. There’s just no winning. I just want to eat my stupid rice and vegetables and beans and drink my stupid green tea and water and mind my business and be 130 lbs but that’s too fucking much to ask for I fuckjng guess FUCK great fuckjng time to start the fucking 1989 era again Jesus Christ man I’m just so frustrated especially when I see my roomates laughing and having fun big meals- one of my male roomates eats bacon Mac and cheese or half a meat pizza and that’s dinner and he’s fine! And I try so hard not to be jealous of people who can put anything in their bodies and be the bmi their doctor told them to be but GOD it’s SO hard to NOT feel shame and frustration after my appointments when I’m told point blank that I’m obese and need to drop 25 lbs I’m just fucking tired man

[spocksmalewife]

Nothing 2 c here folks keep scrolling

[captainsimagines]

the warmth of winter || two

Summary: You’re home for the holidays after landing your dream job. When your dad’s old army friend stops by for the month, he makes waves immediately. Your little vacation is disrupted... for better or for worse? Nobody has to know.

Pairing(s): Bucky Barnes x (F) Reader

Based on the Song: ‘Illicit Affairs’ by Taylor Swift

Mini-Series (2/6)

Warnings: 18+ ONLY; conversations about workplace sexual harassment; exhibitionism kink; unprotected sex; oral sex; heavy drinking; strong language; suggestive language; age difference kink (Reader is 25, Bucky is 39)

Word Count: 11,800+

Author’s Note: Mmm, here we go with the smut and fast-paced romance! Enjoy this filth as we gear up for holiday season!

    “He’s!—” You rest your hands on your knees and try to suck in large gulps of air. Wanda always wins these races: your pace matches hers, she looks like she’s losing momentum, then on the last turn back to her shop she dashes full sprint and beats you to it. She does a little victory cheer, wiping the sweat off her forehead as she checks her miles on her apple watch. You suck in a breath, and finally say, “He’s too pretty. Like, too pretty. To be… oh my god, Wanda how do you do this?”

Wanda laughs as she watches you suffer, all while unlocking the shop door. The smell of the flowers overwhelms you, but it’s a nice distraction to the taste of blood on the back of your tongue. You honestly don’t know why you keep doing this: you’re not a runner. She locks the door again and starts up the coffee maker she had prepared before leaving. 

“Practice.” Wanda says, tone almost sarcastic. “So, this James. Bucky. Too hot?”

You laugh and lean back on the large green sofa nearest the cash register. A few leaves poke at your head. “Immensely. My first thought looking at him was, ‘now this is the type of man I’d fuck if I went older’.”

Wanda’s eyebrows shoot up. “How old is this guy exactly?”

“Thirty-nine.”

“Kinky.”

“No! That’s not—!” You groan and slide the lower half of your body down the couch so you’re resting at an awkward angle. Wanda just watches with a knowing smirk. “He’s not one of my dad’s regulars, you know? I haven’t known this guy for years. He didn’t teach me to swim like Sam did. He didn’t teach me how to throw a good punch like Captain Rogers did. He didn’t hammer the quadratic formula into my brain at twelve like Bruce did.”

“So, because this man has never known you as a child, you automatically want to sleep with him?”

“Be cruder, Wanda. Helpful.”

“I mean—” Wanda pauses. Not because she’s collecting her thoughts, but because she lets out a loud cackle. It’s a powerful one too: she throws her head back and everything. You slide down the couch until your knees hit the floor. “I get it. The other men in your life are all father figures. That’s all you’ve ever had. And here comes this Bucky, who isn’t a lifelong acquaintance, and who flirted with you the second he saw you.”

“But he is a lifelong acquaintance of my dad’s.”

“Hmm,” Wanda hums, opening a water bottle. She knows about Bucky, vaguely remembers meeting him a few years ago, but most of the stories she’s heard are from Clint’s perspective — not the most reliable source. “Then get to know him. Isn’t that what this trip is about for him? Maybe once you learn about his hobbies, and his likes, and the way he takes his coffee, you’ll finally see him differently.”

You struggle to stand from the floor. You grab the sports bag you brought this morning and start slumping towards the register. “You’ll see what I mean when you see him tonight.”

“If he’s given you this much of a headrush then I’m really excited to get to know him.”

“Good, maybe you’ll snag him instead.”

“You want me… to sleep with him?” That’s not what you meant at all, but Wanda’s face does the most hilarious thing you’ve ever seen it do. 

So you shrug. “I feel like it’s forbidden for me.”

“That just makes it hotter.”

“Wanda…”

“So, I sleep with him on the last holy night of Hanukkah, because you can’t?”

“I am not—”

“Wait until Clint here’s about this!”

“Wait until Clint hears about what?” Clint asks, jogging into the room while carrying similar roses as the ones yesterday, except these are pink and not red. 

“Our little bumblebee wants me to try out the goods before she samples them.”

You quickly interject, “Nope. She lies. Wanda’s a liar.” You point your index finger at her. “Don’t touch him.”

Wanda smirks and goes back to drinking her water. 

After your late night talk yesterday in the kitchen, you don’t know what to think. The logical side of your brain says that Bucky was only teasing — that he’s probably a massive flirt to everyone. Then your conscience wakes, slaps the shit out of your logical side, and says: No, this is the man who saved your dad’s life at the young age of eighteen and has graciously accepted your hospitality. He may be a flirt, but he has been nothing but kind in the two moments you’ve had with him. 

“Still trying to find a con?” It’s like Wanda can read your mind. But that’s exactly what you’ve been trying to do for the past twenty-four hours — find a negative so you can wrap up these impure thoughts without trouble. 

You sigh, “I’m not gonna find one, am I?”

Clint chuckles deeply, “Stop tryin’ to find one irregardless if you end up fuckin’ the dude or not. Hell, his ears are probably ringin’ like a bitch with how much you’ve been thinkin’ about him!”

Wanda snorts then shoots you a smile that says she agrees with Clint. You figure he’s right. 

“You know, when I speak of him I don’t mention fucking at all.” You give them both a thin smile. “Why is that on everyone’s mind? I mention the dude’s hot and you all think I can’t keep it in my pants?”

“Can you?”

Your mouth drops as Clint wiggles his eyebrows. “Shut the fuck up, Clint.” The three of you fall into hysterical giggles. “I think I’m reading too many of those cheesy, Hallmark romance novels at work.”

Wanda and Clint share a look, gasping. 

“Now it makes total sense!” Clint screams triumphantly, alarming the woman just outside the store. There’s Christmas music playing over the speakers in the cafe next door but Clint’s voice overpowers Jingle Bell Rock. Sometimes you wonder if he was this loud even before he lost his hearing. “I forgot all about your job!”

“Gee, thanks,” you reply sarcastically, then go to smack away his arms as he tries to envelope you in a hug. But that only leaves you wide open for Wanda’s sweaty attack, and once she wraps her arms around your waist, in comes Clint. 

     Baseball stats. Fantasy football’s going good even if he needs to get rid of that fucking wide receiver he thought would do good this season. No one will trade him. Basketball stats. Fuck, he misses Kobe. Taylor Swift released the newest version of Red. He should give that a listen. 

And — FUCK — that got him hard again? 

It’s been ten minutes since Bucky woke up with a raging hard-on at seven in the goddamn morning and he was actually getting somewhere. Thinking about numbers usually kills the blood flow. Who the fuck likes math?

But Taylor Swift? Everyone loves Taylor Swift whether they care to admit it or not. 

He can’t escape the image of your ass in those night shorts you wore to bed. Hell, he can’t get your face out of his mind, especially the expression you made when he tried to flirt by calling you an outdated pet name. And Bucky never uses pet names unless the person warrants one. Steve is punk, Sam is pal, Bruce is Mr. Smart, Clint is Hawkeye, and his sister is Becks. Everyone else goes by the name they tell him.

Anyway, Bucky should roll over out of bed and take a cold shower. Maybe even go on a run. You mentioned running this morning with your friend Wanda, so at least someone is occupying their time with physical activity. Then Bucky curses again because he has this stupid thought about gym clothes but his depraved mind is obviously wrong because it’s fucking freezing outside and you’re probably bundled up. 

Bucky cannot, and he repeats, cannot find his friend’s daughter attractive. It’s not right. He cannot, will not, cannot cannot cannot—

He slides his flesh hand down the naked expanse of his chest, scowl on his face and a quiet mutter of ‘forgive me’ under his breath. He hooks his briefs below his balls and feels his hardening cock flop back onto his stomach. The heater in the house hasn’t been turned on and the guest room is sizing up a chill, but Bucky’s body is producing flame after flame of body heat that he barely feels it. He shivers for a whole other reason: an embarrassingly wrong reason that he’ll recite a couple Hail Marys for later. 

He wraps his hand around the base of his cock, hard and heavy, and sighs audibly. It’s like the first touch of a puberty-high, a touch like no other. He isn’t watching porn or thinking about an old fling. Bucky’s never really been the type to think much about anything anyway when jerking off. He usually imagines the feeling instead of an individual. 

But now, as he tugs his cock slowly, trailing higher and higher until the open part of his curled hand squeezes his tender head and collects the premature bead of pre-come, Bucky’s imagining his friend’s daughter. 

Bucky doesn’t even know Hail Marys so he’ll burn in hell instead. 

He moans quietly and tries to stifle the volume in case anyone gets home. Overtime should be wrapping up soon and Bucky’s not about to be caught jacking away on the first fucking morning of being a welcomed guest. 

He does the same maneuver a couple times: grabbing the base, hand loose, then tightening his grip as he jacks upward, squeezing his drooling red tip until his hips arch off the mattress and he feels his eyes glaze over. He pauses momentarily when he remembers he didn’t pack lube, but did pack vaseline. It’s a mini container that Bucky seriously doesn’t want to waste but fuck, now he’s imagining how you would look all sweaty after a run and if that same image matches what you would look like riding his dick. 

He groans in both annoyance at himself and in pleasure. Once he retrieves the vaseline from the bathroom, slathering his flesh hand in what’s acceptable, he gets back to work. 

It’s always better when he’s lubed up. The grip is slippery but it allows him to move faster. He bites his bottom lip as that blissful feeling begins to pool at the base of his tummy. The vaseline is quieter than lube, thicker, but it still creates that naughty squelching sound as he jerks faster. Bucky catches the whine that threatens to burst his throat open. In a quick second, Bucky repositions himself so he lays face down. It’s a more difficult angle to jerk off but he still gets a rather pleasant rub to the hot skin of his cock and friction against his pebbled nipples. And he’s able to dig his face into the pillows to muffle his sounds. And Bucky’s making a lot of sounds. 

He thinks he’s speaking coherently, like he’s muttering versions of your real name or pet name he just gave you, but it’s really coming out like restrained uh-umfphs that he’ll be embarrassed about afterward. He angles his hips up so his fist can move and then he’s back at it for real. 

He slides a tight fist up and down, massages his leaking slit with the pad of his overturned thumb, then abandons that technique to roll his balls and his hips down into the mattress. 

He’ll wash the sheets later. Maybe that’ll make up for not memorizing a single useful forgiveness prayer from any damn religion. 

“Uh, mmm, o-oh!” Bucky barely recognizes his own voice. Granted he’s holding back a lot, but Bucky hasn’t been this vocal since he bought himself that prostate massager. 

The thought of bending you over the kitchen counter. You’d be so confused but curious, looking up at him with those magnificent eyes, questioning his actions and motives. And Bucky would describe them, intimately, softly in your ear as you shudder underneath him. You’d absolutely bend for him, beg him to ruin you until you’re a mess of limited vocabulary and sticky skin. 

Bucky comes hard, shooting off long strings of come onto the bed sheets. He tries to prolong it, slack jaw with tense eyebrows, and he milks himself of all he can. Slowly, the sudden punch of pleasure dies down until Bucky’s simply a bulky pile of loose limbs and dumb thoughts. He lies in his own spent for another minute, hazy vision and a random ringing in his right ear. 

He’s in deep trouble. 

     ‘Miss you —Brock’

“How? How do you miss me, Brock? We aren’t dating!” you whisper-yell, grasping the kitchen counter for leverage as you rock back and forth. It’s driving you crazy, it really is: this guy just won’t take a damn hint. 

You’ve already reported him to HR but since he isn’t actually saying anything remotely sexual or touching you inappropriately, the advice you were given was just to ignore it. Dream job but their HR department made you want to burn the place down. 

