#my taste buds were still mostly fucked up when i tried it but the after taste held a glimpse of goodness 😭

[toxooz]

What's your favorite flavor of monster? 👀 Pipeline Punch is probably in the top 3 for me.

hmmm since i cant rlly drink monster bc it causes my heart to fuck up even more plus gives me a Bad Time i havent tried too many flavors and most of the ones i have tried taste like straight ass BUT i am drawn to the original flavor like a moth to a flame and i do sense the pink punch one does have potential indeed🤔

[mayrine]

Since I don’t have anyone irl to brainrot to about qsmp I’m writing it here  SO here are my qsmp headcanons that have little to no proof  at all !!!  btw every time i quote something just know that it is from the qsmp wiki

Because Trump was very good at math and Leo wasn't, he would help her with homework (they were also best friends)

Since Trump was very shy, Leo would have to drag him to play with the other eggs but she and trump would often take brakes during playtime when trump felt overwhelmed and Leo would stay with him until he calmed down

Both Trump and Bobby are very round, almost spherical

The reason Fit spoils Ramon so much is because he is sorry for letting him die and now that he has one life left, Fit wants his son to have the best life possible even tho this is making Ramon kinda snobbish

Ramon is lazy because he is scared of going outside. He would rather sleep and stay inside then risk dyeing again. The reason he began going outside besides making his dad less worried is because of  Dapper and Chayanne. But after the kidnaping he is worse then ever. Being scared to even leave his room if fit isn't besides him Because of this, Ramon and Dapper are working on a construction so they can communicate even when they're apart. Chayanne tries to help but, because he doesn't know anything about redstone, he mostly stand to the side and tries not to brake anything

Dapper was a bigger and taller egg then Leo and he would make fun of her for being little. But after hatching, Leo got his dads godly height and is now much taller then dapper and is CONSTANTLY making fun of them

Since Leonarda is dyslexic(and trump can't help them anymore) she has Dapper help her with homework and insist on paying him even tho he told her multiple times that it isn't necessary. In the end Dapper accepts the money but later he gives it to Foolish

Chayanne wants to be like his brother Techno so he dies his hair pink and often tries to talk to the other kind about anarchy before quickly getting stopped by the adults. He is very attached to all the eggs and sees them as his siblings and would do anything to protect them

Richarlyson and Bobby often get into fights before Chayanne has to break them up. After the initial rocky start to their friendship, they became good friend but still keep up a fake rivalry, but the truth is that they deeply care and admire each other. When they fight, the other eggs bet on who would be the winner with Ramon and Leo being the ones that bets the most Richarlyson is the "baby" of the group and he likes that Bobby doesn't treat him like a little kid

Tallulah, just like Chayanne, cares deeply about family. She tries to find out more about Willburs history, but is met with vague answers  that don't satisfy her. She tries to learn as much about the other eggs as possible, even the ones that aren't here anymore and tries to honor them as much as she can. The reason Tallulah beanie red is because she learn that Tilins ribbon was red and wanted to make Quackity a little happier Her taste buds are fucked up because she ate dirt for so long so now she can't taste things She also writes songs about the other eggs

Tilins always wears her ribbon, resulting in it getting very dirty very fast but she still refused to take it down. Quackity has to steal it while she sleeps in order to wash it. But he also has a drawer full of identical red ribbons in case the one that she is currently wearing gets desrtoyed

Flippa is the most extroverted out of the eggs and is always daring the egg to to dangerous things. When Quackity would leave Tilin alone, Flippa would be there to comfort her because she understood what it felt like to not have your parents pay attention to you Slime and Mariana would often fight and would leave the house to cool down, leaving Flippa alone She was the elder queer of the eggs and would help them navigate there gender identity and helping them to come out

ALL of the eggs have autism. Their specials interests being: Tilin - guns, fashion Juanaflippa - bombs, gymnastics Leonarda - photography, building Dapper - reading, animals, collecting stuff Tallulah - music, history Chayanne - combat, potatoes Bobby - combat, painting Richalyson - football      Trump - politics, weapons  Ramon - animals, redstone

The eggs draw on their shells

[seita]

— haikyuu squirting.

includes: oikawa, iwaizumi, matsukawa, hanamaki, kunimi, + kyoutani.

p a r t o n e ;;

⤿ next: t w o

-ˋˏ aoba johsai ˎˊ-

— tooru oikawa.

≻ he has a goal to make you squirt ≻ he thinks it’s super hot and wants you to do it ≻ he honestly will experiment with it every time you have sex ≻ you won’t notice anything different ≻ but one day, he hits this spot inside you ≻ and you just explode and he’s elated ≻ and you’re like ??? ≻ he’s just like “ive been trying to make you do that for a week!!!” ≻ and then he continues on because he wants to bask in the fruits of his labors and make you squirt until you cry~

+

“c’mon baby,” he groans, working his fingers into your spasming cunt. you’re so tight, squeezing him like craze because you’re so close. and he knows your body’s signals like the back of his hand.

“fuck, tooru!” you sob, gripping his wrist with both hands as his fingers fuck your tender g-spot. his jaw as clenched as he watches you. he’s waiting, he can taste it on the tip of his tongue.

your whole body is tense and you’re trembling. your orgasm is so close, it’s dangling right over your head. the coil is taut and it’s growing painful. he continues to fuck his fingers into that sweet little spot that has you sobbing.

you look so beautiful like this, brows drawn together and mouth hanging open as your mind tries to comprehend the overwhelming pleasure he’s bringing you to. he finally brings his thumb to your clit, circling the bud in a few, slow strokes that finally send you flying over the edge.

you scream, thrashing against the bed as he continues to fuck you with his fingers. he nearly cums in his pants when you gush, your cum spraying all over him. he licks his lips, tasting your stray cum on his tongue as he does so. it makes his eyes roll back in his head.

and it isn’t long before you’re forcing his hand away from you, leaving you a trembling, panting mess on his bed.

“what...the fuck, tooru?” you gasp. he only grins in response.

— hajime iwaizumi.

≻ you’ll most likely be the one to bring it up to him ≻ he doesn’t actually quite know much about squirting ≻ he knows that it’s a thing ≻ but he doesn’t think it’s like...doable in real life ≻ he’s just like “oh yeah lmao that just exists in porn” ≻ so when you’re like can u do this-- ≻ he’s like huh? ≻ but he’s 4000% down and will give it his best shot ≻ it’ll take some trial and error ≻ because he has to learn the proper mechanics and angles to make it happen ≻ but when it does, he’s immediately addicted

+

you’re riding him, relishing in his praise as he caresses your pretty body.

“show me how you need it, pretty girl,” he whispers, “you’re gonna make a mess for me tonight, aren’t you?”

you desperately nod, nails digging into his forearms as you bounce. he groans, feeling you drip down his balls. he’s sure there’s a mess beneath him but he can’t be bothered to worry about it now because you’re clenching desperately around him.

“right there, daddy!” you cry, “right there, please! you’re go-gonna make me cum!”

he growls and flips you over, pinning your knees to your chest as he desperately fucks your cunt. you’re creaming so prettily around him that it’s driving him insane.

“play with your clit for me, princess,” he orders, following your hand as you find the bud and eagerly begin circling it.

he angles his thrusts for your g-spot, knowing that’ll be what sends you over. and it works like a charm. soon enough, you’re arching as you find release.

he doesn’t stop like he usually does, he replaces his fingers on your clit and continues to fuck into your spasming little cunt. just like he wanted, you begin gushing. you squirm, unable to escape his hold as he continues to fuck you until you’re made a complete mess for him.

— issei matsukawa.

≻ it’s completely accidental ≻ his dick is honestly just too fucking big ≻ that when you cum it’s explosive ≻ you always cum super hard for him when you’re stuffed full of his cock ≻ he honestly ADORES that you have such a fierce reaction to him ≻ it boosts his ego ≻ especially if you praise him while he makes you gush everywhere~

+

“you’re making such a slutty face,” he grins, watching as you arch your hips for more. he’s fucking you so well and it makes you lose your mind.

“i’m getting close,” you warn, making him arch a brow.

“i’ve only just started,” he teases, enjoying the look of humiliation that crosses your face at his words, “tell me you’re a whore for my cock and maybe i’ll let you cum.”

you break immediately, “i’m a whore for your cock, issei!” you cry, making him grin, “please, please only you can make me feel like this. only you can make me cum like this!”

“what a good little bitch i have,” he chuckles, speeding up his pace.

you can’t even take all of his cock but you continue to work your hips as if you could if you try hard enough. your eyes roll back in your head and you plead with him in babbled whimpers that absolutely drive him wild. he knows you’re dangling on the edge but you’re holding back because you’re his good girl. and he’s so proud of you so he decides to reward you.

“go on then, pretty girl,” he groans, “cream on my cock like a good little girl.”

except when you cum, it’s not like any of your previous orgasms. it’s wetter. and the more he fucks you, the wetter it gets until you’re absolutely gushing around him. after a few seconds, you push him away. when his cock pops out of your cunt, and you immediately squeal as you squirt all over him.

you’re still trembling by the time he works his cock back into your cunt. he grins, “did that feel good, pretty girl?” to which you nod, “good because you’re going to do that again and again until i’m satisfied.”

— takahiro hanamaki.

≻ he knows what it is and how to do it ≻ but he never actually executes it ≻ mostly because of the mess ≻ he’s not a huge fan of messes ≻ but if it’s something you want him to do ≻ it needs to be discusses before your um...session ≻ so that way he can put a towel down to minimize the mess ≻ he’s always pleased with the way you tremble and react so beautifully. ≻ he still doesn’t do it too often tho

+

the towel was growing wetter the longer he fucked you with his fingers. his spit, lube, and your own natural arousal only serving to make a complete mess. he was going slow, it was an agonizing place. switching between forceful thrusts against your g-spot and simply grinding the tips of his two fingers against it; it was only serving to drive you mad.

tears had long since started falling down your cheeks. he thought you looked prettiest like that; eyes red and pitiful little sniffles coming from you as you cried for more.

he knew what you wanted, what you needed. but he was content with torturing you. you were so cute when you were distraught and he couldn’t help but send you a boyish smile that made your face crumple in frustration. it was so easy to rile you up.

“want me to make you ucm now, sweet girl?” he coos, pulling his fingers from your cunt to playfully smack your neglected clit.

your thighs jump at the stimulation before nodding desperately. it didn’t take long for the desperate pleas that he had been waiting for to begin falling from your lips, “please daddy, please. i’ll do anything just please make me cum!”

he grins, “such pretty words,” he coos, nodding his head, “anything?”

“anything daddy please!” you cry and he groans in response.

“then make a mess for me, baby,” he orders, finally fucking your tight cunt the way you need to fall over the edge.

and you do so beautifully, gushing and squirting all over him. he groans at the sight of finally getting what he wanted. you tremble and sob just for him and he never wants to forget the sight of you falling apart perfectly for him all because of his fingers.

— kentaro kyoutani.

≻ he actually brings it up to you!!! ≻ but he knows that it’s a thing ≻ he just doesn’t know if it’s something you want to experiment with or not ≻ and he’s not willing to just do it and surprise you ≻ when you agree ≻ he goes feral ≻ he absolutely loves making a complete mess out of you ≻ he already does it well enough on his own ≻ but NOW there’s an actual...mess to clean up.

+

your face is buried in the pillow, muffling your sobs and cries of pleasure. his hand is pressed on the small of your back, making sure you’re presented just right for him.

he’s quiet as usual, short grunts and the occasional filth falling from his lips so perfectly, “so tight, you’re dripping.”

“only for you,” you promise breathlessly, making him grin. if you had seen it, you’d see the sadistic pleasure in it.

“that’s right, babygirl,” he groans when you clench around his cock at the sound of the petname.

you were so easy to read and so easy to satisfy. it drove him crazy. leaning over your body, he fisted your hair to keep you pinned as he began to piston into your pretty cunt, tearing cries of untold pleasure into the pillow.

he’s able to make out the warning for your impending orgasm and reaches beneath your body to find your clit. he slaps his fingers harshly against the bud. it’s the final action that sends you over the edge.

your body lurches forward, forcing his cock from your clamping cunt. he groans when he looks down to see you squirting everywhere. he rubs across your clit quickly, splattering your cum everywhere until you’re sobbing for him to stop.

“you’re such a sloppy little bitch,” he growls, forcing his cock back into your sensitive cunt.

— akira kunimi.

≻ another one who doesn’t try ≻ but it’s mostly out of laziness ≻ if you squirt, it’s gonna be 99% you 1% him ≻ he digs it tho ≻ he’ll make sure you know that he finds it really hot that you got yourself so worked up over his cock that you couldn’t help but make a mess!!

+

you’re bracing yourself on his shoulders as he holds your hips tightly. soft moans and cries of his name escape your lips as you ride him, his cock filling you up so perfectly while he doesn’t do anything. he lets you do as you please, merely helping you keep your balance along with occasionally cupping your pretty tits that bounce perfectly in his face.

“i’m gonna cum,” you gasp suddenly, shoving a hand between your thighs to circle your clit.

he nods, a lazy smile crossing his face, “yeah, baby, play with that pretty clit and cum for me.”

you whine, your head falling back as you sob through your pleasure. it comes in waves, making you tremble and cling to him as your high washes over you.

he curses, suddenly pounding into you from beneath you. you squeal, clawing at his shoulders as you gush around him, making a complete mess over his cock and abdomen.

he laughs as he falls limp, staring at the dripping cum you left all over him, “is my cock that good that you just make a huge fuckin’ mess? hm? i didn’t even have to do anything,” suddenly, he slaps your thigh, “keep riding me, want you to do that again.”

«────── « ⋅ʚ♡ɞ⋅ » ──────»

© all content belongs to seita 2020. do not modify or repost.

[whirlybirbs]

          (   this chapter’s gif by @august-walker​ from this beautiful set !   )

✪   —   VACANT MIRRORS  ;  B.B.  |  4/?

summary: you formulate a plan, meet steve rogers, and bucky goes on a date.

pairing: bucky barnes / f!reader

tags: set before & during tfatws, friends to lovers, therapy positive, trauma healing techniques, ptsd mentions, the normalization of anxiety disorders, and a good ol’ slow burn

word count: 6.8k, mother of pearl

a/n: this ended up being mostly a filler with a lot of romantic growth - i had to break this chapter up from the unce unce unce clubbing that coming up, so please enjoy! 

