#i want to bury my face in his neck beard

[witchywithwhiskey]

hiiiii, it's asreadbyaj, wanting to participate in your sweethearts game. You know how much I'm obsessed with your toxic Bucky series so naturallyyyyy I had to pick Mr. Barnes and the sweetheart "Crazy 4 You." If that prompt's already picked, however, I'll go with "You Wish"

it's kind of a funny story

pairing: divorced neighbor!bucky barnes x female reader

summary: you get back early from a work trip, happy to see your cat alpine, but a little sad to have no one else to come home to. things change, though, when you discover your neighbor in your bed doing something very inappropriate...

warnings: 18+ content (minors dni!!!), unspecified age gap, smut, piv sex, unprotected sex, creampie, oral sex (f and m receiving), face-sitting, masturbation (m and f), cock warming, brief pussy spanking, multiple orgasms, voyeurism, accidental voyeurism, tit worship, nipple play, large cock, marking, dirty talk, daddy kink, praise kink, light degradation kink, pet names (bunny, baby), aftercare, happy ending, both reader and bucky are big pervs

word count: 8.5k

a/n: ahh AJ, you were the first person to send in Bucky Barnes and i just knew i had to use this tweet as inspiration for the prompt. i also liked the idea of Alpine belonging to reader and Bucky coming to adopt the cat by getting together with reader. also sorry this is so long, i just had so much fun writing these two!! 🫣 anyway thank you for playing my sweethearts game, i hope you enjoy ♡♡

sweethearts game masterlist

A happy, chirping meow greeted you as soon as you pushed inside your apartment. The ball of white fluff lounging in a spot of golden, late afternoon sunshine rose and darted toward you, winding around your legs. 

Despite your exhaustion from your trip, a soft smile curved your lips. You dropped your bags and bent down to scratch between the ears of the white furball that lived in your apartment—also known as your cat, Alpine.

“Hello, sweet girl,” you cooed at her, scooping up her fluffy body and pressing kisses all over her furry face. Alpine’s expression was partly aggrieved, no doubt angry that you’d gone away again, and partly indulgent of your love.

Truthfully, you were just as aggravated about your time away as Alpine. Your job had you travelling more and more, despite the role purporting to be work-from-home, and each time you returned to your apartment, you couldn’t help but be reminded that Alpine was the only one there to greet you.

In the comfort of your own space, you could admit to yourself that it would’ve been nice to have a person to come home to—a man who’d happily shower you with just as much affection as you were showing Alpine. A man who’d help you with your bags and then wrap you up in his arms and kiss the exhaustion from your lips.

Of their own volition, and as they often did, your thoughts strayed to Bucky Barnes. 

The divorced man had moved into the apartment immediately below yours a little over two years ago, having split from his wife and needing his own space. He was older than you—too old for you to have anything so banal as a crush on him. And yet, you often found yourself thinking about Bucky Barnes. 

His brown hair was a little too long, and messily swept back from his face in the way of someone who frequently ran their hands through it. The scruff on his jaw was a little too thick, like he was constantly forgetting to shave but refused to commit to a full beard. His blue eyes were bright and sharp, but more often than not, they were framed with dark circles like he didn’t get enough sleep. 

Bucky Barnes was a bit of a mess, but he was handsome in a way that made your heart beat a little faster in your chest and a low warmth begin to simmer in your body whenever you passed him on the stairs and got a whiff of his cologne. It was spicy and earthy and you wanted to bury your face in his neck and inhale deeply, certain you’d be able to get high off it if you tried hard enough.

Shaking your head to free yourself from thoughts of Bucky Barnes, you scratched Alpine under the chin and cooed at her, “Did Mr. Bucky take good care of you while mama was away, sweetie?” 

Alpine let out another of her happy meows, butting her head against your cheek, as if to say she’d been very well taken care of, but still missed you. The edges of your mouth curled into a smile and you nuzzled the cat back, pressing a kiss between her ears.

Before Bucky had moved into your building, if you ever needed someone to feed Alpine while you were away, you’d gone to Mrs. Cabrera down the hall. But when your work trips had grown more frequent, she’d had to ask you to find someone else, unable to balance Alpine’s care with her active social life and visiting her grandchildren all over the city.

You’d been on the phone with your best friend in the lobby of the building, asking whether she’d be able to stop by and feed Alpine, when Bucky had been getting his mail. He’d offered to help you out, and you’d been so grateful, you hadn’t grilled him too much on what he knew about taking care of cats.

Bucky had turned out to be a surprising success as a catsitter. He sent you photos of Alpine a few times a day while you were out of town, and reported perfunctorily on how much she’d eaten, how many treats he’d given her and what toys he’d used to play with her. 

He was everything you’d ever hoped for in a sitter for Alpine, and the fact that he was so good with your cat only made your crush on him burn hotter. When you were on your work trips, you often fantasized about coming home to Bucky and Alpine, and the happy little family you’d make together. 

Your trip home that day had been no different. You’d been called to another city halfway across the country for the week and had originally intended to fly home the next day, but you managed to book an earlier flight that got you home on the evening of Valentine’s Day.

You refused to think about how pathetic you were—daydreaming about returning home to your divorced neighbor, and all the ways you wanted him to show you how happy he was to see you, while everyone else was going out on romantic dates with actual partners. 

If you thought about it too much, about how desperately you wanted someone to love you, it would’ve made you miserable. So you didn’t think about it.

Alpine squirmed in your arms, suddenly deciding she was done with your love fest, and you let her hop down, watching fondly as she shook out her fluffy white fur. The cat turned her big blue eyes up at you and meowed, then led you toward her food bowl in the kitchen.

“Did Mr. Bucky forget to feed you, sweet girl?” you asked with a frown, toeing out of your shoes and following her through the living room.

It wasn’t like Bucky to forget to feed her, and, sure enough, when you saw Alpine’s bowl, you could still see traces of the wet food he had given her that evening. It was even still a little wet, so you knew he’d been by pretty recently. 

You were inexplicably sad that you’d missed him. It would’ve been almost like your fantasies if you’d come home while he’d still been feeding Alpine, but you pushed the thoughts aside, refusing to dwell on them any longer.

Chuckling to yourself when Alpine meowed forlornly, you grabbed the bag of treats and fed her a few while you gave her even more pets and kisses, apologizing for being gone so much. 

As you were giving Alpine as much love as the cat could stomach, a soft sound came from the direction of your bedroom. 

You froze at the unfamiliar noise. It didn’t sound like any of the normal creaks and groans of the old Brooklyn building you called home. 

Your mind raced as you jumped to the most obvious—and unlikely—conclusion, that there was a murderer in your bedroom, lying in wait to stab you gruesomely. But just as quickly as the thought flitted across your mind, you pushed it aside, telling yourself to be realistic.

Alpine had just eaten, and there were no signs of your front door lock having been broken. It was probably just Bucky, who was the only other person to have a key to your apartment. Just like that, your heart started to race with excitement—he was still at your apartment.

He’d probably needed to use the bathroom. Or maybe he’d laid down on your bed and fallen asleep. 

You’d come home to find him like that once. He’d been sprawled across your bed, feet hanging over the side, mouth open and drooling a little on you comforter, one of Alpine’s cat toys dangling loosely in his hand like he’d fallen asleep playing with her. 

For a moment, you’d just looked at him, your heart beating fast against your sternum as dangerous thoughts flitted across your mind—thoughts about how good he looked in your bed, how soft his hair might feel if you ran your fingers through it and pushed it back from his face. 

You’d given yourself that moment to indulge in your wildest fantasies, and then you’d shaken his shoulder gently to wake him.

He’d apologized profusely, pushing his hair back from his face while a blush spread across his cheeks, and you’d been incapable of thinking it was creepy or weird. Bucky was a bit of a mess, and apparently that included falling asleep in his neighbor’s apartment while playing with her cat.

Another sound came from your bedroom, and you were comforted by how much it sounded like a snore. 

Confident it was Bucky, having accidentally fallen asleep on your bed again, you stepped softly toward your room, not wanting to wake him. You wanted another stolen moment to watch him sleep and imagine him spending more time in your bed—preferably naked.

But when you reached the doorway to your bedroom, you stopped short. Your breath caught sharply in your throat at the sight that greeted you.

Bucky Barnes lay on his back across the middle of your bed, his shirt off, revealing a broad golden chest with a generous dusting of dark hair. That was enough for your eyes to widen, to snag on the rise and fall of his pecs and the bulge of his bicep as he breathed heavily.

But then your gaze followed the line of his muscular arm down to where his belt buckle was undone, his jeans were unzipped and his hand was shoved into the black boxer briefs he wore. Out of sight, you could see Bucky’s hand moving, his knuckles brushed against the inside of the soft cotton of his briefs as they moved in an unmistakable stroking motion.

Between your thighs, your clit twitched. The bundle of nerves practically perked up like a desperate puppy as you watched Bucky’s hand move inside his briefs while he pleasured himself, his hips thrusting into his own touch like all he wanted to do was pound into his fist, but he was trying prolong it. 

He groaned softly, the sound drifting across your room and sending so much heat spiraling through your body that you squirmed where you stood. Still, you were transfixed—unable to look away or give Bucky some semblance of privacy, and unable to move forward and join him as your body so desperately wanted. 

Worried he might’ve sensed you watching him, your eyes flicked up to Bucky’s face, which was when you noticed he was holding something up to his mouth and nose. He took a deep breath, grunting softly again as his fist worked a little faster in his jeans.

The thing in Bucky’s hand was one of your sweaters, you realized dazedly. It was one that you’d tossed onto the chair in the corner before you’d left on your trip. It must’ve still smelled like you, like the barest hint of your perfume…

And Bucky was smelling it. He was inhaling the scent with deep breaths while he stroked his cock. On your bed.

On some level, you knew there was something deeply wrong about what Bucky was doing. You knew that he’d crossed so many boundaries—taking off his shirt, laying on your bed, smelling your sweater, stroking his cock in your room—that your trust in him should be broken irrevocably. 

But you couldn’t bring yourself to feel horror or disgust or betrayal at his actions. Maybe it was the shock of finding your divorced neighbor in such an erotic state, or the fact that you were lonely and Bucky had been the object of your fantasies for so long, but all you felt was turned on. 

You were filled with a pleasant warmth that was burning hotter and hotter with every moment you stood in the doorway of your room, watching Bucky stroke himself in his jeans. A revealing wetness was growing between your thighs, your legs pressing together against the ache building in your core.

It had only been a few seconds since you’d discovered Bucky in your bed, stroking his cock while he smelled your sweater, but you were already so turned on, you were squirming in the doorway. Your fingers drifted to the juncture of your thighs and pressed into the seam of your leggings. 

A breathless whimper slipped from your lips as you rubbed your clit, the spark of pleasure having an incendiary effect on your body. What had been a simmering heat of desire was quickly growing into an inferno of need—a need that you suspected only Bucky, with his deft fingers and hard cock, would be able to sate.

You hadn’t thought the sound you’d made was loud enough to catch your neighbor’s attention, but Bucky froze for a beat before his head turned and he saw you in the doorway. Surprise and guilt flickered across his gaze, his arm moving as if to pull his hand from his pants.

But then Bucky seemed to take in the full sight of you, and his eyes snagged on the way your hand was pressed between your thighs, your fingers unmistakably rubbing your clit. His gaze darkened to a midnight blue, and a knowing smirk spread across his handsome face. 

Suddenly, you felt like you were the one who’d been caught doing something you shouldn’t and, inexplicably, that only made you feel hotter and squirmier. Snatching your hand away from your clit—ignoring the way your body protested—you twisted your fingers together uncertainly.

“I caught an earlier flight,” you blurted, feeling the need to explain your sudden appearance in your own apartment. 

Bucky’s smirk only seemed to deepen and for one, breathless moment, you simply stood there, staring deep into his eyes. There was no judgement in his gaze, no recrimination for touching yourself when you found him stroking his cock on your bed. There was only a desire that matched the feeling pulsing through your body.

Slowly, as if worrying he’d spook you if he moved too fast, Bucky pulled his hand from his pants and your eyes darted to it uncertainly, wondering what he was doing. 

He reached out to you, his hand open and welcoming—and you had the wild urge to press your face into his palm, to breathe in the scent of his cock, which surely lingered on his skin. You wanted to lick the taste from his palm and nuzzle into his hand, but his voice broke you free from those thoughts.

“C’mere, bunny,” Bucky rumbled, so much affection and lust dripping from his tone that the pet name felt like a sweet caress to your cheek. 

You could hardly think, your mind a twisted mess of what you should do and what you wanted to do. But your body didn’t seem the least bit confused. Your feet carried you forward, closing the short distance between the doorway and the bed, and you were sliding your fingers into Bucky’s palm by the time you’d admitted to yourself it was what you wanted.

Bucky helped you onto the bed, the older man showing his strength as he manhandled you into the position he wanted—your knees planted on either side of his torso, your clothed pussy hovering a few inches above his face.

“Sit on me, bunny, let me breathe you,” Bucky murmured gruffly from between your legs, his hands gently kneading your thighs. You could feel his harsh breaths against your sodden core, and it made you all the more eager to follow his command.

You lowered your hips until you felt Bucky’s nose against your slit and stopped, hovering above his face and fearing that you’d crush him with your weight—which would be a tragic thing to do when you’d only just found him shirtless in your bed. 

But Bucky didn’t like that. His hands wrapped around the tops of your thighs, fingers digging into the creases where your legs met your hips, and he yanked you down until your body settled on him entirely. 

He groaned loudly, the sound only slightly muffled by the way his hot mouth was pressed against your damp center, which sent shivers of delight dancing through your body.

A sudden, breathy moan tumbled from your lips and your whole body trembled with pleasure, your thighs quivering on either side of Bucky’s shoulders. It felt so good that you wanted more, so you pressed down harder on his face.

You could feel the hungry grin Bucky wore before he opened his mouth and you felt his tongue lick a searing line along your slit. You could feel him, hot and hungry, through your leggings and panties, the heat of him sending delicious sparks up your spine. 

Unable to keep holding yourself up, you curled forward, your cheek pressing against Bucky’s hip and getting a front row seat to the sight of his hand slipping into his boxer briefs. You watched the obscured view of his fingers curling around his hard, thick length, your mouth falling open with wonder as he stroked himself slowly. 

All the while, Bucky mouthed at your pussy, teasing your clit with the tip of his tongue before licking deep into your slit and groaning obscenely at the taste of your arousal. It was mesmerizing, the way Bucky licked you through your clothes while he stroked his cock just out of sight. 

You could’ve stayed like that for hours, reveling in your euphoria and watching Bucky pleasure himself, but the longer his mouth worked your pussy, the more your need grew and grew. Between one breath and the next, you went from laying peacefully on Bucky to grinding your pussy shamelessly on his face, seeking your release. 

“That’s it, bunny, grind your needy little cunt on daddy’s face,” Bucky growled, his words half muffled by your heated flesh pressed to his mouth. “Knew you’d be a perfect little slut for me, be a good slut for daddy and make yourself feel good.”

Your pussy spasmed when Bucky called himself ‘daddy’, a lewd moan slipping from your lips that you tried to bury against the older man’s bulge. You’d never called anyone that before, even though you’d thought about it plenty, and it felt like a precious gift that Bucky seemed to want you to call him daddy.

You felt undone and laid bare by Bucky’s tongue and his words, your innermost fantasies exposed to the golden late afternoon light streaming into your bedroom. It was all you could do to spread your knees wider and hump against the older man’s face, giving in to all your basest desires.

“Daddy, it feels sooo good,” you whimpered, nuzzling mindlessly into Bucky’s cock while your hips worked harder against his face. “Your mouth feels so good, daddy, you’re gonna make me cum.”

Bucky pulled his hand from his pants and you immediately replaced it with your mouth, your lips curving around the thick ridge of his cock through his boxer briefs, sucking on the tip. You huffed a happy sound as his musky taste burst on your tongue. 

His hips bucked up off the bed, a muffled grunt coming from between your thighs and you smiled against his hardness. You secured your lips more tightly around him, letting your spit dampen the cotton of his briefs while you sucked lewdly on the crown of his cock. 

For a moment, Bucky must’ve been distracted by your mouth, but then he seemed to remember himself. His fingers slipped under your sweater and hooked in the back of your leggings, yanking them and your panties down over your ass until the cool air of the room brushed against your bare pussy. 

You barely had time to mewl, the sound full of blatant need, before Bucky was pulling you back down on his face, his hot mouth latching onto your pussy without anything in between. He took a deep breath, the sound of him sucking in the smell of you loud, even while it was muffled by your body. 

“Fuck, bunny, you have no idea how long I’ve dreamed about getting my mouth on your sweet cunt,” Bucky groaned, pressing the flat of his tongue into your slit and licking greedily. He pushed deep into your hole, mouth sucking your juices straight from the source. “You taste better than I ever imagined, so fucking sweet—you’re such a good slut, creaming all over daddy’s tongue.”

“Daddy, ‘m gonna cum,” you gasped, pleasure driving you as you pushed your hips down hard on Bucky’s face and began grinding against his mouth, feeling him smile between your thighs. It only drove your pleasure higher, pushing you closer to the edge. “Please, daddy—daddy, please make me cum, ‘m so close!” 

“Cum on my tongue, sweet bunny, cum like a perfect little slut for your daddy,” Bucky rumbled in a gruff, lust-soaked voice. Then his lips were closing around your clit and he sucked hard on the tight bundle of nerves, his tongue lashing at the tip until the coil of tension in your body snapped. 

Pleasure crashed through your body and you let out a sharp cry as you came. Burying your face against the base of Bucky’s cock, you sobbed through your release, wave after wave of pleasure sweeping through and devastating you while you moaned into the older man’s balls.

Between your thighs, Bucky groaned and lapped up your release hungrily, licking you through all the minor tremors and aftershocks of your release. He eased you down from your high gracefully, his tongue exploring every inch of your pussy while your inner walls fluttered around nothing. 

“I’m gonna treat you so well, baby, gonna take such good care of you,” Bucky rumbled, talking to your body in such a way that you weren’t even sure if he was talking to you or your pussy. “Gonna fill you with my cock and so much cum, your belly will be bloated with it.”

At that, you moaned softly, enjoying the way Bucky’s cock twitched against your cheek. You nuzzled into his hard length, pressing soft kisses everywhere you could reach while you were still laying collapsed on top of him, sated from your orgasm. 

Bucky didn’t seem to be paying much attention to anything but your pussy, though, as he used his fingers to spread you open, pushing his tongue deep into your hole like he was searching for the last drop of a sweet treat. When you moaned around his cock, he grunted hotly into your cunt.

“I’m gonna fuck you so good, you’re gonna be craving my cock every second of the day,” he want on, his voice growing rougher with desire, using his nose to nudge against your clit and make it twitch for him. “Whenever I’m not inside you, you’re gonna be wishing I was, bunny—just like I spend every fucking minute of my day thinking about this sweet pussy.”

The warm haze of your release had mostly worn off, and it took you only a second to process Bucky’s words, a gasp slipping from your lips as your whole body clenched tight. A greedy, possessive side you never knew you had delighted in the idea of Bucky thinking about you so much—it seemed only fair when you’d thought about him nonstop for two years.

“Do it, daddy,” you murmured, a challenge in your tone that had Bucky going still. His fingers dug into the plush curves of your hips as if wordlessly telling you to continue. “I’ve wanted your cock for months,” you confessed, pressing a kiss to his hard length, still pushing against the soft cotton of his boxer briefs. “Show me what I’ve been missing, Bucky, show me what I’ve been craving—please, daddy.” 

Your voice was little more than a purr, and that final ‘daddy’ seemed to snap something in Bucky because his hands were shifting on your hips and he was lifting you up from his face, manhandling you onto your back on the bed. Bucky pushed between your thighs, covering your body with his own until his face was level with yours.

“Are you sure, bunny—tell me you’re sure,” Bucky asked urgently, a desperate rasp in his voice as his wild blue eyes raked over your face, as if searching for any trace of uncertainty. “Because I’ve thought about this for so long, you’ll break my heart if you’re not serious.”