Fuck. It really shouldn’t bother you so much to have you angrily sipping your coffee. He’s literally making your coffee taste bad. It’s like you have to occupy your mind immediately after reading his messages. 

“What’s got you so annoyed?”

Bucky’s voice is new and rougher, throat a little scratched because of the morning hour. It startles you: it takes you a few days to get used to every new visitor. And since this new visitor is one you actively try to avoid having impure thoughts about — his voice just does things. 

“This guy from work doesn’t know how to take ‘no’ as an answer.”

You chuckle a little to try and show that it’s really not that much of a big deal, but Bucky’s eyebrows furrow and his lips part. “Excuse me?”

Bucky mimics like he’s just waking up and rubs the “last” remnants of sleep from his eyes. He hurries to the coffee maker.

“He’s not like… threatening me or anything. We went on one date and I told him I wasn’t looking for a relationship. Well, I wasn’t looking for anything with him but he took that as ‘let me keep on trying until she changes her mind’. So yeah, he’s really annoying me with these random text messages.”

Bucky swirls the fresh coffee around on his tongue and stares at you hard. His gaze is intense, and as much as you’re trying to search for any other emotion, you’re getting a really big ‘protective’ vibe from this. 

Wait. No, he’s puffing out his chest and breathing in deep, mind working behind his eyes, and you’re half expecting this big shovel speech and now you wanna die—

“I can kill him, if you’d like.”

A few seconds pass before you release one of the loudest laughs your body has ever produced. When your dad gave this speech a while back to your high school partners, he always joked afterwards and told you not to worry: ‘it’s just my job!’ 

But Bucky actually looks serious. He smirks, sure, your laugh startled the fuck out of him and he truly sees the humor in the situation, but he’s literally telling the truth. 

Bucky, with all his mind and soul, does not like men who cannot take ‘no’ for an answer. He’s dealt with them before, has had to throw a couple of them out of his bar and on their ass, and it’s never a happy scenario. Most of the time women whisper to him sweetly, eyes pleading for a way out, questions of ‘did you see him put anything in my drink?’ Bucky rarely even waits for confirmation — the guy is immediately barred from returning and threatened with a call to the police. The metal arm does wonders as well: no one dares square up when that thing whirs. 

So to hear that someone is harassing you at work, a place that’s supposed to be safe and without this massive concern, it angers him to his core. He doesn’t like comparing women to each other, but he can’t help but hear the same timid crack in your voice as you brush it off. 

“Are you… are you serious?”

Bucky forgets to change his hard expression. He relaxes his eyebrows almost instantly and hopes the wrinkles in his forehead have smoothed over. “I own a bar. I’ve had my fair share of experiences with those kinds of men. Hell, I’ve had to kick touchy men out because they wouldn’t stop touching me.” 

“Oh,” you say quietly. “Sorry you’ve had to experience that.”

“Same, doll.”

“It’s just weird, you know? Most of the time he’s tolerable and he never texts me. But he’s got this deadline coming up and when Rumlow has a deadline… he can’t seem to get me off his mind.”

Bucky digests every word. He’s not so much in the killing mood anymore — he’s actually quite curious as to why this dude does what he does. You would think this Rumlow fella would actively avoid any other human being while under stress, but from your explanation it seems that he finds you relaxing… or stimulating. Either way, it’s kind of creepy. 

“You report him?”

You groan softly and take a sip from your half-finished coffee. “I have. But then he lays off and avoids me, and everything’s great! Team functions well, morale is up, books get published. I even feel guilty reporting him after that.”

Bucky puts down his cup. “Woah, woah… don’t feel guilty when someone else makes you feel uncomfortable. You have a right to not like them. You’re just second guessing yourself but from what you’re telling me, this guy repeatedly does what he does then makes you confused, so you question it.” His little speech falls off at the end and his eyes go soft.

“That’s deep,” you say, stupidly, because Bucky’s words have actually broken through. Now you just feel guilty for neglecting your conscience. “I’ll keep that in mind.”

Bucky hums and decides that he’s not going to blow smoke out his ears this morning. It’s his first full day back to his childhood home, his childhood memories, and he wants this day to go well. 

“Listen, you enjoy the coffee. Watch some TV. I’m heading up to take a shower real quick to get all this morning run off me, then we’ll head to the store, okay?”

Bucky smiles, refills his cup until it almost tips over, and salutes you goodbye. The gesture pushes out an innocent giggle from your chest. It makes something in Bucky’s head give him an instant rush. 

    Wanda beat you to the shop first so you’re buying the round of drinks tonight. You never were much of a jogger, but ever since college it sort of became a tradition to meet up with Wanda whenever you could. And since she worked overtime during the holiday seasons and you were only visiting for a short while, you braved it and bought some running shoes. Doesn’t mean you still don’t curse every time you have to stretch out your thighs.

It was freezing this morning and even though you worked up a good sweat, you change the temperature throughout your shower. Cold to begin with, then warm. You wash the back of your neck instead of washing your whole head, then slather down the rest of your body with as many bubbles as you can. 

No matter the thousands of thoughts currently running through your head, you always seemed to revert back to the nice man downstairs. You don’t know if it’s because of the holiday season and you always develop this hopeless romantic idealism, stemming from the countless books you read on a daily basis, but it’s both weird and exciting all at once. Last time you truly liked someone, it didn’t last long until you realized it was merely infatuation. Daydreaming, laughing a little too much at their jokes, and wanting to see them every minute of every day. Even when they did something wrong your messed up idealism would simply excuse them. Afterward, you came to the same conclusion: infatuation. 

You figure that’s what’s happening now with Bucky. He’s sweet, handsome, and treats you good. It’s the bare minimum, but you don’t want to class this as anything else. The feeling will go away during his stay… it has to. 

“Fuck,” you curse yourself, then turn the shower handle to cold and take the torture. 

    “You eat chips?”

“‘Do you eat chips?’ What kind of question?”

You hold your hand up feigning self-defense. “Yes or no?”

Bucky gasps audibly and throws about four bags of chips into the shopping cart. Doritos, both regular and ranch, kettle potato chips, and pretzels. “That answer it?”

“Do pretzels even count as chips?”

“Don’t know, doll. But they do for me,” Bucky smiles then practically skips down the rest of the aisle in search of anything else on his list. You simply push the cart and grin as he adds yet another item you’re surprised he eats. He has his oat milk, his sourdough bread, his mini donuts, cranberry juice, and even a hair dryer. He doesn’t listen to you when you say he can just borrow yours. 

“You’re paying for all this right? My hospitality only stretches so far.”

Bucky snorts, “And if I were to tell you that your dad told me that you gotta pay for everything… that I shouldn’t lift a finger. Oh! And he said you’ll be making my dinner. What would you—”

You bump the front of the cart into his backside, sending him yelping and scurrying away. He laughs hard, the crinkles turning his eyes into lovely dark slits, and he throws his hands up. “I yield!”

You roll your eyes and push the cart straight past him. “Think you’re so funny?”

“I think I’m goddamn hilarious.”

You roll your eyes. “So I hear you also live in New York.”

“Mm-hmm! Own my own bar and everything!”

“Where?”

“Brooklyn. And before you ask, yes, my roommate is Steve.”

You try to whistle, but it comes out more like a puff of air. “I haven’t seen Captain Rogers in years.”

“You live in New York,” Bucky says and squints. 

You shrug, “I live in Manhattan, though. I don’t travel to Brooklyn much.”

He moves to the front of the cart, effectively stopping you from pushing it any further, and leans forward. “So what? You sayin’ you’re not gonna visit me?”

He purposely made his voice deeper. You caught it. And you know he knows you caught it. “Do you want me to visit you?”

“I think we’re getting along quite well, no? Or did I make a bad impression?”

“You made an impression.”

“That’s all I need to hear, doll.” Bucky turns on his heel. “I’m gonna go get some turkey slices down by the deli. Could you get me shavers?”

“Mm-hmm,” you answer and try hard not to watch him jog away. He’s surprisingly energetic this morning. You head over to the bathroom aisle and search hard for men’s shavers. When you find them, you decide to get three boxes — one for Bucky, one for your dad, and one for yourself. They’re surprisingly cheaper than the ones marketed towards women. 

“I love seeing happy couples in the grocery store. So domestic. Especially when one makes the other seem and act several years younger than they truly are.”

The British accent is a shock. The woman who has easily uprooted your definition of subtlety is elderly, really old judging by her voice, with white feathered hair that reaches her shoulders and brown eyes that look shiny underneath the harsh lights. She’s short and hunched over, the top of her head meeting your shoulder, but she pushes a full shopping cart with ease. She looks you up and down as if waiting for you to agree, then she maneuvers her way around your cart to snatch the remaining little bottle of red nail polish. 

“What?”

She smiles delicately, then points down the aisle where Bucky had left. “Your partner. Oh, he looked at you like you were some tasty treat! I remember that feeling. Men down at the docks couldn’t get enough. Granted, I was sleeping with men much older than your partner when I was your age but—”

“Oh my god.”

She brings her hand up to cover her mouth and laughs behind it. “Sorry, darling. I forget how to talk to strangers sometimes. Not everyone enjoys my ramblings.”

“It’s good, you’re good.” Without her noticing, you reach down to pinch the inside of your elbow. It hurts, stings, and so you only minimally accept that you’re living in a literal Hallmark movie. “Sorry, it just caught me off guard.”

“By how blatant I was?”

“Y-Yeah.” You clear your throat awkwardly. You’re not so freaked out by a stranger talking to you but more so because she sees the same thing everyone has been seeing: how easily you and Bucky get along. “And he’s not my partner.”

“No? Well, why not?”

“Excuse me?” You look around to make sure no one else overhears this. You’re getting the third-degree by a total stranger and it’s a little embarrassing. 

“I’m usually good at seeing such things. Maybe I need to get my prescription checked,” she mumbles, then rubs at her eyes.

“What made you think—”

“Oh, darling, the smile on that man! You said not but a couple words and he reacted like you gave him his first flower!”

“I wasn’t trying to—”

“Well, trying is not important. I saw it. Anyone with eyes saw it.”

“I’m blind.”

She snorts, and reaches for a bag of Hershey’s kisses. You didn’t even notice you’ve been walking down the aisle together. “Promise me one thing: that the second he makes you smile like he gave you your first flower, you recognize it.”

She’s sweet, kind, and you admit her words are making you blush like mad. At least she spoke of her own sex life and not the possibility of yours igniting. “Who are you?”

“Margaret. But I tell everyone to call me Peggy.” She hums low, and smiles up at you as you repeat the two syllables softly. “They let us out every Friday morning to buy our snacks with our weekly allowance. I make at least one new friend each time.”

“I bet,” you laugh. “How come I’ve never seen you around? I grew up here.”

She huffs and squeezes your upper arm like she’s about to tell a sad story. “Oh, I’ve been in that nursery home since you were in diapers, darling. I’m old enough to remember Pearl Harbor.”

Your two best friends are your age. They’re the people you’re closest to. But you also have friends who rival your years, and you are nowhere near their life experience. But if there was one thing that you knew about yourself, it was that you attracted old souls and the god’s honest truth is that you’re probably one as well. “Every Friday morning, you say?”

She nods, happy. “It’d be good for you to remember. I want to know how this story ends!”

Before you can roll your eyes at her comment, Bucky comes rushing down the aisle with the wrapped meat from the deli. “Hey, doll. I’m all set.” He looks over at Peggy and tilts his head in her direction. “Who’s your friend?”

He immediately shakes her outstretched hand and shines that famous empire shattering smile. Peggy rests her other hand over his, introduces herself, and exclaims, “Oh, even the nickname sends me back!”  

Peggy waves goodbye and says, “It was nice meeting you, uh…”

You tell her your name, and just like you did with hers, she repeats it back softly.

Bucky turns to you once she’s out of hearing range. “How long was I gone?”

You simply tell Bucky that she initiated small talk about the most random topics and that she was easy to talk to. He mentions how some of his favorite customers are the older crowd because they have a lot of history in their heads. You think about Peggy and wonder if there’s enough time in the world to hear hers.

     “Whatcha readin’?” You ask Bucky, who sits on the large lounge chair in the living room. It’s facing the fireplace, which is up and crackling at three in the afternoon. Bucky looks up from his page to you. He turns the book closed to peek at the title. The glasses on his face catch you off guard. 

Scholastic. That’s the first word that pops into your mind, as stupid as that is. 

“‘The Chronicles of Time Travel’ by Loki Laufeyson. Don’t ask me about it because I’m kind of angry right now.”