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MOSCOW, 1975.

In all the years that James Buchanan Barnes has had a heartbeat, he’d come to know the sounds of grief well.

War taught him a lot of things — that they were all just little boys playing with guns, and that no matter how many times you thought you’d be ready for the vomit-inducing pungency of violence, you never were. In the end, you’d do anything to save yourself; you’d crawl through the thick of death and debris a million times over if only to cling to the shredded tatters of your own humanity.

You would kill someone else’s son for the sake of your own mother.

War was disease that devoured every part of you — it was gunpowder snuff and carved flesh. That sickness — inky and desperate — had sunk deep into this heart during the war, and it crescendoed to the sounds of mothers clutching dead sons. The sounds that followed death were like a hollow opera. Waning and wailing.

In the raucous wake left by warborn grief, Bucky drowned everytime.

To the Winter Soldier, the operatic quality to the sounds of grief were as insignificant as a child’s rhyme.

He did not drown. No, he waded through the waves, comfortable in the cold and unphased by the stinging cut of loss. That was not something he could comprehend. After all, there were orders and there were targets, and everything in between was absolute.

He was the disease that devoured all.

He’s holding a gun to Andrei Kuznetzov’s head in a dining room with ornate trim — with silverware as delicate as scalpels that tinker against fine china. The carpets are red, the curtains are red, there’s blood on the table cloth. The guests continue to eat. Kuznetzov’s wife is screaming, red nails dug so deep into the dining chair’s arms it’s carving out the fabric. War dogs, like him, keep her rooted in her seat, and her tears find polished boots. She’s begging and bartering but the man with Kuznetzov’s life in his hands is not listening. He is eating his veal, bloodied meat dancing between his lips. He takes a sip of wine as his medal emblazoned chest glimmers in the light of crystalline chandaliers.

The spoils of war.

His smile is stained red.

There is no deal to be made.

The Winter Soldier pulls the trigger.

NOW.

His eyes are open.

Panic is the first emotion he feels, and it seizes him up quickly in its grasp. He doesn’t know this view, he doesn’t know where he is, not again, not again, not again —

Then:

“Good morning, sleeping beauty. Did you know you snore?”

The relief that the sound of your voice brings is immediate, and just like that he remembers. He’s laying on the bed. You’re sat up across from him at that small desk in the corner. He reaches as he rubs his face to thumb the edge of the pillowcase. He exhales tightly.

He’s fine. His name is James Buchanan Barnes. He is not longer the Winter Soldier. He’s in his Brooklyn apartment. He is fine.

When’s the last fucking time he’s slept in a bed?

He sits up, scratching his neck as he does. You lean back, half rotated in the desk. Before you is a mess of papers and his laptop — and on top of the keyboard sits his notebook. It’s open to the page where all he’d been able to figure out about Innessa was scrawled in his chicken scratch.

Bucky swings his legs over the edge of the bed and immediately his back complains.

“How long was I out?” he asks, voice hoarse with sleep. He moves to part the curtains. The room blooms with warm morning light.

You offer an apologetic smile into the vanilla sunshine. “Three hours. I wanted you to get some shut eye. You were starting to look a little overwhelmed last night—”

“You click too fast,” he waves, standing and immediately rolling his neck to the side. You watch as the man, before as peaceful as a sleeping pup, now regains his usual thinning veiled level of threat. Bucky is dangerous — it shows in the way he holds himself. He cracks his neck, rolls his shoulders, and groans. He exhales again, posture sagging a bit, “I couldn’t keep up.”

You’re standing now, socks padding against the hardwood as you eye his cowlick with a budding bloom of affection. With his notebook between your index and middle finger, you offer it out. You cling to your empty coffee cup in the other.

“I didn’t peek,” you say warmly, “Pinky promise.”

His laugh is more like a hot puff of air. Bucky manages a look that feels like an emotional dethaw.

“Thank you.”

You lead the way to the kitchen, stretching your own back as you go. You’d been up all night — this is your third trip out here for yet another cup of coffee. The pot has been on for too long, though, and you know the coffee sitting there is beyond bitter. You’re moving to dump it down the sink when Bucky grumbles.

“Don’t.”

“You want it?”

“No,” he mutters, reaching for a mug, “But I don’t want to waste it.”

“Wow,” you chirp, “The Great Depression just jumped out.”

“Yeah,” he snorts, yanking open the fridge to search for something to eat, “It does that.”

“Well, grandpa,” you hand him the steaming cup and set out to make another pot, “You’re also living on Depression Era rations — might I suggest some Dolly’s? Because I’m starving and I’ve been up all night and I think that means I get to decide where we get breakfast.”

Bucky’s look is soft — but you don’t see it. You’re too busy scooping sugar into your cup, too busy nudging him aside to grab the milk. He’s rooted there in the kitchen, watching you move about. You’re comfortable. There isn’t a trace of anxiousness in you, not in this moment, and he tries to remember what it looks like.

Your eyes find his and he clears his throat.

“Earth to Sergeant Barnes?”

“Don’t start,” he groans, albeit playfully, “It’s too early.”

“Oh, what? Too early for me to grill you on why you didn’t tell me that little laptop in there was on loan from the FBI? To one Sergeant James Buchanan Barnes of the 107th?”

His face falls.

“Don’t worry,” you raise a hand quickly, leaning against the counter as you sip your coffee, “I figured that out before I did anything massively illegal.”

Bucky rubs his face as he takes a sip of his coffee — the bitterness is enough to slap him awake. He winces, swallows it back, and remembers the taste of instant coffee made in helmets on the line in Bastogne. He can smell snow, and the acrid sting of mortar smoke. Suddenly, he’s craving a cigarette.

That hasn’t happened in a while.

Bucky clears his throat. “Did you find anything?”

You frown slightly, lips pulled as you hide your inward disappointment — you push off from the counter and shake your head as you brush past him. Like a loyal dog, Bucky follows. Into the bedroom you go, and Bucky’s again surprised he managed to get any sleep at all in that bed. Maybe it was the comfort of having someone else there, or the genuine exhaustion that had finally choked him out after hours of trying to understand what the hell you were even doing on there.

You plop into the desk chair and snatch up a piece of paper littered with notes.

“I couldn’t do much of my usual snooping,” you explain gently as you gesture to the chromebook, “This thing might have been given to you in good faith, but they’re watching you pretty closely. So, I worked a little magic and ended up running a virtual machine. Gave me enough wiggle room to avoid the malware and keystroke trackers. Even still, I wanted to be careful, so I just did a little looking.”

“Looking?”

“I can’t dig deeper on Innessa, I know where to dig, but I can’t,” you frown, “Not on this laptop, and definitely not on my personal machines. I’ve got the GRC breathing down my neck, and the files I need to poke are very much off-limits.”

“So, what? We’re shit out of luck?”

“No, not entirely,” you stand up and motion to the paper in your hands; your tone is tight, “I know a few people who can help, but getting to them is going to be the hardest part.”

Bucky takes the paper, squinting at the writing as you settle on the edge of the bed next to him. You take a sip of your coffee and watch as his blue eyes dart across the notes; you point to the name scrawled across the top.

“There’s a club in lower Manhattan, but you’ve gotta know the right people to get in,” you mumble, scratching your cheek as a creeping sense of embarrassment bubbles up behind your words, “It’s in the basement of an old computer repair shop. It’s like a blackhat networking event, but with strippers.”

Bucky squints at the paper and reads the name. “The Glass Cannon?”

“Yeah,” you huff, crossing your arms tightly as you stand, “That’s the one.”

Bucky looks up from the paper, attention now rooted on the pacing you’ve begun to do across the room. Back and forth. You’re holding your coffee like a lifeline, gaze far away. That anxiousless way you’d been holding yourself before is gone. Now, he can see the tensing in your shoulders, in your fingers. You’re suddenly nervous.

Bucky stands. His voice is gentle.

“You alright?”

“Yeah,” you snap almost immediately, “Just, y’know. Worried. I spent a lot of time there when I was younger. Did stupid shit. And now I’m about to waltz in after six years like I haven’t put that part of my life behind me.”

“We don’t have to do this,” he says immediately, moving to stand closer and halt your pacing. The invasion of your space forces you to look at him. His fingers glimmering in the morning light. You follow the line of his figure up to his eyes. The emotion there makes your heart clench. You can’t pin it down, and it’s gone in an instant.

“It’s the only way we’re going to find Innessa.”

“You don’t need to put yourself in situations like this for me,” he says, stressing the for me part in both expression and tone. The depreciation makes you wince and you’re fast to shake your head.

“That’s what friends do, Bucky,” you stand your ground, but you know there’s more to your reasoning than that, “Plus, she’s a bad guy. And I know you said I technically wasn’t the sidekick, but—”

“You’re not the sidekick—”

“I know,” you huff, nudging him gently with your arm, “But, I wanna help. Do some good.”

“You do enough good,” he mutters, “You’re a good person.”

Your words fail you at that — and your mouth parts but nothing comes out. Bucky watches with an expression as solid as rock as you blink and look away. His hand, the one of flesh and bone, finds your wrist as you tighten your grip on your mug.

The touch, though far too tender for you to handle, feels like fire.

Like a slap in the face, you’re reminded of how handsome Bucky is.

You slap that thought back, trading volleys, and remain quiet.

His tone is stern. “I mean it.”

“Well,” you finally muster, tone dipping sardonically into a cruel peel of humor, “Just wait until you see me in my natural habitat. Maybe the tequila shots will make you second guess that.”

“I didn’t know we were going out drinking,” he chirps as he raises an eyebrow, “Am I going to need to get you a leash?”

“We’re gonna have to try and blend in as best we can. People are going to know me — if they try to pin me with the GRC or the feds, we aren’t going to get anything on Innessa. They probably won’t even let me in the building if they suspect something’s up, after all not everything that goes down in Glass Cannon is kosher.”

“This is already sounding like a bad idea,” Bucky mumbles as he crosses his arms, “I’m stating that for the record, by the way.”

“Well, I think standing around and working ourselves up about this is even worse of an idea,” you chirp back, moving towards the door to muscle on your shoes, “So I say we feed ourselves and don’t worry about this until Thursday night.”

“Thursday.”

You nod.

All of a sudden, Bucky’s eyes go wide.

“Today is Sunday.”

You freeze, hand on the doorframe. You shoot him a wide-eyed look at the sudden flare of panic that’s shot up through him. “Yea, Bucky, today is Sunday.”

“Shit.”

“What?” you nearly cry as he disappears into the bedroom once more. You hear his closet open, then a clatter as he grabs something like keys — you nearly run directly into his chest when he strides back into the kitchen. He’s shouldered on his usual leather jacket, and in his hands is another.

He’s got keys in his hand.

“C’mon.”

He shoves the jacket into your arms and you frown.

“What the hell?” you cry, doubling back to snag your phone and bag as Bucky moves to the door, “What is this?”

“Put it on,” he says, holding open the door for you as you follow him into the apartment hallway.

You raise a brow and stand there as he locks the door.

“Why?”

“Because,” Bucky mumbles, rubbing his face as he widens his strides to the stairwell across the hall; before you know it, you’re desperately trying to keep up as he bounces down the steps — light on his feet like the boxer he is — towards the lower level of the apartment complex, “We’re late.”

You groan, trying to shrug on the jacket that smells like Bucky as you follow — a smell you’d come to know as clean laundry and sandalwood. Must be something for his hair. He never wore cologne, that much was apparent. The jacket is big on you, especially on the shoulders. You were swimming in it, trying not to trip as he held the door open to the garage.

Suddenly, the air is cooler. Immediately you wonder how much his rent is if he had access to a ground level garage. Call it NYC instinct.

“Bucky,” you nearly whine, throwing your head back, “Where are we going?”

Before you get a reply, you run straight into his back. Bucky grunts, moving to grab both of your hands and push you to the front of him.

Sitting in the spot is a motorcycle.

It’s a jet black Harley.

Bucky is handing you the helmet on the back seat as your mouth moves in disbelief. “No way— no, I’m not getting on that thing. I’d rather sell my kidneys. Stop, stop — ow, Bucky — you haven’t even said where we’re going!”

He’s muscling the helmet onto your head and through the flash of the visor you can see a real smile, the sort born out of his never-ending amusement towards your fickle sense of humor. His fingers are nimble against your chin. He takes the time to strap it on, adjust it, and give it a gentle tug. Bucky taps the matte black helmet twice, then flicks the visor down.

“We’re going upstate.”

                                        ◦   ◦   ◦   ◦   

It takes two hours to get to Elmwood Senior Living.

You spent the first forty-five minutes clinging to Bucky’s waist with your eyes closed — no fault of Bucky’s, really. It was different from riding in a car by miles, and you had your own qualms with driving. You couldn’t be in the passenger’s seat anymore. Not after the accident with Jaimie, when Mom disappeared. Being out of control made you itch; and it’s not until the fifty-minute mark that you ease up on the panic and remember who the man is that’s driving the bike.

You trust Bucky. You trust him with your life.

Once it’s open road, winding up towards the Northern part of the state, it gets easier.

Bucky can feel your grip around his waist loosen just a bit — and it’s enough reassurance that he stops looking back in the mirror every fifteen seconds. It’s enough permission to open up on the throttle, and the bike roars alive. Your immediate reaction is a gobsmacked yelp, the sort that’s pulled from a jolt of shock, but then comes the laugh. 

Bucky’s own quiet chuckle rumbles against your chest. You hold on tighter, but this time with open palms against the thrum of his ribs.

Halfway through the trip, he pulls into a McDonald’s.

You drop your ass onto the parking lot’s curb as he leans against the bike and houses a burger. You laugh, eyeing him candidly as you take a large bite from your own lunch. Bucky is a mess with it — cursing quietly when he ends up getting ketchup on his jacket.

“Shit.”

“Jesus, Bucky,” you mutter, “Did you even taste that thing?”

“Barely,” he clears his throat and starts picking at his fries, “These things taste different now. First time I ever had McDonald’s was right before bootcamp.”

“How much was it? Five cents?” you snort, leaning back and dropping a fry into your mouth.

Bucky watches with a half-smirk. “Fifteen, but nice try.”