Your hands cupped Bucky’s scruffy jaw and you looked at his face, really looked at him. He still had dark circles under his eyes, and weathered lines feathering out from the corners of his eyes. His hair was half sticking up and flopping to the side at the same time, the brown strands looking so soft and inviting, begging you to thread your fingers through it. 

Bucky Barnes was still a bit of a mess, but he was a mess you craved unequivocally. And, even though you’d found him pleasuring himself in your bed, after the intense orgasm he’d given you, there was no way you’d pass up a chance to find out what else your divorced neighbor had to offer. 

“I’m sure, Bucky,” you said, your voice calm and certain. “I want this—I want you.” You dragged him in close enough to brush your lips against his in the ghost of a kiss, tasting traces of yourself on his lips. “Fuck me, daddy, make me your slut and show your bunny who she belongs to.” 

Bucky groaned and slanted his mouth to yours, kissing you softly at first before deepening it by sliding his tongue along your plump lower lip. You opened for him readily, groaning into his mouth when he slid inside and you tasted your cum on his tongue. It was dirty and filthy and the perfect counterpoint to the sweet way it had started. 

As he kissed you, Bucky’s hands grew more and more bold, slipping beneath your sweater and groping your tits through your bra. When you pulled away to gasp for air, the older man made quick work of pulling off your sweater and then unclasping your bra, tossing both somewhere in your room. 

Then Bucky paused, his gaze transfixed by your tits. He watched, awe etched into his features, as his big hands cupped your soft mounds. His thumbs stroked over your nipples, the sparkling pleasure of his touch making your spine arch as a mewl spilled from your lips. 

Bucky closed his eyes, like he was overcome by the sight, which only made a new warmth bloom in your chest. It had been hot to see him jerking himself off while he smelled your sweater, but this—seeing Bucky nearly come undone just from watching your reaction to his thumb sweeping over your nipple was something else entirely. 

Your fingers wrapped around the strong muscle of Bucky’s forearms, just above his wrists, and you urged him on. “More, daddy, please,” you whimpered, catching his eye when his flew open, the blue of his gaze darkening into something smoldering and hot.

“You’re so soft, so fucking perfect, bunny,” Bucky grunted. The veins in his arms stood out in sharp relief as he groped you more roughly, spurred by the soft sounds of delight you were making, until you were squirming beneath him. “Always knew your tits would be perfect.”

“Daddy,” you moaned, arching your spine and pushing your tits into Bucky’s touch. You were giving yourself over to the pleasure of Bucky’s big hands on your body, sinking deeper into the pillows at your back as you babbled, “Feels so good, so good, daddy.” 

Another orgasm was building in your core by the time Bucky had his fill of your tits, moving his hands down your sides and pausing for a moment to grope your ass. The movement pulled your pussy lips apart, and you could feel how wet and messy you were from your earlier release and the new arousal he’d coaxed from you by playing with your tits. 

Bucky let out a growl of impatience when he tried to pull your leggings and panties down, finding himself in the way, and folded your body in half. He yanked them up your legs and off, tossing them off the bed and leaving you naked, bent in half with your knees pushed to your chest and your pussy on full display.

You watched Bucky’s gaze fall to the place where you were wet and aching and desperate for him, seeing his gaze grow dark and intense as he stared at your pussy. You were drenched in your own juices and a little swollen from the earlier attention of his mouth, and the sight seemed to drive Bucky wild.

His hands were rough as he pushed your legs together, his other hand shoving impatiently as his jeans and boxer briefs, pawing at his clothes almost like a feral dog. You took pity on him—and, truthfully, you wanted him to hurry up. You wrapped your arms around the backs of your knees to hold yourself in position so he could use both hands to free himself.

When Bucky’s cock finally, finally bounced free from his boxer briefs, you gasped in delight, the thick length of his dick looking perfect to your eyes. 

It had a slight curve to it, with a thick tip that was flushed an angry red and dripping precum onto the back of your thighs. Bucky’s fist curled around the base and your eyes raked up the length, drool gathering in your mouth at the sight of the veins protruding from the shaft. 

You wanted desperately to trace every single vein with your tongue, teasing Bucky mercilessly until his hips were bucking in a silent plea. And then you wanted to swirl your tongue around the head of his cock, tasting his precum from the source, before letting him fuck your throat. 

But that would have to wait fore another time, because Bucky had other ideas. 

He used his grip on his cock to smack the heavy length against your soft, wet slit, fucking between your swollen folds in a way that made you light-headed with desire. You could feel the tip bullying against your tight little hole before sliding past and teasingly brushing your clit. 

“You want my cock, baby?” Bucky rasped, his tone dark and dangerous in a way you’d never heard before, like fucking you was a threat he had every intention of delivering on. “You want daddy’s cock to push into your tight cunt and fuck you hard, even after you caught me jerking off in your bed?”

Your breath caught in a gasp and your eyes flew to Bucky’s. He was looking directly at you, the hint of a deviant smirk in the curve of his lips. 

He’d looked guilty when you’d first found him that afternoon, but in that moment, he looked entirely too satisfied with himself—like a demon who’d already convinced you to sell your soul to him and all that was left was to have some fun. He looked hot.

A slightly unhinged smile spread across your face. Later, the two of you would talk about what you’d walked in on, but until then, you could accept the hand Bucky was reaching out to you and sink down into the filthy depravity of his actions. You could join him in reveling in it. 

“Yes—please, daddy!” you cried, one of your hands reaching for him. Your nails dug into his forearm, delighting in the feeling of his muscles and tendons shifting beneath your touch. “I don’t care what you did—I don’t care if you’re a dirty old man, I want your cock!”

Bucky’s reaction was immediate, his eyes darkening dramatically at your pronouncement, his pupils blowing so wide, they nearly blotted out all of the blue. A growl rumbled in his chest as he lowered himself over your body, his cock bullying more insistently at your hole, but never pushing inside, leaving you to squirm and whine beneath him.

“Tell me, bunny, did it turn you on to catch a dirty old pervert jerking off to the scent of your perfume in your bed?” he asked, his tone deep and dangerous, his eyes sparkling as they held your gaze without mercy. “Did your slutty pussy get wet catching me like that—be honest, tell daddy the truth.”

His hips were working insistently, fucking through your swollen folds, while the knuckles of his fist brushed against your greedy, achingly empty cunt. It was all you could do to huff an impatient sound, your hips bucking up against his cock, but Bucky didn’t give you what you truly wanted. He was waiting for your answer.

“My clit twitched and I got so wet,” you confessed, and you were so drunk on the desire pounding through your body that it loosened your tongue until you were spilling your every filthy thought. “It was so hot, seeing you like that, and I’ve thought about you so many times—I’ve touched myself in this bed thinking about your cock splitting me open—and you were stroking yourself and… I couldn’t help it!”

“Jesus, bunny,” Bucky groaned, dropping his head and closing his eyes. His hips stilled, his cock resting heavily on your messy, swollen cunt, and you whined, your body squirming at the lack of movement. 

Bucky’s eyes flew open a moment later, pinning you with a predatory stare that had you freezing, your breath catching in your throat. He looked at you as if through new eyes, eyes that finally, truly understood you. 

“You’re just as much of a pervert as I am, aren’t you, bunny?” he asked, his tone rough with affection bleeding into it. His big palm caressed your thigh, almost like he was trying to soothe you. 

You had to bite your lip to hold back your grin, which only made Bucky’s eyes flare with interest, his gaze falling to your mouth like he wanted to free your lip from your teeth and then sink his own into its plush softness. It would’ve made you giggle if it wasn’t for how hot and wet and aching you were for his cock.

“Yes, daddy,” you said sweetly, smiling up at Bucky while he leaned over you. “I’m just as much of a dirty pervert as you.” You dragged him down until his lips crashed against yours, the kiss filthy and messy, all nipping teeth and roaming tongues. When he pulled away, you couldn’t help but add, “I’m just not as old as you.”

A good-natured growl rumbled in Bucky’s chest, a playful grin curving his mouth. He looked like he’d taken the comment in stride, but you learned better a moment later when he pulled his cock out of the way before spanking your pussy sharply, your shrill squeal filling the room. 

“You’re not that young either, bunny,” Bucky said pointedly, sliding his cock back between your lower lips. “Not young enough to stop me from fantasizing about you every night, coming in my hand like a goddamn teenager,” he muttered, more to himself than to you. 

“Daddyyy,” you whined, when he seemed content to keep rubbing his cock against your pussy instead of pushing inside. It was driving you closer and closer to your second release, but you didn’t want to cum until you’d been filled and fucked hard, just like he’d promised. “Now that we’ve established we’re both gigantic perverts, will you fuck me already?” 

Your voice was a pleading, pitiful sound, and when Bucky finally dragged his gaze from your pussy, you pouted up at him. Your cunt was dripping and so empty, you just wanted him inside you already, which you tried to convey with your eyes. 

“Anything for my bunny,” Bucky growled, his words your only warning before he pulled his hips back and lined up the tip of his cock with your pussy. In the next breath, Bucky was shoving his considerable girth into your tight hole and you were crying out at the stretch.

“Too big, too big,” you whined, and Bucky paused immediately, but you didn’t want that. “Don’t stop,” you cried, your hands reaching for him, grabbing his hips and sinking your nails into golden skin as you dragged him closer. “Split me open, daddy, fuck me full.”

Bucky let out a grunt of acknowledgement and planted his hands on the backs of your thighs, pulling back before pushing in deeper. He split you open with merciless determination, working his cock deeper into your cunt with every thrust. 

When he was nearly there, he rearranged himself, leaning over your body and pressing you into the mattress, covering you with his larger form while his cock worked into your tight cunt. The position put his face level with yours and the corners of his mouth curled into a smirk when he took in the blissed out look on your face. 

“You’re so tight, has it been a while, bunny?” he asked teasingly, his eyes watching your expression closely, like he was looking for something more than his words implied. 

But if he was worried about whether there were any other men in your bed, he needn’t have. Bucky Barnes had been the star of all your fantasies since the day you’d met him two years ago. 

“Too long—three years,” you gasped, rocking your hips in time to his thrusts. You watched the worry drain from his expression, the emotion quickly replaced with an intoxicating mix of possessiveness and affection. You liked it so much, you wanted to drive your point home. “Not since before you moved into the building.”

You’d barely gotten the words out before Bucky’s mouth was crashing down on yours, his hands roughly pushing your thighs out of the way so he could press his chest against yours, skin to skin, getting as close as humanly possible while his hips drove his cock home.

“I’m crazy for you, bunny,” Bucky rumbled when he pulled away, his forehead pressed to yours, his cock buried fully in your cunt. “You’ve been under my skin since I met you, and I knew I should forget you—you’re too good for me—but I couldn’t.” 

His hips started rocking, fucking you in short, grinding thrusts that had the tip of him rubbing against a spot inside you that made your whole body clench tight. Your fingers sank into his messy, soft brown hair, threading through the soft strands. You pulled his mouth close to yours as he went on.

“I don’t know if I can let you go afer this, baby, I don’t think I can do a one-time thing,” he confessed, brushing kisses to your lips and cheeks and nose, everywhere he could reach. “Fuck, you feel like you were made for me, bunny.”

“I was,” you said, your voice vehement even as you exhaled a shuddering breath, fighting against the pleasure building in your core to keep your mind together long enough to say what you wanted to say. “I don’t want this to be a one-time thing, I don’t want you to let me go.” 

Using your grip on Bucky’s hair, you pushed him away, only far enough that you could look into his eye as you went on. You wanted him to see the honesty on your face and hear it in your words at the same time.

“I want to be your bunny—your girl, made to take your cock,” you confessed, your words coming out of you in a rush. “I want to be your perfect slut and let you drain your balls in my cunt whenever you want—I want it all, daddy.”

“Jesus fucking christ,” Bucky bit out, his eyes closing as if he was overwhelmed by everything you’d just said. But they opened again a moment later, looking intense, the flicker of something deeper than affection sparking to life in the depth of his gaze. “You’re gonna be the death of me, bunny.”

You huffed a laugh at that, unable to hold back the smile his words set free.

“Silly daddy,” you teased, rocking your hips and digging your heels into the backs of his thighs, spurring him to move, to thrust into your pussy and bring you pleasure. “You’re not allowed to die,” you purred, arching your spine and bearing down on his cock. “Not before you make me cum again.”

It was Bucky’s turn to laugh, the sound coming out choked and dissolving into a groan when your bodies found a perfect rhythm together. He moved determinedly, working your body up until you were teetering on the edge of your second release.

“Cum inside me, daddy,” you murmured against Bucky’s scruffy cheek, nuzzling into the coarse hair and soft skin that smelled like earth and spice. “Fill up your bunny with all your cum, my pussy’s begging for it—I’m begging for it, daddy, please.”

“Fuck, you’re such a good girl, bunny, such a good slut,” Bucky rumbled, his hips snapping against yours in deep, brutal thrusts that had you seeing stars. “Taking daddy’s cock so well and begging for daddy’s cum so sweetly—you’re such a perfect girl.”

You keened happily at Bucky’s praise, your knees climbing his sides until you were nearly folded in half again. His hips were pounding into yours so hard, you could hear the lewd smacking of his skin on yours, the wet sounds of your sticky, clingy pussy between you.

“I’m gonna give it to you, baby,” Bucky gritted through clenched teeth, changing the angle of his hips so his cock rubbed against your clit with every thrust. “Cum for me, bunny, cum for daddy so I can fill you up with my seed.”

His filthy words and the perfect way he was fucking you set you off, making you cum harder than you ever had before. A scream wrenched from your throat as you threw your head back into the pillows of your bed, your spine arching up off the mattress and your pussy clenching down hard on Bucky’s cock as waves of pleasure overwhelmed you.

Your release sparked Bucky’s, his hips rutting into your fluttering cunt before he came with a grunt muffled into the side of your head. His hard length twitched deep inside you as he spilled his seed, flooding your pussy with his cum. 

But he didn’t stop moving, Bucky’s hips kept working, fucking his cum deeper inside you while you clung to him, your skin slick with sweat. You buried your face in his neck and sucked a hickey into his skin, unable to stifle the possessive urge to mark him just as he was marking your insides with his cum.

When you were both finally sated, Bucky rolled over with his hand pressed to your lower back, keeping your bodies locked together and your hips pinned to him. His cock was still lodged deep in your pussy, plugging you full of his cum. He heaved a contented sigh with your body sprawled out on top of his.

It wasn’t until both of you had caught your breath that you lifted your head and met Bucky’s gaze, giving him a pointed look.

“So,” you started, drawing out the word and enjoying the way his eyes crinkled and looked to the side, as if he knew what was coming. “Do you want to tell me why I came home to find my divorced neighbor-slash-catsitter jerking off in my bed?” 

Your tone was light, even if the question was not, and you half expected Bucky to get defensive, but he just laughed a little awkwardly and ran his fingers through his hair. The move made his already messy hair even messier, so you tangled your fingers with his and trapped them beneath your chin, which was propped up on his chest.

“You know, it’s kind of a funny story,” Bucky began, darting his eyes to yours, as if making sure you were paying attention—and weren’t about to bludgeon him over the head. 

When you gestured for him to go on, he continued. 

“I’d picked up Alpine—for her post-dinner snuggle, of course,” he said, a slight pink blush in the apples of his cheeks. 

“Of course,” you echoed, the ghost of a smile flirting at the corners of your mouth. It sounded exactly like Alpine to demand cuddles after she’d just eaten. Not that you could blame her, you would have greedily taken cuddles from Bucky too.  

The older man smiled indulgently at your expression, like he knew it was for your cat and not necessarily for him. But it seemed to embolden him to continue on.

“I was just asking Alpine if she had any tips on how to tell her mama that I’m crazy about her,” he said, his voice warm with affection.

It was so sweet, you tilted your face down, biting into one of the knuckles on his hand. The older man didn’t even flinch. Bucky just laughed and went on speaking.

“Anyway, her claw got stuck in my sweater and it hurt, and she was yowling like she was going to die.” 

You lifted your head again and Bucky’s eyes were wide as he told this part of the story, his gaze staring off into the near distance like he was haunted by the memory, which you could understand. It wasn’t easy to keep your calm when you had a sharp nail digging into your skin and a cat that was freaking out. 

“I took my sweater off, and got her nail unstuck, but Alpine grabbed it and ran off.”

You laughed, wondering what would possess your cat to do such a thing, even as you nuzzled deeper into Bucky’s chest. Breathing in the scent of him, all earth and spice, you thought you might get it. You wanted to be surrounded by his scent and would’ve gladly stolen his sweater if you’d had the chance.

“I was looking for one of your sweaters to see if she’d let me trade it for mine,” Bucky explained, his voice starting to slow, as if he’d gotten to a part of the story he didn’t want to tell. “I caught a whiff of your perfume and I…” He ran his free hand down over his face.”Look, there’s no excuse for what I did—I shouldn’t have done it. I’m sorry.”

Bucky caught your eye and he was so handsome, all you could do was stare. The sun was dipping low, slipping behind the buildings of Brooklyn. The light in your room was quickly turning from golden yellow to the tranquil blue of sunset, and everything felt just right. 

Your silence, however, seemed to make Bucky nervous, so he kept talking. 

“Have I mentioned that I’m crazy for you and I haven’t touched a woman in over two years and I forgot how fucking hard a woman’s perfume can make me?” he rambled, a pleading tone in his voice.

It was so cute and such a shock to hear him plead with you so genuinely that a surprised laugh burst from your lips. 

You couldn’t help yourself, you pushed yourself up and pressed a kiss to Bucky’s mouth. Maybe it was ridiculous or dumb, but you’d already forgiven Bucky. He’d made a mistake, had a moment of weakness, and you’d surprised him by coming home early. It wasn’t like he’d been trying to get caught, it had been an accident. Sort of.

Besides, it had led to the two of you getting together. You’d dreamed about Bucky for so long, fantasized about him in so much filthier situations than the one you’d found him in, that it only seemed right that he was just as much of a perv as you. 

“I’m crazy about you, too,” you murmured when you pulled away, only far enough to speak. “I forgive you.”

Bucky heaved a sigh of relief and dragged you in for another kiss, showing you his remorse with every sweep of his tongue. You sank into the kiss, letting him win back your trust, knowing the two of you were going to use the awkward start to build something real. 

You made out on your bed, your body keeping Bucky’s softening cock warm, until full dark had fallen. In between kisses, the two of you talked—about what came next (a proper date) and whether Bucky would keep the key you’d given him for catsitting (he would, after swearing never to use it without your permission). 

Eventually, you climbed off Bucky and took a shower—alone, despite his offers to help clean you up. You still felt a bit grungy from your trip home, and you wanted to take your time. So Bucky grabbed a shower at his own place, and came back, knocking on your door with a bottle of wine in hand, when you texted him you were done.

Bucky ordered dinner while you opened the wine, and you couldn’t help but appreciate the ease with which you’d fallen into a kind of domestic routine. Part of the reason you’d had a crush on Bucky was that you genuinely enjoyed his company, and you were glad to see that hadn’t changed.

When you brought the glasses out to the living room, Alpine was curled up on Bucky’s lap and he was stroking her softly, asking if she might want a papa. You bit back a smile and told him teasingly that it might be a bit soon for such a conversation with your furball daughter.

Bucky took the glasses from your hands and set them on the table before pulling you down onto the couch beside him. He made sure not to jostle Alpine as he manhandled both you and your cat into a comfortable group snuggle, with her laying across your lap while you sat in Bucky’s.

You laughed at him, but you were secretly very pleased, unable to stop grinning since Bucky was making your dreams come true without even realizing it. You’d longed for someone to snuggle with you and Alpine, to love you both, and it seemed like Bucky might be that man. 

For the rest of Valentine’s Day, you spent the holiday with your two favorite people in the world, Bucky and your cat, Alpine. 

Despite your teasing, you hoped it was only a matter of time before Bucky became her papa and moved in, becoming the person you could come home to and who would shower you with the affection you deserved.