“Are you serious?” You hold your hands out, palming them open and closed rapidly in excitement. “I edited this book!”

Bucky bookmarks his page and hands you the book. “Are you serious?”

“Insanely! Oh my god, it was one of my favorite reads! I couldn’t put it down!”

“Well I wish I was just as enthusiastic as you.”

You scoff, and hug the book to your chest. “Tell me what’s got you pissed. I’m all ears!”

“Okay… Okay!” Bucky decides, and sits up straighter. Your eyes dart down out of habit, not searching for anything specific, but you can’t miss the fuzzy red socks Bucky has on. He even makes sure his feet are still facing the fire as he sits up. “The main character, Mobius, why in the hell would he trust Sylvie again? After everything he knows about her, why trust it? She left his ass in 1613 to burn in the Globe Theater and he just… accepted her back in the club?”

“She saved someone else instead! She knows Mobius can fend for himself and in turn, completed the mission.”

Bucky grumbles, “You don’t leave friends behind.”

You catch yourself before you argue that point. One thing an audience looks for when reading a book or watching a movie is how relatable the characters are or subject matter is. If it’s too outrageous and odd, chances are it won’t sit well with the consumer. And Bucky, who has relatable experience, has found a flaw. “Yeah…” you say, but shrug your shoulders casually. “Think he realized that in 1692 when she was about to burn at the stake.”

Bucky chuckles a little, and accepts the book when you hand it back to him. “I would have saved her, too. But I wouldn’t forgive her.”

“I don’t think he forgave her. But he does understand her.” You look at the pile of books Bucky brought. They’re stacked one on top of the other. It’s a little funny how Bucky dragged them all out of his suitcase but you figure he’s just a fast reader and wants to be prepared. 

“What else are you reading?” you ask, but your hand stops outreached before you can pick up the next title. “No…”

Bucky moves to shield the pile, an index finger raised like he’s ready to prove a point. “It’s Christmas time!”

You gasp dramatically and clutch at your chest. “‘A Christmas Carol’? Seriously?”

“It’s a great read!”

“It’s a cliche read!”

Bucky scoffs, but there’s a hearty laugh mixed in with it. “Are you kidding me? Don’t you edit all those cliche Hallmark-inspired books?”

You squint at him. “Touche. But this is supposed to be for pleasure, not convenience!”

“And it brings me pleasure!”

You stand there trying hard not to cackle. Bucky looks like he’s in the same predicament. Finally, you bite your tongue, turn on your heel, and walk toward the staircase. “Come on…” you tell him. He stays put, eyebrows furrowed. You groan softly. “Come.”

Bucky follows you, pausing outside your bedroom at the doorway as you begin fumbling around. You didn’t invite him in, but Bucky thinks it’s weirder to just awkwardly stand there. So he lets himself in, and scans the room with his arms to his sides. “Nice room.”

“Thanks, I’ve done absolutely nothing with it since I was eighteen.” You grab the book you were looking for and hand it to Bucky. “Here.”

“‘Una Donna’,” Bucky sounds out. “By Sibilla Aleramo.”

“Early twentieth century read. Emotional, angsty, fucked-up. Feminist read, really.”

“Any other suggestions?”

You blow a short raspberry, staring at Bucky hard. He’s serious, clutching Una Donna to his chest like he’s a high-schooler who just checked it out from the library. You sigh, then drop down to search through the bottom of your bookcase. “I promised myself I would never let anyone find these…”

Bucky tilts his head slowly, eyes caught on your ass. You’re bent on your knees, the perfect angle, and Bucky marvels at how fully you fill out your pants. He catches himself biting his lip, guilty, but he doesn’t look away until you move to stand back up. But your hips do this incredible swivel, and your back dips and slightly arches, and Bucky feels his throat clench. “‘Indigo’ by Beverly Jenkins. Underground Railroad romance… with smut.”

Bucky’s eyebrows raise slightly. A smile tugs at his upper lip. “You’re giving me a sex book?”

“It’s not a sex book. It’s a book with sex. And you’re borrowing.”

“It’s a sex book,” Bucky replies, as if it’s legal fact. You roll your eyes and reach for the book, but Bucky holds it above his head. 

You don’t even try to reach for it again. “You’re an avid reader. Don’t even try to lie to me about never having read a book that has hardcore smut.”

“I’m not denying anything. I’ve just never been given a book to borrow that’s got that.”

“Well, consider me one of your firsts.”

Bucky swallows hard. The words digest differently in his unclean mind. “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome.”

     Wanda, Pietro, and Clint arrive together, decked out in matching knitted Hanukkah sweaters and with trays of food. They aren’t the most traditional and they haven’t celebrated with their family or parent’s friends since their passing. The day your dad brought up the idea of lighting the last candle together, Wanda and Pietro were delighted to start their tradition. 

Clint tags along, eats the food, and practically tackles Bucky when he sees him. Bucky’s got the same massive smile Clint has. You didn’t know it was possible but Bucky’s matching Clint’s pitch — they’re loud as shit as they talk about what they’ve been up to for the last few years. You even hear Bucky joke about Clint being the third Maximoff sibling. Clint beams.

Pietro does the honor of lighting the last candle and starts to recite a prayer when Bucky joins. Together they pray and all the while you’re wondering how Bucky’s possible participation tonight had gone unspoken all day. You hit each other with the cart a few more times after meeting Peggy, raced to the car, sang loudly at the top of your lungs on the ride home, and even had lunch together — sandwiches — then Bucky retired to the fireplace with a novel in hand and his glasses tipping low on his nose. 

You simply close your eyes and enjoy his velvet voice as he speaks fluent Hebrew. 

The food is devoured quickly. It’s only the six of you and your dad is having the most fun: he’s laughing at all the jokes (even the ones that are only a little funny), has scarfed down a ton of fried food, and even repeatedly proclaims he has to get up early tomorrow as he beats Clint at Connect 4 for the sixth time in a row. Seeing him this happy literally makes your heart hurt and you curse inwardly for not visiting sooner, even during the summer. Work has been demanding, but it was no excuse. 

When your dad finally announces he’s beat, it’s ten. The party gets moved to the bar, where Kate yells each of your individual names as you enter. Only a few customers acknowledge her. It’s not packed yet, but it’s getting there. Bucky mentioned having to call a few of his employees back home to see how the bar was doing and how Alpine, his cat, has been holding up. So when Kate asks you where your new fella is, you promptly flick her off. 

Kate lines up a couple shots for both you and Wanda but before you can get to them, Clint and Pietro down them without so much as a second glance. Thus, it’s a challenge to see who can get the most smashed on this beautiful holy night.

But your only one blissful drink in when your phone vibrates with a text message.

‘When are you coming back to NY? The office is lonely without you here. -Brock’

“I… I can’t with him. Here’s my phone. Go stupid,” you say angrily, handing your phone to Wanda. She downs her tequila shot in one go and flashes you a silly grin before taking the phone for herself. She inspects the message like it’s some undercover assignment, squinting and humming her recognition — it’s quite cute.

But you’re too annoyed and frustrated to acknowledge it any more. 

“What should I say?”

“Anything. I really don’t care.”

Wanda hums again and types in the first thing her buzzed mind comes up with. 

‘Neat!’

Your snort is loud. “Yeah, that’ll work.”

Wanda catches your sarcastic tone instantly. “You sure?”

You give her a side-eye and simply lay your phone upside down. If Brock texts again, you’ll just will it away. Or block him. You can’t exactly do that, but it’s fun to dream, right?

“You know what you need? You need to get laid.”

“Oh? I need that, now do I?”

“Yes! When’s the last time you’ve gotten a good fucking?”

Two men on the other end of the bar instantly raise their heads. You inwardly roll your eyes — Wanda gets too loud when buzzed.

“Forever.”

“Like, a good, nice, hard and deep, fucked-out fucking?”

“Wanda, jesus fucking christ.”

“What? I’m being serious… half-serious. Well, mostly.” She nudges your shoulder with hers. “C’mon, I know damn well Brock is pissing you off and that kinky side of you is thinking, ‘lemme fuck someone good and well while he keeps sending me those desperate texts.’”

“You’re crazy.”

“Am I?” She cocks an eyebrow. The loud conversation you're having finally attracts Kate’s attention, and she motions that she’ll join you guys in a few minutes. Wanda says, “Anyone here catch your eye?”

You look around briefly, not really looking, but you do notice how the bar is getting more packed. It’s Friday night after all. “Not at the moment, no.”

“Then let’s hang out for another hour! If there isn’t anyone that catches your eye, I’ll give it up.”

“Promise?”

“Promise. Pinky swear. Cross my heart.”

“Hope to die,” you mumble, and Wanda nudges your shoulder harder this time.

She laughs, “You’re nasty when you drink!” 

“I’ve had one shot.”

She leans over the counter and discreetly swipes a beer from the basket Kate hasn’t shelved yet. “Ooof, then you’re just nasty.”

One of the men from the end of the bar leaves their seat, runs a hand through their hair, and holds out his hand for you to shake. He’s awkward on his own two feet and he thinks his easy smile is making up for it. “Hey, couldn’t help but overhear—”

“Run.”

He swiftly turns back around, “Yep.”

Wanda cackles and Kate sends a ‘I’m sorry about her’ look to the man you’ve just turned down. Thankfully out of hearing reach, Wanda says, “Okay, I agree with you there. Not even blackout drunk would I think he was cute.”

“Trying to get laid in this crowd?” Kate quips, and pours two shots for both you and Wanda. Then her eyes widen a little and she quickly shuffles around to pour a third. Before you can ask, someone sits in the barstool directly beside yours. 

“Who’s trying to get laid?” Bucky Barnes asks, easily inserting himself in the conversation and making the two other women beside you immediately gush. He thanks Kate for the shot, then downs it, all while looking directly at you. 

Wanda points at you, then pokes you, and loudly complains when Kate whispers over to her that she’s temporarily cut off until she drinks a full cup of water. Bucky raises his eyebrows and waits for your response. 

“Didn’t think you would actually join us,” you say, and casually push the small tray of peanuts in his direction. He smiles, breaks a peanut open, and eats it.

“Seemed fun! It’s Friday night, thought I’d catch up with the town.”

“Bar is the go to?”

“Used to work here,” Bucky says and cracks open another peanut. “Plus, it’s where you are.”

Your chest halts mid-breath and to try and cover it up, you smile at him. But it’s an involuntary thin smile, cheeks tight, and you feel them quickly heat up. 

You scratch at your neck to try and calm your nerves. “Uh, how’s your cat?”

“Ayo’s got it all under control. Think Alpine likes her better than me.”

“You look like a cat person.”

“Oh?” Bucky glows at the statement. “What is it about me?”

You shrug, half of you hoping Wanda will do what she does best and interrupt (or maybe Kate), but they’re obviously in their own conversation on purpose, giving you the privacy you didn’t think you needed. But you know your friends: if you strain your ears hard enough, you swear you can hear their snickers. 

“You’re kind, fluid in your movements, you wear fuzzy socks,” you describe, and clear your throat as Bucky’s smirk grows larger. “That’s the vibe, I guess.”

Bucky nods and looks away in thought. Finally, he says, “Didn’t think you saw my fuzzy socks.”

You laugh, “It was the first thing I noticed when you cuddled up by the fireplace earlier today.”

Bucky seems to want to add onto the subject, but Kate interrupts. “Bucky! We were just discussing how long it’s been since I’ve gotten laid!”

You practically stab Kate with your bulging eyes as you spin around. Wanda backs her up. “Same here! Bumblebee is probably in the same predicament. How long did you say it’s been again?”

There it is: the first piece of your soul crumbling to the depths of Hell. You literally felt it break off. 

“I didn’t say—” You try to save yourself, but Bucky suddenly makes a startled noise and points at Kate and yells, “Me too! I think everyone hits a dry spell during the holiday season, though. No big deal!”

Again, you’re shocked into silence. You can say anything really, but you opt to just nod and smile. 

“No one catches my eye anyway,” Kate grumbles. “Bet Bumblebee can mark a couple on the scoreboard tonight.”

You give her pointed glare. “You want me to fuck a whole soccer team in one night?”

Kate shoots a finger gun. “Bet you can. Bet you can get more numbers than any of us here.”

“Now, woah. Woah. I'll take you up on that bet,” Bucky says. “You in, doll?”

“What, to fuck a whole soccer team?”

“Just one?”

Bucky has this playful gleam in his eyes. His cheeks turn a bright shade of pink and he’s even taken off his gloves. He’s comfortable, and it makes you unreasonably giddy. 