He spends the next five minutes on his hand with a wet nap, trying hard to get the grease out of the delicate plates along his palm. You watch, as you knock back the rest of your soda, as his eyes crinkle tightly in frustration. His mouth is pulled tightly into a fine line. For the second time today, you’re reminded of how handsome Bucky Barnes is — and how fucking stubborn he is, too.

“Want help?”

“No,” he mutters, trying to get a spot between his thumb and index finger, “I got it.”

“I have smaller fingers,” you sing-song, gathering up his trash and your trash and crossing the parking lot to the bin; upon returning, you waggle them in his face, “Good for hard to reach places.”

Bucky absolutely hates that can feel his blush hit the tips of his ears at the comment.

He’s glad you’re too preoccupied with his hand to notice. You’re watching, like you always do, with respectful awe. To you, this part of him is a bit like a treasure — you find it beautiful and intriguing and incredible. It’s clear in the way you watch the mechanisms turn and tighten that you aren’t frightened by it.

It unsettles Bucky every time.

Finally, once he’s finished under your watchful eyes, he leans to muscle that helmet back over your head. You groan, squinting tightly.

“C’mon,” he knocks your helmet with his knuckles, “We’re almost there.”

The rest of the ride is wide open space, farm land and mountainous peaks looming far ahead. It’s warm, and the sun is hot on your back. The wind is howling around you and it sends your jacket collar flapping against your neck. Your chin rests neatly on Bucky’s shoulder, trying to get a view of the road ahead.

Elmwood Senior Living is tucked into the back of a suburb.

The two of you weave through a neighborhood or two, dancing under the shade of age old maple trees. They cast long, scattered shadows across the pavement as kids play on their lawns. A dog barks somewhere in the distance. Over the hill, church bells ring. Sunday service has ended.

Bucky rolls into the parking lot, past the large sign with swirling lettering. Suddenly, things make more sense. Suddenly, you’re struck with a sinking feeling of grief. Nostalgia. Mourning. But, happiness.

There are folks sitting outside, basking in the sun, tethered to walkers.

Bucky’s wrists crank back weathered knuckles, and slowly the bike rumbles into an open spot. Extending his legs, Bucky balances the bike with ease. You take that as your cue to swing yourself off the back clumsily, hopping a bit. Bucky leans, kicks the stand down, and with significantly more grace than you, swings his leg over.

You’re shrugging his jacket off when he speaks.

“He’s going to be different than how you imagine him.”

You exhale slowly, draping the jacket over the bike’s seat. You peel the helmet off.

“I’ve sort of pieced that together.”

You can see the slight discomfort hanging in his posture. You reach and touch Bucky’s arm.

“Come on,” you nod to the entrance, covered by a shady overhang where someone is helping a family member out of their car, “We don’t wanna be late, huh?”

His eyes soften. Bucky nods.

You walk side-by-side into the lobby of Elmwood Senior Living and it’s like time slows down. It halts in a warm, sunshine colored still — full of chatter, full of humanity, full of wisdom. The room is framed by big windows, by plants, by a man in a U.S. Navy ball cap. He’s stationed by the door, watching the comings and goings. The main desk, where a young woman watches, sits in the corner. You follow Bucky with a content little look. He notices.

He stands a little closer at the main desk. The girl, who looks like she’s incredibly out of place with her blue hair and piercings, is younger than you thought. Highschool, maybe. She offers Bucky an excited smile.

“Took you long enough,” she chirps, moving to sort through a bin to her side with key fobs.

Your brows raise. You spy calculus homework on the desk.

Bucky snorts. “I’m here, aren’t I?”

He notices the same problem set you so, and purposely leans over the desk. Suddenly, you’re seeing flashes of a more boyish version of Bucky — one that reminds you of a man with siblings. Bucky taps the paper, jutting a chin to the girl as she tries to swat his attention away.

“How’d you do on that test?”

“I got a 96,” she chirps pridefully, laughing, “Thanks for the help, nerd.”

You’re watching the entire exchange with a smile, backing up a bit to toss a curious glance over your shoulder. There’s a dining room through open doors — and looks like lunch is just wrapping up. Folks are moving around, back to their rooms or upstairs where you can hear the beginnings of a seated aerobics class begin.

Bucky nudges you with his hand.

“Thanks, Sarah,” he says and waves the key she’d handed over.

The girl with the blue hair scoffs. “Say hi to grandpa for me, Bucket.”

You laugh out loud as Bucky quickly flips her off. She’s quick to do the same.

You follow him around the corner, grinning ear to ear. He spares you a sheepish look, then rolls his eyes.

“What was that?”

“She’s a good kid,” he offers, eyeing the key with the grey little fob attached, “Reminds me of my sister.”

Your face softens. “Sister?”

“Her name was Sarah, too,” he says quietly, boots landing softly on the blue carpet. He’s navigating the residential wing like he’s done it a million times. There are rooms with flowers outside, with holiday garb, with little photos and keepsakes. Each room holds a lifetime of personality — the sound of Jeopardy lulls along in the background.

You hum. Bucky sighs.

He meanders down a long hallway where a different door is — this one heavy and locked by the little keypad. Bucky raises the key fob to the device and the door buzzes.

This side of Elmwood is quieter.

Down the hall, Timmy Dorsey and Sinatra play quietly over someone’s record player.

There aren’t as many folks in the hall in this wing, but doors are open and nurses flit about. Around the corner, there’s a loud conversation going on about lunch — and you watch as Bucky weaves towards the nursing station. It’s a room overlooking the common area with windows. Inside are three women.

One of them immediately jumps when she sees Bucky.

“Oh, good! I was meaning to talk to you—”

“Everything alright?”

“About the same,” she breathes as she stands, moving to grab at a Bucky’s arm with a sense of motherliness that makes you smile, “But, meals have been a bit difficult lately.”

“No kidding,” he mutters, rubbing his chin, “He just doesn’t wanna eat?”

“He thinks Peggy is coming home,” the woman whispers with a pained smile as she begins to lead you both down the hall, “He thinks your grandmother made dinner for him.”

“Right,” Bucky nods, “Doesn’t wanna ruin his appetite.”

“Exactly.”

You take note of the conversation, muddling through your own confusion. You’re quiet, though. This isn’t really your conversation to have. Bucky seems to be relaxed more — even humming slightly to a song that plays across the hall from the room the nurse is knocking on.

“Mr. Carter?” she calls gently, “Your grandson is here to see you, and his…”

She looks expectantly at you. You bawk.

“Friend.”

“Right,” she smiles and pushes open the door.

It’s like a little slice of home.

Sofas, chairs, photos on the walls. There’s a record player in the corner, a television, a coffee table stacked with books on the second world war. There’s a dresser covered in baubles and warm light coming in from the window overlooking the street. It reminds you of your grandparents’ sitting room — everything looks so lived in, so comfortable, so alive.

And then, below the light of the window, is a hospital bed.

In it is Steve Rogers.

Not the one you know — no, this one has lived a full life. This Steve Rogers has fallen in love, owned a home, settled down. This Steve Rogers has years of wisdom settled into his face, years of well-fought fights in his joints. His blonde hair has gone shock white, but his smile is all the same.

“Bucky.”

The way Steve says his name is like the man beside you holds the world.

To Bucky, he can hear a new weakness. A new exhaustion.

“Hi, punk.”

The nurse offers a little wave to you as Bucky ventures into the room, stripping his jacket off and moving to scope out the minifridge in the small kitchenette beside the bathroom. She leaves the door open, and you smile to her softly. Bucky rummages, poking his head up.

“You want a drink, Steve?” he asks, tone almost like he’s feeling out the lucidity of the man across the room, “There’s some of that lemonade I brought last week in here.”

“Sounds good,” he says slowly, “Please.”

You feel out of place — not unwelcome, but… it’s clear that Bucky has come and gone from here a thousand times now. He knows to get the glasses out, to get a straw, to turn down the record player on his way over. Doris Day’s voice lowers to a soft croon. You watch with heavy eyes.

“I brought someone, Steve,” Bucky says, “She’s a big fan.”

“Oh?” Steve asks with a slow look to the corner where you’re standing, “That musta broke your heart.”

Bucky snorts as he moves to swing the hospital bed’s tray over Steve’s lap. He places the lemonade down, then the other glass on the nightstand. He’s quick to move the armchair closer to the nightstand, and gestures for you to come over. Bucky’s hands guide you by the shoulders as he plops you into the chair.

“She’s one of the good ones,” Bucky says, “Reminds me of you.”

“No kidding,” Steve says slowly, offering a hand that shakes, “Steve Rogers. It’s a pleasure.”

You exchange your name with a shy look, shaking that hand with reverence and gentility. “It’s an honor, Mr. Rogers.”

“Please,” he mumbles, moving to slowly take a sip of his lemonade, “Steve is fine.”

Bucky moves to take up a post on the opposite side of Steve, in the sun. “You’re losin’ weight, y’know.”

That earns him a wave of the hand.

Bucky leans back and sips his lemonade. He waggles a finger and you watch the two begin to go back and forth.

“No, no,” he swallows, “No, you don’t get t’ shrug me off—”

“M’fine, Buck,” a sigh, “Really.”

“Mhm,” he narrows his eyes, “You’re startin’ to look like the Steve I knew before the serum.”

You lean back, hiding a quiet smirk behind your hand.

“I was wondering when you were gonna show up an’ pester me,” he says with a tired look, “The only peace I get around here is when Peggy comes home.”

Your eyes jump to Bucky. He’s watching you.

“Peggy?” you ask gently, “Is that your wife?”

A proud smile washes over his face. “Still knocks me for a loop, too.”

“Steve,” Bucky’s voice is gentle, “Peggy won’t be coming around for a while. Remember?”

There’s a look that flashes across Steve’s face, then. A mixture of sadness, of confusion, of panic. It’s clouded with a furrow of his brow, hidden by a tilt of the head. He looks at Bucky, mouth pulled in a fine line.

When he finally speaks, his voice is sad.

“That’s right. I forgot.”

“S’alright,” Bucky taps his head, maintaining an air of nonchalance, “That’s why you got me.”

“And why you’ve got her, no doubt,” he turns to you with a winning smile and offers his hand again, “Steve Rogers. Nice to meet you.”

You take it, you shake it, and you introduce yourself once more. Your smile is patient and understanding. “I’ve heard a lot about you, Steve.”

Bucky breathes a sigh of relief. Steve smiles, tossing Bucky a look that borders on mischievous.

He sips his lemonade and clears his throat. “How is Sam?”

“You ask every time,” Bucky mutters, “And every time I have the same answer.”

“Sam?” you ask slowly.

“Wilson,” Bucky finishes, “Bird man.”

“You mean Falcon,” you correct, shooting him a stern look, “The Falcon. Are you ghosting The Falcon?”

“I don’t know what that even means, so maybe,” Bucky leans back and crosses his legs, “I’ve been busy.”

You roll your eyes. Steve saw. He smiles.

“I’m gettin’ why he keeps you around.”

Your face is smacked with a look of pure joy.

“C’mon on now,” Bucky cries, nearly indignantly, “No flirting—”

“M’ not flirting—”

“I know that look, Steve—”

Steve is laughing.

Bucky has a stern look in his eye. “You always do this—”

“I’m not doin’ a damn thing—”

“And you better keep it that way, old man,” Bucky shirks, voice splintering into a laugh in a way that you’ve never heard before, “I swear, this is how it always goes.”

“Always the bridesmaid, never the bride, huh, Buck?” you ask gently, leaning your cheek into your hand.

Steve laughs loudly at that.

Bucky spares you a smile — the sort that’s drenched in good humor and sunlight. It makes your lungs flutter, and you ignore the buzz in your fingers at the sight. You hide your laugh into your cup of lemonade, resigning to be a quiet counterpart in the conversation.

The two of them go on to chat about small things, then chat about old things. From the Commandos, to HYDRA, to amends, to therapy, to Peggy, to the itch the starch of their old dress uniforms used to bring. It takes a bit, a few redirections on the way, but it’s clear by the end why Steve Rogers is in Elmwood’s memory unit.

It makes your heart ache.

And if a super soldier is bed-ridden…

The two of you say goodbye around three in the afternoon after Bucky helps Steve shave.

The walk back to the bike is quiet.

Bucky speaks first.

“He’s dying.”

You chew your lip, eyes on the pavement. You match his slow stride, bumping your elbow with his as you walk. It’s still warm, and the clouds hang high in the sky. When you look up, Bucky’s watching you. You sigh.

“I’m sorry,” you finally muster, “I am.”

“Don’t be,” he says, grabbing the jacket from the seat and holding it up, “He’s lived a long life.”

You let Bucky hold out the arm for you, and you press your hand through the sleeve. He helps the other side on, and you zip it up to your chin. When you turn around to face him, there are tears in your eyes.

They snuck up on you. You hadn’t realized it until Bucky’s face fell, until the first one fell along the weathered leather of the jacket. You blink, raising your brows as you swipe them away, and offer an apologetic look.

“I’m happy,” you say, “Y’know. He has you. But, he’s a man out of time. Even now. That makes me sad.”

Bucky’s quiet for a while. He’s leaned up against the bike as you turn and watch Elmwood from the back of the parking lot. There’s a big part of you that feels heavy with guilt — and though Steve was in good spirits when you left, you can’t help but ache to provide him with more company. It’s clear that seeing Bucky means a lot to him, and that in turn it means a lot to the man beside you.

“Come on,” Bucky says then, “Let’s go home.”

You nod, let him muscle that helmet onto your head one more time, and hold on a little tighter back to the city.

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You don’t see Bucky until Tuesday.

In all honesty, it feels weird to not hear from him for two days. At the very least, you expected some sort of phone call — but you remind yourself that you’ve been okay alone for a long time. There’s no need to throw all your work on being comfortable by yourself out the window for Bucky Barnes.

It’s tempting, though. God, it’s really tempting.

You hate the ache in your chest when you finally see him lumbering towards the cafe counter before your appointments. You hate this new feeling — so you shove it down and ignore the way his fingers brush yours when he hands you your latte.

He is ignoring it, too. He’s been ignoring it.

No use in thinking about it though.

“You got plans later?” you ask him in the elevator after your appointment, tilting your head, “Apparently there’s a Lord of the Rings marathon tonight on FX.”

Bucky stiffens — and immediately he can feel the hot sting of anxious regret flood his cheeks. He clears his throat, tucks his hands in his pockets, and toes the ground. You watch with a confused look. Then he speaks tightly.

“...I’ve got a date.”