Your divorced neighbor, Bucky Barnes, may have been a bit of a mess, but he turned out to be exactly what you needed—the perfect partner to come home to, one who shared your kinks and was just as much of a perv as you. He was a good papa to Alpine, and was happy to build your family together. 

It’s kind of a funny story how you got together—but it’s a story with a very happy ending.

sweethearts game masterlist

[spatialwave]

jayce talis — breeding kink.

pairing: jayce talis x fem!reader word count: 770 tags: mdni, nsfw, smut, breeding kink.

“oh fuck,” you squirmed, thighs tightening around jayce’s head as he buried his face against your pussy. his tongue lapped through your folds, nose bumping against your swollen clit that ached for attention.

fingers tugged his hair, longer and tousled these days—easier to grab so you could grind yourself onto his lips. he ate you out like a starved man, tongue delving into your cunt that swallowed it greedily.

“don’t stop, jayce,” you cried, back arching as you saw stars.

he’d been making you into a meal for ten minutes now, your body so close to meeting the climax you desperately wanted. a few more licks. please, gods—

“jayce,” you whined, propping yourself up on your elbows as you stared at your lover. his beard coated in your juices.

he chuckled, wiping the back of his hand over his mouth before crawling forward. he hovered over you, leaning down and attacking your neck with heady open-mouthed kisses, “be patient,” he cooed into your ear, one hand holding him above you and the other slipping between your legs that spread open willingly, “i want to feel you cum around my cock.”

you whimpered as he pushed two fingers into your heat, scissoring and curling to stretch you. 

“don’t tease me,” you breathed, head tilting back as he sucked a hickey onto your skin, “fuck me, jayce. please.”

“needy girl,” he murmured, thrusting both fingers into your squelching cunt, “you want me to fuck you that bad?”

you answered with a filthy moan, his name rolling from your tongue as you fucked yourself on his fingers. the feeling of your climax was rising, and you needed this—gods, you needed him inside you. needed to be filled and fucked like the good girl you were.

just as you parted your lips to beg, his fingers retracted, and his cock filled you with one quick forward snap of his hips. the stretch was big, a feeling that sent pleasure coursing through your body as your arms wrapped around his shoulders and pulled him flush against you.

jayce growled against your neck, his breath warm on your skin as he heaved out rugged breaths with each movement. he fucked you hard and good at a relentless pace that echoed the sounds of skin slapping skin with each thrust.

“god, you’re so fucking sexy,” he breathed, choking on a moan, “so beautiful. you take my cock so well like it was meant for you—“

your nails scratched into his shoulders, leaving red lines in their wake as you dug into his flesh. you whined into his ear, legs wrapping around his hips.

“i want to fill you up so bad,” he gasped, pulling back to look into your eyes, “want you to take my cum. want to breed you.”

your stomach tightened, toes curling as you whimpered, “i want it.” you begged, fingers back in his hair, “please, jayce, i want it so bad.”

“yeah?” he huffed, a cocky grin on his lips, “you want me to fill you up and fuck you until your belly is big and swollen?” he rested his forehead against yours, face twisted in concentration as he held back his orgasm as best he could, “gonna’ keep my cock inside so you take it all. fuck, baby, i want to fill you up nice and deep so bad. let me, please—”

“ah—,” you mewled in a daze, heels digging into his ass as you guided his hips to keep fucking you. you could feel that he was close, apparent in the way his hips began to stutter, losing the rhythm of his movement, “cum inside, please.”

“shit,” he groaned, one final thrust pushing his cock deep inside you as his release hit in unison with yours, “fuck, milk me, you greedy little thing. let me breed you—oh, gods.”

you moaned as he gave a few final thrusts, weaker but working to push his release deep inside you. your bodies moved together, clinging to each other for dear life as your orgasms flooded your senses.

as you both relaxed, jayce waited a few minutes until his cock softened, and he pulled himself out, lowering himself until his lips met with your stomach. two fingers reached your cunt, pushing inside his cum that spilled out—not wanting it to go to waste.

“you did so good,” he praised, smirking against your tummy as he peppered you with kisses, “do you think you can take more?”

you put your arms over your face, hips twitching as he fucked his cum into you, “yes.” you whimpered, and you knew by morning you’d be full and bred.

[itwasntimethatdidit40]

Irreversible.

Gif credits

Pairing: Professor Reed Richards x f!reader Rating: +18, NSFW, MDNI Words count: 430 Summary: You get fucked against the blackboard by your hottest professor. Tags/Warning: implied legal but unspecified age gap, reader is a menace, cheating (Mr Richards is married), POV second person, no use of y/n, unprotected p in v, a dash of oral sex and nipples play, slurs, panties ripping, swearing, a reference to physics. (Look, I had terrible grades in physics in high school, I tried lol), it obviously has no connection to the plot of the film, in this one Reed Richards is a professor with a chair at Harvard and chalk is definitely more “poetic” than markers. I’m not a Marvel fan, I’m just trying to have some pwp, please don't come @ me 💀 A/N: We've all seen the pics and teasers and gifs, right? This is totally self indulgent, I wrote it because I couldn't get the image of him writing on the board out of my head. No proofreading, no beta, English is not my first language so I apologize for any mistakes. Thanks to anyone who will read this!

Masterlist

You loved the way you broke him. Lured him into your web to do exactly what you wanted.

You loved it.

The way he yanked at your bra, exposing your boobs, the way his hands were still chalky and leaving white marks all over you, his scruffy beard pinching your skin, his voice vibrating over your tits as he swirled his tongue over your nipples.

“You wanted this huh?” “Yes.” you cried.

You wanted exactly that when you pretended you didn't understand anything about physics.

Your skirt rolled up over your hips, his face between your thighs, his tongue lapping incessantly between your folds, up to your clit.

He stood up, his forearms muscularly sticking out of the rolled-up sleeves, wrapping around your waist, pushing you against the blackboard.

He stopped to undo his pants and kick them off.

Back on you, he squeezed your ass, coming down on your thigh, pulling up your leg to get a better grip.

"You know I'm married" "Yes" you whined, looking at him honeyed. "And you still flirted like a bitch in heat" he angrily muttered.

Of course you did. You did it every day since you started his class, battling your eyelashes, biting your lower lip, asking for tutoring about everything like you were admitted at Harvard by a fortuitous twist of fate, wearing the sluttiest tops and skirts you owned, marveling at the grey in his hair, telling him it suited him so well, while he tried to explain physics to you maintaining a professional tone.

"You couldn't wait to drag me into this mess, could you?" he snarled on your neck, sucking on your pulse point.

He clutched your panties in his fist and teared them like paper tissues.

"I want you so bad" you purred, burying your fingers in his curls at the base of his neck, encircling his waist with your leg, rocking your naked pussy against his still-clothed cock.

"Fuck me, Mr Richards"

He pulled down his boxers just enough to free his cock, and entered you with one thrust.

"Fuck" he cursed "you're soaked, you hungry slut."

You didn't respond; your pussy clutched tightly on his cock, you moaned as he began to thrust deeper and deeper into you, in a frantic rhythm, making your whole body and the blackboard just on the wall behind you vibrate. Small drops of sweat beaded his forehead, his hair now completely disheveled under the work of your hands, the fabric of his pristine white shirt crumpled as it repeatedly banged against your hard nipples.

You came right there, whimpering and quivering in an empty university classroom where every day he lectured you.

Your lust for him was irreversible, as in the second law of thermodynamics that you had pretended not to understand that day.

tag list: @aurorawritestoescape @milla-frenchy @probablyreadinsmut @joelmillerisapunk @baronessvonglitter @almostempty @thundermartini @harriedandharassed

If you want to be added or removed just let me know, thanks for reading!

[sturniolohouse]

Closer to you -M.S

A/N: Hiiii! Thank you for all the love on my last story. I had a lot of fun writing it. I don't know how consistent I'll be but here's a little something for now

summary: matt just wants to spend time with you after a long day.

warning: cursing? kinda suggestive comments idk grow up

word count: 1.8k

--

"Your beard tickles," I giggle with Matt lying on top of me, his face buried into my neck.

He playfully sinks his teeth into the crook of my shoulder and I squeal at the shocking gesture. He chuckles lowly at my reaction and I lightly swat his shoulder, trying to roll him off of me.

"You're crushing me. You may weigh less than me but you're heavy," I shove him off and he finally rolls off but takes me with him, wrapping his arms around me and pulling me on top of him.

"I'm going to crush you now," I protest trying to get up but he pulls me down once more.

"I think I can handle it." He wraps his arms around me, having no choice but to lay my head on his chest.

"C'mere, I barely saw you today. Just wanna lay here with you like this a little while longer." He mumbles, kissing the top of my head and running his hands up and down my back.

"Didn't you have fun with your brothers today?" I ask, mainly teasing him as we were only apart for less than a day. I had seen him in the morning before they left for their meeting at the warehouse.

"Those goofs are a pain in my fucking ass." he snarls and I poke him in the ribs.

"Be nice." I tell him and he sighs.

"I'm joking. It was nice. I guess," He corrects himself. His hands sneak their way under my sweatshirt then under my tank top.

"Matt..." I warn him and he squeezes my sides.

"Yes..." He mocks and I can hear the grin on face. 

When I lift my head he's got smirk on his face as his hands lower down past the waistband of my pants. He goes for a handful of my ass before I stop his movements and give him a stern look.

"Matthew, your brothers are home." I scold him softly.

"Don't 'Matthew' me, them being home has never stopped us before." His eyes widen playfully as he calls me out.

"Yeah, when they were asleep. But they are both very much awake right now and could god forbid walk in," I defend getting flustered, heat rising up my neck and pooling into my ears.

“You know there’s this thing called a lock? I have one on my door. Use it quite often.”

“Yeah and risk one of them hearing something?” I shudder and he smirks at my flustered appearance.

"So, what I'm hearing is...later?" He raises his eyebrow and I roll my eyes, pulling away from his grasp. 

"Chris mentioned something about wanting to watch a movie tonight when you guys got in before." I change the subject, readjusting myself and sitting up on his lap instead.

"Fuck that, we're not leaving this room." He grips the tops of my thighs, playing with the string of my sweats.

"I had already told him yes..." I hesitate and fidget with my bracelets, waiting for him to blow up.

I peer up and see him with an arm over his eyes as he regulates his breathing. I stifle my laughter and watch him compose himself.

"Of course you did." He says sarcastically, waving his hand out dramatically.

"He sounded really excited," I reason with him and he rolls his eyes once more.

"You know what's gonna happen right? We're going to go into the living room, argue over which movie to watch for an hour and then Chris is gonna go on his phone the entire time, not paying attention to shit. All while you and Nick whisper and giggle and text each other from across the couch while I sit there watching a fucking movie I didn't want to watch in the first place." He rambles with wide eyes.

"C'mon it's just one movie." I rub his chest and he grabs my hands in his, halting their movement. 

"I don't care. I was with those idiots all day. I drove them all over the city, Chris wanted to thrift but then realized he was hungry, so I had to get him food, but then oh no, Nick wants happy ice first so we had to go to happy ice. And all I wanted to do was get a new pair of jeans, film our video and go home to spend time with you. But now because you feel bad for Chris, we have to sit and watch a shitty movie the kid's not even gonna see." He winds himself up and I tilt my head to the side, giving him that look.

"No, do not give me that look. You're not going to make me feel bad this time, sweetheart." He shakes his head, standing his ground. 

I continue to stare at him and pull my hands out of his grip, rubbing my hands up and down his chest again. 

"I'll...make you cookies," I smile softly, and he stares at me blankly. "Snickerdoodle..." Still nothing.

He extremely stubborn so this will take some bribing.

"Alright, I won't make you listen to Taylor Swift in the car, even though I know you secretly like her music." I say and he laughs this time, shaking his head.

"Kid, stop."

"I'll give you a kiss? A proper one. You can even touch my ass or grab my tits. Both even." I try to think of more things and he continues not to budge, though I can see his eyes shimmer with temptation.

"Wow, not even an ass grab will win you over?" I say with deep concern and he chuckles again giving me a little shrug.

"Okay, okay. Fine. I'm just gonna go out there and watch the movie and you can stay in here by yourself since you're too cool." I get off of him and his jaw drops. He sits up on his elbows.

"Hey, woah. You'd seriously leave me to go hang out with them?" His voice cracks as he looks at me in disbelief.

"Yup!"

"This is fucking ridiculous." I hear him mumble under his breath as I put my slippers on and open the door.

"Have fun sulking," I close the door behind me.

I walk out to Nick and Chris serving themselves mac and cheese in the kitchen. I greet them before grabbing some goldfish from the pantry and a bottle of water from the fridge.

"Where's Matt?" Chris asks shoveling a spoonful of mac and cheese into his mouth. Realizing it was too hot, he fans his mouth and blows out air to cool it down.

"He's in the room. What movie are we watching?" I keep it at that, walking over to the living room and taking a seat in the right corner nook of the couch.

"He's such a loser," Nick comments before sitting beside me and grabbing the TV remote.

"Nick, give me the fucking remote." Chris motions him while taking his own seat at the end of the couch.

"No, idiot, eat your food."

I was able to convince them to watch one of my favorite movies, 50 First Dates. Nick was on board right away but I had to win Chris over.

"Bro, no way. I'm not watching a chick-flick." He goes to grab the remote from Nicks hand.

"Chris shut up, you're not even going to watch it," Nick calls him out, putting the remote out of his reach.

"Yes I am," He argues back.

"Adam Sandler and Rob Schneider are in it." I speak up and he sits back.

"Fine."

Twenty minutes into the movie I hear Matt’s door open and then his footsteps down the hall. I turn my attention away from the movie to see him walking over with his black hoodie pulled over his head.

I knew he’d break eventually.

"Look who decided to join-" Chris starts.

"Shut the fuck up."

When he reaches the couch, he leans down pulling my legs up and over his lap as he takes a seat directly next to me. He wraps his arms around my middle, nuzzling his head into the crook of my neck.

Although rare, Matt has no problem cuddling or hugging me in front of others. It's usually kissing or gross sweet talk we avoid displaying. We just prefer to keep that private for everyone's peace, including our own.

I wrap my arms around his shoulders pulling him into me, scratching the nape of neck lightly with my fingernails and playing with his overgrown hair.

"Oh I’m gonna puke..." Chris comments from beside us and Matt flips him off without a word.

"Watch the goddamn movie and leave them alone." Nick snaps at him.

Matt melts into me as I continue to scratch his scalp and he draws patterns on my hip with the hand he snuck under my hoodie.

Not even halfway into the movie I look over at Chris and see he’s on his phone. I nudge Matt slightly to bring his attention to it and he shakes his head.

“What did I fucking tell you,” he says lowly and I giggle.

“Chris, you like the movie?” I call out and he snaps his head in my direction.

“What? Oh yeah, it’s great.” He puts his phone down beside him.

He gives me a tight lip smile before looking over at Nick and I could already see the idea pop into his head before he tackles him in a hug.

“Get the fuck off of me. What is wrong with you?” Nick shoves him off, his eyes wide.

“I just love you,” Chris shrugs, going to tickle Nick’s side but he catches his wrist, twisting it slightly causing Chris to cry out in pain.

“You’re an idiot. Let's keep our hands to ourselves,"

“I’m getting ice cream, do you want?” Matt whispers to me and I immediately nod. He kisses my jaw and pats my legs so I lift them off his lap.

He quietly goes into the kitchen and discreetly takes out the pints of ice cream and serving them into bowls for us.

He pads back over, tapping the bowl on my shoulder to get my attention before I grab it.

This catches both Nick and Chris’ attention.

“There’s ice cream?”

“Not for you.”

—

Everyone had gone to their rooms after the movie and Matt couldn’t get us back to his room fast enough.

"It wasn't that bad." I say pulling the comforter back and sliding in next to Matt who’s already shirtless and under the covers.

"Yeah, yeah." He puts an arm under his head and extends his arm for me, wanting me close.

"You're such a grump." I roll my eyes. turning towards him and moving to lay my head on his chest.

"I just want to be able to spend quality time with my girlfriend without our plans being infiltrated by my brothers." He wraps his arm around me, lightly stroking my shoulder with his fingertips.

"Is that such a crime?" He presses softly and I shake my head.

"I suppose not." I sigh, "We could...go away?" I suggest after a beat of silence and he hums.

"I like the sound of that, keep talking..."

"You and me, the cape, being in nature, alone in a cabin for a week, no interruptions..." I trail off, tracing patterns on his stomach.

"Sweetheart, you had me at the fucking cape."

[hhughes]

♡ 𝆬 𝐓𝐎𝐎𝐊 𝐘𝐎𝐔 𝐋𝐎𝐍𝐆 𝐄𝐍𝐎𝐔𝐆𝐇

𝓹airing , quinn hughes x bsf!reader

quinn leads the canucks to round 2 of the playoffs and no one is happier than his best friend who is a life long canucks fan. . . (wc ; 1845 )

꒰ 𝓷ote , this is set during last years playoffs. it’s been in the drafts a while!!! as always I hope you enjoy <33 . . . ꒱

your heart jumps in your chest when you feel arms loop around your waist from behind, your mind distracted as you watch the sunrise out quinn’s floor to ceiling apartment windows. your erratic heartbeat calms when you recognize the cologne of your best friend. he tightens his arms around you, burying his head in the crook of your neck and you giggle as his beard scratches against your skin. you wiggle in his arms until you’re fully turned around, looping your arms around his neck and smiling up at him brightly. quinn feels this weird feeling in his stomach looking at you, as if every nerve cell under his skin starts buzzing when he lays eyes on you.

he was forever jealous of how much joy you had in the morning, not because he felt the need to erase his hatred for early mornings, but because he wanted to be the only reason for that expression on your face. he wanted all your smiles to be as a result and directed towards him. that’s how deep quinn’s affection went for you, that he harboured irrational jealousy towards the sun for making you happy. but he’s never been good at sharing his best friend’s attention and affections with anything or anyone else, even his brothers who were utterly obsessed with you when they met you in quinn’s first year on the team, who quinn has always been more than happy to share with. you were the one thing that quinn wanted all to himself.

“good morning sunshine,” you tease, running your hand through his hair and he responds with a simple groan against your neck.

“or should I say… good morning captain of a team who made it to the second round,” you state, pride obvious in your tone and quinn lifts his head to give you a dopey smile.

“there he is!” you tease and quinn squeezes your hip in response before reaching behind you to pick up your cup of coffee.

“um sure, just drink all my coffee, when the full pot is right there,” you say sarcastically and quinn takes another big sip, lips quirking up at your annoyed frown.

“what’s yours is mine. and what's mine is yours, clearly,” quinn says drily, tugging on the edge of his dress shirt that you were wearing and you pout slightly.

“I showered this morning, and it was warm, right from the drier,” you defend and quinn smiles softly, tugging you closer by the material and wrapping you in a bear hug. he just holds you for a few seconds and you smile thinking about the first time you heard the guys refer to quinn as “huggy bear”. your guy’s always loved a good hug.

“I have a team event coming up after the playoffs. like an end of the year banquet type of thing, will you go with me? I know you’ve been to like ten events with me this year and you’re probably sick of them by now so if you don’t want - ” quinn says but you interrupt before he can finish.

“I’d love to go with you. I never get tired of seeing captain quinn in action. I have fun, all I have to do is stand and try to look pretty while you woo people,” you say and quinn scoffs.

“you don’t have to try. you’re always the most beautiful girl in the room. and I don’t know how much wooing I can really do-”

“a lot. these people and this city adores you quinn. I don't think you realise just how much you mean to this organisation,” you say, and quinn feels a lump in his throat building a little as your words hit him. you grew up in Vancouver and you’ve been a diehard canucks fan since you were a kid, so quinn knew you weren’t just saying this because you were his friend and you wanted to make him feel better about himself. you genuinely believed it. and that unwavering faith you had in him meant more than he could ever put into words, so he doesn’t even try and instead just presses a gentle kiss to your forehead, hoping it’ll say everything he can’t seem to articulate.