“You’re on.”

As if on cue, the bar fills to capacity. There are people you remember from your childhood enjoying hot wings with their grandkids, couples using whatever free space they find to dance to the soft Taylor Swift playing (Kate had told everyone to ‘suck it up and respect my girl during Friday nights’), and the winning high school football team is in the underage section, scarfing down victory sandwiches and wings. Pietro is shooting shots with Clint and talking about discount prices on Christmas bouquets that he’ll definitely forget about in the morning. And it seems both you and Bucky recognize this relaxing atmosphere — you’ve both been away for so long and although not all your friends are here to celebrate, it feels full. The sparkly lights twinkle after each song change and the crowd cheers as Kate’s playlist plays a 70s classic instead. Kate promptly flicks everyone off from behind the counter. 

Bucky initiates the beginning of the bet with a rise of his eyebrows. He clears his throat, smiles triumphantly, and heads over to the first table he sees. There are four women huddled together, laughing and drinking, all over thirty at least. You can’t hear the specifics, but the closest woman with whom Bucky’s making the most eye contact laughs loudly, throws her head back, and gently places her palm on his jacket-covered forearm. You’re certain he’s going to choose her, and not because she’s the easiest catch. They’re similar in age, she’s beautiful with the way she carries herself, and she’s drinking a virgin. It’s almost perfect, but Bucky says one last thing that makes them soar joyfully, then heads back over to you and Wanda. 

“What are you doing—?”

“Happily married, pregnant with her third child, and was so fucking happy with the attention and sorry for the rejection she offered to buy me a drink—” Kate pours the beer in a tall glass in front of him, “— your turn.”

Blindsided, yeah, that’s what you are. In the matter of two minutes, Bucky’s made nice to a whole group of women, made a woman’s night, and scored a free drink from it. It’s not even that much of a major accomplishment but it’s enough to see the melting feeling in action. Like you’re experiencing it vicariously through someone else. 

“Yeah, Bumblewumble, go get some dick!”

You throw back your shot to hide from Kate’s crude words and from her high five with Wanda. Wanda’s too tipsy to see the horror in that statement. 

You stand, pull up your pants, and suck in a deep breath. Wanda double-checks your lipstick, smacks your cheeks gently to get your blood flowing, then slaps your ass to send you off. You scan the room searching for the first handsome face you don’t recognize as anyone from high school, and find two. The first is a woman with dark black hair and equally dark make-up. She drinks champagne like she’s the main character in her own movie, and she sips with her lips puckered softly. She glows under the holiday lights and it’s then that you see she’s wearing an ugly Christmas sweater. But before you can dive in, another woman slips into the booth and gives her a massive smooch on her left cheek. Her frown literally turns upside down with her arrival. 

The second option is a guy around your age, maybe a year or two older, and he’s already looking at you. He’s a darkish blonde, somewhat built, and he’s enjoying a beer while watching the basketball game on TV. 

Hook, sink, catch, reel. 

“Haven’t seen you here recently,” the man says as you near his high table. His voice is too deep for your liking— it’s somewhat hard to hear him over the bass of the music.

“Visiting for the holidays,” you answer, and sit at the empty chair beside him. “Why? I catch your attention?”

“Of course. You’re hard to miss.” He reaches over to twirl his finger through one of the loops of your thin sweater. You let him, even though there are alarm bells ringing over your head. 

“So I assume you come here often. You live in town or just outside of—”

“What do you say you and I go back to my place?”

Your mouth snaps shut. There’s a sudden urge to laugh and awkwardly walk away, to willingly admit loss to your friends. 

“If it’s alright I’d like to speak with you for at least ten minutes before I make that kind of decision.”

The man sighs but agrees. You two chat about the most boring and mundane subjects, all the while you’re sending Kate, Wanda, and Bucky little stares of disbelief. They seem to be having the time of their lives watching you. 

“Now, I’m not against it, so I would totally be up for it.”

You have to blink a few times as your eyes glaze over. You turn back to the man beside you. “Hmm?”

“I don’t usually go for redheads but I gotta admit she’s hot.”

“...I’m sorry. Huh?”

“Your friend over there.” He points to Wanda, who sees and quickly ducks her drunken head. “I’m not opposed to it. I’ve had plenty of threesomes before.”

Your mouth drops in disbelief. This has got to be the funniest thing that has ever happened to you. Ever. You don’t even know what vibe you gave off that let it happen. Something like this doesn’t just occur for shits and giggles. 

“Oh my god.”

“It feels like my lucky night. Let’s see if we can talk the sexy bartender into it as well—”

“You ready to go, doll?”

Thank fuck. 

Bucky beams, the cheesiest smile on his face, and he holds his jacket out for you. You look up at him like he’s your knight in shining armor. 

Bucky fucking knows it, too.

“Definitely!” You slip into the jacket with his help and relish in the sweet feeling of Bucky patting down the sleeves for you. “It was nice meeting you!”

The man’s eyebrows are furrowed and he looks rightly confused, but just as quickly as Bucky’s rescue he reacts like a lightbulb has just lighted. “Oh! I’m not opposed to this either!”

Now you really have to turn your head as a loud laugh is expelled from your chest, wet and happy as a newborn. Bucky pulls you into his right side and holds you up as your laugh attack threatens to tip you over. You catch your breath long enough to tell Kate to take Wanda upstairs to her apartment and to keep her away from that man. Kate gives you one enthusiastic thumbs up. 

You and Bucky stumble out the bar, still laughing hard, and bet forgotten. The short hour inside the bar brought a fresh trickle of snow, though it’s minimal on the sidewalk and only lightly coats the road. The sun’s down, obviously, but the amount of streamed holiday lights contest that.

“Well that didn’t work out!” you say, clutching at your chest. 

Bucky wipes his forehead and hums his agreement. You two laugh it out some more before calming down. 

Bucky focuses on the way the red, green, and gold lights make the color of your eyes seem brighter — there’s a thin layer of laughter tears on your waterline and because of your constant rubbing, your mascara is slightly smudged near the outside of your left eye. But your lipstick stays perfectly intact, and you’re smiling so big, and your cheeks rise enough for your eyes to crinkle, and Bucky takes a step closer. He doesn’t think too much of it. 

He doesn’t remember the butterfly situation all that well — he’s older and wiser, not really ever looking for anything too serious since he thinks he’s exhausted any possible chance at true love at his age — but it’s a different feeling than the one he vaguely remembers, he knows. It starts deep in his chest, sort of ticklish, then slowly drips down into his abdomen until it settles peacefully. 

He can’t really describe it — it’s not that cliche, stupid fluttering almost all his romance novels describe. It’s softer, more delicate — he feels like something’s melting. 

You watch as he steps closer and as his eyes drift lower to your lips, and you slowly count to three. Whether it’s the lights, or because of the holiday season, or because Bucky makes you feel happy, you go for it. 

Gently, Bucky cups your cheeks and pulls you in. His pink lips are smooth over yours, exploring with just the faintest touch before you close the remaining gap for him. You press against him deeper, reveling in the soft groan that pushes out of Bucky, and slowly part your lips to let him in. Now he kisses with purpose, admirable pecks until his tongue pokes through, sliding over your bottom lip, and delving into your parted mouth to meet yours. It’s not at all sloppy — it’s sweet and slow and your noses bump naturally as each of you turn your head. Bucky’s hands simply hold you close to him, one weathered and one cool, and it takes him only a few moments to figure out what you currently taste like: the faintest lime. He must taste like craft beer. 

Slowly, regretfully, you pull away when the sudden sound of loud ‘boo’s! erupts inside the bar as yet another pop song begins: one from an original Jonas Brothers album. Kate tells everyone to ‘shut the fuck up!’

Bucky rests with the tip of his nose nudging your cheek. It’s a little cold, as shown by the redness it’s sporting, but you don’t move because of it. It’s quite an innocent gesture and although his nose is cold, his warm breath makes up for it. 

“Guess neither of us is getting laid tonight, huh?”

Bucky chuckles against your skin and the vibration makes your knees weak. He pulls back and his blue eyes glint with that mischievous, nonverbal word. 

Bet. 

     You make it halfway up the stairs before both of you tumble and land awkwardly on top of each other. Bucky has his flesh hand gripping the railing so the two of you don’t slide down further and his metal arm wrapped tightly around your waist. You meet his eye, granted a little awkwardly considering the twisted position you’re in, and try hard not to burst out laughing. Bucky looks like he’s struggling with the same thoughts. The two of you keep still for another few seconds, just hoping your dad doesn’t come out of his room to investigate. 

But nothing happens. There are no sounds besides your heavy breathing and the whir of Bucky’s metal arm. It’s cold against your tummy — your shirt has slid up and Bucky noticed earlier because he’s rubbing sweet tiny circles near your belly button. It’s the softest type of intimate touch you’ve ever received from a man — and it’s delicate and erotic at the same time. It causes a rush of activated goosebumps and here, now, you’ve never been so turned on. 

“I think we’re good,” you say, twisting a little so Bucky can give you a small push. You help each other and tip-toe the rest of the way to your room. It’s in that moment, when you lock your door and Bucky presses you against it with his hardening cock against the inside of your thigh, that you realize your room is closer to your dad’s. The guest room would have allowed for more privacy, more of a chance to whimper at least, and a locked door isn’t enough. 

“Fuck, doll. Are we really doing this?” He lost the battle in his own head. The feeling of your soft lips instructs him to worry about it later. 

Your throat goes dry as you try to formulate a response. Bucky’s trailing wet and sloppy kisses down your exposed neck, stopping wherever he sees fit to bite down just a little. He’s careful not to suck or bite down too hard — he’s saving you the awkward stumble of lies you’d have to spill to anyone who asked. And he’s so big: bulky in all the right places and so goddamn warm. His thighs are massively constructed, grinding upward as you grind yourself down. You didn’t even know you were desperately humping the strong muscle until now. 

“You so don’t get to back down now,” you mewl, turning your head slightly so you can mark up his neck as well. He tastes like salt and soft skin, warm to the touch and lovely, lovely Bucky. You swear he tastes as he smells: distinctive tones of cinnamon here, and mild whiffs of cologne there. “I wanted to get fucked tonight. Guess it has to be you, no?”

Bucky growls and practically rips your sweater from your shoulders. Once he discards it, he does the same to your shirt. His hands are large and the pads of his fingers are rough — the fingers of a working man. You’re so used to the soft hands of men who worked in offices, in education, who never got roughed up. But Bucky has the hands of a worker: hands that have seen combat, hands that have worked hard jobs, hands that are full of experience. 

Maybe that’s just it — Bucky feels different, smells different, tastes different because he’s older. More mature. And you’re so tiny compared to him: trapped against him and the door as he kisses his way down your throat to your heaving chest. He reaches back quickly and easily snaps off your bra. 

“I’m sorry, doll.” He groans as he catches his first full glance at your naked breasts. You try not to peacock, but Bucky licks his lips and you can’t help but whine and push your chest out to him. “But that guy wouldn’t have done the job. You wanna get fucked? I’m here, babygirl. I’ll fuck you so good.”

It takes everything within you not to moan obscenely. Bucky seems to want you to, however, because the moment he finishes speaking his filth, his mouth attaches eagerly to the round swells of your breasts. He licks and sucks and molds your breasts with his hands like he’s hungry for it, desperate to have every inch of your available skin on his taste buds, in between his incisors, hot on his pink lips. “I’ll fuck you so good, doll. I’ll fuck you so good and well that I’ll have to gag you so you don’t wake up your dad, huh?”

“Mmmpf.” It’s a pathetic little mewl, you know this, and the sad little thrust of your hips does no better. Bucky knows what he’s doing to you: god, he can feel the welcoming heat radiating through the fabric of your thin jeans for christ’s sake. 

“Fuck, that gets you off?” His voice gets deeper each time he curses. He’s so hot and hard against you; you’re curious as to how he hasn’t come untouched. “The thought of me fucking you nice and deep while your dad sleeps peacefully in the other room?” 

“Fuck, Bucky. If you don’t fuck me right now I might just kill you.”

Bucky chuckles low and in one swift movement, grips your ass and walks to your bed. He plops you down, relishing the way the momentum causes your tits to jiggle. He wastes no time and climbs onto the bed to help remove your jeans as well. After he undresses, leaving his boxers on simply for teasing you further, he reattaches his mouth to your breasts. 