You could have caught flies the way your jaw fell open.

“Oh. Oh!”

You blink, readjust your expression, and swallow down a sharp stab of rejection.

Bucky clears his throat. “It’s… I wasn’t going to but, Dr. Raynor—”

“No, no,” you wave your hands and shake your head and try to seem genuine, “No, I’m happy for you. Is this one of those Christian Minglers?”

Bucky groans. “Shut up.”

“Okay,” you say, “Okay! Just, uh, be careful. Y’know? And call if you need anything.”

The elevator doors open, and Bucky walks side by side with you through the well-lit lobby. He holds the door open for you, and you pass through with a pained look at the ground. He lingers, though, rubbing the back of his neck as you wait for him to say what’s on his mind.

“Thursday,” he says, “I’ll stop by.”

“Yea,” you say, waving your hand, “Whenever.”

But, that doesn’t end up happening.

No, Bucky Barnes shows up at your apartment doorstep at 10pm.

He’s clutching takeout and a six pack of beer and wearing a horrified expression that screams of guilt and exhaustion. No, Bucky buzzes the door to your apartment and basically croaks that he’s here — he’s asking if the marathon is still on while you buzz him up.

“Third floor,” you say into the buzzer with a smile, “Come on in, old man.”

When you open the door, you have to laugh — because his hair is a mess and there’s still a trace of lipstick on the corner of his mouth. Whereas jealousy threatens to flare, his incredibly regretful expression tamps it down. You cock a hip, eye him up and down, and jut your chin out.

“Get laid?”

Bucky rolls his eyes so hard you’re surprised he didn’t break something.

He pushes past you, moving to drop the beer on the counter and place the takeout gently down by the basket of fruit.

“I’m here for the cat,” he grumbles, “Not your witty commentary, sweetheart.”

You’re moving quietly to the sink and gathering a paper towel with a smirk as Bucky looks around, admiring the decor and aliveness of your apartment. When you turn around, he’s already pried a beer from the pack and popped the top off with his vibranium palm.

He winces when you reach up to swipe the coral lipstick from the corner of his mouth.

Then Bucky settles, letting you clean off the mess.

“Mhm,” you hum, “Right. Was it at least fun?”

“She had fun,” he mutters into his first sip, “It was a lotta tongue for my first night out in nearly a century, though.”

You wince. He nods with a sardonic smile that tells you everything about how the date went down — and you’re relieved. “So, I take it you're not calling her in the morning?”

“No,” he shakes his head, “Nope. No, and I’ve decided no more dates. That was enough for me.”

You wince and pluck a beer from the pack. Wordlessly, Bucky gestures for you to hand it over. In one smooth motion, he twists the cap off with his hand.

“That bad?” you ask, eyeing him critically.

“I decided halfway through,” he says as he moves to take the takeout from its bag, “I’d rather be watching Lord of the Rings with you.”

That stops you into silence. It’s like someone’s taken your own words and gagged you with them — and you’re left floundering for breath you never even realize you lost. You know he means it. You know it because he won’t look at you, because that sort of confession isn’t easy for people like you two. So you take those words and you glue them in a lonely locket and keep them close to your heart.

Poke’s entrance saves you a mouthful of broken words — he comes in, trots up to Bucky, and hollers.

Bucky laughs.

“Nice to meet you, too,” he mutters, eyeing the cat that’s eagerly rubbing himself along Bucky’s leg.

You wipe your face, sip your beer, and move to the pantry across from the kitchen island. You come back out with a bag of salmon treats — the good ones — and offer Bucky the bag. He takes it, eyes still on the calico, and crinkles it a little.

You lean against the counter and watch Bucky kneel.

“If you keep it up long enough he might even let you hold him.”

He lights up at that.

You laugh.

You move to grab plates and forks and knives and groan when you open up the first box to see Pad Thai — you make a mental note to properly thank Bucky for this. You meager dinner of reheated pasta really hadn’t hit the spot. This will, though. You can tell from the smell alone.

By your knees, Poke chirps.

“He’s cute.”

“I never took you for a cat guy.”

Bucky snorts.

You make a plate and flick his head as you walk by. “You’re missing the start of The Two Towers.”

“I’m going to be confused, aren’t I?” he asks as he stands and begins making himself a plate. He watches as you settle onto the couch and sip your beer, “I was too busy being turned into a cyborg to read the books.”

You laugh out loud. It shocks you.

“Was that a joke? Did Bucky Barnes just make a joke?”

He’s smirking. He rounds the counter with his food and settles next to you. Poke is following him, eager to curl up next to his new friend.

“I can be funny.”

“Funny lookin’.”

He elbows you on purpose. You snort into your beer.

There’s a comfortable moment of quiet between you, and you clear your throat.

“Thanks.”

“Yeah,” he says slowly, “No problem.”

More quiet, and he’s still watching you. Then, he asks what’s been on his mind for the last three days.

“You got a plan for Thursday?”

“I’ve got anxiety, Buck,” you exhale, swigging your beer and turning the television up, “I always have a plan.”

[waka-chan-out]

Jet Lag

based on this request

post-timeskip, obviously.

word count: 2.2k

content warnings: established relationship, somnophilia, consensual nonconsent, oral (f. recieving), light hair pulling, unprotected sex, creampie, technically cockwarming at the end?

i will reiterate that this is not dubcon or noncon. this is 100% consensual and that is written into the story. do not read if this concept is upsetting to you, but there is no surprise element of genuine nonconsent here. if you have questions, please read my explanation here.

When Kiyoomi’s eyes opened he realized it was still dark outside. He was jet-lagged after returning from his most recent tournament, and it was really getting on his nerves that he couldn’t sleep through the night. His hand absentmindedly combed through your hair. You were such a heavy sleeper, barely stirring even when he was restless and awake. You hummed and nuzzled further against his chest.

He grabbed his phone from the bedside table and checked the time. 4 am. Damn it. At least he was making some progress towards a full night of sleep. His few nights at a hotel on the way back had seen him waking just after midnight and falling asleep when the team was out to dinner, much to Atsumu’s delight. He flipped through the notifications he’d gotten since last night and miserably wondered why anyone would contact him at this hour.

Your hand shifted from around his waist. He glanced down in amusement. It dragged down towards his lower stomach, then back up to his chest. The touch sent goosebumps through his body. You continued the movement, massaging at his abdomen with a steady palm and wandering fingers. It was one part soothing, another part horrifyingly arousing.

Your hand slowed on his stomach, traveling father down and settling there. You had laid your hand right on his — shit. Was he hard?

Kiyoomi stared up at the ceiling. How desperate was he that a simple touch like that put him in this state?

He had to admit, though, your hand probably wasn’t the only reason he was like this. You had kicked down the sheets, exposing your bare legs where they were tangled with his. You were only wearing a large t shirt and an immodest pair of underwear. It all felt very deliberate, just like the way your hand was now resting directly on his achingly hard cock.

He slid his hand down your body and pulled up the side of your shirt. He carefully ran his fingers along your skin. He felt your stomach flutter at his touch, and you shifted so you were on your back, legs parted and abdomen exposed. Shit.

Kiyoomi let his hand glide under your shirt once again. His fingers traced along your skin to your chest, where he gently tugged at one of your nipples. You tipped your head to the side and he swore that you smiled in your sleep.

He continued the gentle slide of his fingers, moving between the soft buds until your hips were shifting against the bed. He smiled down at you. You looked so cute like this, responsive to him even in your sleep. He tried to be slow and patient, but the way your breath fluttered his hair made it hard to control himself.

He slid his hand down his boxers and, even though he was expecting it, he was still shocked by just how hard he was already. He closed his eyes at the feeling of his hand pumping up and down on his cock. It was good, so good, but it wasn’t enough.

He wanted to touch you. His hand felt okay but god, your skin was so soft and you were so receptive, even while asleep. He could see the deep rise and fall of your chest, your nipples peeking out from your soft shirt, the slight angle of your hips. Your words echoed in his head, telling him “it’s okay, you can wake me up. or not. i don’t mind.” He felt dirty, but you had made it clear that it was okay, welcome even.

He experimentally ran his hand down your figure again, stopping at the hem of your underwear. He pressed his hand between your legs, rubbing you gently through the cloth barrier. You hummed in your sleep and he smiled, pleased. He put a little more pressure in the movement, dragging his fingers over your clothed clit. You didn’t respond as much this time, but the way he could feel the fabric dampening under his touch told him everything he needed to know.

He continued to pump his cock as he pushed the fabric to the side to touch you for real. A small shudder left him as he felt just how ready you were for him, even fast asleep. You were his every second of the day, any time he wanted you.

He slowed his grip on himself and focused on slipping a finger inside of you. The angle was awkward, but he couldn’t resist adding another. Fuck, you were so wet. If he knew you’d react like this he would’ve taken advantage of your suggestion earlier. His hand on his cock felt so boring when you were right there, completely ready for him.

He removed his fingers and, before he could think it through, slipped them between his lips. Jesus. The taste on his tongue was too tempting. He carefully withdrew from beside you, holding the sheets up as he shifted between your legs.

You were always a heavy sleeper. That’s why even when he pressed his mouth against you and swirled his tongue, your only response was a shift of your hips. He sighed against you, trying to remember a the last time he had felt so at home somewhere. The tournament had taken him away from you for far too long, and he had passed out as soon as he crawled into bed with you. He hadn’t had time to show you how much he had missed you, not properly. You knew, of course, because he had called you at least twice, cock in hand, begging to hear about your day. You didn’t say anything about it, but he was sure you knew that he just desperately needed your voice in his ear as he came.

His grip on your thighs was usually almost bruising, but now it was light, a gentle loop around your thighs to keep you from shutting him out in your sleep. He wondered if he could make you come without waking you up. After you had told him you wanted this, he researched it, of course. He knew it was possible. Judging by the way your breathing was picking up, he might have a chance. Your body stayed mostly still against the bed, weighed down by the anchor of sleep. He wondered if you were aware of what was happening. He wondered if the feeling between your legs carried and he was fucking you in your dreams.

He got a little careless as he watched your face for every small reaction. Your breathing was uneven and your brow just slightly furrowed. He was trying to be gentle, but he couldn’t help running his tongue sloppily from your entrance to your clit and sucking. It caused your body to tense, and your hips shifted just slightly. He thought for a moment that you might wake up and, though he’d be a little disappointed, he knew you would bury your hands in his hair and pull just the way he liked and he’d forget to mind after all. But you didn’t wake up, and he realized you were shaking. Holy shit, he had been right. You were coming, so gently and quietly that he might not have noticed if he wasn’t so familiar with what every flex of your body meant.

He closed his eyes and continued the gentle curl of his tongue, not stopping until your body went still and you let out a small sigh. He pulled his head away and wiped his mouth on the collar of his shirt, more than pleased with himself. He shifted back beside you and was once again reminded just how hard he was, more so now than ever. He wanted you, so badly, and he couldn’t wait until the morning. Fuck, it was technically morning, and you had given him the okay, and you were already so wet that you’d probably barely notice the gentle push of his cock if he just lifted your leg and slipped inside.

He settled down beside you and wrapped a hand around your waist, trying to gently coax you onto your side. It took a moment of careful touches, slowly pulling you closer to him until you rolled and settled, back flush against his chest. He smiled and brushed your hair away from the back of your neck, pressing a kiss right at the nape as he slipped an arm under your pillow. The other he used to hold your leg up, right under the knee until he could get close and line himself up with your entrance. He continued pressing barely there kisses to your neck as he retook hold of your leg and, as slowly as he could with what remained of his self control, pushed inside of you.

He gasped and leaned his face into your hair, trying to anchor himself before he continued moving. It had been far too long since he had been able to bury himself inside of you, and fuck he had missed it. The arm under your pillow came up to grasp your opposite shoulder, keeping you held tightly against him.

He gathered his thoughts and drew his hips back. He moved slowly, gently, grinding into you rather than thrusting. He wanted to drag this out, wanted it to last, because you were so pliable and felt so good, it would be a waste to not take advantage of it. Every tender movement felt like its own little universe, hanging in the dark and silence and disappearing on his next exhale.

The only thing that could tear him from that world was the subtle twitch of your fingers, the nuzzle of your face against the pillow, then, finally, the steadying of your breath, pulled out of the long, slow rhythm of sleep.

You let out a small, sleepy noise, almost like you were stretching, and slipped a hand back to bury in his hair.

“Omi,” you mumbled. He smiled against your skin and continued his quiet shift inside of you.

“Shh. I’ve got you.” He sighed heavily, appreciating the new wiggle of your hips, like you were trying to press closer, bury him deeper. He held your leg tighter and pushed father on his next thrust in, holding himself inside of you. You let out a startled gasp and tightened your hand in his hair. He groaned, deep in his chest. Fuck, you could tear his hair out and he’d probably just pick up the pace.

He resumed his movement, not afraid of going a little harder now that you were awake. You were still groggy, but the way your hands gripped his wrist and his curls told him you were with him, feeling every bit as desperate and wanting as he was. His breath was coming in pants now, right in your ear, and he could feel you shivering at the feeling.

“Fuck,” he sighed. “You’re so good. Gonna make me come.”

You responded with a quiet moan, barely registering his words over the deep, delicious ache between your legs.

His rutted into you a little faster, as quick as he could stand when the haze of sleep was lurking at the back of both your minds. He let himself groan into your ear, not caring how needy he sounded. You were so good, and you felt so good, and you pulled his hair a little harder and he couldn’t stand it anymore.

His arms were rigid around you and he pushed his hips flush against you as he came. He let out what he was sure was the most desperate, fucked-out sound he had ever made, barely able to breathe as he spilled inside of you. There he was again, suspended in time, the darkness swallowing every breath as the fuzzy feeling in his brain faded, then disappeared.

He was left panting against you, vaguely aware that he was sweaty and horribly hot and you were combing your hand through his hair rather than pulling in. He tipped his head against your shoulder and let out a breathy laugh.

“Morning,” he said. You turned your face back and he met you with a kiss, gentle and a little sloppy because of the exhaustion settling through his body.

“Hi,” you whispered, smiling against his lips. He kissed you quickly, once, twice, and again, missing your mouth entirely on the last one. You laughed and he started to withdraw from you. You grabbed his hip before he could go any farther.