–

you attend all home games in the second round, just like you did the first, you and ellen cheering until your voices go away all the way until the canucks get eliminated. you were once again amazed by quinn and the graceful way he handled the elimination, knowing it was about progress, not necessarily perfection and the canucks had made tremendous progress this past season with him leading them. of course it didn’t hurt that he had you reminding him of that the few days after the brutal loss, asking you to stay with him while he wraps things up for the end of the season, claiming it was so that the two of you could spend more time together before he heads to michigan for the summer.

it wasn’t unusual for you to stay at quinn’s place though, and you had done so many times over the course of your friendship, and it seems to happen more often as the years go by. you had probably spent more time at his apartment this past month than your own. you don’t even bother staying in the guest room anymore, opting to sleep next to quinn as the two of you always fall asleep while watching a movie or reading side by side in his bed at the end of the night.

you awake like you do most mornings when staying over at quinn’s, with his arm thrown over your stomach, and his soft breaths against your neck, one leg intertwined with yours. you successfully sneak out quietly, going to the living room and doing your daily morning scroll through social media while waiting for quinn to wake up but the bed must have been colder than usual without you because it wasn’t even five minutes after that he woke up and entered the living room with a tired groan, collapsing next to you on the couch and nuzzling his face into your chest as he mumbled, “why you awake so early. come back to bed,”

“quinn,” you say softly, as not to startle him but the hesitancy in your voice makes quinn lift his head and meet your eyes with a sleepy little squint that makes your heart squeeze.

“what’s wrong?” he asks with a yawn, immediately knowing something was bothering you and leaning on his elbow so he can meet your eyes.

“you know how I follow some canuck fan accounts?” you ask and he furrows his brows

“I told you to unfollow them,” he points out, smiling slightly at the guilty look on your face, only realising now his body was plastered to yours but he didn’t want to move and you didn’t look like you were uncomfortable with the closeness, so quinn just snuggled closer, his thumb rubbing soothing patterns on your hip.

“I am ‘nucks fan to my core quinny. I can’t just unfollow them,” you argue as if it’s the most ridiculous thing you’ve ever heard and he chuckles slightly at your dramatics.

“you can if what they’re saying upsets you. what you see?” quinn asks, and you hesitate for a second before telling him, knowing his reaction was gonna affect you, whether you wanted it to or not.

“pictures of me and your mom sitting together. and pictures of the two of us leaving the game together. us at dinner with your family and me wearing your jersey. there’s one of us at a bar with the team and we look …” in love, you think but can’t voice it. “cosy. people are speculating that we’re – you know, together.” you explain, biting your lip anxiously and quinn gently tugs it out from between your teeth, running his thumb over it.

“oh,” he replies, distracted by the thumb still against your bottom lip.

“oh? that’s all you're gonna say?” you ask, grabbing his wrist and pulling it down to your stomach again, the way he was caressing your face was way too distracting for the conversation you were trying to have.

“I uh – already saw that. basically everyone I know has sent it to me. my brothers, the team, even my mom,” quinn explains, and it makes sense now why he didn’t seem shocked by the news.

“your mother?” you squeak out, mortified at the thought of his mother reading the things people have been saying online about the two of you.

“yeah. wouldn’t be surprised if she started these rumours herself though. she was excited to say the least, going on and on about how happy she was that we were finally together and that it took me long enough to lock you down” quinn jokes, and your heart warms slightly at his words.

“you’re not - upset by it? I know it’s probably weird –” you start but quinn cuts you off by pressing a gentle and unexpected kiss to your cheek.

“it’s not weird. I’m honoured actually, that people think I have enough game to pull someone as hot as you,” he says and you scoff, rolling your eyes and gently hitting him against the chest.

“be serious,” you scold lightly, picking at the blanket thrown over your lap and he laughs, hand nudging your chin, prompting you to look at him.

“I am serious. you’re way out of my league angel. It’s a bit of a cruel joke that people think you would date me,” he says and you immediately frown, wondering if your best friend must have gotten a concussion somehow in the last 24 hours because there was no way Quinn Hughes actually believed the words coming out of his mouth.

“that’s an utterly ridiculous thing to believe considering you have every quality I love in a man and I’ve had the biggest crush on you since the day I met you,” you say without thinking, your cheeks heating up when you realise what you just said, your embarrassment only multiplying when you see the amused grin on his face.

“you have a little crush on me, eh?” he teases, and you sigh lovingly

“quinn, shut up and kiss me already, would you?” you say, and both of you can’t keep the grins off your faces as he leans closer and connects your lips in a sweet, tender, long overdue kiss.

“Your mom was right, you know? It took you long enough to lock me down,” you mumble against his lips and quinn doesn’t even get a chance to respond when the front door suddenly bursts open and ellen walks in.

“Talk of the devil,” quinn mutters and you hide your laugh in his shoulder as his mom observes the position you two currently found yourselves in.

“Hi mrs. Hughes,” you greet her, both you and quinn sending her matching, sheepish smiles.

“Quintin Jerome Hughes, you are such a little liar! I raised you better than lying to your own mother”

[froggibus]

Valentine's NSFW - Overwatch Men

Pairings: Baptiste, Cassidy, Genji, Hanzo, Ramattra & Reaper x fem! reader (reader uses she/her pronouns + has a pussy)

Genre: smut/NSFW

CW: cheesy Valentines things, aftercare, manhandling, bondage, role play, toys, shibari, praise, degradation, dirty talk, oral (giving & receiving) unprotected sex, p in v, cum stuffing, overstimulation, cervix fucking, teasing

i flopped so hard this Valentine’s Day but here’s some overwatch content 😭 im sorry my fellow lucio enjoyers i simply couldn’t do it i could not write him for valentines

—

Baptiste:

he’s a busy man, it’s a rare occasion that he has a day off, let alone two 

wants to make the most of his time with you 

takes his time to decorate your room, even changing the sheets to nice red ones and lighting some candles

for him it’s all about the ambience 

takes his time to seduce you, starting with kissing you, then moving down your neck and so on

takes his time with your chest, his expert hands turning you into a moaning mess 

when you’re finally so wet that you’re begging him just to touch you, he knows you’re ready

has you spread out on the bed, his head buried between your legs 

it’s been so long since he was able to eat you out, it’s like a feast to him 

doesn’t stop until you’ve came on his face at least twice, until his beard and chin are dripping with your juices 

he’s so gentle but so intentional with his touches 

teases your clit with his cock and laughs at the way you squirm and plead for him to put it in 

once he puts it in, it’s not coming out until he’s fully satisfied 

the man is insatiable, he’s drilling his cock into you like he’s trying to push it straight into your womb

it brushes your cervix and makes you wince, the pain only adding to the overwhelming pleasure you feel

loves cumming inside of you but saves it for special occasions like today

his aftercare is unmatched, the man has a basket of things to help soothe you after the fact 

he’ll massage your shoulders and talk you down

and always forces you to pee because god forbid you get a UTI (although he’d take extra good care of you then, too)

Cassidy:

wants to try absolutely anything

he’s always a kinky mf but Valentine’s is his excuse to dial it up to 11

buys you cute underwear that you can show off to him 

wants to roleplay 

once you get in bed with this man you’re not getting out all night 

he’ll have your hands cuffed behind your back while he watches you try to ride him 

just watching you struggle to take his cock without bracing yourself with his hands is enough to have him cumming

it’s just so cute how pathetic you are, dragging your walls up and down his thick cock and whining how it’s “too much”

gets tired of your whining and has you flipped in doggy, your head pressed into the mattress

this man is breeding you for hours

even after your pussy is aching and dripping with his cum, he’ll try to keep going 

switches between praise and degradation so fast he gives you whiplash

“so good f’me…takin’ my cock so well.”

spanks you if you get too quiet

“fuck, you’re sucha slut for me, aren’t ya?”

there will be bruises on your wrists from the handcuffs

when he finally lets you out of the bed, you can’t even walk on your own

so he runs you a hot bath with nice smelling salts, candles and lotions 

Genji:

kinky mf 

he’s probably been preparing for tonight for months 

has some of that aphrodisiac chocolate and definitely feeds it to you

so much foreplay 

he has you laying against his chest, legs spread out over his own, your pussy wide open for his fingers to dip into 

he loves playing with you and teasing you, listening to you whimper that’s it’s ’too much’ and you ‘can’t take it anymore’

your cute whines must make him want to bury his cock in you and pound you 

but tonight is about you and he wants to take his time 

definitely brought some toys with him, like a magic wand and a rabbit 

has the vibrator pressed against your clit while he fingers you

even after you cum a few times and whine about how you’re getting overstimulated, he still wants to fuck you until your brain is mush

it’s sweet relief when he finally puts the toys away and lays you down on the bed

you weakly spread your legs around his hips and give him access to your puffy pussy

feels so fucking good 

he gets so deep inside you every time, and he’s going slow enough that you can feel it every time his cockhead brushes your walls

whispers praises in your ear about how good you are, about how you just need to give him one more and he’ll be done 

“one more” turns into an extra hour 

by the end of the night, you’re completely fucked out and drooling, your pussy aching from how good he took care of you

helps you clean yourself up, planting kisses on your burning skin  

Hanzo:

SHIBARI

he’s been waiting so long for you to want to try it

you run to the bedroom when you get back from dinner 

Hanzo is so patient waiting outside until you finally yell come in 

you’ve stripped yourself to just your lingerie and you’re kneeling on the floor, holding silky red ropes in your hands 

he’s instantly hard just seeing you submit to him 

binds you up so nicely in the pretty little ropes, making sure you’re properly tied but keeping all your good places on display

manhandles you in front of him so he can prod at that pretty mouth with his cock

smears pre all of your lips and cheeks before pushing past your mouth and finally feeling your tongue on his length

you look so cute and helpless sitting beneath him and slobbering on his cock 

probably straight up carries you by the ropes on your back and tosses you into the bed 

you are doing it in every position tonight 

bent over, balls slapping your clit with every thrust 

on top of him, laying on his chest clawing desperately while he pounds you

against the wall, over the bed, on your knees, on his lap

he’s taking you any way he can

ends it in a mating press, undoing some of the ropes to offer you enough slack to fold your knees into your chest

leans over and coos about how cute you look with tears and cum smeared on your face

you’re stuffed with cum at the end of the night, laid out in the bed, face on his chest

Ramattra:

has no idea what Valentines is, and even after you explain doesn’t quite understand it

but if it’s important to you…

is teasing you the whole fucking day 

pinning you against the wall and rubbing your pussy until you’re dripping wet, pulling you into his lap when you walk by so you can feel the thrumming in his crotch plate 

he wants you soaked, prepped and ready for him at any time so that when he does decide to take you, he doesn’t have to waste any time

has you cockwarming him while he does work, an arm around your waist to hold you down on his massive length while his other taps away at a keyboard 

you’re squirming and writhing in his lap for more but his grip is like iron 

eventually he gives in to your incessant pleasing

“it’s St Valentines after all”

but don’t even think about trying to disobey him or try anything funny 

pretty much uses you like a flesh light the rest of the night 

the benefit of him being so strong is that he can manoeuvre you in anyway that he wants 

and given that he’s an omnic, he can go all night and never falter 

he’s brutal with his thrusts, pounding into you until your juices are spraying out and coating the plates of his thighs

“Look at how you’re gushing on me,” he teases, “look at how ruined your pussy is.”

probably fucks you until you’re on the verge of falling asleep 

after he’s done with you, when you’re laying and looking al cute and fucked out in his bed

he’ll just brush your hair away from your face. “Happy St Valentine’s, dear.”

Reaper:

he does not give a fuck about Valentine’s Day 

but if it gives him an excuse to take you in anyway he wants, he’s in

absolutely not what he has in mind when you’re binding him to your headboard with handcuffs 

he won’t admit it but he’s into it 

you spend over an hour just teasing him 

rubbing, licking, drooling on his cock, watching the way he shifts uncomfortably with every move 

it’s only after he calls out, “just fuck me or move on, please” that you listen to him 

Reyes never says please so you know he’s desperate 

of course you won’t even think about putting his cock inside of you until he's came in your mouth at least once

when you finally straddle his hips and sink down on his cock, Reaper is beyond impatient 

he’s straining against his handcuffs, telling you what a whore you are and how he can’t wait to get out of these and fuck you silly

you ride him painfully slow, scratching up his chest with your nails as you slide up and down his cock

eventually you get desperate and start bouncing even more, forcing his cock as deep as it can go

just as you’re about to cum, Reaper snaps the bedposts and frees his hands 

you’re in shock from the pure fucking strength it took and have no time to react before he’s flipping you on your back and taking you 

the muscles in his arms are strained as he props himself up above you, veins protruding 

just for teasing him, you’re not leaving the room until you’ve come at least three or four times 

or unless you beg for mercy (though Gabe is a wild card, and it’s a 50/50 if he’ll even let you go)

—

masterlist | overwatch masterlist

[teencopandthesourwolf]

edited version can be read on ao3 HERE

.

“Need a hand with that?”

Derek didn't drop the tire he was carrying, but it was a close thing. He'd recognise that voice anywhere—would know it in a sea of a thousand others.

He slowly turned on his heel to find its owner sat in Derek's favourite tree.

Stiles.

“You're here,” he breathed, not bothering to hide the mix of shock and relief that coloured his own voice and features.

Stilesʼ lips twitched. “I'm here,” he confirmed, just in case Derek needed to hear it.

“Hey,” Derek said, eloquent as ever.

“Hey yourself,” Stiles grinned back.

Shifting his weight on the tree branch, Stiles then pulled himself up to standing. He wiped his hands on the ass of his jeans before proffering one towards Derek.

“I'm Mieczysław Stilinski. It's really nice to meet you, dude.”

Stilesʼcheeks flushed an overwhelmingly pretty shade of pink, and Derek wanted to eat him.

Reaching out to take the hand in one of his own, the pads of his fingertips brushed the familiar Jack rabbit pulse at Stiles's wrist, for just a second, and it was both a calling card and like a huge sigh of relief.

He turned the name around in his mind.

Mieczysław. Mieczysław Stilinski.

It was unexpected, and very Polish, and Derek sort of adored it.

Looking a little antsy, Stiles said, “It, uh, means 'sword' in Polish. If you go in for that sort of thing.” He blushed some more and then snorted at himself. “But yeah, I know it's kinda... ʼSʼobviously why I go by Stiles—which was my Grandfather's nickname too, by the way.”

Derek's heart swelled in his chest.

This was what they could've had if things had gone differently for them.

He cleared his throat, took a deep intake of woodsmoke-laced air into his lungs, then said, “Broderick Seth Rodman Hale, third son of Talia and Seth Hale of the Hale Pack of Beacon Hills county, North California, and I'm very pleased to meet you're acquaintance. Oh, and do not call me dude, by the way.”

“Broderick? Are you shitting me right now?!” Stiles blurted, trying and failing to not laugh.

Derek rolled his eyes and it felt like breathing. “Seriously? I think you'll find you don't have even half a leg to stand on, Mieczysław.”

“Actually, I have two, Broderick Seth Rodman Hale, and I diligently used the both of them to come out here to Bumfuck nowhere to find you.”

He shot Derek with ridiculous finger guns then blew away imaginary gunpowder smoke, and if it wasn't for the kid's beard it could've easily been thirteen-years ago.

Not a kid anymore.

Stiles looked amazing. A little broader, and a little fuller in the face, and the beard really, really suited him. At once, Derek had the desperate urge to sink his claws into it and paw at the pale skin beneath. He wanted to back Stiles into the bark of the tree and bury his nose in that long, mole-peppered neck he still had dreams about, to breathe in pure unadulterated Stiles.

He swallowed thickly, licking at his dry lips and wishing they were Stilesʼ. Had to force himself to unclench the fist not currently grasping Stiles's hand.

Derek had to try his best to pretend that he wasn't very aware of the fact that they were still very much holding onto each other.

“Broderick means 'brother' in Old Norse, if you go in for that sort of thing,” he offered, borrowing Stiles's banter.

Stiles's smile was easy, albeit tainted with a hint of sadness for that piece of information. He was sort of—looser. More relaxed, and definitely less agitated than he used to be. Though he smelled exactly the same as he always had: Of strong coffee and Bath & Body Oak shower gel and wild cinnamon and lemon sherbet dip, and that particular warm smack of something that Derek had always struggled to place—the very essence of Mieczysław 'Stiles' Stilinski.

The familiar tang zinged over his taste buds like popping candy, and his wolf took up its routinely impatient pacing at his core as if they had seen Stiles only yesterday.

“I'm—uh, I don't—you look good, Stiles. Really good.”

This human was the only creature on planet earth that had Derek Hale fumbling his words.

Stiles was smirking his signature smirk—only there was something new pulling at the curve of that life-ruining mouth of his.

Unerring confidence.

Derek sniffed at the air and licked at his lips again so he could taste that, too.

“You're look pretty fine yourself there, Sourwolf,” Stiles divulged, mirroring Derek again by licking his own lips. He shamelessly looked Derek up and down and said, “Your edges aren't quite so sharp, and you're little softer ʼround the eyes, like maybe you're—I dunno. Something closer to being happy?” His eyes shone like the full moon in the dark when he told Derek, “And, dare I say it, maybe not even all that sour anymore?”

Derek huffed a breath out through his nostrils that was in the proximity of a laugh.

“Yeah, maybe.”

“Looks good on you, man. Really good.”

Stiles was borrowing Derek's words, and if he kept saying things like that to Derek while looking at Derek the way that he was, Derek would have to restrain himself from picking the guy up by the scruff of his very nice sweater and kissing the words right out of his mouth.

Then everything sort of stilled, somehow, including the wind, and the birds, and them, as if the whole world had just halted for something incredibly important.

They stood there, just gazing at each other. Like there wasn't anything else they could or would possibly be doing right now.

Ten seconds. Fifteen. Twenty.

It was obvious to even the blades of grass on the ground that they both still felt it.

Slowly, slowly, they caught back up to reality.

Derek took a breath and found his voice again.

“Might've taken a few pointers from a kid I used to know,” he smiled, eyes never leaving Stilesʼ.

Then he thought in for a penny and admitted, “I hoped you'd come looking for me—and I want you to know that I'm really, really glad that you did.”

Stiles squinted at him through the sun's afternoon rays breaking through the Colorado cloud cover like the heavens had suddenly appeared. In that moment, he reminded Derek of the beautiful golden Aztec Sanvitalia shrub that grew down by the little stream behind his cabin. He wondered briefly if that could be the missing base note in Stiles's scent, and then felt a little insane with it all.

“Well, I knew I'd find you,” Stiles shrugged, “because one: I'm like a dog with a bone and two: You left a trail of breadcrumbs so fucking vague only a genius like yours truly could follow.”

He then shielded those big brown doe eyes of his from a particularly bright sunbeam with a still-bony hand, and the squinty look on his face was so fond Derek had to sink his canines into his lip to hold in the pitiful whine threatening to climb up and out of his chest and escape him.

He stepped closer to the tree, closer to the boy who runs with wolves who was definitely not a boy any longer.

“You make it sound as if we're in some sort of fairytale,” Derek said as he attempted to blink Stiles's beauty from his eyes, knowing it would be an entirely fruitless endeavour.

Finally, Stiles reached out to pull Derek down and into his lap, and Derek went like a force of nature.

He dropped the tire this time.

Stiles smelled like love when he said, “Weren't we always, Der?” right into Derek's mouth.

And Derek knew.

As Stiles leaned in and kissed him, softly, and he kissed Stiles softly right back, he knew they both understood that although they had to travel far from Beacon Hills to find it, they had both—at long last—made it home.

.

on ao3 HERE if you'd like to leave me a comment <3

i saw the new dob shoot and my brain remembered the hoech one and went ping! this is for @wulfnerd seeing as they came up with the wonderful Broderick as Derek's full first name in the tags of a post of mine who knows how long ago...

unedited, please be forgiving <3

[thatoneautisticshark]

Price had first seen Simon's vulnerability back when he was only a sergeant and Price was a lieutenant. They had been working together a good month, getting along well, and fairly in sync in the field.

So Price wasn't expecting post mission to find Simon on the ground of the locker room, back pressed against the wall, sobbing and tugging his hair out.

Naturally he panicked a little trying to work out what was wrong with his sergeant, crouching down, looking him over for injuries. He knew Simon hadn't been injured but he couldn't think of anything else to help.