The metal arm glints in the little light the room provides but you’d know it was there even in the dark. Bucky makes sure to not lay it directly over your skin for risk of the sudden cold, but you wouldn’t mind. Hell fucking no, not with the way he lightly trails it down the side of your stomach to grip your ass; the cold of the metal and heat of your skin produces a new sensation you’re absolutely drunk on.

The bed creaks with his added weight; the sound of the sheets ruffling and his tiny gasps in between each gentle bite causes your thighs to shake involuntarily, and Bucky has to plant one of your knees down onto the bed to keep you open for him. 

“Bucky, shit, please,” you whine quietly, voice high-pitched and desperate and for a second you can’t believe that sound even left your mouth. You’re on fire, burning through every crevice of your slightly sweaty body, and you can feel your clit pulsating. The flimsy piece of lace you’re wearing keeps rubbing you so good, pulled and yanked by Bucky spreading you open, so you buck your hips upward just to feel the nice rub. 

“Where do you want me, doll?” Bucky teases, voice raspier than it was a few minutes ago. His curls have gone all directions now, flopping lazily across his forehead and some higher on top. “You want me here?” He kisses a sloppy kiss just above your belly button. He grins against your skin as your hips buck up higher. “Or here?” The next kiss is right below and he pokes his tongue out a little just to see you jump. His index fingers hook through your panties. “Or here?”

Bucky doesn’t pull your panties down at all and instead buries his face to your mound, lapping at the wet spot you’ve accumulated. It’s enough to make you yelp. 

“Shh!” Bucky chastises, the vibration and breath of hot air too much. You bite your lip to prevent another broken cry, but it’s pointless. Bucky mouths expertly at the spot you need him most, devouring your covered heat like it’s his last meal. It’s slightly uncoordinated, but Bucky shows commitment and expertise that not even your best one night stands have shown. You slap your own palm over your open mouth once he finally slips your panties down your thighs and gets down to business. 

“Fuck,” Bucky breathes out. You’re wet and messy and so perfectly made for him that he sees double for a good second. It’s enough to make the brain cells firing their delayed signals to kick back into gear — he leaves your heat for a second to stand and then kneel, pulls you by the back of your knees to the edge of the bed, and throws your legs over his shoulders. 

“Oh!” You writhe and rut upwards, gasping from how good Bucky licks at your clit. “Buck—, oh shit! Fuck, yes, yes!” Your screams are merely gentle cries, broken and wet and practically sobs when Bucky begins sucking. He laps at your left lip for a few seconds, moaning against you and chuckling when your thighs vibrate in response. He moves on to the right, then slips low down to your perineum, and swipes right back up. The action makes you snap right up, hands going directly to his messed up curls and pulling him into you harder. 

Bucky’s close to coming. It’s embarrassing and so fucking ridiculous for a man his age, especially with his experience, but he can’t fucking help it. You’re so goddamn wet, drenched down his dimpled chin, mouth parted in a silent gasp with these tiny whines escaping no matter how hard you try to keep them in. The skin of your thighs against his bearded cheeks is driving him crazy that he’s seeing white, the softness activating a trigger in his brain that tells him he has to finish on you. It’s almost like a primal need: to spill on your young skin and claim you as his. 

The thought makes him lap at you faster, swirling his tongue with as much accuracy as he can muster up as his brain fires more ideas throughout his skull. Coming on the inside of your soft thighs, watching as it drips inward and close to your fucked-out pussy. Coming inside of you, filling you up with his come and watching as it drips out and down onto your bed sheets. Coming in your mouth and having you swallow his spent down, that fucking little smirk on your plump lips as you do so. Bucky wants to come on every available surface of your body until he’s convinced you're his, that he’s made his mark, that this archaic and primal instinct gets him off more than he thinks it will. 

He groans low as he continues swirling and sucking, and he reaches down to squeeze at his cock. He’s aching, a sweet wet spot at the front of his boxers that matches yours, and the next little moan you let out has him squeezing the base of his cock harder as he groans again. “Doll, come on,” he urges, pads of his fingers digging deep into the meat of your thighs. 

It’s enough for you — if you could compare that rasp in his throat to anything, it would be honey in tea next to a crackling fireplace — and you’re coming with a tight groan and your palm turned sideways in your mouth. Bucky holds your hips as you writhe uncontrollably, working you through your powerful orgasm, even massaging the sides of your ass. It isn’t until you plop back down onto the sheets that you realize you were even mid-air. 

Bucky emerges with the proudest smile you’ve ever seen. It actually makes you scoff. “Well, I’d be a goddamn liar if I said you weren’t the fucking best lay so far,” you admit.

He grins wide and throws your legs up again, this time around his naked hips. He cock stands proudly, leaking from the tip and an almost angry red. Bucky tugs at himself a few times before his eyes shoot up to yours. 

“Good?”

Fuck. You’re about to fuck your dad’s friend. A guy way older than you. In your childhood bedroom. 

You shimmy the slightest bit down and open your legs wider, resting your sweaty palms against your own thighs. “Fuck me.”

It’s a desperate plea, one Bucky will certainly treasure for as long as he lives. He dips down and lays over you, planting a messy kiss against the underside of your neck. It tickles, but you’re so distracted by his weight, pressed chest to chest, the soft light from the moon illuminating the olive skin of his shoulders. You leave your own pattern of kisses along them, nipping gently and marveling at the soft little chuckles it causes him to expel. 

“You gotta be quiet, okay?” Bucky whispers, voice already hoarse as he runs the tip of his cock across your wet slit. It’s such a dirty movement, one that not many people you’ve slept with have taken the time to do. But Bucky seems to relish each moment, hungry for more. “You gonna be quiet for me, doll?”

“Mm,” you whine and push your hips higher as the tip of his cock runs against your sensitive clit. It’s not the answer Bucky wants so he presses down against you harder, running his cock over you a couple more times until your eyebrows scrunch and you’re voicing your displeasure in waiting. “I’ll be good.”

Bucky halts with his lips over yours, breathing in your beer-infused puffs of air. The air is quite literally knocked out of his own lungs and the air you’re supplying is all he has. 

‘I’ll be good.’

Now there’s a kink Bucky didn’t know he had. Granted, he didn’t think he’d get off fucking his friend’s daughter just two doors down.

“Say that again,” Bucky literally begs, voice raspy as he finally breaches your tight walls. He pushes slowly, not even half way in, and savours the way your neck stretches like an open invitation. He ruts once, pushing in deeper, and nearly comes from the smallest whine your chest produces. “Tell me you’ll be so good for me. Can you do that?”

There’s a slight burn, delectable and a bit restrained, but it’s the best thing you’ve felt in months. Bucky’s cock is the perfect girth, stretching you further than any toy or person, and even though he’s not all the way seated inside, the ridges and veins of his cock are obvious. He’s already touching spots you didn’t even know you had.

Bucky wants you to be good. This is bordering on Babygirl and Daddy kink and if you were asked a week ago, any interest in this roleplay would have never been raised. But you have the sudden urge to please Bucky, to be absolutely ruined and reduced to tears, to be spanked and called dumb. The mere thought is getting you off. 

“I’ll be good,” you gasp, nails leaving little crescents in his flesh arm. He pushes all the way in and rolls his hips against yours to situate himself and rub against your needy clit. The shock of it causes you to clench down around him and Bucky grits his teeth. 

“I need you to be quiet, doll,” he repeats, breathing in slowly as he thrusts a couple of times. He’s so goddamn deep, threatening to send you into a weeping mess. Bucky lifts himself up and grips your thighs hard, then begins to pound into you like you’ve been begging him to. 

“Oh, my,” you struggle to gasp out, mouth hanging open in a parted scream. “Oh, fuck!”

He knows he should chastise you, but the screams are just egging him on. He holds onto your thighs tightly, slamming into you with so much force you’re being thrust higher up onto the bed. It should hurt — you’ve had guys slam their dicks into you and hit your cervix spot on and send you yelling in pain rather than pleasure — but Bucky’s cock spreads you apart like it’s the most delicate thing in the world, massaging your tight walls with each noisy thrust. The nasty sound of skin slapping skin drowns the once quiet night and you’re certain that sound is louder than anything your vocal cords have produced so far. 

“That good, doll?” Bucky teases. He’s got a nice sheen of sweat over his body — the shine somehow makes his build seem larger, thicker, and the metal arm looks so damn good near that shiny olive skin. “You like taking my cock?”

Dirty talk. You really don’t want to be thinking about your other sexual exploits but jesus fucking christ Bucky is ruining them all. He’s hotter, older, the dirty talk doesn’t sound forced or cringy, his cock hits all the right places, and his hands are gripping and molding your skin like he’s studying it. It’s impossible not to compare — Bucky is shattering your initial beliefs of sex and you’re close to crying from sheer joy. 

“Yes!” It’s one damn syllable and you choke on your spit. “O-oh, yes!” He’s literally fucking you stupid. 

“Fuck, fuck!” Bucky moans between a laugh. “So fucking tight. Look at ya.” And just to make sure he’s being fucked stupid along with you, you purposely clench down as he drags out, giving him the perfect tight slide as he drives home again. “Oh, god.”

You smile lazily and a shaky laugh escapes your parted lips. “Fuck, Bucky. You’re fucking me like you’ve been dying for it.”

Bucky hits a particularly sensitive spot inside you and it causes you to release a short scream. You don’t exactly come, but your thighs jiggle from the impact and the oversensitivity. Bucky groans deep and hooks your legs around him tighter. 

“Been wanting to fuck you since I walked through the front door, doll. First night I thought about being balls deep inside your tight cunt. Came this morning just thinking about your ass.”

This time you involuntarily clench and it makes Bucky release the most perfect whine. It’s that type of whine only guys close to coming make after being edged for so long. But Bucky continues, slamming into you until the base of his cock and even his lower stomach are drenched with your juices. 

There’s a knock at the door. 

Bucky stops, still deep inside you, and leans down until he too is settled on the bed. 

“Bumblebee?”

“Shit,” you whisper-yell, burying your face into the sweaty crevice between Bucky’s neck and his metal shoulder. “Yeah?”

You struggle to make your voice sound normal, but there’s still a little bounce at the end of your words. 

“You okay in there? I thought I heard you groaning.”

“Yeah, dad! I’m fine! Just… period cramps…”

It’s an okay lie, and the man balls deep inside you chuckles quietly as if he’s saying just that. 

“You need anything? It’s like, one in the morning but if you need me to run to the general store—”

“No, it’s okay!” Your voice is this close to sounding bright and normal again and it’s at that very moment Bucky decides to start thrusting again. It’s slow, but hard and deep, repeatedly dragging against that special spot Bucky’s been hitting for the past several minutes. “O-oh!”

“You sure you’re okay?”

Bucky practically slaps his palm down onto your mouth. He thrusts fast, slamming into you a few times until your eyes water and your pussy pulsates, then stops. He uncovers your mouth. He looks down at you with this gleam in his dark eyes and a smirk pulling at his cheeks. 

“I’m good!” you try, then are immediately shut up again as Bucky slaps his palm down and repeatedly thrusts. Again, your pussy pulsates around him, wild with want. Your chest heaves with each sound you’re being restricted. 

“Okay, well. Don’t want to sound rude, but try and keep it down? I work early and we don’t wanna go waking James.”

Bucky fucks you fast. He’s surprised the bed hasn’t broken or that your chest hasn’t exploded. He dips down and takes one of your nipples into his needy mouth, sucking and biting as he thrusts. 

“No! We don’t want that,” you try again, tiny gaps between each word. 

“Lemme know if you need anything. Night Bumblebee.”

You don’t bother voicing a goodnight in return. Bucky covers your mouth and fucks you hard, eyes locked with yours. There’s a lovely crease in the middle of his forehead and in between his eyebrows, and he crinkles up his nose in one of the most innocent ways you’ve ever seen. Which is ironic considering he’s currently fucking the living hell out of you, but it’s glorious. His cheeks are pink and his lips are wet with his spit and all his curls are flopping like they’re having the time of their lives. He looks young, euphoric, and all-around god-like. 

“Don’t wanna be waking him up again, now do we?” Bucky laughs, then groans when you clench down around him. “Fuck, you wanna get caught?”

Your eyes widen a little and Bucky lets his palm fall to the side of your head where he claws at the sheet instead. “What would everyone say if they knew I was fucking you, huh? People in this town know me. They know you. They — fuck — How do you think they’ll react knowing you’re about to come your pretty little head all over my cock?”