“Stay,” you said. He didn’t have the energy to ask what you were talking about, but you could hear the confusion in his tired grunt. “Sleep, Omi. Come here.” You grabbed his arm and pulled it around your waist, forcing him to settle closer, if that was possible, and press his face against the back of your neck. His eyes wouldn’t stay open, no matter how hard he tried to fight them. An unwavering heavy feeling spread through his body as he listened to your slowing breath and felt fingers running slowly through his now tangled curls.

The last thing he heard before his mind shut off entirely was an amused, whispered “I missed you.”

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

let me be your ruler.2

Warnings: guns, dubcon, noncon, handjob.

This is a dark! fic and explicit. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Pairing: (dark!mob!) Peter Parker x Reader

Summary: You try to forget about Peter but he won’t forget about you.

Note: I hate that I am the way that I am. I wanted to keep this to two parts but you know me. 

Anyways, I’m excited for this and hope you are too.

Hope you enjoy it. Thank you. Love you guys!

Please leave some feedback, like and reblog <3

Drowsy in the afterglow of sex and alcohol, you fell quickly into a deep sleep. You didn’t even change before you sank into bed. You hardly recalled the elevator ride up or stumbling into your apartment and tripping around the shadows to your room. It was only a fractured journey from the car to your mattress.

You woke as your phone vibrated under your pillow. You must have buried it there before passing out. You groaned and rolled over as you dug it out. There were several notifications next to a single name; Peter. You thumbed through each message; written in the same tone as his voice. Demanding, without question.

‘Great night, Princess.’ ‘We’ll do it again Saturday.’ ‘Wear something nice.’ … The messages escalated smoothly from doting to commanding. It jolted you back to the night before, the way he seemed to just thrust you through the night. The dress, the drinks, the men, the guns…

You sat up, your panties crooked on your hips. You muttered and swiped away the messages. You weren’t seeing him again. You couldn’t. You had stuck your toe in too deep already. It was best to nip these things in the bud. Not to let yourself get dragged in so far you couldn’t see the surface. 

Peter was more than mysterious; he was dangerous.

You went to the kitchen and waited for the machine to grind as the scent of coffee filled your heavy body. You drank too much, did too much. You still felt Peter’s hand between your legs. It made your chest tight and your head spin. You looked down at your body, the red dress wrinkled and askew.

You left the coffee to brew and retreated to your room. You tore off the dress and your panties. You pulled on a cotton shirt and loose pajama pants. You stormed back into the kitchen and shoved the clothing in the bin. You snatched your phone from the counter and swiped up the lock screen.

‘Sorry, I don’t think this is going to work out.’ You typed. Your hand shook as you hovered over send. You heard Halle’s door and you pressed your thumb down. You looked up at her before you pulled up the block option.

“How was your night?” She asked as she inhaled the aroma of your morning ritual.

“Eh, you know, another dead end,” you pushed your thumb down and the conversation disappeared. “Just not my type.”

“Really?” She whined. “He seemed so nice. And he liked you so much.”

You blackened your screen and placed your phone face down. “Well, you know, things don’t always turn out.” You shrugged and pulled out a mug, “You want some?”

“Are you at least going to tell me about it?” She pouted. “And yes, lots of sugar.”

You poured her coffee and handed her the sugar dish. You frowned at how much powder she scooped into her cup but it was her most endearing trait. She knew what she wanted and she didn’t care what anyone thought.

“Uh, well, it wasn’t anything special. He took me to a party but… I don’t know. What kind of first date is that? Take me somewhere I don’t know anyone…” You ran your finger around the rim of your cup. “Maybe when I was younger but now.”

“You sound like such an old lady,” she snickered, “Oh my god!” She stood straight, “Are we old?”

“I am, but you’ll always be young at heart, Hal,” you rolled your eyes.

“So you’re not going to try a second?” She prodded.

“I don’t think so,” you cradled your mug, “He… hasn’t even messaged me back.” 

You hated lying but Halle had gotten you into this mess and you knew she’d harp on you for not even giving Peter a chance. But you had. He wasn’t what he seemed and you didn’t want to stick around and find out what exactly he was hiding.

“What?” She huffed. “Well, fuck him then.” She sipped from her coffee and her lips curved as she swallowed. “Wait, did you…”

“Hal, come on,” you snipped.

“Oh, fine, but you know, maybe if you got laid, you wouldn’t be so uptight.” She teased.

“Not this again,” you groaned and slid your phone off the counter. “You know what, I got work to do.”

“Uh huh,” she hummed as you turned to leave, “Work. When did you get so old and boring?”

“One of us had to,” you called back over your shoulder, “And we both know you’re never growing up.”

✨

Your phone was pleasantly still for the rest of the day. You felt a twinge of guilt having blocked Peter but then you recalled the men and their holsters. You found your mind drifting away from your work and your fingers hovered over the keyboard as you thought back. 

The company he kept added to the uneasiness in your chest. Steve was friendly but arrogant. The way he looked at you, the way he spoke to you, what was it he introduced you as, “Peter’s girl”. And that man, Bucky. He didn’t seem too fond of Peter but the way he’d grinned at you, as if he knew something you didn’t. Well, he did, they all did. Your head stormed as you tried to figure out their secret.

You shook off the curdling paranoia and hunched as you squinted closer at your computer. You made yourself focus as you skimmed the tight font and added your suggestions in the margin. You sent off your edited draft as your stomach groaned; empty and churning from the acidic coffee.

You grabbed your phone and your mug as you stood. You checked the time. Almost noon. You grumbled and went back to the kitchen, thankfully empty as Halle had left for work an hour ago. You set your cup down and expanded your notifications. A single phone call from a private number and a new follower on your mostly empty Insta.

You opened the neglected app and hit the notification. The profile was emptier than yours. the profile pic was just black and there were no posts. The name gave you no hints as it was obviously generated by the site. 

You went back and a comment popped up on the picture of your and Halle at last year's winter market. ‘Gorgeous, Princess.’ You read and reread the two words as you leaned against the counter. You bit your fingertips and went back to the mysterious profile. You hit ‘block’ and locked your phone.

Surely, he’d get the hint sooner or later. It was one date and the man seemed to have no trouble with women. He’d move on and you’d both forget about that off putting night. You just had to wait him out.

✨

A week rolled by as you kept yourself busy with your work. The phone calls stopped after the first day and you had no more peculiar alerts awaiting you. Your plan had worked. It wasn’t exactly the best; it was a bit cowardly, actually. Yet, knowing how Peter was and how ‘no’ seemed beyond his vocabulary, you had more faith in your evasion than his understanding.

As the weekend approached, Halle convinced you to come out with the girls. You had eluded those opportunities for the past year as you found yourself disillusioned and disinterested in the club scene. You felt as if you were aging out of it and seeing all those fresh-faced coeds assured you of it. Even so, the girls liked to dance and in their words, you need to ‘let loose’.

You couldn’t disagree. You had been on edge and the mounting emails in your inbox didn’t ease the stress of everything else.

With a pre-drink burning a whole in your stomach, you pulled on a pair of flats as your bag hung across your chest. You were comfortable but not stuffy in your tight jeans and the bright pink top with the criss-cross straps. You felt pretty good and the vodka made you optimistic.

You headed down to the street and caught a cab. The dread evaporated the closer you got and as you pulled up to the front of the flashing club, Molly and Desiree waved at your approach. The four of you joined the line as you searched out your ID.

“So,” Molly said, “Halle told us about your little date!”

“Date?” You blinked. “Oh, yeah, that didn’t pan out.”

“Of course,” Desiree scoffed, “That guy was so cute though.”

“Yeah, he was nice, but we just didn’t…”

“He’s ghosting her!” Halle interjected, “Didn’t even text the next day, ugh.”

Halle crossed her arms and you nodded. You weren’t going to correct her, you didn’t need the other two piling on about your dormant love life. You came out to have a good time, that’s what they promised you, and you didn’t want to think about the night that still stood so vividly in your mind.

As you stepped up to the bouncer, he barely looked at your card. You were almost offended as he waved you through and carded the next party more closely. You glanced around at your friends but they hardly seemed bothered. Well, only Halle had reached that big three-o with you, and the other two girls still had a year or two to go.

Madonna’s voice pumped from the speakers as you neared the bar. You looked around at the streaming lights and the bodies shadowed in the strobe. You were surprised you recognized the song and you nudged Desiree as she waited for Molly to order the first round.

“What’s up with the music?” You asked.

“It’s retro night! Duh! Just for you!” She giggled and you elbowed her harder.

Molly turned and passed out the plastic cups with their thin straws and you followed Halle to the low stage where the smoke machine billowed. You coughed at the taste of the fog and sucked on your straw. You began to sway as the other girls led the charge. You could help but be enlivened by the deep base and the energy all around.

As you danced, the girls yelled back and forth about their recent drama. Desiree’s date had been more successful than your own, Molly was certain she was in love with Charlie? You still didn’t know. And Halle was just riding the vibe.

You finished your drink and the other girls stacked their cups in yours before you crossed the stage to leave the garbage on the table just beside the platform. 

You looked over at the bar, pondering another, and your eye was caught by a figure who seemed out of place. The cut of his suit, the way he leaned on hand on a stool, and the intense gaze sent in your direction startled you.

You blinked and stumbled over to the single step down to the floor. You pushed through the bodies, nearly tumbling as a tipsy guy crashed into you. You got to the bar and looked up and down it. Girls waved their hands to get the bar tender’s attention and guys sidled up to them. 

Bucky was gone. It was him. Maybe the air was filled with smoke and the lights were flashing like a siren, but you were certain. Why was he there? How had he found you among the city? Among the reverie in that club? Why had he been watching you? And where had he gone?

You went to where you’d seen him and searched the perimeter of the bar. You went back through the club and slipped past those just getting in. You tapped on the bouncer’s shoulder and he grumbled before he turned and bent to hear you. “What is it?”

“Did you see a guy in a suit leave? Dark hair and--”

“There’s a lot of people here,” he shrugged you off.

You snarled and turned back. You got ahead of the flood of new arrivals and fought your way back to the three girls on the stage. As you walked up, Halle pouted and grabbed your elbow. “Boo, we thought you were getting another round.”

“No, no, I…” you squirmed and tried to get back into the rhythm, “I had to use the restroom.”

“Well, how about now? Wanna refill the tank?” She jibed.

“Uh, sure,” you picked at the purse. “Be right back.”

“Make mine a double,” Molly called after you. “Thanks.”

✨

Despite drowning yourself in alcohol, you barely slept and when you did, you were back in the club, staring at a man you never expected to see again. You wondered if maybe you’d imagined it or if Peter had sent him after you or if it was someone else and you were just tipsy and blind. Whatever it was, you couldn’t shake the foreboding that followed you into the next morning.

Your Saturday was painful and lazy. You spent your hangover on the couch and barely saw Halle as she cowered in the dim light of her room. You fell asleep there and dragged yourself to bed just before nine. You really were old, or at least, getting there.

Sunday slapped you in the face after another night of disjointed dreams. Peter and the room full of men, Bucky at the bar, and static in between. Responsibility called you from your mattress and you cleaned up and dressed for your weekly trip to the grocery store. 

As you came out, Halle was glaring at her phone. “What’s up?” You asked as you shoved your wallet in your purse. “You coming to the store?”

“I got called in for one.” She pouted. “Tell me why I fucked that asshole?”

“Shit, Hal, I’m sorry. Well, I’ll just do the shop myself.” You frowned, “Let you get ready to deal with all that.”

“It’s all because he fucking texted me on Friday and drunk me decided to reply and then… urgh, why do I do this?”

“I don’t know why you’re asking me?” You grinned.

“Oh, please go before I throw this at you,” she shook her phone, “And don’t forget my oat milk.”

“Whole milk?” You asked as you slipped your shoes on, “Got it.”

“Don’t,” she warned.

“Alright, alright. Hopefully I catch you before you go,” you stood and grabbed your keys from the hook. “Have fun with Mr. Bossman.”

“Shut up,” she buried her head in her hands, “Oh my god!”

You tried not to laugh as you left. You felt bad for her as you didn’t know what you’d do in her situation. Looking for a new job had been her first thought but the market was never very good and the man who was driving her away, wasn’t exactly a shining reference.

You took your usual route to the grocer. You had your list on your phone and loaded your cart. You filled the reusable bags and set off for a very inconvenient subway ride home. Your arms screamed as you carried the load up your street and struggled to find your keys at the door. The elevator was too slow and you ended up hauling it all up the stairs. You were out of breath as you got to your apartment.

You turned the knob just a little and kicked open the door. You stomped in and dropped the bags. “So, I got your damn milk--” You stopped short as your voice collided with Halle’s. She was already dressed for work but her braids were still loose. She stood behind the couch as she talked to your unexpected visitor.

“Oh, there she is,” she said snappily, “I wouldn’t blame her for kicking you out but I’ll leave it up to her.” Halle turned to you, “Look who’s here. Only took him a week to come around.”

“Hal,” you said softly as you set the bags down. “What--” You lowered your voice, “Why’d you let him in?”

“So he can apologize to you,” she huffed loudly and passed you to close the door, “Don’t you worry, I still gotta finish getting ready so you have lots of time to hear him out.” She looked at him sharply.

“Really, it’s…” You gulped as you peeked over at Peter. He sat calmly in the chair as he watched you. “Yeah, okay.”

She marched into her room and as her door closed, you reluctantly approached the back of the couch where your roommate had just stood. You stared at Peter, uncertain what to say. You hadn’t been prepared for this; for him to be there in your apartment, your home.

“Peter,” you ran your hands over the couch cushions.

“You lie to everyone you know?” He asked. “As I recall, I’m not the one who’s been… ‘ghosting’, as your friend says.”

“I…” You shifted and picked at the seam, “Look, I told you it wasn’t going to work--”

“You barely gave me a chance. Gave us a chance,” he said as he pushed his legs apart. “That’s hardly fair.”

“Well, you know, I have work and it’s just not a good time for me right now.” You sniffed. “I’m sorry if I hurt your feelings, but--”

“Ha, princess, I don’t hurt so easy,” he smirked, “Why don’t you sit down and we can talk properly… finally.”

You scratched your brow and cleared your throat. “I don’t think we need to do that.”

Your voice trailed off as Halle opened her door again. She swept out and you waited as she scooped her purse off the counter and sidestepped the groceries still sat on the floor.