Once he calmed down a little he grabbed Simon's hands, tugging them down. “No no no. Don't do that Simon”The younger man remained sobbing but kept his hands still in Price's hands.

Price gently held them, trying to calm his sergeant down. “Come on, can you stand up for me please?”

When Simon followed the order with no arguments, sobbing even dying down, was when they discovered that touch and gentle orders helped.

It quickly became routine, post mission cuddling, giving occasional soft orders. And that slowly spiralled and changed, leading to the current routine.

Price sat back in his seat in the heli, eyes scanning his team. Gaz was sitting on the floor, next to soap, who was trying to teach him a hand clap game. And failing.

It seemed despite being an amazing soldier, Gaz struggled with children's games.

Price let his gaze wander to Simon who was rigid as he always was post mission. Price could see he was digging his nails into his thigh, and gnawing the inside of his cheek.

Price winced, knowing he couldn't help until they were back at base in private. And it was killing him. Simon so clearly needed the stress relief.

“Lieutenant? Can I see you in my quarters after landing?”

Simon nodded “Yes sir.”

Soap grinned. “Ooooohhh is Ghost in trouble?” He chanted in a sing-song voice “What'd he dooo?"

Price gently whacked the sergeant on his head. “No he isn't in trouble, Mactavish. I just need to discuss something with him. If he really wanted to immediately rest he could have denied the request and he knows that”

Simon quietly nodded, confirming the Captain's statements.

Soap dramatically flopped back into gaz's lap, with a groan “Boringggg!”

As the Heli landed, the two younger sergeants practically bounded out. Price stood up, stretching before glancing at the other. “Coming?”

In no time at all they were back in Price's warm comfortable room. Simon stepped forward, burying his face in Price's neck, arm wrapping around his waist. Price huffed a laugh, hugging him back, rubbing a firm hand up and down his back. “That's It, love, relax. There we go, Simon.”

Once they had been standing in the centre of the room for a good ten minutes, price sighed. “Luv, do you want to relax and just cuddle, or do it?” Silence “I need an answer Si, kinda changes whether we go to the couch or bed”

Again, not an answer, Simon just pressed his face further into the crook of his captains neck, rubbing his balaclava slightly against the scruffy beard. Price gently pulled him towards the couch.

“Executive decision, we are doing this. Say if you want to stop okay?” With the burden of making the choice taken off him, Simon relaxed slightly more, nodding.

Price grabbed a cushion, throwing in on the floor, before gently pushing Simon onto his knees on it. He then sat on the couch right in front of his lieutenant, who wasted no time leaning forward, resting his head against the others pants.

Upon his mask being edged up slightly he nodded letting the captain pull it fully off with a whispers praise of “Good boy. That's it, just relax, I got you.”

The older chucked the mask aside, holding Simon's face as if he were precious. His thumb stroking the others cheek. “Such a pretty boy aren't you, one your knees for a nasty buggar like me”

Simons face made it clear he wanted to argue, but was already to far in to form coherent words. He hummed, shaking his head against the fabric of Price's cargos.

Price ran a hand through the blond almost white locs. “Shh darling, don't think. I'm doing all that, just relax” he murmured as Simon pressed his up up against the hand in his hair, much like a needy cat.

Simon, looking up at him though his lashes, eyes glassy and far away. Hair tussled and drool leaking from his mouth always managed to do it for price, making his dick chub up.

The absolute trust the standoffish man had in him, to dip this far into an out of his state. Trusting him to gently take him apart, piecing him back together with no harm.

Price wiped some spit dribbling down Simons chin up, before slowly pushing his thumb past Simons lips, watching as Simon took it, letting it sit in his mouth with a pleased hum.

He knew Simon had an oral fixation, he usually had something in his mouth, gum pens, his own fingernails. The way Simon totally relaxed when he had Price's fingers - Or dick - in his mouth, never failed to amaze the captain.

Simon was absently sucking the finger in his mouth with soft groans, teeth on it, not really chewing but holding.

And god he looked so pretty, flushed and pink like this.

Price groaned, his prick pressing harshly against his slacks, so hard it hurt.

“Mm yeah, just like that good boy”He breathed as he fumbled the zip of his pants open. “Such a good, pretty boy.”

He finally pulled his dick out, tip flushed angry red from the neglect.

His eyes stayed on Simon's face, as he let the finger fall from his mouth. Price stroked himself a few times “Yeah you want this? Don't you lad? You want this big cock down your throat”

Simon nodded, whining desperately trying to put together enough words to beg. “I.. please….I.”

But Price gently shushed him. “Shh, not going to let my baby boy go without. Just relax Lovie. Don't beg love, don't think, just be a good boy yeah?”

Simon nodded, whining again. Eyes still shining with unshed tears, as Price stroked his hair.

Price placed his dick on the waiting lips and tongue, giving a punched out moan as Simon immediately began sucking and licking.

The elder threaded his hands back into his hair, guiding the head on his cock, with praises mixed in with moans “Ah yes.. fuck like that Simon. Such a good boy. Your mouth was just made for this. Like that darling”

With how pent up he was, it didn't take price long to come undone, and Simon swallowed every drop.

When he tried to pull his dick back, he was met with a whine, prompting a chuckle. “You just wanna sit with it for a minute lad? You and your fixation.” He teased, placing his softening dick back in the warm heat of Simons mouth, feeling him hum contentedly as he rested his head back on the plush thigh.

Not to sound beggy, but you guys realise you can send asks? Pleaseee I really want more ideas, I'm not that creative to have infinite ideasss

[briseroyawritingsblog]

𝒑𝒂𝒊𝒏 𝒂𝒏𝒅 𝒔𝒐𝒓𝒓𝒐𝒘𝒔

𝒐𝒍𝒅𝒎𝒂𝒏!𝒍𝒐𝒈𝒂𝒏 𝒙 𝒘𝒊𝒇𝒆!𝒏𝒖𝒓𝒔𝒆!𝒓𝒆𝒂𝒅𝒆𝒓

+18 minors do not interact. hurt/comfort, nursing wounds, blood, physical pain, emotional pain, very slow healing, mutant cure, kissing, cuddling, mentions of sex, happy marriage, fluffy ending etc.

𝒍𝒐𝒈𝒂𝒏 𝒎𝒂𝒔𝒕𝒆𝒓𝒍𝒊𝒔𝒕 / 𝒎𝒂𝒔𝒕𝒆𝒓𝒍𝒊𝒔𝒕

divider by @bunnysrph 💌

“Oh no no no!!” You sobbed slapping your husbands cheek gently to wake him up. You found him passed out, third time this week. His dress shirt drenched in blood, bullet holes decorating the front making you cry hard. Tears staining your cheeks as you quickly rushed to the bathroom for first aid kit and to pull out the harming bullets. “Please.. please..” you sniffled ripping the front of his shirt buttons scattering all over the place. Grabbing your medical pliers you didn’t hesitate to dive inside the bullet holes in his chest, pulling one after one out. You cleaned the blood in process, the fresh one which pooled out of his wounds. You couldn’t stop crying— your heart held so much pain and grief. “You can’t die on me.. not like this. God I love you so much please don’t..” you slapped his cheek gentle to possibly wake him but he wouldn’t. The healing of his wounds were so slow.. even slower than a week ago. You did this few times.. he woke up right after but now he wouldn’t. You cried against his shoulder gently removing his ruined dress shirt. You washed his chest gently with a warm damp cloth, his face too, his hands. You kissed his knuckles where his claws would come out but now he was only laying on your bed. “Lo.. please..” you sighed with pain climbing on the bed right next to him snuggling to his side. “I know your body aches, I know but just.. come back to me. I will take care of you” you sobbed kissing his bearded cheek caressing his chest where his heart supposed to beat wildly by now but it didn’t. Another wave of pain hit you. “Please..!” You cried even harder.

The faint heartbeat returned, you knew that he lived. He was just too tired, in too much pain to wake up, he needed rest. So much of rest. Although.. he swore that he would never take the mutant cure you feared that it was the answer to your prayers at the moment. Opening the drawer on your bedside table you pulled out the cure. You could use only a little bit to heal him, only a tiny bit. Lo hated that you’ve spend so much money on it, nearly your whole pay check because you wanted to heal him. He’d rather suffer and get through it alone than to use the cure. You cried desperately waiting another moment before gently injecting a tiny bit of the cure in his vein. You watched his wounds heal away like magic, his heartbeat getting stronger. His breathing returning back to normal, you thanked god silently in between sobs. Putting away the cure you hugged him close to you pulling the covers over your bodies resting your cheek on his naked chest. You had no strength to move, you wanted to be close to your husband. You felt his arms coil around you and you closed your eyes crying with happiness. Tears streaming down your cheeks you let out a huff. “Shhh..” Lo whispered to you holding his eyes closed feeling healed, his body feeling like new and all thanks to you. “I’m so sorry kid..” he breathed out kissing your forehead. “I’m fucking sorry for giving you so much pain.” He sighed running his big calloused hand over your back. “Don’t say that.. I want all of your worries, all of the pain, I want to take it all away I’m your wife” you cried looking up at him still resting your cheek on his chest. “I can’t give it to you kid.. only my love” you closed your eyes at his words with a broken whimper. His thumb wiping away your tears “Thank you..” he added kissing your forehead again. “Shhh..baby” you climbed on top of him burying your face in his neck.

A faint smile appeared on his face, he held you close to him. Even closer than before “I can’t lose you, I can’t leave you Lo..” you whispered your chest hurting immensely at the thought of losing him. “You won’t. I’m still here..” he added reassuring you. “C’here kid.. kiss me” he breathed before he captured your mouth in a loving kiss. You kissed him more urgently to be sure he’s healed and that he’s there with you this wasn’t a dream. “My love” you let out a soft moan wrapping your arms around his neck and he hummed at the closeness. Your legs nearly curled around his waist “you tiny monkey, you won’t let me go will you now?” You shook your head resting your cheek to his. “I love you..” he smiled snuggling you close. Your core was pressing to his growing bulge “S’not this old man’s fault- you’re clingin’ and tellin’ me you love me” he let out a chuckle “and rubbin yourself on me.. fuck” you giggled at his words loving that he was back. “I’ll take care of you my love” you blushed kissing his lips. Lo’s kiss was needier than yours this time. All that crying and sobbing was quickly exchanged for moans and whimpers, he used that extra energy to love on you.

-

[thisapplepielife]

Written for @steddiebingo and @steddiesongfics.

we left our hearts on our sleeves (and the clothes all over the floor)

Steddie Bingo Prompt: Souvenir | Steddie Song Fics March Prompt: Free Space (Hotel Key by Old Dominion) | Word Count: 2000 | Rating: E | CW: Explicit Sex, Open Lavender Marriage, Recreational Weed/Alcohol Use | POV: Eddie | Tags: Future Fic, Old Friends, Reconnecting, One-Night Stand, Platonic Stobin, Happy Ending

Also on ao3.

Eddie tugs on the collar of Steve's dress shirt, yanking him back into his body. Hotel key for a place down some street he can't even pronounce, burning a hole in his pocket. A chance meeting, a blast from the past that he never thought he'd see again. Steve Harrington. All grown up. Sitting at Eddie's regular bar, tie hanging loose around his neck. 

Being sure it was him didn't even cross Eddie's mind, he just walked up behind him, and covered his eyes, leaning against his back. He'd recognize Steve anywhere, even with the years between them.

"Guess who?" Eddie had asked, leaning close to Steve's face. 

Steve had laughed, open and bright, like he knew.

He did. 

And now Eddie's hand shakes as he slides the key into the heavy lock, with Steve draped over his back, breathing down his neck. Lips brushing against his skin.

He's gonna have a one night stand with Steve Harrington.

Goddamn. Holy shit.

It's the laughing, the kissing, the wandering hands that are really doing it for Eddie. He's had hookups before, but this feels familiar, even if they've never done this before. Not together.

Steve's on his knees, forearms braced on the bed as Eddie slams into him, over and over. Thrusts knocking his hip bones against Steve's ass. And Steve takes him, moaning, clawing at the sheets, and it's the hottest fucking thing Eddie's ever experienced.

He's fucking Steve Harrington.

Twenty-year-old him, stumbling through the woods of the Upside Down scared to death, could have never fathomed this turn of events.

Good things come to those who wait, he guesses.

He reaches around and fists Steve's leaking cock. He's big, thick, and Eddie definitely wants to reverse their positions before Steve slips away for another dozen years.

"Harder," Steve demands, pushing back against Eddie, and fucking hell, Eddie will give it to him harder. 

Controlled, firm thrusts. Not faster, he didn't ask for faster, he asked for harder, and Steve's hanging his head. Making a low, pornographic sound that Eddie prays will never stop rattling around in his brain.

He's keeping it, a souvenir, definitive proof the wild interlude in his otherwise rather mundane life actually happened.

Steve Harrington. Under him. Fuckin' A.

Eddie doesn't even want to blink, doesn't want to miss a moment of this. And he doesn't. He stays in the goddamn zone until Steve comes, clenching down on Eddie's cock, painting the sheets, and Eddie's fist. 

Only then does Eddie stop holding out, giving one more hard thrust as he buries himself to the hilt, coming as he squeezes Steve's hip with his free hand.

Flopping onto the bed, avoiding the wet spot, Steve's chest is heaving. Eddie takes his hand into his own. Thumbing at the ring on his left hand. Steve hasn't said he's married, and Eddie isn't going to ask. Not his business. 

"Robin," Steve says, "I'm married to Robin. But, you know, not like that."

"You're her beard?" Eddie asks, and Steve just shrugs against the pillow, shifting his hips. His cock is big, even soft, nestled against his thigh. Eddie wants it in his mouth, his ass, everywhere. 

He wants to make sure neither of them can walk by morning. If they aren't crawling out of here, they didn't do it right.

"I guess? We're each other's? I don't know. It felt like the thing to do. I wanted to get married, and she wanted to stop having people look at her like there was something wrong with her. And my unused college fund was converted into a trust that wouldn't kick in until I was married, or fifty. So, we had more than one reason."

"Fifty, goddamn," Eddie says, that's a hell of a collar for his folks to put on him. They really must have been mad at him for not going to college, not following his father into the family business. Unless he has, now? He was in a suit.

"Kids?" Eddie asks, and Steve shakes his head. "She knows about you doing this?" Eddie follows up, waving their joined hands in the air.

Steve nods.

"She is not in charge of anything below my belt," Steve laughs, "that's a direct quote."

Eddie laughs. Steve married Robin in some sort of lavender marriage, and now he's the one that gets to fuck him tonight. He wasn't looking for love anyway. Win-win.

"I just have to be discreet. Nothing to raise eyebrows around town. So, business trips. You know?"

And Eddie nods. He isn't expecting anything more from him, this alone was above and beyond his wildest dreams. 

"You being safe out there?" Eddie asks, "Staying out of the bathhouses and stuff?" 

"Yeah," Steve says, nodding, "I mostly pick up women. It's easier, you know?"

Eddie knows, in theory. That's just not what butters his bread.

"But sometimes I just wanna get fucked. Lucky that I stumbled across you," Steve says with a smile, "It was nice to really let loose with a trusted old friend."

An old friend. He's old friends with Steve Harrington. That seems crazy, but it's true. They lived through their Vecna ordeal, and then just drifted away. But that summer of '86, they were friends. Real, true friends.

If he could stay in touch now, reconnecting with both him and Robin, that'd be pretty awesome. He's missed them.

"Pray tell, what does Steve Harrington do for a living?"

"Insurance. I sell insurance," Steve says, and Eddie grins.

Steve Harrington sells insurance. What's this world coming to?

Eddie feels warm and loose. They're working their way through the mini bar. Shots, a joint passed back and forth, and expensive mini bar snacks they're devouring after sharing the half ounce they were smoking from. Now, he's staring at Steve Harrington sitting in the middle of the bed, legs crossed, stoned, half-drunk, with a big ol' grin on his face. Eddie's t-shirt is the only stitch of clothes he has on.

Eddie's shirtless, standing at the foot of the bed, just watching him eating overpriced Pringles, and looking fucking gorgeous.

This is the best night Eddie's had in a long fucking time.

Eddie puts the do not disturb sign on the door, and turns and grins. 

They might not have forever, but they have tonight. 

It's three in the afternoon, and Eddie rolls closer to Steve. Check-out was technically noon, but they've slept through it, comfortable and warm together in this bed that Eddie isn't ready to leave.

Steve's on his back, and Eddie slings his leg over Steve's bare hips, grinding down on his thighs. Steve's big hands come up and grip his hips, his eyes still closed, but a smile is pulling at the corners of his lips.

Eddie toys with Steve's chest hair that is somehow thicker, even more impressive than it was back when they were just kids. 

It's gorgeous. Steve's gorgeous.

Eddie wants it all. If this is all they get, he's gonna enjoy every second.

He wraps his hand around Steve's half-hard dick, and strokes him as he clenches his thighs, pulling himself upwards. Reaching for the bottle of lube on the nightstand, and he slicks up his own fingers, pushing two inside himself. Getting himself ready as he lazily strokes Steve to full hardness underneath him.

Steve's arms are tucked behind his head, and he looks confident, cocky. Satisfied.

He looks happy.

"Are you happy?" Eddie asks, and Steve's smile blooms. A mischievous, toothy grin that Eddie hasn't seen since they were sneaking cigarettes, and yeah, a little weed, behind Robin's back during that summer when they were supposed to be resting. Healing.

"I've got no complaints at the moment," Steve answers.

Eddie meant in life, all of life, but he'll take it. He's making Steve happy right now, and that sends a wave of want through him as he brushes against his own prostate.

He whines, closing his eyes, tilting his head backwards.

"You gonna do that without me?" Steve asks, teasing, and Eddie shakes his head. He's ready. Fuck. He's more than ready.

He extracts his fingers, and has Steve open a condom with his unslick fingers. Then Eddie slides it on Steve's cock, then sinks down on him with a groan. He's so fucking full. 

If Steve's happy, Eddie's elated.

"Goddamn, Eddie," Steve says, hand reaching up to brush Eddie's hair out of his face. It's soft, tender, and the warm sunlight casting a glow around the rented room makes it feel magical.

Eddie works himself up and down, enjoying the view of Steve below him in the glow of this afternoon delight.

He laughs, and Steve cocks an eyebrow, amused.

"Rubbin' sticks and stones together make the sparks ignite," he sings, and Steve's stomach ripples with laughter. Delighted. Hips coming up off the bed, driving himself deeper into Eddie.

Eddie moans.

"Best afternoon delight I've had in years," Steve teases.

The thought of loving him is an exciting jolt, but one Eddie knows he'll have to tamp down. Bury deep.

They've got this. 

And this is good.

With the sun setting, Steve picks up the room key off the table, and slides it into his pocket. Eddie grins, he's totally fine with Steve keeping that as a souvenir of their night together. He wishes he'd thought of it first.

Eddie scrawls his number on a sheet of hotel stationary, and puts it on top of Steve's jacket. No pressure. But if he doesn't want to lose touch again, the ball can be in his court.

He knows they can't re-open this door. Physically and metaphorically. But they were friends first, and he'd love to be able to say that again. Steve still presses him into the door, while they're on this side of it, locked in their bubble, and kisses him.

"This was fun," he says when he pulls back.

"Definitely," Eddie agrees, and he wants to throw out the offer that he's always available for a repeat performance, but he doesn't want to make Steve let him down gently.

"It was good to see you," Steve says, and wraps him up in a warm hug that Eddie greedily accepts. 

"Tell the wife hi," Eddie teases as they pull apart. Steve grins, promises he will, and then he's gone.

Three months later, Steve is sitting in the same bar, but he's turned towards the room, as if he's waiting. For someone, or something.

Eddie grins, and hell, maybe Steve was.

He steps up next to him, and looks down, "Hey, stranger."

Steve smiles, reaching out to let his fingers graze Eddie's thigh. Then he reaches into the pocket of his jacket, pulling out a familiar hotel key. Different room number, though.