“Bucky…” It comes out like a broken sob. You’re so fucking close, teetering over the edge as each delicious slide of Bucky’s cock hits the perfect spot. You crave it — having him come deep inside you like some forbidden piece of fruit and fucking it deeper into you — and you know Bucky wants that too. His little speeches basically give it away. “What are you waiting for, hmm? Come on, Bucky. Come inside me. Make me yours.”

Bucky’s eyebrows furrow only briefly, like he’s trying to discern whether or not he heard you right, then he’s fucking you with precision and care. He’s careful when lifting your hips up higher, both his flesh and metal hands gripping your waist as he does so. Then he drags the metal hand down over your stomach, massaging a little, until his thumb rubs over your clit. It’s cold, but you’re so wet and hot that it’s barely noticeable. 

“Oh my—” Your yell gets cut off, and good too, because your scream would have been incredibly loud. Bucky smacks his flesh hand over your mouth and catches all of your blissed noises: little grunts and broken whines that occur in time with each wave of your orgasm. Bucky watches the space where his cock spreads you open, mouth falling open as your cunt squeezes down like he’s never felt it before. Bucky catches the loud moan he almost lets out — grateful he does because that would be a lot harder to explain. 

Bucky leans down and replaces his hand with his mouth, kissing you deep and sloppy as he grunts low and finally reaches his own high. He spills into you, gasping against your plump lips, and gives a few more admirable thrusts that help him ride it out to the fullest. 

It’s suddenly too hot, too sweaty, but you like Bucky weighing you down. He’s still buried deep inside you, lips dragging slowly against your heated cheeks. Bucky tilts his head, then brings both hands up to cup the sides of your face. 

You know what the effects of a good orgasm do to you. Your legs get weak, your chest gets a little sore, and your head is a little dizzy. All those things you’re currently feeling. 

But Bucky meets your gaze, eyes searching yours for anything — words you haven’t said yet, emotions you haven’t expressed. Then he does something. Something that no one has ever done, and you promise you won’t compare him to anyone else after that.

Bucky smiles. Enough for those crinkles near his eyes to multiply. 

All those wonderful feelings within you are there but so is something else. Your chest is sore, sure, but there’s a weird pulse behind your sternum: like a lovely little tickle that melts across each individual rib. Melting.

You place the pad of your thumb on the dimple in his chin. 

Yeah, you’re in trouble.

xxMoni

[newronantic]

HAIKYUU!! FICS

so this is mostly gonna be for myself to keep track of my favorite fics i’ve read, but hey if anyone else wants to check some of these out then thats great

MHA one is up!!

ill keep updating this as i read more, feel free to send me suggestions!

KageHina

plain as day - emleewrites

In which Hinata has spent the better part of the last twenty years putting his heart and soul into volleyball, hoping to be recognised, to be noticed. And yet he spends all these years also thinking of himself as rather plain, beyond his lack of height and bright hair, and not really noticeable at all.

In Transit - Mysecretfanmoments

Hinata finds that he likes standing close to Kageyama on buses and trains. It doesn't mean anything--probably. Maybe.

I like the way your clothes smell - Mysecretfanmoments

Power outages, ghost stories, and the presence of a certain orange-haired boy lead to bad decision-making on Tobio's part. He'd planned to keep his crush a secret; the universe has other plans.

Chaotic Neutral - akaraka

Who's this Kageyama person on twitter and is he gay?

1: Anonymous: see title

2: Anonymous: curry king

3: Anonymous >> 1: It's the curry king, obviously. Have you been using his memes this whole time without knowing who he was?

4: Anonymous: 1) Hinata Shouyou's boyfriend 2) See above

jellyfish - mysterytwin

At the beginning of his last year at Karasuno High School, Hinata Shouyou starts a list and calls it THINGS TO DO BEFORE GRADUATION, all with high hopes that he’ll be able to complete it before his time runs out.

TsukkiYama

Try This On For Size - CloudMonsta

A lot changed for Yamaguchi Tadashi over the course of high school. He started trying on dresses, for one.

The Great Yamaguchi-Tsukishima Split (Capitalization Necessary) - WyYeuw

"But no, the current situation isn’t normal. This situation requires the full attention of the team.

No, what’s really concerning this time around, is that Yamaguchi is the one ignoring Tsukishima.”

Yamaguchi confesses. Tsukishima fucks up—like, really fucks up. The volleyball club notices and loses a week’s worth of practice.

IwaOi

Terrarium - sausaged

He's practically a professional at being proactive (lies, lies, and lies when it comes to Iwaizumi).

At this point, is he really happy with just staying best friends forever? Will he be writing journals and collecting rocks forever (he will, he knows, but that is aside from the point)?

Can he really tag his Instagram photos with #YOLO if he doesn't actually put that phrase into practice?

A story about Oikawa Tooru, Iwaizumi Hajime, plants, and rocks.

They Say it Rain Diamonds on Jupiter - exsao

"You're in love with him."

Hajime considers denying it. He considers deliberately choking on his drink to express surprise, to create a distraction by spitting onto the man in front of him's pristine white shirt and causing a commotion. Instead, he swallows his mouthful of soda and heaves a small sigh once his mouth is free.

"Yeah," he says instead.

He's never been good at lying, anyway.

bait and switch - Stylographic_Blue_Rhapsody

Oikawa's university volleyball team knows he's in a long-distance relationship with someone from high school. They imagine a sweet-faced girl that matches his sarcasm with patience. They are so incredibly wrong.

my heart is where it’s always been - foreverautumn

Iwaizumi places his phone down carefully.

Oikawa. Pining after someone. There’s no way.

(Iwaizumi knows he shouldn’t care who Oikawa might have feelings for, but within the span of three days, it’s somehow the only thing he can think about.)

KuroKen

Beautiful People Will Ruin Your Life - todxrxki

Kuroo Tetsurou runs a private Twitter account where he's constantly tweeting about how desperately in love he is with Kozume Kenma. Little does he know that Kenma sees all the tweets and keeps referencing the account in an attempt to get Kuroo to confess to him. / Or, five times Kuroo didn't notice Kenma hinting about his private Twitter account, and one time he finally did.

the things that get caught in the valves of his heart - ghostpot

Emotional competency is not exactly Kuroo's strong suit. Kenma finds it quite amusing.

Accidentally In Love - todxrxki

Kuroo frowns, but then slowly, the corners of his mouth lift up into a smirk. "Well, if it's so unbelievable, why don't we give it a try?"

Kenma glances up at him curiously. "What do you mean?"

"Let's do the 36 questions to fall in love," Kuroo says, still smirking stupidly. "If we don't fall in love, then you're right, it's bullshit. But if we do somehow..." Kuroo waggles his eyebrows. "Then I win." / Kuroo decides he and Kenma should do the 36 questions to fall in love as a joke, but they both start to realize they might actually be in love already.

the galaxy is endless (i thought we were, too) - cosmogony

TW: major character death

Kuroken AU where the last words your soulmate will say to you appear on your skin when you turn 16, and how Kenma and Kuroo learn what this means over the course of their lives

even if you’re ahead for a bit, i will catch up - ghostpot

Kuroo first confesses when they're sticky-fingered, wide-eyed kids, and subsequently every day after that. Kenma takes a while to come around.

you’re the brake lines failing (as my car swerves off the freeway) - ghostpot

Kenma thinks that Kuroo looks ugly with his head bent against the arm of the couch like that. Then Kenma thinks that he wants to marry him, and is promptly thrown into the 5 stages of grief.

teach me the way home - icespyders

“Don’t go far off, not even for a day, because —

because — I don’t know how to say it: a day is long

and I will be waiting for you, as in an empty station

when the trains are parked off somewhere else, asleep.”

Kuroo and Kenma grow up in transit.

in this universe - crossbelladonna

Living with Kuroo is sometimes, just like this. It always feels surreal like he's living half a world and a lot of things rush by too quickly. Kenma feels like he'd watched him come and go in a blink, eyes wide and wordless as the shared space went snug in an instant and far larger in the next.

All this, and a glass of water.

Beginning’s End - todxrxki

Somehow over the course of Kenma's lifetime, he’s never really had an opportunity to miss Kuroo. He’s always been there. Even when they went to different schools, Kuroo would meet him afterwards so they could walk home together, shoulders brushing, Kuroo occasionally taking the opportunity to guide him when his nose was buried in the newest video game. The thought of Kuroo not being there anymore is uncomfortable, to say the least. / Kozume Kenma's third year and the changes the year brings in himself and his relationship with Kuroo Tetsurou.

All I Want for Christmas is You - todxrxki

“Kuro,” he says. “You’re a single guy.”

“Yeah, great, thanks for pointing that out.”

“And my parents already know you, plus they already know you like guys or whatever so… what if you pretended to be my date for Christmas dinner?” / In which Kenma recruits his housemate and best friend Kuroo to be his fake date for Christmas.

BokuAka

just to miss the sun - rosevtea

Everything begins to implode when MSBY Jackals outside hitter Bokuto Koutarou crashes Akaashi's livestream.

Operation BokuAka - kazzydolyn

After spending two whole years watching Bokuto and Akaashi pine for one another, the rest of the Fukuroudani Volleyball Club has had enough. When everyone meets up for a reunion dinner, the team decides to play matchmaker and finally get the two of them together. Unfortunately, their plan starts to fall apart when they discover that Akaashi is already dating someone. And apparently so is Bokuto. What a strange coincidence.

bitter - silvercistern

He accepted his classmate's chocolates gracefully, then declared his lack of interest with as much dignity as he could muster. She deserved the courtesy. At least she'd acknowledged that Valentine's Day was all about her, and not about him in the slightest.

Because if any of these girls had taken the time to actually get to know him, they’d quickly realize something even more important than his lack of interest in girls.

And that was that Akaashi hated sweets.

In Another Life - LittleLuxray

TW: major character death

Sleeping didn't come as easy as it used to. Bokuto knew this, and now Akaashi did, too.

The hospital AU that no body asked for, but that I took upon myself to write.

120% yes - pissedofsandwich

TOKYO FRANCHISE COMING SOON @OnigiriMiya

in reply to @bokkun_official 

Congratulations! In celebration of your historic engagement, please DM us so we can send you a free membership code with a 25% discount on every fourth purchase!

Kissing Ace - karasunovolleygays

It happens right after training camp.

Akaashi Keiji has a secret he has guarded since he was a child. He won’t go so far as to call it a fear, but more of an aspect of himself of which he is horribly mortified. No one on the team knows about it, and Akaashi does his best to keep it that way.

But years of dodging hugs and casual contact come to naught in the blink of an eye and the swipe of a hand.

daisy rings and frivolous things (i am deliriously in love with you) - gabstar

Akaashi Keiji is in love. Bokuto Koutarou is a star. Everyone on Fukurodani has a gambling problem.

SakuAtsu

The MSBY Black Jackals Read Thirst Tweets - isaksara (syailendra)

Sakusa’s eyes are very dark naturally, sucking in all surrounding rays of light and crushing them in his pupils. For an athlete, he is rather pale. His lips look very pink in comparison. Atsumu is suddenly catastrophically aware that in this instance, ��accent’ is a euphemism. “Good enough for your Olympic-size ego, Miya?”

(In which Atsumu realizes that he is attracted to Sakusa Kiyoomi in the most inconvenient way possible.)

A Liar’s Truth - internetpistol

In which Sakusa Kiyoomi is raised to believe that gay people go to hell but then takes one look at Miya Atsumu and thinks, then why the hell did God make them so fucking hot?

[bakugostiddies]

Please god do a villain!au with Todoroki 🧎‍♂️ I usually don't like those but omfg with him it would totally work

Absolutely. This turned into a 4k word fic, but I am too attracted to this man to be ashamed.

Icarus | Todoroki Shouto x Reader

Warnings: eventual smut, temperature play, impact play, kind of dub-con but not really, degradation, praise, villain!au, corruption kink, no gendered terms but reader has a vagina and breasts.

NSFW | 18+

You had fucked up.

The room was dark and dank, eerily quiet save for the sound of your breathing. You looked around frantically, struggling to break loose from the bonds that held you. Shit. Shit. Shit.

As your eyes adjusted, you noted that there was a door ahead of you, a steel one with two deadbolt locks. You could feel a metal chair beneath you, rattling each time you moved even slightly. Your arms and legs were restrained by some sort of extremely strong fabric, but your mouth was unrestricted. Shit. Shit. What was Endeavor going to say? You were still just his sidekick, but this was your first big operation and you blew it completely. He would kill you when you got back, you just knew it. Endeavor took his temper out on you even when you did well, which meant you had no clue what he would do to you after a fuckup this bad. Shit.