“Gotta go,” she sang, “I’ll see you after work.” She stopped by the door as she wiggled into her heels, “Let me know how you deal with… him.”

“See ya,” you said quietly and watched her go. You looked back at Peter slowly as he chuckled.

“What did you tell her about me?” He wondered.

“Nothing. Really.” You said. “I have your jacket. You want it back--”

“Sit,” he gestured to the couch. “We’ll worry about that later.”

“No. Peter, please. I’m just not interested, okay?”

“You seemed pretty interested in the car,” he purred, “Seemed real interested.”

“I…” You looked at the wall and squirmed. “I didn’t ask you to do that.”

“You were asking for it in that dress,” he intoned. “Now,” his movement drew your eye as he reached into his jacket, “I don’t like playing things like this.” He pulled the pistol from its holster and rested it on the arm of the chair, his hand firm on the handle. “Please, sit down. Let’s talk.”

You stared at the gun. Your blood burned hot and you felt blindly as you came around the couch and dropped down. Your eyes never left the muzzle. Would he use it on you?

“Oh, princess, don’t you worry, I’m just getting comfortable.” He taunted. “Now, I’ve been tryna figure out where I went wrong. I got you a pretty dress, I took you to a nice party, I fed you champagne, and I even gave you a little dessert,” he mused and his lip curled, “So I gotta confess I’m confused as you why you’ve been hiding from me.”

You were paralyzed. You clutched your knees and gritted your teeth. You didn’t know what to say. You’d convinced yourself that you’d never see him again. Your method was tried and trued, at least, when it was used against you.

“Don’t be afraid. You can tell me. I really would prefer the truth.” His finger slid along the short barrel as he spoke. “So?”

“I… Peter, I don’t think that we would, uh, work out. Look, I don’t like guns and…” Your lashes fluttered, “I don’t really know that I wanna be around someone who carries one. Not too mention, your friends--”

“My friends. Princess, your mine. They won’t touch you.” He raised his chin. “They’re not that bold.”

You were silent. Your heart pulsed loudly and you took a breath. You stood cautiously and crossed your arms. “Peter, we talked. I told you my reasons. I think you should… go.” You said as firmly as you could.

He laughed again. His cheek twitched and the smile fell away from his face. He rose slowly and turned his gun to tuck it away under his jacket. His eyes never left you as he did.

“You really want me to go?” He asked.

You nodded and held your breath. “Yes.”

He threw his hands out and clapped them against his pants. He shook his head and crossed the room. You turned to watch him as he passed and suddenly, you were thrust towards him. His hand was on the back of your neck as he pulled you against him. He held you tightly and you felt his gun poking through his jacket.

He grinned, his lips only an inch from yours. “I’m going, princess, but not without you.”

“Let go of me!” You struggled with him. “Get off!”

“Princess,” he warned as his fingers dug into your neck, “Settle down.”

“No, I told you to go.” You hissed as you grabbed his wrist. “Please.”

“Let’s get this straight,” he said, “You don’t tell me what to do. Even if it gets me hard.” He crushed his lips to your suddenly and you wrestled with him, your teeth grazing his lip before he pulled back sharply, barely escaping a bite. “You don’t wanna do that.”

His hand went to your chin and he looked you in the face. He rubbed his nose against yours and growled. You beat on his chest and he squeezed tighter.

“Shit, let’s not just rush out of here,” he released you, “You should get those away before they spoil.”

He stepped back and placed his hand on the front of his jacket, where his gun was hidden. You gaped at him and your eyes flitted to the door.

“Ah, don’t worry, we’ll be on our way soon enough,” he said, “So long as you hurry up.”

You swallowed and he moved with you as you went to the bags. He blocked the door as you pulled the straps apart and began to unpack shakily. You dropped a can and it rolled along the floor before he stopped it with his foot. He kicked it back and leaned an elbow on the door frame.

You picked it up with several other cans and went to the cupboard. You snapped the door closed as you felt around the drawer with your other hand. You heard a click and looked to Peter as he aimed his pistol at you. He tilted his head. 

“Don’t do that,” he intoned as your hand lingered just inches from the knives inside the drawer.

You went back to the spread of groceries and tried to ignore him as you put everything in its place. As you bent to fill the crisper, he purred, a sizzly ‘princess’ under his breath. You finished up and packed the bags one into the other. You left them on the counter and again, he put his gun away.

“Princess, let me tell you something,” he gripped the door handle, “I don’t take that out without using it very often so don’t press my patience.” He turned the knob slowly, “I’ve waited on you long enough.”

✨

The car ride was tense and long. Peter drove you uptown and you watched out the window helplessly. You rubbed your palms together nervously as they dampened with sweat. He’d taken your phone when you reached for it. He tossed it and it was somewhere on the floor.

He drove past the condos and the walk-ups and continued on nearly the exact path he’d taken on the momentous night. Another grand house awaited you but you remained in the seat as Peter climbed out. He opened your door and still you didn’t move. He reached across you to unbuckle the seat belt and grabbed your arm. He jerked you out onto your feet and sighed.

“Peter,” you begged, “What’s going on? Please, you’re scaring me.”

“Princess, have I done you wrong?” He asked but you didn’t answer. “I won’t hurt you.”

“You’re hurting me right now,” you wriggled your arm and he shoved you ahead of him.

“In,” he demanded as you stumbled up the rounded steps. “Now.”

You opened the door and stepped inside. You crossed the marble floor of the foyer as he directed you from behind. He followed at a pace, close enough that you couldn’t flee. Even if you did, you wouldn’t make it far.

“Pete,” the voice startled you and you stopped at the bottom of the wide staircase. Bucky stood in a doorway to your left. His gaze moved from you to Peter and back again. “I didn’t realise you brought company.”

“You’re still here?” Peter snipped.

“Was I supposed to leave?” He sneered. “You got me and Steve running around and you’re gonna kick us to the curb.”

“You don’t look very busy to me,” Peter growled and neared to rest his hand on your lower back. He leaned in and whispered in your ear. “Upstairs, turn left, the room at the very end. I don’t like hide and seek, you got me?”

You nodded and looked at Bucky again. His mouth slanted knowingly and his tongue poked out for just a moment. You turned up the stairs and left Peter behind. You reached the top and listened for a moment to his muffled voice.

“You and Steve do your fucking job and leave me alone. Understand. I don’t want to be bothered.” Peter snarled.

“Oh, I wouldn’t wanna be interrupted either,” Bucky snickered. “Not with her.”

“Go,” Peter barked. “Now.”

“Ay, you might be Tony’s man but you still gotta watch yourself,” Bucky warned. “This little arrangement isn’t gonna last forever…”

You went to your left and to the door at the end, like he said. You entered and couldn’t help but gasp at the immense bedroom. The black and white decor was expertly matched in marbles and exotics woods, plush velvet and polished sconces. You couldn’t help but admire the luxury.

You didn’t close the door. You glanced around dumbly and stood in one spot as you feared you might break something. You wrung your hands as you heard the steady footsteps and you spun as Peter entered. He looked even more agitated as he cracked his knuckles.

“Sorry about that, Princess,” he said, “Now where were we?” His eyes roved the room as he thought, “Ah, yes, an apology.”

“Apology. I…”

“Should I close the door?” He raised a brow, “You’d be surprised how sound carries in here.”

You frowned and he laughed as he swung the door shut. He neared you and bit the tip of his tongue as he considered you. His brown eyes bore into you and you took a step back. He stayed near and caught your wrist. His other hand fumbled with his belt and he let out a slow breath through his nose.

“Princess, I’d love to treat you how you deserve but you gotta be good to me too.” He pulled on your arm and twisted as you tried to resist. You hissed and he pushed your hand against his crotch. “I don’t forgive easy but I’m sure you can change that.”

“Don’t... don’t make me do this,” you uttered.

“Oh, but princess, you did this,” he pressed your hand around his bulge. “You take care of me and I’ll do the same.”

You parted your lips to argue and he grabbed the back of your head. He kissed you roughly and guided your hand to the top of his boxers. He slid your fingers under the elastic and urged you on, wrapping your fingers around his dick with a groan.

He squeezed until you gripped him firmly. He led your hand up and down as he held you to him, his hot breath filling you as it picked up. He forced his tongue into your mouth and you clawed at his jacket as he kept your other hand around him. He parted from your mouth at last and pressed his cheek to yours.

“Keep going, princess,” he purred as he slowly withdrew his hand from around yours. “You don’t wanna use your hand, I might think of something else.”

You quivered and slid your hand up and down his length. He nuzzled your neck and nibbled as he moaned against your skin. You could only move your hand as you stood against him stunned and rigid. He gripped your waist as you felt him tense and he murmured hungrily.

“Oh, princess,” he breathed and pushed his pelvis against your hands as he came. 

You felt the slick heat seep down your hand and slowed until he was breathless. He stilled your hand with his and carefully eased your hand from his pants. He stood straight and eyed your glistening fingers.

“Shit,” he swore as he caressed your cheek, “You made a mess of this suit.” He dropped his hand to the front of his pants as he smiled. He inhaled and pushed his shoulders back. “I forgive you, Princess.”

[stardusttkachuk]

Breaking Rules

Pairing: JJ Maybank x Female!Reader

Genre: Smut, fluff

Warnings: smut, fingering, unprotected sex, swearing

Word Count: 1.5k

Summary: The rules are no pogue on pogue mackin’. You and JJ sneak away from John B’s party and find yourself in the old Volkswagen, breaking that rule.

You slide the door to the van open, quickly climbing inside with JJ right behind you. JJ can’t keep his hands off of you; they’re on your lower back as he all but shoves you inside. They find their way to your thigh before he’s even gotten the door closed and then they’re on your cheeks and in your hair as he kisses you. 

He tastes a little bit like weed, but mostly of mint. Spearmint to be exact, a taste you’ve gotten used to when kissing his lips. Five and a half months ago the kisses were short and sweet and not much to savor, but now every chance you had it was hot makeouts that lead to more.

Nobody could know though. There was a strict rule of no pogue on pogue macking, one that everyone had agreed to follow when the rules first came about. So for the last five months, you and JJ had been sneaking around. You shared kisses behind your friends back and snuck off together whenever you had the chance. Tonight was no different. The party that John B was hosting at his place was the perfect opportunity for a getaway. The old Volkswagen was questionable as the most private spot, but it was far enough away from the house, and offered shelter and warmth. And who was going to come looking in the van? John B wasn’t going anywhere, and from past experience you knew Pope and Kiara would be spending the night too. The van was all yours for the evening.

JJ grabs a blanket from the front seat and spreads it out on the floor of the back. It isn't much more comfortable but at least it’s softer and warmer than the hardwood that covered the back of the Volkswagen. 

JJ sits on the blanket with his back against the bench seat and pulls you into his lap. Your knees are on either side of his legs and you’ve got his face in your hands as your makeout session continues. JJ slips his hands under your shirt, cupping around your breasts. He’s got you moaning at his touch already. 

He pulls away from the kiss just enough to rid you of your shirt and bra, tossing them to the side. You follow suit and pull his over his head, throwing it somewhere behind you, long forgotten as his lips are on yours again.

JJ unbuttons your shorts, slipping his hand down the front of them and into your panties. His fingers glide over your clit, rubbing circles against the sensitive bud. You moan which makes JJ attach his lips to yours to quiet you down. 

“We’re gonna get caught,” he whispers.

“Well if you’d stop fucking teasing me,” you start, only for JJ to lie you down on your back and kiss you again. 

Your shorts and panties join your shirt somewhere in the old van as JJ pulls them off. His fingers return to your clit and move down until his middle finger is teasing your entrance. It isn’t long before he’s got two fingers inside you, crooking them against your g-spot and watching you writhe beneath him. 

JJ loves foreplay. He’ll prolong sex as long as possible, always wanting to see how many times he can get you to fall apart. He’s good at it too. He knows exactly where to touch you and which spots have you moaning and begging for more. He knows how to make you cum before he’s even entered you, and he loves making you cum. 

“JJ,” you moan, hand gripping onto his bicep. You’re already close, and the sounds you’re making are keeping JJ going, faster now, letting you chase your release.

His fingers are soaked when he pulls them out. He hungrily sucks them into his mouth, licking them clean. He does it every time, practically fawning over the way you taste. If you had more time, you’d happily let him eat you out, but you know the rest of the pogues will realize your guys’ absence and come looking for you soon.

JJ’s cock is hard and tenting the board shorts he’s wearing. You slip them down just past his hips, watching his member spring up, precum leaking out of the tip. He sits down again with his back against the bench seat and pulls you onto his lap. He lowers you onto his cock, biting his lip to silence the moans he desperately wants to let out.

The new position felt amazing. A lot of the time you’ve settled for standard missionary, or JJ lying down and you on top. Sometimes you’d have a quickie in the shower, pressed up against the tile wall. But sitting on his lap like this was new. It felt closer than you just riding him. You were literally face to face, chest to chest, and it allowed a new, much deeper angle. It was harder to keep quiet.

You took the lead and slowly lifted yourself up before sinking back down on him. His head tipped back, hands finding your waist as he aided in the lifting and dropping. You took the opportunity to nip at his neck, carelessly sucking a mark into his skin, right under his jaw where you knew he loved it the most. The others would point it out later and would congratulate him on getting some, then ask who it was. You took pride in knowing it was all your doing.

JJ was a mess of moans. His fingers were digging half moon shapes into the skin on your hips. Your name would fall from his lips every time you changed speed or rocked against him in a new way. The best part of it was how close you were. He didn’t need to be loud - although he wasn’t exactly quiet - you could hear each whispered plea, feel his hot breath against your skin as it picked up from your activities. There was sweat dripping off of each of you, but neither of you cared, far too lost in the moment with each other.

You were so close to cumming again and you knew by the sound of JJ’s voice that he was too. Your movements became sloppy. JJ tried to make it consistent, bouncing you faster on his cock, making you drop down harder, even lifting his own hips up, chasing after his orgasm. 

“Fuck,” JJ cursed, forehead pressed against yours. He kissed your lips, drowning out the sounds of you both tipping over the edge. It was the first time you had ever come at the same time, and damn did it feel amazing. You were on cloud nine until you heard the familiar voices nearing the van.

“JJ! Y/N!” Pope called.

You scrambled off of JJ’s lap, searching around desperately for your shorts. JJ pulled up his bottoms, quickly resituating himself against the bench seat. He grabbed a pre rolled joint that was stuffed under one of the bags in the back, lighting it quickly and placing it between his lips.