Eddie's about to make a comment, when Robin slides onto the open stool next to Steve.

"Buckley!" he shouts, a little too loud before wrapping her up in a hug she's fighting more than reciprocating. But she's laughing.

"Get off me," she says, and he does. But he stands there grinning at her. Maybe Steve was waiting for her, not Eddie. But he had the hotel key, so now Eddie's just confused.

"What are you doing here?" he asks.

"Accompanying my husband to meet up with his boyfriend," she snarks, in a hushed whisper.

Eddie's not, they're not, but maybe. They've talked a few times. But he had no idea Steve was coming back to town. It was never mentioned.

Steve's grinning, and like, goddamn. Fuck yes. Game on. 

"If you steal a second key as another souvenir we may get real famous on the behind the desk do not rent to bulletin board," Eddie teases, and Steve giggles, reaching forward, slipping the offered key into Eddie's back pocket.

"Totally worth it," Steve says, grinning.

They'll just find another hotel, next time. Or Steve can just come home with Eddie if they're actually doing this, with Robin's blessing, apparently.

Because Eddie already knows, looking in Steve's eyes, there's gonna be a next time.

And more.

If you want to sign up for a future bingo event or see more entries for this challenge, pop on over to @steddiebingo and @steddiesongfics and follow along with the fun!

[worlds-we-write]

Sweet on You

Chapter 2 | Kneaded You

pairing: Jackson!joel miller x baker!reader

Summary: You wake up in Joel’s arms and spend the morning pretending it’s just another day — until it isn’t. The town is watching. Your past won’t stay quiet. And Joel? He’s done pretending he’s not all in.

WC: 6K

Rating: Explicit 18+ MDNI❗️

tags: Joel Miller x Reader, Jackson Era, Age Gap, Slow Burn, Soft Smut, Emotional Sex, Filthy Dirty Talk, Gentle Aftercare, Pillow Talk, Reader Has Trauma, Protective Joel, Possessive Joel, Mutual Pining, Cinnamon Roll Angst, Hurt/Comfort

Series Masterlist | My Masterlist

You wake up warm.

It takes a moment to register where you are. The bakery ceiling is still above you, golden light filtering through the frosted front windows. The fire in the corner oven has burned down to glowing coals, and the room smells like cinnamon and melted wax.

And Joel.

He’s wrapped around you like he belongs there.

One arm is slung across your waist, his hand splayed over your belly, the heat of his palm soaking straight through your skin. His chest is pressed to your back, solid and slow-breathing, and you can feel the soft drag of his beard against your shoulder every time he exhales.

You shift a little under the blanket, and his hold tightens — not enough to trap you, just… remind you. That he’s still here. That this isn’t a dream.

He lets out a low, sleepy groan and buries his face in the crook of your neck.

“Mornin’,” he mumbles, voice thick with sleep, Southern drawl turned to gravel.

You smile before you even open your eyes. “You always wake up this warm?”

He grunts. “You always talk this much first thing?”

You snort softly and roll over in his arms, facing him now. He’s still half-asleep, his eyes barely open, hair tousled from the pillow, beard a little messy. The lines around his eyes are softer here, in the early light. Less weight. Less history. Just… Joel.

And he’s beautiful.

It hits you all at once — the intimacy of it. The closeness. The fact that you spent the night tangled up with Joel Miller, and now he’s looking at you like he doesn’t regret a damn second.

You feel your face heat.

Joel watches you carefully. “You okay?”

You nod. “Just… didn’t expect to wake up like this.”

He smirks a little, sleep still clinging to his expression. “Could get used to it.”

Your heart lurches.

You glance toward the window, trying to hide the way that single sentence makes your chest tighten. Outside, the snow has slowed, the sky turning that pale, post-storm blue that makes everything look quiet and untouched.

You try to keep your voice light. “Think the bread’s ready to bake.”

Joel kisses your shoulder once, then groans and flops onto his back. “Jesus. You’re already thinkin’ about work?”

“You’re in my bakery,” you tease.

He lifts an eyebrow without opening his eyes. “That mean you’re gonna feed me?”

You toss the blanket off with a laugh and stand, stretching. “Only if you behave.”

He grumbles something about “no promises” and watches you move toward the kitchen with that lazy, heavy-lidded look that makes your stomach flip.

You try to keep your hands busy. Pulling on your apron. Checking the dough. Avoiding the way his eyes trail down your legs when he thinks you’re not looking.

It’s domestic. Easy. Almost too easy.

And it scares the hell out of you.

Because you know the warmth won’t last forever. The snow will melt. The door will open. And someone will see.

But for now?

Joel is barefoot in your bakery, sitting at your prep table, watching you like you’re the softest thing he’s ever wanted to keep.

And you let him.

By the time the coffee is poured and the morning chill has eased, the bakery starts to feel alive again. Familiar. The hearth glows, the scent of warm yeast fills the room, and the dough you proofed yesterday is begging to be shaped.

You glance at Joel as you set your mug aside, rubbing your hands together. “I should get started on the bread.”

Joel, still perched on the prep table with bare feet and bed hair, raises a brow. “Want help?”

You blink. “You bake?”

“No,” he says flatly, then takes a slow sip of his coffee. “But I follow instructions. Real good, if you ask nice.”

You give him a look, half amused, half wary. “You planning to help me or distract me?”

He smirks, sliding off the table with a stretch that makes his henley ride up just enough to flash a strip of warm, tanned skin.

“Why not both?”

Your brain stutters for half a second — then you throw an apron at his chest.

“Wash your hands.”

He grins.

You both settle into a rhythm that surprises you. You show him how to flour the table, how to shape the loaves gently — “don’t punch it, Joel, this dough has feelings” — and he grunts like he’s trying not to smile the whole time. His hands are clumsy at first, but strong, and you catch yourself staring more than once as he rolls and folds with furrowed brows and that same intensity he brings to everything else.

“You’re good at this,” you murmur.

He shrugs. “Worked construction. Muscle memory.”

You bump his hip with yours. “Well now you’re building buns instead of walls.”

He lets out a low laugh, and your stomach flips.

Flour ends up on your cheek at some point — his doing. You retaliate by smudging it across his jaw. It turns playful fast, and for a minute you forget everything else. There’s just heat from the oven, flour in the air, and Joel’s hands brushing too close too often.

He grabs your wrist when you try to sneak more flour toward his shirt.

“Careful, darlin’,” he says, voice low and amused. “Keep testin’ me and next time I’ll have you bent over this table before the bread even rises.”

Your eyes widen.

He grins. Unapologetic.

And just like that, the room feels smaller. Hotter. Your breath stutters in your throat as his hand lingers a second longer than necessary.

But then he steps back, reaching for the towel to wipe his hands, like nothing just happened.

The teasing simmers under the surface the whole time as you both load the loaves into the oven. When he stands behind you to peek in over your shoulder, his chest brushes your back, and you don’t move away.

The silence that follows is thick but not uncomfortable.

It’s dangerous.

It’s comfortable.

And you don’t know which scares you more.

You stand by the bakery door, fully dressed, coat zipped, scarf wrapped, and stomach twisted in ways that have nothing to do with the cold. Outside, the storm has softened to flurries, the sky pale and bright over snow-packed paths. Jackson is waking up — shovels scraping, boots stomping, radios crackling.

You glance back over your shoulder.

Joel’s shrugging on his coat, still wearing the same jeans from last night, his henley sleeves pushed to his forearms, hair still damp from where you’d run your fingers through it that morning. He looks… content. Relaxed. Like a man who slept well and got fed twice — once with cinnamon rolls, once with your thighs.

You, on the other hand, feel like your chest might cave in.

“We could wait a little longer,” you murmur. “Let the paths clear. Avoid the morning rush.”

Joel looks up at you, squinting. “You mean avoid people.”

You say nothing.

He walks to the door, stands beside you. The warmth of him seeps through your coat before he even touches you.

“They’re gonna talk, Joel.”

He shrugs. “Let ‘em.”

You stare at the door handle, your throat tight.

“It’s not you they’ll talk about,” you whisper.

Joel turns to face you fully. “They say shit about you, they’re sayin’ it about me too. You think I give a fuck?”

You blink, lips parting — but he’s already reaching past you to open the door.

The cold hits you first.

Then the sound.

Shovels scraping pavement. Kids shouting in the distance. Two women chatting by the community center steps, one of them sipping from a thermos. They both turn when the bell above your door jingles.

And they stare.

Joel doesn’t notice — or pretends not to. He offers you his hand like it’s nothing, like it’s normal, like it’s something he’s done a hundred times.

You hesitate. Just for a second.

Then you take it.

You walk together, side by side, hand in hand, through the snow-packed path toward your apartment. And you feel everything.

Every eye on you. Every whispered laugh behind a glove-covered mouth. Every step that says, we saw them come out together. we know.

You keep your head down.

Joel doesn’t.

He nods at people who pass. Gives Tommy a chin lift from across the road. Doesn’t let go of your hand even once.

It should feel safe. And it does.

But you still feel the twist in your gut when you hear the whisper behind you — soft, but not soft enough:

“Heard she’s trouble. Can’t believe Joel’s messing with her.”

You freeze.

Joel stops too, glancing over. “What?”

You shake your head. “Nothing.”

But your face burns.

Joel studies you for a second. Then—without a word—he moves closer, slides his arm around your waist, and pulls you in tight as you walk.

“Let ‘em watch,” he mutters under his breath, jaw clenched. “They don’t know a fuckin’ thing.”

You want to believe that. You do.

But the knot in your stomach doesn’t ease.

Not yet.

Your apartment is small, quiet, and colder than you remember.

You step inside first, shoulders tense, unwrapping your scarf with fingers that still feel clumsy from the walk. Joel follows silently, boots crunching softly on the entryway mat, gaze flicking around the space like he’s reading something in the walls.

You watch him take it all in — the stack of folded laundry that never got put away, the cracked windowpane above the tiny table, the sagging couch cushion where you’ve slept more nights than not. It’s clean. It’s safe.

But it’s not homey.

Not like the bakery. Not like last night.

Joel shrugs off his coat, hangs it on the hook beside the door without being asked. He moves quietly, careful not to fill too much space. But even in silence, he’s present. Big and solid and warm in a way this apartment hasn’t been in months.

You fidget with your sleeves, feeling suddenly self-conscious.

“It’s… not much,” you say, voice low.

Joel looks at you. “It’s yours. That’s enough.”

You open your mouth — to say thank you, to make a joke, something — but he’s already moving, drawn toward the table by the window like gravity pulled him there.

The drawer beside it sticks — it always does — but he gives it one quick, practiced tug, and it pops open. He peers inside, pulls out a loose hinge and a screwdriver that’s been rattling around for weeks.

You watch, confused. “What are you—”

“Fixing this.” He holds up the drawer like it’s obvious. “Drives you crazy, doesn’t it?”

You blink. “How did you know it was broken?”

“Saw you skip over it when you opened the drawer.”

Joel shrugs, crouching down. “You did that thing people do when somethin’s broken — touch it like maybe it fixed itself, then move on fast like it pissed you off.”

He doesn’t say it in a judgmental way. Just observant. Quietly caring.

You lean against the doorway and watch him work, chest feeling tight for reasons you can’t name.

He gets it fixed in under five minutes. Slides the drawer in with a clean click.

“That’s better,” he mutters, wiping his hands on his jeans.

You smile softly. “You didn’t have to do that.”

“Didn’t mind.”

And that’s the thing with Joel. He doesn’t hover. Doesn’t ask if you need help, doesn’t wait for permission. He sees what’s wrong and handles it — like it’s second nature. Like showing up and doing something is the only way he knows how to say I care.

You realize, suddenly, that he hasn’t sat down.

So you point toward the couch. “You can, uh… make yourself comfortable.”

Joel raises a brow. “That an invitation?”

You feel your cheeks warm. “To sit. On the couch. Calm down, Miller.”

He smirks. But he sits.

And once he’s settled, he spreads out just slightly — arm across the back of the couch, one leg stretched forward. He doesn’t say it, but his whole body is open. Relaxed. Like he belongs there.

Like he wants to belong there.

You move toward the kitchen to boil water — out of habit, out of the need to do something with your hands. And when you glance back at him through the doorway, you find him watching you again.

Not like a man who’s bored. Not like a man waiting for something. But like someone memorizing a view he doesn’t want to lose.

And maybe, just maybe… like someone already picturing what this place would look like with his boots by the door.

Joel leaves just after noon.

Not because you ask him to, but because he knows you need space. He brushes your knuckles with his lips on the way out — nothing over the top, nothing for the street to see. Just a quiet promise.

“Radio me later,” he murmurs.

You nod, still standing in the doorway as he disappears down the snow-crusted path, his broad shoulders cutting through the cold like it doesn’t touch him.

The door clicks shut behind you, and the silence wraps around your apartment again — not harsh, but emptier than it was twenty minutes ago. You sit on the edge of your couch, staring at the half-empty mug Joel left on your table, steam still curling in lazy spirals.

You want to feel safe. You want to believe it. That this time, it’s different. That last night — this morning — changed things.

But your gut says otherwise.

And not five minutes later, your gut is proven right.

There’s a sound outside — the faint thump of heavy boots and the muffled chatter of patrol radios. You rise slowly and move toward the window, careful not to let your shadow fall too close.

And there he is.

Your ex.

Standing by the north gate checkpoint, bundled in his winter gear, laughing at something another scout says. He’s leaning against the post like he owns the place, like he hasn’t laid hands on you, like he still doesn’t see anything wrong.

And then, somehow, he sees you.

His eyes find your window like they’re drawn to it — like he knew you’d be watching.

You freeze.

He doesn’t smile.

Doesn’t wave.

Just watches.

There’s nothing dramatic about it. No yelling. No threats. But the silence hits harder. The lack of expression. Like he’s daring you to think he’s forgotten. Like last night was just a pause.

Your chest tightens.

Your fingers tremble where they grip the curtain.

You let it drop quickly and step back, pulse hammering in your ears.

He’s just standing there.

Doing nothing.

And it still feels like you’ve been slapped.

You sit on the edge of the bed, breathing shallow. You tell yourself he can’t do anything here. Not in Jackson. Not with Maria and the council and all these watchful eyes.

But he’s good at hiding it.

At seeming useful. Stable. Charming in that performative way that makes people say He’s not so bad, right?

And you? You’re the one who flinches.

You’re the one who looks scared in daylight.

And fear? Fear doesn’t sell well in Jackson.

Not unless it has proof.

You don’t call Joel right away.

You tell yourself you’re just calming down, letting the tight coil in your chest ease on its own. But you’ve been sitting at the table for twenty minutes now, staring at the same mug of lukewarm tea, jumping every time boots crunch outside your door.

You know it’s him.

He saw you.

And he’s waiting for you to feel it.

When you finally reach for the radio, your fingers hesitate on the button. But the sound of a shovel scraping across the road jolts you, and your breath shakes out in one long exhale.

“Joel?” Your voice is barely above a whisper.

The answer crackles back almost immediately.

“Yeah. What’s wrong?”

You freeze.

You never said anything was wrong.

But he knows.

“Can you come back?” you ask softly.

Silence.

Then: “On my way.”

Ten minutes later, he’s at your door.

You open it before he knocks. His jaw is already tight.

He doesn’t say anything — just walks in like he knows where to go, like he doesn’t need an invitation. You close the door behind him, heart pounding.

He turns to face you.

“What happened?”

You hesitate.

Joel watches you for two full seconds, then exhales hard and scrubs a hand down his face.

“Was it him?” he asks. No softness. Just truth.

You nod.

Joel’s entire body shifts.

He moves slowly at first, like he’s trying to not pace. Like the tension in his shoulders is something he’s wrestling down with both hands.

“What did he do?” he grits out.

“Nothing,” you say quickly. “He didn’t touch me. He was just—watching.”

“From where?”

“The gate. Patrol duty.”

Joel lets out a humorless laugh. “Of course he’s still got access to a rifle.”

You flinch slightly.

He sees it. His jaw ticks.

Joel walks to the kitchen and leans on the counter like he needs to steady himself. Like if he doesn’t anchor his hands, they’ll end up doing something he can’t take back.

“You should tell Maria.”

“I know.”

“Now.”

You shake your head. “I can’t. Not yet.”

Joel stares at you, eyes dark. “Why?”

“Because if I say it out loud, it’ll become real. And I’m not ready for that. Not yet. I just… I needed you to know.”

Joel breathes hard through his nose. You can see the battle playing out behind his eyes — his need to fix it, to protect you, to make it stop.

And the part of him that knows he has to let you speak for yourself.

“I ain’t gonna sit here and do nothin’,” he says finally.

“I’m not asking you to do nothing.”

“Then what are you askin’?”

You meet his eyes, your voice soft. “I’m asking you to stay.”

Joel’s breath catches. The tension in his face shifts — not gone, but changed.

He nods once.

And then steps forward — one hand curling around your waist, the other sliding up to cup the back of your neck.

“I’ll stay,” he murmurs. “But if he touches you again, if he even looks at you wrong—I’m not goin’ to Maria. I’m goin’ to him. And I won’t be fuckin’ nice about it.”

Your throat tightens.

You lean into his chest, eyes shut, breathing him in. He holds you there, like his body is the only thing between you and the world.

And maybe it is.

Joel’s arms are steady around you. Warm. Wide. Big enough to feel like a shield.

You bury your face in his chest, just for a second. Just long enough to let your breathing slow, to let your muscles soften.

And then you whisper it — so quiet he almost misses it.

“I thought if I just kept my head down, he’d leave me alone.”

Joel’s hands don’t move. He just waits.

“That if I stayed quiet, stayed small, he’d get bored. Move on.”

Your voice cracks.

“But he didn’t. He just got better at hiding it.”

Joel’s fingers slide to the back of your neck, gentle and steady.

“I kept thinking maybe it wasn’t bad enough to tell anyone. That I’d sound crazy. That people wouldn’t believe me. And by the time I realized how deep I was in it… I didn’t know how to leave without looking like the one who caused it.”

You feel him inhale slowly. Deeply. Like it’s taking everything in him not to interrupt.

So you keep going.

“He’s good at pretending. You’ve seen it. Everyone thinks he’s stable. Helpful. One of the good ones. So I kept baking. Smiling. Working. Telling myself it wasn’t that bad.”

You finally look up at Joel, throat tight. “Isn’t that awful?”

He doesn’t speak right away. Just brushes your hair back from your forehead.

And when he does answer, his voice is hoarse.

“No. That’s survival.”

Your breath stutters.

Joel cups your cheek. His thumb brushes just under your eye, like he’s memorizing you in this moment — not afraid, not pretending, just here.

“You don’t gotta explain it. Not to me.”

You nod, but something else is still bubbling under your skin.

“I thought maybe last night would… fix something. That if I let someone good touch me, it would erase him.”

Joel’s expression hardens — not at you. At the idea.

“You think that’s why I was with you?” he says, voice low. “To fix you?”

“I don’t know,” you whisper. “Maybe I hoped.”

He leans in, forehead resting against yours.

“I wasn’t fixin’ you,” he says. “I was touchin’ you because I wanted to. Because I want you.”

“Even with the mess?”

“Especially with the mess.”

You let out a shaky laugh.

Joel kisses your temple.

“You’re not too much,” he murmurs. “He just made you feel small so you’d forget how fuckin’ powerful you are.”

You don’t mean to cry. But it comes anyway — slow, hot tears slipping down your cheeks before you can stop them.

Joel doesn’t pull away.

He holds you tighter.

Doesn’t flinch. Doesn’t speak. Just stays.

And for the first time in a long, long time… you let someone hold the weight with you.

The bell over the bakery door jingles just after the last loaf comes out of the oven.

You expect a neighbor. Maybe one of the regulars. You don’t expect Maria.

She steps in with her usual quiet confidence — coat still dusted with snow, clipboard tucked under her arm, hair pulled back into a tight bun. She’s the kind of woman who always looks like she’s headed to fix something — and she probably is.

You wipe your hands on your apron and offer her a small smile. “Hey.”

“Hey yourself.” Her tone is casual, but her eyes sweep the bakery with a purpose. She nods toward the counter. “Smells good in here. Joel been around again?”