Calm down, Y/N, you told yourself mentally. You were safe and unharmed, so maybe they just wanted information. You attempted to activate your teleportation quirk, but it didn’t work. What happened? You could feel yourself beginning to hyperventilate. You didn’t want to die here, after being kidnapped by some asshole who wouldn’t even fight you face to face.

“If you’re wondering why you can’t use your quirk, we just took it away for a while.”

A voice emerged from the shadows of the room, soft and almost velvety. You flinched. You hadn’t even realized someone was here. How could you have missed something so obvious? You felt like a shitty fucking hero.

“Who are you?” You said after a moment.

“Im surprised you didn’t recognize me. Well, I suppose it is a bit dark in here.”

And suddenly with the flick of a match, the voice became a man and the shadows around the room came to life. You swallowed harshly, all of the moisture in your mouth gone. The man stalked towards you with a sureness of a predator and stopped a few feet away from where you were sat in the metal chair. You looked up at his two toned hair, his strong, rugged figure in the flickering light. He wore a suit not too different from that of a hero’s, but he was tinged with scorch marks and small icy spikes. He looked like he was made of fire.

“Well?” He said it softly, but there was a hint of malice in his tone. “Who am I?”

You couldn’t speak, couldn’t breathe, your body almost paralyzed with fear. You knew who he was, of course you did. He was the one who helped blew up that building on the case you were on a month ago. He was the one who ambushed those (kind of sleazy) businessmen on their way to a cartel. He was the one who’s name was whispered in fear and awe on the nations’ streets. He was standing right in front of you, looking… bored?

The man sighed and fiddled with his match. “Hurry it up, hero, I don’t have all day.”

You spoke almost inaudibly. “You’re Icarus.”

He smiled slightly and a chill ran down your spine.

“See? That wasn’t too hard.”

He moved a bit closer to you and leaned down, his heterochromatic eyes almost level with your own. A single gloved hand moved to touch your chin with his thumb and index finger, moving your head from side to side with a feather-light touch. You hoped he couldn’t feel how scared you were, how your body seethed and rejected his very presence.

He finally released your face and you let out a sigh of relief. Icarus removed a single glove and touched his fingers gently to the match. It went out without smoke or a flicker, just a gentle hiss of frozen silence. The room was dark again, and he was moving, knocking on one of the walls.

“Turn on the lights, Red Riot.”

Your eyes widened. Red Riot? Wasn’t he the pro-hero who became a villain after Dynamight? Holy shit, was Dynamight here? Icarus interrupted your train of thought as the lights flickered on almost menacingly. You noted your surroundings carefully, seeing a bed in the corner, a small table, and another chair. The room looked less like a prison and more like a shitty motel suite.

“Do you know why you’re here?” He sat down in a chair across from you, leaning forward with his arms on his thighs and his legs spread slightly.

“I don’t know, Icarus.”

“Heres a hint; it has something to do with your boss.”

“Endeavor?”

You could feel bile rushing up your throat but you swallowed it down. The man before you clenched his jaw rigidly, as if it pained him to hear the name, but returned to normal so quickly you might have imagined it.

“You’re a bright one. Yes, hero, the very same. And do you have any idea on what he’s planning to do, say, sometime in the next six months?”

“I’m not telling you.”

“I wouldn’t be so sure about that.”

His tone was harsher now and he got out of his chair, moving closer to you again. You felt so small under his scrutiny, yet drawn to him like a moth to a flame, like Icarus himself to the sun.

“You see, I’m the only reason you’re alive. And if you want to keep your pretty little head-“ he circled around behind you- “you will listen to what I say.” His voice was barely a whisper in your ear, and your voice hitched in your throat.

“Do you understand?” He asked, straightening up.

“Yes.”

“Yes, sir.”

This was so goddamn humiliating, like your first day working with Endeavor all over again. With him, it was always a yes, sir, no, sir, please don’t make me work weekends, sir. But you swallowed your pride again and spat it out.

“Yes… sir.”

“A hero that obeys commands, what a find,” he said tauntingly. “But you could stand to lose that attitude.”

You wanted to slap him, to beat him up to the point of him being bruised and bloody and broken and then have him call you sir instead. God, if only you could teleport out of these fucking restraints-

“You’re thinking about using your quirk, correct?” It was like the asshole could read your mind.

“You can’t. Aizawa Sensei took yours away. You know him as Eraser-head.”

Fuck, Eraser-head was here too? All of the biggest villains were gathered here together and you- you could do nothing.

“So I’ll ask you again. What are Endeavor’s plans?”

At that moment, you made yourself a promise; that you would not let Icarus win. Little did you know that you would break that promise a thousand times over.

———-

Two days later:

———-

“Did Endeavor tell you about the attacks?”

“No, sir.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Come on now, you can tell me. I won’t hurt you.”

“...”

“Still no response? No matter, I have time to get it out of you.”

———-

Seven days later:

———-

“Still not talking, hero?

Look at that, the silent treatment.

I never thought an adult could be so petty. Just tell me where I can get more information.

Nothing?

Okay. Eat your soup, I can’t have you dying on me before you start talking.

And hero? You will have to open your mouth sooner or later.”

————

16 days later:

————

“Cut the bullshit, hero. We know he has plans for a big attack sometime during the next six months, so either Deku is wrong, or you are lying to my face. And Deku’s never wrong.”

“Well, I guess he’s wrong this time.”

“Then I guess we’ll return you since this has all just been one big mishap.”

“Really?”

“No. You aren’t the smartest, are you?”

“Maybe my brain will somehow recall something about this totally real attack you think is happening if you give me better food?”

“Don't be a brat, hero. I wouldn’t have gone through all this trouble if I had known you would be so inconvenient.”

“Whatever you say, sir.”

————

20 days later:

————

“Thanks for the bread, sir. It's quite an upgrade for a kidnapped person’s shitty meal.”

“You have low standards, hero.”

“Hey, why do you call me that?”

“What, hero?”

“Yeah. I have a name, you know. It's-“

“I know what your name is.”

“Okay, Jeez. If you knew it, then why not use it? Plus, I’m not even a hero yet. I’m still technically just a shitty sidekick who’s totally blown it on my first solo mission. I’m never going to be a pro at this rate, I might as well just give up.”

“I think you’re good.”

“What?”

“I said, you’re powerful and good at using your quirk. You have a lot of assets and it’s a shame your talent is wasted on Endeavor and the fools at the pro-hero agencies. It was difficult to actually catch you off guard, to get past your guards, to make sure your quirk was out of commission. And we are very strong.”

“Oh. Um, thanks, I guess?”

“Don’t thank me, hero. I’m just stating the obvious.”

————

25 days later:

————

“Why is your name Icarus?”

“It's not my real name.”

“Well no shit, dude. I'm asking why you chose it.”

“Icarus was a boy who followed his father’s instructions perfectly, but the moment he strayed from the path set out for him, he was punished, scalded by the flames of the sun, and cast away. But I think it was worth it for him in the end.”

“Why?”

“Because he was free. Because Icarus flew, and he was able to be his own person, even if it was just for a moment.”

“Do you feel like Icarus?”

“Most of the time I do, yes.”

“Sir?”

“Hmm?”

“Do you think that right now, you’re flying or cast away?”

“At this very moment, I think I am flying.”

“You know what? I think so too.”

————

29 days later:

————

“So what’s your real name, sir?”

“I can’t tell you that.”

“Why?”

“Classified. Also, I don’t need you to know my name.”

“But you know mine!”

“That's because you’re a prisoner, in case you’ve forgotten. You are almost unnervingly at ease here.”

“I’ve met three people so far and you have all given me no reason to fear.”

“Really? Not even Dynamight?”

“His hair makes me laugh. Plus, I can’t take airheads with overinflated egos seriously.”

“I agree with that assessment wholeheartedly.”

“You agree with my assessment- Sir, you sound like an old man.”

“I’m only three years older than you, you know.”

“Really? But you have all of these wrinkles?”

“I do not have wrinkles.”

“Fine, frown lines then.”

“That makes it sound like I don’t smile.”

“Well, you don’t!”

“It’s hard to find things to smile about.”

“God, you’re such an Edgelord.”

“What do you mean by that? hero, stop laughing.”

“You are definitely an old man.”

————

30 days later:

————

There had been a new development a couple of days ago in the kidnapping situation. You could feel your quirk again, which meant a lot of things. It meant you weren’t here against your will anymore, that you were free to go. Yet you remained. You still stayed in the same room with Icarus checking in on you in the afternoons. However, it had been given furniture- a desk and more comfortable chairs, a small rug on the floor, and thicker blankets. It was almost like you weren’t even a prisoner anymore. You could always leave, you reasoned. You could teleport out of here. Your quirk was back, and yet you stayed.

The other villains had taken a liking to you for reasons beyond your comprehension, but all it meant was that you were never short on company. Dynamight would burst in to complain about how Deku always got the best missions, Red Riot would bring in a deck of cards and the two of you would play go fish or bluff, even Deku would occasionally check up on you and make sure you were comfortable. But your afternoons? They were always set aside for your favorite visitor- Icarus.

...

“You haven’t answered my question about your name yet.”

You were sitting on the cot in your almost room, feet dangling off the edge and swinging back and forth. Icarus was sitting on his chair again, but lazily, with his arms locked behind his head and his legs precariously balanced against the edge of the bed.

“You haven’t answered any of my questions since you got here, so I don’t believe you have a right to complain.”

He was right, of course. He always was. But technically, he was equally at fault in this case. He was the one who sucked at interrogation, so much so that you took pity on his colleagues. They would have to deal with his lack of results.

You weren’t complaining, however. You enjoyed talking to him, looking at him, being in his presence. It was a stupid crush to have, but you didn’t care. He was beautiful to look at, the way his biceps curled behind his head, the lean toughness of his body, the sheer strength he possessed. Your eyes trailed down his sprawling figure, tracing each indent and dip and curve of his skin in your mind.

“Are you finished staring at me?” His words jerked you out of your stupor and you felt heat rushing to your cheeks.

“I-I wasn’t- I didn’t-“ you babbled until he stopped you.

“Don’t worry, it’s only natural to find me… appealing. You haven’t spent time with anyone else for a very long time.”

You almost screamed on the spot, burying your face in your hands. You peeked out between your splayed fingers to look at him, seemingly unbothered save for the slight pink tinge hidden beneath his bangs.

“How can you say things like that, sir?”

“Like what?”

“Uhm, never mind.”

You wanted the ground to swallow you up whole. He was so, so dense, it was a wonder he even noticed you basically eye-fucking him. You felt the cot creak beside you and a slight dip in the weight. Icarus had seated himself beside you on the small bed and was looking at you with eyes full of concern.

“I did not mean to shame you for your gaze, hero.”

He said it gently and kindly. It would be almost romantic if not for the situation you were in. You remained silent, so he continued.

“I believe it is normal for you to feel this way towards someone who has been in such close quarters with you for so long a time. You should be glad that you still have these urges.”

You suppressed a groan. This felt like having the sex talk with your parents all over again. “Sir-“

“-in fact, everyone feels them!”

He was rambling, oh god you needed him to shut up-

“I feel them for you all the time, and I’m completely normal.”

And suddenly, the air changed between you into something charged and heated.

“You… have urges around me?” You wanted to hear him say it again, just once, but he turned away from you, tensing up and rising from his seat awkwardly. His face was stony and his hair covered his eyes like bicolored curtains. There suddenly was space between the two of you, some insurmountable gap that could not be bridged.

“I apologize deeply. I have misspoken.”

“Sir, wait, you don’t have to leave!” You cried out as he made his way to the door.

“But I do. You don’t deserve this treatment, and it is cruel of me to hurt you in this manner.”

And that was when something broke within you, something that had been holding you together this whole time.

“No.”

He turned around, almost scared by the anger in your voice.

“This is when you decide to stop? You have literally kidnapped me, interrogated me, left me in all but isolation, for a fucking month. You took me from everything that I wanted and everyone that I love and yet, and YET, I wanted you. Goddamn it, I still want you. I don’t understand why. So don’t apologize to me for misleading me or whatever bullshit excuse you’ve decided to use as a sheild. Apologize for everything you have done to me, you fucking cunt.”

And then your voice broke and you could feel the tears rushing to your eyes, your vision turning glassy as your chest heaved with sobs. You could feel yourself slipping away, your breaths growing shallow and your body shaking. Why did you stay here? Why didn’t you leave when you could? What was the point, if Icarus didn’t even want you?