You had managed to throw on your shorts and JJ’s shirt in the dark, sitting across from him and leaning against the backs of the front seats. “Gimme a hit,” you say, reaching out for the joint.

“No. Get your own!” JJ retorts.

“I hear them!” It’s Kie’s voice this time, and then it’s the sound of footsteps approaching the beaten up Volks.

She slides open the side door, the back suddenly illuminating with the interior light. “Where have you guys been?”

“Out here. Hot boxing the van,” JJ answers smoothly.

Kiara’s eyes dart towards you. “Why are you wearing JJ’s shirt?”

“I spilled beer all over mine,” you lie, holding up your own shirt that’s bunched up in your hands. “So, JJ lent me his.”

“John B’s freaking out looking for you guys,” Pope pipes up. 

“Why?”

“Someone said there was a car accident like 10 miles away. He couldn’t find you guys anywhere and neither of you were answering your phones,” Pope explains.

“Shit. Mine’s on silent,” you say. 

“I never even heard mine ring,” JJ adds. 

“You are pretty faded. Maybe you shouldn’t be smoking that one,” you tease, grabbing the joint from his fingers. After a quick puff yourself you extinguish the end of it, still saving plenty for another time.

“Hey!” JJ yells. “First you’re gonna take my shirt and now my weed?”

“Yes. Now let’s go, so John B stops freaking out.”

You climb out of the back of the van with JJ right behind you. Pope stops JJ though, as you and Kiara walk in front of them and back up to the chateau. 

“Nice hickey, J,” you hear him say. 

You can feel the heat rising in your cheeks. Kie must notice the red tint to them because her jaw drops. “You are not screwing JJ,” she says through gritted teeth. “And in the back of the van too!?”

You put a finger to your lips, shushing her. “I will tell you everything if you just promise not to tell anyone else.”

“You broke pogue rules,” she whispers.

You glance back at JJ, who is flaunting the hickey to Pope who is completely oblivious to the fact that you gave it to him. “We’ve been breaking them for almost six months now.”

“And how long are you planning on keeping this a secret?”

JJ’s eyes catch yours and he shakes his head, grinning from ear to ear. “As long as we can.”

[sunrisefairy]

Let me take care of you

Pairing: George Weasley x reader Word Count: 2.1k Warning: NSFW! fingering, unprotected sex, female receiving oral, dirty talk, swearing  Summary: Y/N is feeling stressed from university so George decides he needs to help her relax.  A/N: I dunno, kind of very proud of this one. Tried something new and decided to write some smut. Think it turned out okay.  Taglist: I’m assuming these people would still like to be included in the taglist for smutty fics, please tell me if you would like to be taken off or added! @hufflepuff5972 @inglourious-imagines​ @georgeweasleyswhre​ 

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It was nearing the end of the school year which means the deadline for final assignments and exams were fast approaching. Y/N was in her final year of her psychology degree and had spent the majority of her time cramming in revision or working on some essay.

You could find Y/N either at her part time job at the local florist or at home, hunched over her desk with numerous opened textbooks and half-drunk coffee cups strewn around. Unfortunately, she didn’t have a lot of time recently for her boyfriend, George. He didn’t mind though, he knew how important getting good grades were to Y/N so he would help out where he could, mostly by making sure dinner was ready when she got home from work or running to the library when Y/N needed another textbook.

Normally he could convince Y/N to take a 15 minute break without much persuasion if he presented her with freshly baked cookies, they’d sit on the couch and munch on the treats while George played with her hair before she’d sigh and say she better get back to her essay. But for the past 2 weeks Y/N has hardly moved from the desk chair only getting up when she had work. George has found her on more than one occasion slumped over the many books and papers, lightly snoring because she fell asleep. As soon as George would try and guide her to bed, she’d jolt up and mumble about needing to keep studying.

George was starting to get worried for Y/N’s mental and physical health if she didn’t slow down and rest, no matter what he tried nothing seemed to work so he had one last trick up his sleeve.

Y/N was once again sitting at her laptop typing away frantically, she had gotten off of work at 5pm, scoffed down some dinner and immediately opened up a textbook. It was now 10:45pm and Y/N had no plans on taking a break soon.

“Georgie babe, can you grab me another coffee?” Y/N called out over her shoulder.

George ignored her request and came up behind her, resting his hands on her shoulders massaging them lightly. “Darling, I think you’ve had enough coffee for the day. How about you finish up and we can lay in bed and get some sleep?”

Y/N shook her head not looking up at him, “can’t George, I’m so close to finishing this essay.”

George sighed; he could see the dark circles forming under her eyes deciding now would be the perfect time to try the last thing which might get Y/N to relax. He pushed Y/N’s hair off her shoulder. She was wearing one of George’s old band tees which was way too big for her and left some of her shoulder exposed. George lent down and started leaving soft kisses along her skin.

“Georgie, I don’t have time” Y/N mumbled quietly trying to shrug him off.

George persisted and kept leaving kisses along his girlfriend’s shoulder before stopping at the base of her neck and sucking a dark purple mark, causing Y/N to let out a breathy sigh.

“Come on baby, I feel like I haven’t seen you in so long. I miss you, let me take care of you.” Y/N turns her head slightly to see George better and he takes this opportunity to connect their lips. Y/N moans into George’s mouth. “I miss that pretty little pussy of yours, princess. Don’t you miss my cock and how well I fuck you? I’ll make you feel so good baby, promise.”  

Georges words go straight to Y/N’s core and she can already feel herself getting wetter by the second. There is no way she’ll be able to concentrate on her work now. So, she nods and stands up, pulling George up with her. “Want you to take care of me Georgie, need you to fuck me.”

George grins and grabs the back of Y/N’s legs, instructing her to jump, which she does and wraps her legs tightly around his waist. Y/N tangled her fingers into George’s red hair and connects her lips to his neck. George walks them to the bedroom and sits on the end of the bed with Y/N now in his lap. He toys with the end of her shirt before pulling it off groaning at the sight.

“Fuck baby, no bra?” He begins peppering kisses down her chest before attaching his mouth to her nipple, his fingers massaging her other breast.

Y/N whines, her body aching for some relief she starts rocking her hips against George feeling his cock harden under his sweats.

“Look at you, being so desperate for me princess. Bet you can’t wait for me to fuck you huh?” George’s hands coming down to grip Y/N’s hips and helping her rut against him.

Y/N lets out a breathy moan screwing her eyes shut, concentrating on the feeling of George’s harden length beneath her.

“What do you need darling? My fingers? My mouth? Tell me and it’s all yours.” George asks kissing along Y/N’s jaw which opens slightly a silent moan falling off her lips. “Gotta use your words baby. Tell me what you want.”

Y/N opens her eyes and connects them with George, “both Georgie. Want your fingers and mouth, please.”

George immediately lays Y/N down on the bed, her head resting on the pillows. His calloused fingers caressing her sides before hooking into the waistband of her pants and pulling them down slowly.

A sharp gasp leaves Y/N’s lips as George nips on the skin on her thigh.

“Already so fucking wet for me.” George rubs his finger against Y/N’s soaked panties before pulling them off.

Y/N spreads her legs further for George, desperate for him. “Please Georgie, need your mouth.”

“Anything for you, my darling” Y/N’s cunt is already glistening and begging for some attention. George wastes no time and licks a strip from her entrance up to her clit before sucking on the sensitive bud. Y/N rolls her head further back into the pillow and attaches her hand into George’s fiery locks shamelessly trying to pull him closer.

George hums sending vibrations against Y/N’s clit while he massages her wet folds with his fingers before he glides two digits into her heat and starts pumping slowly.

Y/N starts rocking her hips against Georges face and fingers silently begging for more.

George smirks as he lightly nips Y/N’s clit continuing to fuck Y/N with his fingers extremely slow much to Y/N’s dismay. His mouth moves to her thigh, mumbling against her skin. “If you want something baby, you gotta use your words.”

Y/N groans at Georges request, he was always persistent in making her more vocal in bed. He knew exactly what she wanted; he was just teasing. She tugs on George’s hair forcing him to meet her eyes, “I need you to fuck me harder with your fingers, please, I need you so badly Georgie.”

If George wasn’t making Y/N feel so amazing, she’d wipe that smug smirk of his face but her thoughts quickly disappear as George adds a third finger and quickens his pace, his free hand pressed against Y/N’s stomach, keeping her still. Y/N whimpers feeling George’s long fingers start brush against her g-spot, her walls clenching around him as pleasure builds up in her stomach, “feels so good.”

“Fuck, look at you taking my fingers so well, darling. Being such a good girl for me, letting me stretch you out for my cock.” Y/N lets out a heavenly moan which goes straight to Georges already throbbing dick, which is aching for some relief in his pants. George starts rubbing circles against Y/N clit with his thumb, determined to make Y/N come on just his fingers.

Y/N starts panting, her hips bucking up to meet George’s movements tightening her grip in his hair, his name falling from her lips, “fuck, fuck. I’m close.” She uses her free hand to pinch her nipples in between her fingers as the arousal in her belly builds.

George sucks harshly on her thigh, stretching her out with his fingers. “Come on my fingers baby, show me how good I make you feel.”

With George’s words Y/N is coming hard against his fingers, her back arching off the bed. George continues pumping his fingers into her cunt milking her through her orgasm. Once her breathing has slowed, he slowly pulls out his digits, his mouth watering with how they are glistening. George lifts his fingers to Y/N’s lips and watches as she opens wide and circles her tongue around his long fingers sucking hard and humming as she tastes herself. He pulls them out with a pop dragging his thumb against her bottom lip, “so pretty. Think you’re ready for my cock now princess?”

Y/N nods her head eagerly, reaching up to pull of Georges shirt, “god yes please, miss being full of you.”

She drags her nails down George’s toned chest while he rids himself of the rest of his clothes. George wraps his hand around his cock and notices Y/N’s eyes glued to him as strokes himself, a smirk creeping onto his lips. “Like what you see babe?” Y/N only rolls her eyes at him.

George leans over Y/N, propping himself up with his forearm while his other hand is wrapped around his cock teasing her entrance. Y/N hooks her legs around George’s waist, bucking her hips up trying to find some friction. “Please George, need you to feel me up with your cock.” Y/N knows she sounds desperate, but it’s been way too long since George has fucked her and now that he’s right here she can’t wait a second longer.

George starts to slowly push forward not stopping until his hips are flush against Y/N’s. “Shit Y/N, you’re so still so fucking tight even after I stretched up out with my fingers.”

Y/N sighs contently feeling George’s cock buried deep inside her, she missed him stretching her out like this. The room is filled with moans and grunts at George starts pounding into Y/N. She can feel the tip of his cock rub against her g-spot with every thrust. Y/N grabs onto his shoulders her nails digging into his skin, most likely leaving marks, but she didn’t care.

“Taking me so well, baby. Such a good girl” He praises, his fingers coming down to rub circle on her sensitive bud, leaving open mouthed kisses against the base of her throat. “You feel so fucking good clenching around my cock, this sweet little pussy is all mine, hey princess? Tell me who this cunt belongs too?”

Y/N bites her lip trying to suppress a moan but failing, “you Georgie, you always make me feel so good. Always fuck me so good.”

George hoists Y/N’s legs around his shoulders allowing him to hit deeper inside her cunt. Y/N’s eyes roll back into her head at the new position, her fingers pinching and massaging her breasts. George is slamming into her harder now and more gasps are leaving Y/N’s mouth. “Fuck Y/N you look so fucking pretty like this. Letting me fill you up with my cock.”

Y/N reaches down to play with her clit desperately needing to reach her second orgasm. “Love being so full of your thick cock Georgie. Feels so fucking good.”

Y/N feels George twitch inside of her, he’s close but she knows he won’t finish until she has. He snaps his hips harder into Y/N causing her to moan his name. George can feel her walls clenching around him causing him to groan loudly.

Y/N tangles her fingers in Georges hair pulling his lips to meet hers, “Georgie. Fuck, I’m-I’m so close.”

George tugs on her earlobe with his teeth “want you to cum around my cock Y/N.” With a few more deep thrusts Y/N comes, her legs shaking from the pleasure rushing throughout her body. She squeezes her eyes shut George’s names leaving her pretty mouth like a mantra.

Y/N pulsating and tightening around George pushes him over the edge and he releases his load inside of her groaning into her neck. He slowly rocks his hips as they come down from their highs before gently pulling out and laying on the bed pulling Y/N into his side.

“I love you” Y/N whispers, tracing patterns into his sweaty chest.

George plants a soft kiss against her forehead. “I love you too darling, so much.” Y/N can feel her eyes getting heavy, sleep wanting to overtake her body. George notices this and squeezes her shoulder. “How about I run you a warm bath, get you cleaned up, then we can get some sleep yeah?”

Y/N mumbles a reply against his skin feeling exhausted. “Maybe I should overwork myself more often if it means you’ll take care of me like this.”

George chuckles and sits up, pulling Y/N up with him and gently stroking her back, “baby you and me both know I always take of you, don’t need a reason.”

Y/N smiles sweetly up at George, feeling very blessed to have such a caring boyfriend.

[blueskrugs]

I Wanna Know You | Matthew Tkachuk

I heard this hannah montana song in a store at the beginning of december, immediately thought of Matthew, and then spent a week with it stuck in my head and trying to plan it out. sorry this isn’t a request, but I needed a break from writing them to remember why I loved writing. yikes. anyway, apparently I’m still incapable of writing fics that aren’t based on or inspired by songs. maybe one day...

length: 2.4k words

When I saw you over there, I didn't mean to stare But my mind was everywhere, I wanna know you

Matthew Tkachuk was magnetic. He’d always been like that, loud, the center of attention, lighting up whatever room he’d walked into. He thrived when all eyes were on him, and he lived to make people smile. That’s where you met him, at a party just before the start of the season, in Gio’s backyard on a night that wasn’t quite summer and not quite fall, either.

You were friends with Johnny's girlfriend, and she’d insisted that you come along. She’d told you that no one would care, and she had been right, because no one had paid you any mind other than asking what you wanted to drink. Besides, looking around, you were pretty sure other people had brought plus-ones or plus-twos and threes. 