Your stomach tightens, just a little. “He… stopped by this morning.”

Maria hums like she already knew that.

She moves toward the front window, glancing outside like she’s not here for anything in particular. “Busy morning?”

You shrug. “About the same. Bread’s selling fast. Guess people crave comfort when it’s cold.”

Maria looks at you then — really looks at you. Noticing the way your hands fidget with the corner of the dish towel, the way your shoulders are drawn a little tighter than usual.

She doesn’t call it out. Just sets her clipboard down on the counter and leans against it.

“Mind if I ask you something?”

You hesitate. “Sure.”

Her voice stays calm. Even.

“You doing okay?”

You blink. “Yeah. I’m fine.”

“Uh-huh.” Her expression doesn’t change. “You know that’s what everyone says right before they stop being okay?”

You try to laugh, but it comes out thin. “I’m really fine.”

Maria nods slowly, like she’s letting you say that — even if she doesn’t believe it.

“I’m not here to pry,” she says gently. “But I notice things. And I listen when people talk. I also know Joel’s not exactly the type to get cozy unless there’s a reason.”

You look down at the counter.

She leans in slightly, her tone lowering.

“If there’s something going on — something you don’t feel safe talking about — I’m not just on the council, you know. I’m also a woman who’s been through her share of shit.”

You feel your throat tighten.

Maria doesn’t press. She just watches you with that quiet steadiness that makes you feel… seen.

“Joel’s a good man,” she says softly. “But good men can only do so much if they don’t know what they’re up against.”

You grip the edge of the counter.

Maria takes a breath. “If you ever want to talk — really talk — come find me. Doesn’t matter when. Doesn’t matter where.”

You nod, unable to speak.

She picks up her clipboard again, like the moment didn’t just shake something loose inside you.

“Oh,” she adds at the door, glancing back with a knowing look, “and if you’re baking cinnamon rolls again tomorrow… Joel’s not the only one in town who wants one.”

You let out a quiet laugh, just enough for your chest to loosen.

“Got it.”

Maria gives you a wink — then disappears into the snow.

The bakery is empty again.

The rush has passed, the bell above the door gone quiet, and the sun has started to dip low behind the snow-covered rooftops. You stand at the prep table, sleeves rolled to your elbows, hands deep in cinnamon-swirled dough.

It’s muscle memory by now — press, fold, tuck, roll. The rhythm of it soothes something inside you. Makes the ache behind your ribs a little quieter.

But today, it feels different.

You keep hearing Maria’s voice.

“I’m also a woman who’s been through her share of shit.”

You didn’t ask what she meant. You didn’t have to.

You think about the way she looked at you — not like she pitied you, but like she recognized you. Like she knew the weight you’ve been carrying because she’s carried it too.

The dough sticks to your fingers. You press harder than you need to.

You think about Joel.

About how easy it was to let him in, even though nothing about your life has ever made room for soft things. About how he didn’t flinch when you broke down, didn’t pull away when you confessed the worst parts of yourself.

He just held you.

Not like something fragile.

But like something worth holding.

You press the cinnamon roll into the tray and realize your eyes are burning.

You blink fast. Wipe your hands on your apron.

You’re not crying. Not really. Just tired.

But for the first time in a long time, you don’t feel alone in it.

You glance at the radio on the shelf. His voice lives there now. Comfort wrapped in static.

And for the first time all day… you think you might actually want to hear it.

The bakery is closed. The lights are low.

Your apartment is still and dim, glowing softly with lamplight. You sit curled under a blanket on the couch, knees pulled to your chest, the radio in your lap.

You’ve been holding it for ten minutes, thumb hovering over the button.

The cinnamon rolls are proofing in the kitchen — the last batch of the day — and your whole home smells like brown sugar and butter. But it’s not the dough that’s keeping you warm tonight.

It’s him.

It’s the memory of Joel’s arms. His voice. His hands. The way he looked at you when he said you weren’t too much. That low, steady promise wrapped in his Southern drawl: I want you. Especially with the mess.

You take a breath.

Then press the button.

“Joel? You awake?”

A pause. The static clicks. Then—

“Was waitin’ on you.”

His voice is quieter than usual. Rougher. But warm in a way that coats your chest.

You smile a little. “You were?”

“Thought maybe you needed some time. Figured you’d reach out when you were ready.”

You bite your lip. Your fingers tighten around the radio.

“I wasn’t sure if you’d still want to hear from me.”

Another pause.

“You serious?”

You close your eyes. “Just… everything felt different today. Out there. After this morning.”

“Yeah. It did.”

Silence stretches again, but not uncomfortably.

You let it settle between you like a blanket. Thick and soft and real.

“Joel?” “Mm?”

“Do you wanna come over?”

You don’t know if your voice sounds small or brave. Maybe both.

Joel doesn’t answer right away. You imagine him sitting in his living room, thumb rubbing across the speaker, brow furrowed like it always does when he’s thinking too hard.

“You sure?” he asks. “You want me there?”

You nod, then realize he can’t see you.

“Yeah. I think I do.”

A quiet breath. Then—

“Be there in ten.”

The line goes dead.

You set the radio down slowly and exhale — not shaky this time. Just relieved.

Ten minutes.

You don’t rush.

You brush your fingers through your hair, wipe your eyes with the sleeve of your sweater, and check the rolls in the kitchen like it’s a normal night.

But nothing about this feels normal.

And when the knock finally comes — soft, deliberate — your hands still for just a second.

Then you move.

And when you open the door, Joel is there.

Coat zipped, eyes soft, hands in his pockets.

He doesn’t speak right away. Just looks at you like he’s been waiting for this all day.

You step aside.

He walks in.

And something inside you finally unclenches.

Joel doesn’t ask questions when he steps inside your apartment.

He just shrugs off his coat, hangs it on the hook like he’s done it a hundred times before, and turns back to you — eyes flicking over your face like he’s checking for damage. You’re not sure what he finds there, but his expression softens, and his shoulders fall just enough to show he was holding tension too.

Neither of you speak. You don’t need to.

You just walk to him, barefoot and slow, and wrap your arms around his waist.

He pulls you in like it’s instinct — arms around your back, hands spreading wide like he’s trying to cover every inch of you. His nose presses to your hair. He breathes you in.

“You sure?” he murmurs against your temple.

“Yeah,” you whisper. “I want you to stay.”

He leans back just enough to look at you.

“No rush. I can just hold you.”

You smile — soft, a little sad. “I want more than that.”

Joel’s eyes search yours. You see the way he hesitates — not because he doesn’t want it, but because he’s afraid to take. Afraid to push too far.

You take his hand. Guide him toward the bed.

The room is quiet.

Soft lamplight spills across the walls, catching on the loose strands of your hair and the edge of Joel’s stubble. You sit on the mattress first, knees bent, waiting.

He doesn’t undress quickly.

He moves slow. Reverent.

He pulls his henley over his head, folds it, sets it aside. Your eyes trail down his chest — all broad muscle, soft belly, scars that map out a life he never talks about. You reach for him as he steps closer, and he lets you.

You help each other undress — not rushed, not awkward. Just quiet. Hands tugging fabric gently over hips, brushing exposed skin. The only sound is your breathing, and the soft rustle of clothes hitting the floor.

When you’re bare in front of him, you hesitate. Instinct. Shame.

But Joel sees it.

He lifts your chin.

“Don’t do that,” he says softly. “Don’t hide from me.”

You nod.

Joel lays you back like you’re something fragile. But the way he looks at you? Like you’re his. Like he’s already gone too long without having you like this.

You’re bare under him, and still you shiver — not from the cold, but from the way he runs his hand down your side like he’s memorizing it.

“Look at you,” he murmurs, voice low and full of heat. “Spread out for me like this. You want it bad, don’t you?”

You nod, breathless.

“Say it.”

Your cheeks flush, but you whisper it anyway.

“I want it. I want you.”

He groans. “Yeah you do. Been wantin’ me since the second I walked through that fuckin’ door. Don’t think I didn’t see it.”

You bite your lip.

He lines himself up with your soaked entrance and slides in slow — painfully slow — until he’s buried deep, hips flush with yours. You cry out, back arching.

“Fuck, baby,” Joel grits out. “So fuckin’ tight. Feels like heaven.”

You’re gasping already, hands scrambling for something to hold. You end up with his arms, his back, your nails digging into muscle.

“You take me so well,” he says, dragging his hips back, then thrusting in again — deeper this time, making you whine. “So fuckin’ good for me. Like your pussy was made for me.”

You moan, legs falling open wider, desperate to feel all of him.

“That’s it,” he rasps. “Let me in. Let me fuck you like you deserve.”

His rhythm is slow but heavy, dragging every inch of him along your walls, grinding deep at the end of every thrust. Every time he moves, it punches a sound out of you — soft, helpless, needy.

“This what you needed?” he growls. “A man who sees you? Who knows how to touch you right?”

You nod frantically, your voice barely working.

“Y-Yes—Joel—fuck—”

He leans down, lips brushing your jaw.

“You’re gonna cum for me, aren’t you?” he whispers. “Gonna soak my cock just like you soaked my fuckin’ face last night.”

You whimper.

“That pretty pussy’s flutterin’ already. She wants it.”

Your whole body shakes.

“You’re mine now, baby,” Joel growls, his voice getting rougher. “No one else gets to see you like this. No one else gets to hear you beg.”

“Joel—oh my god—”

He grins against your neck, sweat sliding down his temples.

“Not God, sweetheart,” he pants. “Just the man makin’ you cum.”

And you do — hard.

Your walls clench around him, legs locking tight, fingers digging into his shoulders as your orgasm rips through you with a sob. Joel groans, deep and low, hips stuttering as you squeeze him tight.

“Fuck, that’s it—fuckin’ milk me, baby—just like that—”

He fucks you through it, then thrusts deep one last time and spills inside you with a choked moan, his body shaking above yours.

He doesn’t pull out right away.

Doesn’t move much at all.

Just stays close, chest heaving, forehead pressed to yours.

And when he speaks again, it’s lower. Rougher. But softer, too.

“Ain’t ever lettin’ you go now,” he breathes. “You fuckin’ wreck me, sweetheart.”

You’re still gasping, your body trembling beneath him.

But you manage to whisper it back:

“Good.”

You’re both a mess.

Sweat-slick, limbs tangled, breath still shallow. Joel’s weight is still half on you, his face buried in your neck, one large hand curled around your thigh like he’s not ready to let go yet.

You feel his smile before you hear it.

“You okay, baby?”

You hum a little, still catching your breath. “Destroyed. Thoroughly. Thank you.”

He lets out a low chuckle — the kind that rumbles against your chest. Then he kisses your collarbone. Once. Twice. A third time, just because he can.

“You always talk that pretty when you’re ruined?”

You swat at his arm, half-hearted. “You always talk that dirty when you’re not inside me?”

He lifts his head, eyes dancing with mischief and heat and something softer underneath.

“Nah,” he says. “Only for you.”

You look away quickly, heart skipping — because fuck, that’s too much.

But Joel doesn’t let you shy away. He leans down and kisses your cheek, then your nose, then finally your mouth — slow and sweet and real.

“Didn’t know I’d like hearin’ you beg so much,” he murmurs, lips brushing yours.

“Didn’t know I would beg.”

He grins. “That mouth says a lot of things, sweetheart. But it’s honest when I’ve got it moanin’.”

You groan, hiding your face in the pillow. “You’re so full of yourself.”

He laughs quietly and pulls you closer, spooning behind you, one arm draped over your waist.

“Nah,” he whispers into your hair. “Just full of you.”

You try to act annoyed — roll your eyes, mutter something about corny cowboys — but you’re smiling so hard your cheeks hurt.

And then it’s quiet again.

Not awkward. Not tense.

Just warm.

He draws small circles on your hip. Your foot tangles with his. You press your back into his chest like it’s second nature.

“You ever let anyone stay the night before?” Joel asks after a minute.

You shake your head slowly. “Not like this.”

He kisses the back of your neck.

“Good,” he says softly. “Don’t wanna share.”

You laugh again — quiet, sleepy. “Possessive much?”

Joel doesn’t answer.

He just holds you tighter.

You fall asleep tucked into Joel’s chest, his heartbeat steady against your back, his breath warm in your hair.

No nightmares come. No echoing footsteps or doors slamming behind your ribs. Just the weight of his arm around your waist and the slow, grounding rhythm of a man who doesn’t run.

 And for the first time in a long, long time—you don’t feel like you have to, either.

AN: two words: soft filth. thank you for sticking around as joel continues to alternate between “slowest emotional burn of your life” and “talks you through an orgasm like it’s his religion.” stay tuned, and let me know if you want to be added to the taglist so you don’t miss the drama (or the smut). 💌

taglist for Sweet on You 🫶🏼: @suzysface @vikiii07 @chewie-bars @nrschuster30 @thecasualnope @lady-artemis27 @seraphimcollections @brittmb115 @leafs4life

[spatialwave]

LEAVE ME TO DREAM

➸ pairing: arcane survivor!jayce talis x fem!reader ➸ word count: 1.5k ➸ tags: mdni! porn with plot, angst, hurt/comfort, grief/loss, depression, sad ending, rough sex, choking, sorta-dubcon. ➸ notes: wow this was a lot more depressing than i intended it to be lol. my apologies. i rewatched yesterday and felt so much emotion for arcane survivor jayce and wrote whatever came to mind! i hope you like it 🥹

Months had passed, months without Jayce. You remember the days clearly back then, he had been avoiding you – spending hours and hours in his lab after Viktor left. It was fine, you learned to manage seeing him only when he wanted. You told yourself it was fine

It wasn’t, but you managed.

Then he disappeared, as though he vanished out of thin air. Everyone you spoke to brushed you off, no one in the council would even look in your direction. Ambessa made it impossible.

You were a mess, alone in your apartment for weeks. Months.

There were days when you wanted to give up because what was life like without Jayce? There was no life with lost love, it was so painful that your stomach twisted in pain every waking hour. You’d begun to grieve, losing yourself to the idea that he’d never return. That his body had become one with the earth where he might lay dead.

It was late afternoon, your body curled into the blankets, naked and basking in the sun that pooled through the window. You had been in and out of sleep all day, tossing and turning. Having managed to shower, but nothing else but crawl back into your safety and remain there.

You dreamt of Jayce, like you always had. Memories flooded your mind, tears settling in the outer corners of your eyes.

Sleep was taking you over, eyes fluttering when the door to the apartment slammed open. You jolted up, hands grabbing at the blankets that you wrapped around your body haphazardly.

“Who’s there?” You shouted through a shaky voice, adrenaline coursing through your veins. Your bare feet padded along the wooden floorboards, heavy as you stomped toward imminent danger with nothing to lose, “My fiancé will be back any second,” you lied, baring your teeth as you turn the corner into the main area of your quaint apartment.

That’s when you gasped, the sound mixed with a strangled scream. Shaky hands covered your mouth.

“Jayce?” You croaked, “Oh my gods, Jayce.”

You weren’t permitted time to greet him, nor comment on the way he appeared. Rugged, a beard and hair that hung over his ears.

The door slammed behind him and the hextech hammer dropped to the ground with a thud heavy enough that the wood cracked beneath. He stepped toward you, earning another gasp as you were pushed against the kitchen table.

“Jayce,” your voice full of worry, fingers touching a beard you’d never seen on him before, “where have you–”

Lips crashed to yours, tongue forcing its way past your lips. You moaned, abiding by his movements as the blanket fell from your body, and you sat atop the table, thighs tight around his hips. Arms snaked around his neck, fingers tangling into his shaggy hair and tugging harshly as emotions flooded you. Tears streamed down your cheeks, dripping down your neck as you whined into his mouth.

“Can we talk?” You forced yourself back, chest heaving with heavy breaths as you looked into his eyes. All you could see was pain and loss, fear – anger. Wherever he was, he had been tormented, left him a shell of a man, “Jayce, please–”

He blinked hard, twitching as if to blink a vision away.

“No,” he growled, face burying against your neck as he sucked and bit with his scarred lips, rough hands groping at your naked hips hard enough you tried to squirm away.

“Stop,” you whined, your body reacting to his touch as your wet cunt rolled against the erection hidden under his slacks, but you yearned for more than this. You had questions that burned your mind, a need to heal whatever hurt him. To tell him that you missed him and loved him, that you were scared he’d been dead.

Your mind was blurry, heart pounding with a flurry of emotions as you tilted your head back and cried out.

“Just… be quiet,” he hissed, biting hard against your neck and causing you to yelp, “please,” he begged against your skin, tongue licking at the bruise that had formed over your skin.

You shuddered, lips quivering as you felt his hands grab at your body with fervor. You obliged, your heart knowing that this was a need. A distraction, perhaps, and you decided to welcome it wholly.

Jayce was back, that’s all that mattered. You had him. You could manage.

The man who was once tender with his touches was no longer here. His hands handled you with a sharp edge, leaving lasting redness and bruises in its wake, wrapped around your neck as you whimpered and tried to cry out in pleasure, but you couldn’t make a sound as his fingers pressed against the sides of your windpipe.

You were hastily pushed back on the kitchen table, dishes, papers and clutter pushed to the floor as Jayce fucked you with little remorse for your own needs. Your body had missed his touch, legs spread apart as his cock left a searing pain deep inside you and his teeth pinched your nipples.

With parted lips, all you could offer was a pitiful attempt at a whimper, eyes fluttering as he stared down at you – eyes full of rage. Lust and love were nowhere to be seen as he shoved two fingers between your lips, forcing your sounds to cease. You sucked as best as you could, offering the little energy you had to spare as your body shook beneath him.

The legs of the table creaking so loudly you were certain that it would break, the wood shaking and squeaking as it scraped against the flooring

Jayce’s breaths were ragged and heavy, moans choking in his throat as his cock fucked you in a tireless pace and he stared down at the way your breasts bounced with each hard snap of his hips. Your heels dug into the small of his back, thighs squeezing as the walls of your pussy clenched around him, silently begging for more.

He pulled his fingers from your mouth, and you gasped for air, the hand around your throat moving to massage your tits, instead pinching at your nipples hard enough that you squealed. You caught your breath and your eyes rolled into the back of your head. It was an incessant amount of pleasure and touch, leaving your body weak and near-limp.

Tears stung your eyes again, and you lifted a tired arm so your delicate hand caressed his bearded jaw. A gentle touch you had longed for since he stormed through the doors a different man that you’d seen him last.

“I… missed you,” you croaked between his unabating thrusts, whimpering voice catching in your throat with each deep send of his hips.

Jayce cringed back from your touch, flinching and twitching like he had before. His hands moved to your hips, stiffening his body and yours as he stared down at you with widened eyes and a newfound expression, as though clarity struck.

For a moment, his eyes flickered. There he was — your Jayce.

“Jayce,” you urged, moving to sit up as your hands rested on his cheeks, “please. Talk to me. I need you.”

His golden eyes grew damp, pupils dilating until they were blown out.

“I’m sorry,” the words croaked from trembling lips as the tears spilled down his cheeks. Emotions took over as he wailed out a sob, arms wrapping around your shoulders as he pulled you into a tight hug, face pressed into the side of your head, “I’m so sorry… sorry.”

You looked at the wall beyond him, your chin over his shoulder, as you listened to his cries and sobs. Your hands pressed against his back, soft and comforting.

He continued to mumble out apologies as you felt his tears stain against your skin.

Under your breath, you shushed him, hand gliding up and down his spine as you allowed him the space to feel. To exist without any negative repercussions, to live through whatever traumas he’d experienced while he was away.

The questions burned deep in your mind, but you bit back the curiosity. Your patience was thoroughly tested, but you could do this for him. You held your lover close and prayed to whatever god that would listen to keep him safe and in your arms. To keep him in your shared apartment, that he wouldn’t leave like he had.

“I love you,” he whimpered, nails clawing down your back and leaving reddened welts behind, “I’m sorry–”

You opened your eyes as he jerked back, watching in fear as he hurriedly put his clothes back on and grabbed the hammer. He was all over the place, leaving you unable to pin down the thoughts racing through his head, “I… I have to take care of it.”