And then, suddenly, you felt warm.

Icarus, sir, whoever the fuck he was, was holding you tightly in his arms, head dipped down into the crook of your neck, his arms enveloping you in his warmth. He was your sun. And he could scorch you again and again but you would still be drawn to him.

Your panic died down and you wept for the first time since you arrived. The two of you sank down to the floor, his apologies muttered swiftly and quietly against your skin. You were in his lap now, your body curled up into a ball in his embrace, one of his palms cupping your face. He turned you slightly towards him.

His eyes were wet too, but only slightly, and his fingers were thumbing at the tears on your cheeks. One of them got close to the corner of your mouth and slowly but surely, with almost childlike fascination, he pushed the tip of it in. Your tongue ran along the edges of it, the salty taste leaving you wanting more.

And slowly, Icarus leaned forward, his lovely face the closest you had ever been to him. He removed his finger from your mouth and kissed you instead, gently, and then all at once.

It was a furious kiss, on that burned and heated a cold room. You could feel teeth and tongue and hot tears, a clashing finale of a kiss. It was against your lips that he murmured his name.

“My name is Todoroki Shouto.”

He said it softly, leaving your lips to place open-mouthed kisses on your neck that left you moaning and had wetness pooling between your legs. But suddenly, your eyes snapped open.

“Todoroki? As in-“

He kissed you again to silence as you felt the questions racing through your head. Endeavor was Todoroki Enji, right? But he had never mentioned having kids to you? Was Shouto lying to you? Why did he want to destroy his father? And how were you-

“Shh.” Shouto tapped his forehead to yours. “Let me take care of you.”

Fuck it. The questions could wait.

Shouto reached down to pull off your shirt and groaned at the sight of you. He looked at you in wonder.

“You- hero, you make me feel like I’m on fire.” He said it with such sincerity that you nearly cried again were it not for his palming of your breasts, his burning fingertips tweaking your nipples and making you whimper slightly.

“I am so sorry. I’m sorry for everything I put you through-“ you were placed on the bed- “I’m sorry for taking you away-“ He was kneeling, fucking kneeling, between your legs- “but most of all-“ fuck, he placed hot kisses on your stomach as he pulled your pants down-

“I’m sorry I didn’t have the courage to do this sooner.”

And with that, his tongue was lapping at you through your panties, new ones that the villains had provided for you, with reckless abandon. Your hands tugged at his hair and you heard his hum of a chuckle as a vibration on your pussy. There was pressure, so much pressure from him against you, like nothing you had felt before, and when he finally pushed your panties aside, they were soaking wet.

Shouto looked up at you for a moment, meeting your gaze with his own, eyes sparkling with desire. And then, without a word, He pressed a small kiss to your clit that had you jolt slightly before he dove in. He had you moaning within seconds, his tongue lapping at your folds before swirling around your clit. You felt yourself reaching a climax- it was too good and too fast and too much and- Shouto pushed a finger inside you and crooked it slightly and you began humping your hips upwards as he nursed at your clit. Your climax was swift and powerful, but he didn’t move throughout it. Even as you came down from your high, his mouth planted on you and his finger gently pumped in and out. Shouto added one more easily, and you swore you saw stars when he began thrusting. He fucked you with his fingers, marveling at your reactions, the sounds you made, your pussy pulling him in.

“Fuck, hero, you’re so wet. Is this all for me? Have you gotten off to me fucking you like this in this bed?”

You moaned loudly and Shouto removed his fingers, leaving you feeling empty. There was a dark look in his eyes that you remembered from the first day you arrived.

“Answer me, hero.”

You nodded your head slightly, but that wasn’t enough for him. He rose to his feet and without warning, he smacked your clit. You squealed loudly from the stimulation, the pain turning into pleasure quickly. His palm was cold as ice, and you squirmed dumbly against his touch.

“Answer the question.”

“Yes, yes, sir, I’ve thought about you fucking me everywhere in this room-“

Shouto’s palm reverted back to his normal temperature and you sighed with relief as he cupped your pussy and rubbed it gently.

“What a good, slutty, hero. Have you touched yourself when you think about me?”

You blushed slightly and hid your face behind your hands. God, this was embarrassing. Of course you had gotten off to the thought of him, but to say it out loud was a different feeling altogether.

You took too long and Shouto spanked your clit again. You let out a shriek and tried to wriggle away from him, but he just pulled you closer.

“I want to see your face, doll.” You whimpered at the new pet name. “Now, have you touched yourself when you think about me?”

“Y-yes sir-”

“Y-yes s-sir-‘ so shy for someone who wants a villain to fuck your hero pussy into behaving.” he palmed himself over his trousers, letting out a little huff of pleasure. “I want to, shit, want to fucking ruin you.”

Shouto pulled you to him as your hips thrust desperately against the air.

“Yes sir! Want you to fuck me, want you inside me-“

He groaned and humped into you, the metal of his belt buckle catching against your clit and making you flinch with overstimulation. Shouto noticed and pulled you closer as he stood at the side of the bed, your back flat against the mattress and your hips arched upwards to meet his bulge. He rutted into you again, forcing your pussy to kiss the metal of the buckle once more. You felt your body seizing up, your orgasm building inside you, and Shouto, with a sadistic gleam in his eyes, pressed his buckle harder against you.

The longer it stayed there, the more it heated up, almost more pain than pleasure, until Shouto wrapped your legs around his waist and thrust against you. There was a wet patch on his pants and you kept shrinking away from the burning hot metal that teased at your clit.

“You have no idea what you do to me, fucking hell-” He managed to spit out, “I’m not even inside you and you’re dripping all over me like a bitch in heat-”

He continued to hump you roughly, each time more forceful than the last until you came loudly as Shouto pushed your body into the belt buckle. “No more, Shouto, please, no more- its too much-”

“Too much for you already, hero? I haven’t even come yet. And you- how many times have you reached your climax today?”

You almost screamed with frustration- how were you supposed to know, you didn't fucking keep track-

“I can tell you, brat.” He grabbed your waist and flipped you easily onto your stomach. You were completely exposed to him now, unable to see his face, out of control entirely.

“You have come three fucking times. That doesn’t feel very fair to me, does it? Do you want my cum inside you?”

You buried your face into your pillow, and he pushed down slightly on your lower back, creating an arch. You startled when he teased his cockhead against the surface of your pussy, wetness coating his dick.

“Shouto, I want your cum-”

His palm came down hard on your asscheek, forcing a gasp out of you as he rubbed it softly with his palms. He leaned closer towards you, his voice whispering in your ear.

“Then beg.”

And, with your voice muffled by the pillow, you followed his orders.

“Sir, fuck me, please, please- I need you inside me, I need you to cum for me, please- Shouto, Daddy-“

Your begging got cut off by him thrusting into you. You screamed and he shushed you gently, holding your hand with his own. “Do you think you can take the rest of it?”

The rest of it? There was more? You looked over your shoulder and nearly passed out. You had barely taken half of his length and you were already completely filled up. But… you wanted to feel him, all of him, so you muttered a soft “yes.”

“Okay, baby, take it easy…” he eased a couple more inches into you before you tightened up, your pussy clenching and back arching as he slid in. “Oh fuck,” Shouto groaned. “Do that one more time and I won’t be able to hold back.”

And of course, you grinned. And proceeded to clench yourself around his length again.

Shouto nearly growled. “I warned you, hero.”

And then, he thrust into you. Hard. And he kept going, pumping in and out of your body like a machine, his thumb rubbing against your clit and his other hand on your leg. You are screaming and crying and babbling on about how good his cock is, how good you felt, how this is what you wanted. And Shouto? The cocky bastard was gloating.

“Look at you, such a good slut on my cock. Are you crying? God, thats so fucking hot. I’ve got a cute little hero crying on my dick. I know you can use your quirk now, Hero, I know Aizawa sensei returned it to you. Did you stay because you wanted me to fuck you like this? Did you want to be corrupted?”

“Yes,” you’re almost incoherent, “yes, ruin me, make me a villain, I wanna be a villain!”

Shouto slows his pace for a moment. “You would leave Endeavor? Leave the agency?”

“Yes, I would, Shouto, fuck, anything for you-”

He slapped the inside of your thigh before resuming his pace again. You had never felt so full before, his dick reaching places within you that you didn’t even know existed. His palms gripped the sides of your hips so tightly you thought you might bruise, tiny burn marks already forming in the place of his fingertips. You were close, so close, your tears and drool spilling over your pillow and your body limp and helpless before him. Shouto felt you clenching around him, completely spent.

“Do you want to cum again? What a greedy pussy you have, hero, a needy little cumdump.”

You couldnt get words out, croaking out your mumbled yeses and nodding your head vigorously. He pounded even harder into you and reached around your thighs to your clit, rubbing it in tiny circles as he fucked you. You could feel your climax building for the fourth time and you twitched pathetically beneath him. Finally, Shouto pinched your clit slightly and you came with a wail of his name.

He fucked you through your orgasm, but he was slower now, his strokes hitting you deeper than before.

“Do, fuck- do you want me to cum in your pretty pussy?”

Shouto was hunched over you, his head resting on your back and his arms caging you in so that he was all that surrounded you. His breath came out in cold pants and his thrusts got more and more erratic as he neared his own climax.

“Please, I need you to want this, I need you- shit, I...” You could hear the desperation in his voice, how he yearned for you, and you the words fell out of your mouth before you could stop them.

“Yes, Daddy! Want you to come inside, fucking breed me-”

“Oh fuck, Y/n-”

And then Shouto came with a groan, his cum splattering your insides with warmth. He pressed kisses to your spine, trailing his fingers down your arms as he turned you to the side. He didn’t pull out of you as he did so, causing you to groan slightly. Finally, he released you and gently removed his dick from where you were connected. Some of his cum oozed out and he pushed it back in with his fingers, trapping his seed within you forever.

The pair of you laid together side by side for a moment, Shouto’s fingers tracing your body with slow, lingering touches as if he was afraid you would shatter the moment he pressed too hard.

You were the one who broke the silence. “ You said my real name.”

“I did. I love your name, Y/n. It just felt... wrong to say it when you were my prisoner. It was easier to distance myself from you if I just thought of you as a random hero. But you’re more than that now.”

You stared straight into his eyes, your hands reaching up to run gently through his silky hair. “I’m not leaving, Shouto. I’m never leaving this place. And I’m not just staying for you- I like it here. The villains like me, and they respect me. You aren’t bad people- if anything, the rest of the world has been far worse than anything or anyone I’ve faced here. It feels like I’m finally home.”

Shouto gathered you into his arms and pressed you tightly to his side. “You will be mine now,” he said almost matter-of-factly.

“And you will be mine as well.” You planted a small kiss to his nose that made his eyelids flutter and a slight blush crawl onto his cheeks.

“You deserve the world, Y/n,” he said hesitantly. “And I am not even close to being good enough for you.”

Shouto’s eyes were downcast and you could see the doubt creeping in. You gently pressed your fingers to his furrowed brows and soothed the wrinkles away. “Don’t do that.”

“Do what?” He asked.

“Put yourself down. You are more than enough for me. And Shouto? I don’t need the world. I already reached my sun.”

He smiled at you then, with no underlying malice, no undertone of darkness. It was blinding. Goddamn it, you would do anything to see that smile for the rest of your life.

“That was terribly cheesy, Y/n.”

“Shut up, Shouto.”

He kissed you, and you could feel the butterflies in your stomach fluttering up a storm. Todoroki Shouto was your sun, and you were his. And even if you both melted away under your flames, it would have been worth the loss.

-Bonus-

2 weeks later:

“So, uhm, Y/n, Todoroki, we were reviewing the footage from Y/n’s old room the other day. While we’re all happy you two are *ahem* together now, maybe you can display your... appreciation for one another in a more private place?” Kirishima was blushing profusely and refused to meet your eyes. Suddenly, it clicked for you.

“WE WERE BEING RECORDED?”

“And?”

“SHOUTO!”

“Ah yes, how horrible and violating, I feel as though I have been exposed indecently without my permission for the perverted public to see. They will be unable to contain themselves when faced with my immeasurably sexy figure.”

“You are NOT being helpful.”

“I beg to differ, Y/n. Kirishima, is there any way you can send me a copy of the tape-”

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A/N: I hope you like this and please let me know if I should do a villain!UA series because I only write under the influence of peer pressure.