“Take care of what? Jayce? Jayce!” You called out, scrambling to your feet as you chased after him, but your fiancé had already slammed the door in your face.

You whimpered, leaning against the door with your palms flat against the wood. Then you cried and cried for hours – begging that it had only been a bad dream. That the touches and bruises that lingered on your body would disappear much like he had.

You weren’t certain that you could manage any longer. Everything was a mess.

[lupinmoonlight]

Daddy

Masterlist AO3

Summary - You accidentally call Remus "Daddy" while he fucks you and he goes feral. (1,051 words)

Tags - daddy kink, some good girl, porn without plot, smut, rough sex, oral sex (f reader receives), d/s undertones, my grammar, not proof read.

Notes - Throwing this here and RUNNING AWAY BYE I can't believe I wrote this I'm sorry.

"You're so beautiful," Remus whispered, his voice filled with love. "I love you," he said, leaning down to press a gentle kiss to your lips. He took his time, his lips moving tenderly against yours, savouring the softness of your mouth.

His hands began to roam your body, caressing your skin with the lightest touch, as if you were the most precious thing in the world. His fingers traced the curves of your waist, moving slowly up your sides, making you sigh softly. He broke the kiss, his lips trailing down your jaw to your neck, where he placed gentle, lingering kisses. You giggled a bit, the delightful sensation of his beard tickling you.

Remus' hands continued their journey, moving down to the hem of your shirt. He looked into your eyes, seeking permission. You nodded, and with careful movements, he lifted your shirt over your head.

"You're perfect," he said softly, his eyes taking in every detail of your body. He kissed your collarbone, causing you to tangle your fingers in his hair, pulling him closer, craving the connection. His hands moved to your breasts, gently caressing and teasing, eliciting soft moans from your lips. "Remus," you gasped.

"Shh," he soothed, his lips moving lower, kissing a trail down your stomach. "I want to take my time with you."

Your breath hitched as he reached the waistband of your panties, his fingers hooking under the fabric. He looked up at you, his eyes dark with desire. "May I?" he asked, seeking your permission before going further.

"Yes. Please, Remus..." you breathed.

He slid your panties down your legs, his hands lingering on your thighs, savouring the feel of your soft skin. He kissed his way back up, his lips brushing against the sensitive skin of your inner thighs with exquisite slowness.

When he finally reached your core, he took his time, his tongue and fingers working expertly to pleasure you. You moaned, your body arching off the bed as you sought more friction, grinding yourself against his mouth. Remus hummed in delight, moving his tongue in slow, deliberate strokes. His hands held your hips firmly, keeping you in place as he brought you dangerously close to the edge.

Just as you were about to tip over, he stopped. You whimpered in protest. "Remus, please," you begged desperately.

He moved back up, positioning himself between your legs. You could feel him against your lower belly, his cock hard and throbbing. "Are you ready for me?" he asked softly.

"Yes," you breathed, nodding frantically.

Remus guided himself to your entrance, pausing to savour the moment. He pressed a soft kiss to your lips as he slowly pushed into you. You gasped, your hands gripping his shoulders as he filled you completely.

"You feel so good," he murmured against your lips.

Remus began to move, his thrusts slow and deliberate. You whimpered, your body adjusting to him. He buried his face in your neck, his fingers tangling in your hair softly. "So perfect for me," he breathed, thrusting himself deeper. He continued to move slowly, his hips rocking gently against yours.

"Daddy..."

The word slipped out of your mouth before you could stop it and you regretted it instantly.

Remus froze, pulling back slightly to look at you. "What did you call me?" he asked, his voice surprisingly controlled.

You blushed furiously, trying to look away. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean-"

"Say it again," Remus ordered, turning your face back towards his.

"Daddy," you whispered hesitantly.

"Fuck..." he breathed roughly. The effect was instantaneous. His eyes darkened with a feral intensity, a low growl escaping his lips as he flipped you onto your stomach, raising your hips roughly.

"You want to call me Daddy?" he growled. "Then you'll take everything Daddy gives you."

He thrust back into you with a force that made you gasp, his grip on your hips tight and unyielding. You cried out, the feeling of him both pleasurable and deliciously painful. "Remus-"

"No," he interrupted sharply. "Not Remus. Daddy."

"Daddy," you repeated through a whimper.

"Good girl," he growled, his pace relentless. Each thrust was demanding, deep, hard, his grip on your hips bruising. "You feel so fucking good," he groaned. "So tight and perfect for Daddy."

You moaned pathetically, your body arching back to meet his movements. "Daddy, please," you whimpered.

"That's it. Take all of me. Show Daddy how much you need this."

Your whimpers soon turned into cries as you neared the edge. "I'm so close."

"Such a good girl. Come for me," he growled. "Show Daddy how good he makes you feel."

His words, his pace, his depth, were enough to send you right into oblivion. Your body shuddered as you came around him, your walls tensing and relaxing with each wave of your climax.

"Ahh, fuck," Remus moaned as he felt you clench around him. "I'm going to come," he groaned. "Daddy's going to fill you up."

He held himself as deep as he could, his hips bucking uncontrollably as he spilled himself inside you. "Fuck," he breathed.

You felt a wet, sticky warmth starting to leak out of you as his cock still pulsated with the remnants of his orgasm. Remus was panting and sweaty, barely able to keep himself up. Once he gathered his strength, he slowly pulled out and collapsed next to you, utterly spent.

You lay there, your back to him, absolutely unable to look at him.

Remus chuckled softly and turned you around gently. "Look at me, love," he murmured.

You slowly lifted your eyes to meet his, but then quickly tried to hide your face in his chest, the embarrassment too much to bear. Remus laughed. "No hiding," he said, cupping your face and lifting it so your eyes met again.

He studied you for a moment, his eyes filled with a mix of amusement and affection. "So...Daddy, huh?" he teased.

You groaned, covering your face with your hands. "Remus, please," you mumbled, your voice muffled.

"Hey," he said, gently pulling your hands away from your face. "I'm not making fun of you. It just surprised me-"

"Well, it certainly didn't seem like you hated it," you retorted playfully.

Remus laughed again, pulling you close and kissing the top of your head. "Quite the contrary," he admitted.

[navybrat817]

Can lumberjack Bucky keep me warm? 🥺

He'd love to, nonnie.

A Warm Embrace

Pairing: Lumberjack!Bucky Barnes x Female Reader Summary: Bucky teases you as he keeps you warm. Word Count: Over 600 Warnings: Fluff, cuddling, pet names, slight feels (it's me), Bucky Barnes (he's a warning, okay?). A/N: Are you lovelies sick of my fluff? Sorry, but Burly and Bambi are sweet.❤️ Not beta read and written on my phone, so any and all mistakes are my own. Please follow @navybrat817-sideblog for new fics and notifications. Comments, reblogs, feedback are loved and appreciated!

You couldn't sleep. Not with how cold you were. The thick blanket tucked around you should've been more than enough to keep you warm, but it didn't stop your teeth from chattering. The howling wind outside sent another shiver down your spine as you tried to burrow yourself deeper into your bed. Maybe you should've thrown another log on the fire.

Better yet, you should've just camped out in front of the fireplace instead of stubbornly going to the bedroom.

“Stupid cold,” you grumbled to yourself, rubbing your face against the pillow when gentle footsteps approached the bed.

Your eyes flew open when the mattress dipped behind you, a warm weight enveloping your back under the blanket before a heavy arm curled around you. “Can hear your teeth chatting from the other room, Bambi,” a deep voice rumbled.

The tremble that rolled through your body had nothing to do with the cold when Bucky rubbed his soft beard against your neck. “I slipped on the ice one time,” you muttered.

He chuckled before he kissed the back of your neck, tracing the path his beard made as you bit your lip. “Yeah, but you tried so hard to stay upright before gravity took you out. Just like Bambi.”

“I’ll have you know that I fell very gracefully,” you said before he turned your body toward him, your heart racing as you came face-to-face with the lumberjack.

Bucky was the captivating sort of handsome, the type that made people stop in their tracks when they caught a glimpse of him. From his lush brown hair to the depths of his intelligent and striking blue eyes, it was like an angel carved him out specifically for you. But what was beautiful about him came from within and shined through the surface.

Even when he teased you.

“I watched the whole thing, darling, and you were about as graceful as a baby deer,” he said, his azure eyes filled with glee when you narrowed yours. “Again, just like Bambi.”

“You know, you’re lucky you’re cute, Burly. And warm,” you said, tearing your gaze away from his pretty eyes to stare at his broad chest. Of course, he walked around the cabin shirtless while you couldn’t stop shaking. How was he so hot? Body and looks wise?

Was it a rule that lumberjacks were sin incarnate clad in packages of plaid shirts and tight pants with sturdy bodies underneath?

“So, you do think I’m cute,” he teased, your stomach flipping as you smiled at his words. Of course, you did. “Come here.”

You buried your face in his chest as his arm tightened around you, molding your body against his as you sought out more of his warmth. He rested his chin on the top of your head as your shaking eventually stopped, his calloused hand roaming along your back with immense care. All you wanted to do minutes ago was sleep, but now he was holding you and pushing a thick thigh between your legs and all you wanted to do was bask in his attention.

Maybe ride his thigh, too.

“You’re right, you know,” he said.

You tried to lean back as much as you could to get a good look at him, but didn’t want any space between the two of you in case you started shivering again. “Right about what?”

He brought his hand to your cheek as his lips curled in a small smile. “I am lucky,” he whispered, helping you tilt your head so he could kiss you, slow and deep.

And lucky for you, your lumberjack would always be by your side.

Because I need another AU, right? SHH. Love and thanks for reading! ❤️

Masterlist ⚓ Bucky Barnes Masterlist ⚓ Ko-Fi

[ivy-loves-chocolate]

𝙸𝚜 𝚑𝚎 𝚊 𝚍𝚘𝚖 𝚘𝚛 𝚊 𝚜𝚞𝚋?

⋆ ˚｡⋆୨ N o t e ୧⋆ ˚｡⋆ This is a little draft that I've been working on for a while. I'm so sorry for the low activity. I didn't feel good because of uni. I'm in my last year of university, and it's draining me mentally lol. Anyway, I'll try to post often from now on. I hope you like this! Reblogs and comments are very appreciated!

If you want to support/commission me visit my ko-fi page. Thank you!

dom

definitely has a choking and a size kink.

Is into BDSM. Has a red room, which he shares with you.

He loves when you are needy for his touch or for his cock. He likes to tease you before giving you what you want.

Office sex is on a daily basis since he is busy all the time and barely home. He’ll hold your ass up while he slams inside you repeatedly, filling you over and over until you feel like exploding.

He also has a breeding kink. For him, you’re a superior human being just like him, and he intends to continue his bloodline with a worthy partner like you.

Speaking of which, he is very open about his kinks and expects the same from you.

He loves when you're under him, all needy and whiny, with tears falling down your cheeks as you scream his name and beg for more.

He can be rough, but only if you want him to be. He is aware of his strength and doesn’t want to hurt you.

He likes to see your pretty face and the many grimaces you make as he pleasures you.

He loves to see your eyes rolling and your mouth wide open.

Something tells me he is a sub.

has a size kink and a phone sex one (because he is gone on missions for months, and when he misses you, he just calls you for that naughty time).

likes it when you talk dirty to him.

He is also into roleplay.

This guy tried to be dom for once and ended up using the safe word for himself because he was afraid of hurting you.

He is not into very kinky stuff, but he won't say no if you want to try something bold. Just give him a heads-up.

loves to please his mistress. He doesn't mind if you mark or scratch him.

loves to be called "captain."

Likes to go down on you. There’s something that turns him on whenever you moan his name or when your fingers are tangled between his hairs.

He loves when you come all over his face and smear his beard and chin with your juice.

switch

It depends on his mood,e honest. tbh

Likes the doctor/patient roleplay and has no shame in using the labs from his work.

You two definately fucked after getting rid of the las plagas. It's ironic that you moan on the very same chair you used to scream in pain.

He loves to have you on top, regardless of whether he’s a dom or a sub.

You keep tracing the scar on his chest with your fingers whenever you see it because you think it looks very sexy on him. It also turns you on.

He loves to give oral sex. He'll bury his face between your legs every time he gets the chance. He’ll eat you out on every surface possible and in every pose. Desk, operator table, bed, kitchen counter, everywhere

He loves when you order him around.

"Does my pretty mistress require my services?"

You can't work together because you'll end up fucking.

It's the pretty boyfriend that spits in your mouth.

Very possesive. If he sees someone flirting with you, he'll make sure to remind you to whom you belong.

dom

This man has no shame when it comes to marking you. He’ll leave hickeys in visible spots (neck, shoulder) and in hidden ones (waist, thigh, and ass, which is his favorite spot to mark).

Has a roleplay kink too. His favorite scenarios are either government agent/rescued civilian or government agent/secret spy (for obvious reasons).

You’re definitely fucking in his office from the White House. You’ve been bent over that desk more than over your own bed.

Likes to go deep, so deep that it hits your cervix.

While you’re bent over, he’ll pull you by your hair and bring you closer to his face. He’ll whisper dirty things to you, which will only turn you on more.

Leon loves when you blow on him, and moreover, he loves the sight of his cock slowly disappearing into your mouth. You’ll pull some sinful moans and whimpers out of him.

Likes to be called "Mister Kennedy."

Has a hair-pulling kink.

If not bent over his desk, he likes to have you on top of him. He’ll praise you for the beautiful work you’re doing. With hands on your thighs, he’ll guide your body as you ride him.

Switch

He has a punny mouth, and you'll have to punish him a lot. He doesn't mind, though, and sometimes he does it on purpose.

He'll have you sitting on his face for breakfast, dinner, and lunch.

He is extremely possessive, so when you come home, he'll make sure to remind you that you belong to him and him only.

Has moments when he talks very dirty and moments when you are his "princess."

"Oh, look at you, such a slut for my cock. You want Daddy inside you that bad, huh?"/ "Oh princess, you don't have to beg; I'm right here for your needs."

He will definitely slap your ass and will be very satisfied to see a red mark in the shape of his hand appear on your flesh.

It fucks you deep, so deep that your body goes numb and your toes curl.

He loves when you use him for your own pleasure.

Loves to make a mess, especially over your chest.

Is into roleplay

Can be very sweet, and aftercare is a must. He'll wash up the mess he made and massage your sore body.

dom

Has a knife and a size kink

Will pull out his knife and run the blade across your body. You’ll feel the cold blade running from your neck, between your breasts, or on your inner thighs. He’ll chuckle deviously while you squirm under his touch.

Likes to fuck you with his fingers. He loves to see how his fingers slowly disappear into your tight cunt. They’re thick, and you can barely take two of them.

He is a strong guy, and he enjoys pinning you down and pushing that cock inside you. Wall sex is among his favorites.

has a major praise kink. The slightest praise will get him over the edge, and he'll start thrusting like an animal inside you. He'll also become very vocal and demand that you keep praising him.

He loves when you struggle to take him.

He isn't that much into bondaje, but he won't say no if you ask him nicely.

He'll bite you and won't care if he marks you. He knows that you enjoy it, though.

"Just look how this little cunt of yours clench around me whenever I bite you. How interesting..."

dom

Will use his metal-bending powers in bed to make handcuffs or bend the metal frame to hold your hands.

Has a bondage kink, obviously. Likes to tie you up and show how helpless you are in his touch.

He also loves to tease you until you beg him with tears in your eyes to let you orgasm.

He loves when you get so desperate for his attention that you basically beg him to fuck you.

He loves when you climb on his lap while he works and then start to rub your cunt over his bulge.

"You'll have to work harder for that kitten."

Oh, this bitch

He loves when you give him a hug while he is at the desk. He'll occasionally stop his work to grab your hair and buckle his hips to fuck your pretty mouth.

He can be sweet, although that happens very rarely.

He loves when you make yourself pretty for him; he goes feral when he sees you in lingerie.

sub

He loves when you’re in control of him and tell him what to do.

When you give attention to his neck, he turns into a needy, whimpering mess.

Doesn’t mind if you mark him.

He plays it tough at first, but all that tough guy act disappears when you take him in your mouth.

Likes to be spanked and cuffed.

He loves when you mark him because he wants people to see that he belongs to you.

He can't get enough of your touch; he is addicted.

He can get clingy at times, but you don't mind. He is like a little puppy.

Definitely walked him with a leash around the house at some point.

Loves to give you oral. You'll find him crawling between your legs while you do your tasks, and he won't leave until you orgasm.

He loves when you pull his hair, and you'll hear or feel him moaning the harder you pull.

Tag-list: @lunarastrobabe@shadow-wolf510@skylar-todd@alewesker@rokurodokuro@brownsugarwrites (if you want to be added DM me 🤗)

[jobean12-blog]

You and Me

Pairing: Joel Miller x reader

Word Count: ~600

Summary: It's just you and Joel...living in every moment you have.

Author's Note: I'm in my feels today and I heard the song "You and Me" by Lifehouse today and I've been thinking about the premiere of TLOU 2 tonight and I just don't know...I mean I know...but I don't. I'M FINE!...ugh. It's just a small blurb. Anyway, come feel stuff with me. Thank you all so much for reading! Much love always! ❤️❤️❤️Divide by the lovely @firefly-graphics thank you Daisy! 🥰

Warnings: There's a joke in here! And cookies! And softness but it definitely has an angsty feel-which is just mirroring my own feels.

💕PS NO spoilers obviously...

The streets are quiet as night approaches. Everyone is already locked up inside the promising safety of their houses.

You reach the edge of town and climb the ladder at the wall, careful with your footing, and when you reach the top you see him sitting on the small defensive outpost, only the shadows cast from the dying afternoon light surrounding him.

Step by quiet step, you make your way toward him, balancing the small paper plate in your hand and willing the wind not to rip it free.

“What are you doin’ out here darlin’?” he asks, his gaze focused on the expanse of land below.

You set the plate down and sit next to him.

“I made cookies.”

He glances at the cookies, then leans in and brushes his mouth over yours before grabbing one.

“Thank you.”

The cold seeps into your clothes and you note the heavy gray clouds moving in from the west.

“It’s already snowing over the mountains,” you say quietly. “I bet we get at least eight inches tonight.”

“Maybe more if you’re good.” The corners of his lips lift as he brings the cookie to his mouth.

“Did you just…make a joke? A dick joke?”

“You’re talkin’ about the weather,” he counters, taking a bite then holding it up to your mouth.

“Just thought you might want to talk about something…normal.”

You take the offered bite then watch him take another. A long moment passes before you rise to the challenge in his eyes and ask, “What are you out here thinking about?”

He’s quiet for so long the first flakes of snow start to descend, and you move the cookies out of the way to scoot closer to him, pressing yourself against his side.

“I’m scared.” His admission is all but a whisper and you tuck yourself closer.

He lifts his arm and curls it around you, the scruff on his jaw thick with days of unkempt growth and the coldness of his beard tickling your skin as he buries his face in your neck and breathes deeply.

You give him no reply because there isn’t one and when the cold finally chills you to your bones you both retreat, leaving whatever the future holds behind you as best you can.

The house is warm despite the chill still clinging to your body and when you come out of the bathroom to find him already in bed and waiting, it takes all your resolve not to throw yourself toward him.

He’s moved your discarded book to the nightstand, holding your page with one of his small knives. The thoughtfulness of his gesture makes a small smile play upon your lips.

He pulls the covers on your side away and holds them up.

“Are you okay?”

“I am now.” His voice softens to the tone he only ever uses with you, weakening your knees as he hovers over you and lowers his mouth to yours.

It’s a slow and gentle kiss but even so it heats you from the inside out and when he deepens the pressure you sigh into it, letting the rest of the world disintegrate around you.

Hours later, warm and sated, you lie awake in bed, the brightness of the blanket of snow outside the window making the walls in the room glow.

When you feel him shift and reach out you curl your body around his, and his arm wraps around your back and pulls you closer in a way that can only be described as instinctive, like he’ll be doing it for the next hundred years. You settle against his warmth and lay your head on his chest, above the most comforting sound in the world, his heartbeat.