Matthew was holding court in a corner of the yard, always with a shitty beer in his hand and a small crowd of people around him. Your eyes kept being drawn to him, not just for the way whatever stories he was telling periodically sent up peals of laughter into the night sky, but for the way his face lit up when he talked.

He caught you in the kitchen when you were grabbing water. 

“I don’t know you,” he said bluntly. You were taken aback. “I mean-” Matthew shook his head. “I’m Matthew,” he said, holding out the hand that wasn’t holding yet another Bud Light. 

“I know,” you said before you could stop yourself. 

Matthew laughed. “You a fan?” 

“Would you stop talking to me if I told you I were an Oilers fan?” You mostly just wanted to see what he would say. 

Matthew wrapped an arm around your shoulders and dragged you back outside. “Nope.”

There's a mark above your eye, you got it in July Fightin' for your sister's reputation

It was well after dark, and you’d had more than a few drinks. Which probably amounted to whatever courage it took to reach out and poke Matthew in the forehead where he was sitting next to you at a bonfire someone had built. 

“Ow,” Matthew said, rubbing his forehead. You hadn’t even poked him hard enough to leave a mark, but there was something there, a cut just above his eyebrow that had barely healed all the way.

“How’d you get that?” you asked.

On your other side, Noah snorted. Matthew flipped him off. “I’ll have you know that I was defending my little sister’s honor.” Noah laughed outright now. “Okay, she and Luke Hughes were arguing about something dumb down at the Lake this summer, and I stepped in.”

“And?” you prompted, because you could tell the story didn’t end there. 

“And I wasn’t paying attention where I was walking and fell off the end of the dock and hit my head.” Matthew somehow managed to look sheepish while grinning as the group sitting around the fire burst out laughing. He rubbed at his forehead again wryly. “My mom says it’s gonna scar,” he added. 

“Maybe leave out the falling off a dock part next time you tell the story,” you told him. 

Matthew grinned at you and winked. You settled back into your lawn chair and took a sip of your drink, watching as Matthew launched into another tale of something that happened at the lake over the summer, thinking that you could get used to this.

Matthew kissed you for the first time later that night, alone in the hallway as the party was winding down, still tasting a little of beer, and, yeah, you could definitely get used to this. 

And valentines are lame So you bring me flowers just for no occasion

The first time Matt brought you flowers for no reason, you were suspicious. It wasn’t your birthday, or anniversary, or Valentine’s Day– and he hadn’t missed any of those things, either. But there they were, waiting on the table in your apartment when you got home from work. You knew they were from Matthew because the card had one of his dumb cheesy jokes on it, but you still didn’t know why they were from Matthew. You snapped a picture and sent it to him, simply asking, “what did you do?”

Matt called you instead of responding. 

“What did you do?” you asked again.

“What makes you think I did something?” Matthew asked. You could hear him pouting. 

“Why else would you give me flowers?” You were still a little anxious about it, and Matthew wasn’t exactly helping. “How did you even get them in my apartment, anyway?” The Flames were on a road trip, had flown out to Chicago that morning.

“Used your spare key and dropped ‘em off before I went to the airport this morning,” he said. He sounded a little proud of himself.

“Matthew,” you sighed. “I gave you my spare key for emergencies,” you chided.

“And I needed to give you flowers!”

“Matt!”

“Okay, I just-” Matthew cut himself off. “My dad used to send my mom flowers from longer road trips, and I always thought that would be something I would do one day.” Matt trailed off, and he sounded hesitant for the first time all conversation.

You reached out and ran your fingers over the petals on one of the roses in the bouquet. They were pretty, and it was cute that Matthew had wanted to give you flowers, had thought of it while getting ready for a road trip in the middle of a busy season. 

“You couldn’t have at least put them in a vase?” you asked, grinning, though Matthew couldn’t see you.

Matt huffed out a laugh, surprised. “I was running late!”

“Yeah, well, now these poor flowers are half-dead,” you told him, holding your phone between your shoulder and your ear so you could root through your cabinets for a vase to rescue the flowers that were indeed wilting a little.

“Then I’ll just have to send you more,” he said.

“Oh my God, Matthew.”

The flowers kept coming throughout that first season together, with no real rhyme or reason: before some road trips, whether they were over a week or just two days, or when he came home from a road trip, showing up at your door and producing a bouquet with a flourish and a crooked grin. It always meant that Matthew had been thinking of you, no matter where he was.

You smile, nеver shout You stand out in a crowd

As Matthew got older, he had developed a habit of adopting rookies. It was entertaining to watch: Matthew, not really much older than a rookie himself, but with an A on his chest nonetheless, going full big brother-mode on all the kids fresh into the league.

Which is why you were woken up in the middle of the night by a phone call from one of said rookies. You listened to Matthew stumble out of bed and root around for a hoodie in the dark, grumbling under his breath about “idiot kids.”

“What happened?” you asked, still half-asleep.

“Fucking ow,” he said, tripping over one of his shoes. “Fucking Zary got in a fight at a bar or something, I don’t know. He asked me to come pick him up.” Matthew had managed to get matching shoes on his feet, and was now looking for his keys. “I’ll be back with him later if I don’t kill him.”

Matthew did not kill Zary, just drove him home and directed him to the guest bedroom to sleep it off, because he did love his rookies, though he would never admit it to anyone. 

The next morning, Connor was waiting nervously in the kitchen when you both woke up.

“Coffee, kid?” Matt asked.

“I didn’t start the fight!” Connor blurted.

Matthew snorted. “I didn’t ask, but good for you, kid.” He started fiddling with his coffee maker. 

“You’re not gonna, like, yell at me?”

“Do you want me to?”

You laughed softly. “Be nice, Matthew.”

“I’m always nice!” Matthew protested. “And, no, I’m not gonna yell, but you are bag skating after practice for a week,” he told Zary, pointing a fork at him. The piece of fruit he’d had speared on it fell off and hit the floor. “Ah, fuck.”

You're fragile and you're strong A beautiful and perfect combination

For the most part, Matthew didn’t let much bother him. He was good at leaving the game on the ice, not taking anything too personally. He did, however, take his game very seriously. He was always trying to be better, for himself for the team, and he prided himself on becoming a leader in the locker room over the years. He took bad losses to heart, and he was the first to blame himself for any mistakes he made. 

The Flames were having a terrible, horrible, no good, very bad, well, couple of weeks. Okay, maybe you were exaggerating just a little, but it certainly wasn’t pretty. They were losing more than they were winning– they lost every game on a four game road trip, the games they were winning were sloppy, and they were losing ground in the standings. To make matters worse, in the latest game, Matthew had missed an easy goal on an empty net. Yeah, definitely not pretty. 

You made it home before him and waited. 

Matthew slammed the front door when he came in, but there wasn’t a lot of force behind it, like he was too exhausted even for frustration. You had been idly watching an Oilers game because it was on, but you turned the TV off when Matt came into the living room. He wasn’t wearing his suit jacket, his tie wasn’t tied properly anymore, and his dress shirt was rumpled. 

“Oh, babe,” you said. Matthew made a face at you. “Do you want to change or just-”

“Cuddle?” Matt asked.

“Yeah,” you laughed. “Come over here.”

Matt wasted no time in coming over and flopping gracelessly onto the couch with his head on your lap. You ran your fingers through his hair, and he pressed into your hand.

Matthew sighed, long and loud, ending in “Fuck.”

“It wasn’t that bad,” you tried, but you both knew you were lying. 

Matthew opened one eye to glare at you. “I hate this so much,” he said. There was a crease between his eyebrows, and he’d been chewing on his bottom lip. He sat up and pushed his hands through his already messy hair. “I don’t understand what’s wrong, we’re supposed to be a better team than this.”

You really weren’t sure how to comfort Matthew, but you hated seeing him like this. You reached out and took one of his hands, pulling him in for a hug. He slumped against you like his strings had been cut.

“I’m supposed to be better than this,” he whispered, and there it was. Matthew could grin his way through a game, letting chirps and insults roll off his shoulders, but when it came down to it, he would always be worried about being good enough, always wanting to impress everyone. To make people proud.

“Oh, babe,” you said again, but this time your heart broke a little for him. Matthew sighed again. “This is not your fault, you know that. You are good, and you’re a good team. You’ll get through this just fine.”

Matthew huffed like he didn’t believe you, but he didn’t argue with you. You sat quietly in the dark living room for a while, long enough you thought Matthew had fallen asleep. 

“Hey,” you said quietly. Matthew stirred and stretched. “You have a couple days off next weekend. Do you wanna drive out to Banff and do something?”

Matthew perked up immediately. “Can we go dog sledding?”

I like how you are with me In our future history

It was the end of the season, and you were at another backyard party at the Giordano’s. You were idly watching Matthew chase some of his teammates’ kids around. Well, actually, Matt was being chased by some and chasing some others. You weren’t sure how anyone knew who was doing the chasing. The other girls were chatting around you, but you were only half-listening as you watched Matthew scoop up a giggling Tillie Backlund and spin her around.

You couldn’t help but think about how Matthew would be with kids of your own one day. 

“I’m too young for baby fever,” you muttered into your sangria. 

Annica laughed next to you, following your gaze. “He’ll be a good dad one day,” she commented.

“You are not helping!” The other girls were laughing, now, too. 

“Have you two ever really talked about the future?” Meredith asked.

You scoffed. You hadn’t even been together for a year yet. “Not really,” you admitted. 

Your eyes didn’t leave Matthew as he flopped into the grass and let the kids swarm him. And yet. Matthew hadn’t stopped talking about how much he couldn’t wait for you to come down to St. Louis this summer, to really meet his family, to spend time down at the lake with everyone. How much his family was going to love you. 

You’d always dreamed of your future, of a picture-perfect wedding and a few kids and a dog. Growing up, the man of your dreams had always been just that, a dream, but lately when you thought about the future, Matthew was always there. That certainly felt like something important. 

After a few more minutes, Matthew extricated himself from the small mob of kids and made his way over to you, pulling the empty chair next to you close and kissing your temple as he dropped into it. 

“What’re you guys gossiping about?” Matt asked, plucking your glass from your hand and taking a drink. He made a face, but didn’t give it back to you.

“You’re great with all those kids,” Lauren said pointedly. Matthew beamed. 

Your group dissipated a little not long after that, and Matthew tugged you out of your own chair and into his lap. He poked you in the side a couple times.

“You’re awfully quiet.” You made a noncommittal noise. “What’re you thinking about, babe?” he asked.

You nosed at his jawline, pressed a kiss there. “You ever think about having kids?” you murmured.

Matt’s arms tightened around your waist, pulling you closer into him. “Yeah, of course.” He was smiling softly at you. “Oh.” 

You giggled a little. “Just one day,” you added.

Matthew kissed you, just a quick peck. “Yeah, one day,” he said.

One day didn’t feel so far away if you knew it would be Matthew by your side. Maybe you’d be used to his antics by then.

And maybe someday down the road I'll sit back and say to myself, "Yeah, I thought so"

[snowstark]

No Use Crying Over Spilled Coffee ☕️

For @buckybarnesbingo | Y3 - AU: Coffee Shop

LINK TO AO3

Summary: Steve hasn’t been to the coffee shop across his street in two years. To his surprise, the barista still remembers his order. There’s no way that means anything though, right? (Spoiler alert: it does).

Steve hadn’t been to this place in two years.

Two years was a long time.

In two years, he’d grown a beard. In two years, he’d managed to earn enough that he was able to switch his polyester suits for cashmere. In two years, Steve went from a stammering, newly-hired intern to Pepper Potts’ personal assistant in Stark Industries.

So yeah, Steve Rogers was a grown ass man, and he was still scared of showing his face to his neighbourhood coffee shop. Humiliating.

But, well. That was two years ago. And there was no way Twink Barista would still be working here.

He was wrong. Twink Barista was still working there, and somehow, even assuming that he would’ve been able to find a new, better job where he didn’t have to deal with angry businessmen made Steve feel even guiltier. He of all people knew that job hunting wasn’t easy. Had been jobless and couch surfing for a while, until he’d met Pepper and she’d seen something in him.

This was fine. He could deal with this. Two years had passed. He’d probably forgotten all about Steve, had probably allowed the memory to fade into other similar ones. Besides, he’d changed. He had a beard now. Wasn't that basically a disguise?

This was fine. He could deal with this. Two years had passed. He’d probably forgotten all about Steve, had probably allowed the memory to fade into other similar ones. Besides, he’d changed. He had a beard now. Wasn't that basically a disguise?

This was fine. He could deal with this. Two years had passed. He’d probably forgotten all about Steve, had probably allowed the memory to fade into other similar ones. Besides, he’d changed. He had a beard now. Wasn't that basically a disguise?

This was fine. He could deal with this. Two years had passed. He’d probably forgotten all about Steve, had probably allowed the memory to fade into other similar ones. Besides, he’d changed. He had a beard now. Wasn't that basically a disguise?

There was a long line, so Steve sat down at a table. He hated lines; he was willing to wait half an hour until it cleared out.

Then he started second-guessing himself, because shit, maybe he should just get in line to order when the barista was busy with multiple customers waiting so that he wouldn’t even take a long look at Steve’s face.

What if he remembered Steve? What if he reacted badly? What if—why did Steve even care? Baristas dealt with angry people on the daily. Steve knew from experience. So why did he care?

Because he didn’t like being an asshole, or a bully.

And he’d been both, and hadn’t ever bothered to try to make amends afterwards, had just disappeared.

All over spilled coffee.

Twink Barista was still cute. Same hair, same shy look on his face, same flushed cheeks. The first time Steve had laid eyes on him, he’d, well, he’d been charmed, to say the least. The way he’d nervously fidgeted as he let Steve pay for his order had made him smile, and his squeaked, “Thank you, Sir, your order will be right with you,” had really just been the cherry on the top.

Sir.

Steve… liked that.

Steve liked being called Sir. Not just at work, but in bed. And hearing Twink Barista—fuck, what was his name again?—utter that title had… well, he hadn’t had to deal with that problem when scalding hot coffee had soaked his stomach and pants. And crotch.

Twink Barista had a co-worker now, too, he noted. He was cute, like a golden retriever, with how much he smiled and nodded as he took orders from customers, how he handed them their drinks with an extra flourish, beaming. Like life was content, and everything was rainbows and sunshine. If Steve squinted from where he was, he could see that his name started with a C, and when he leaned closer—subtly—the best he got was… Cit? Clit? Oh, god, please don’t let his name be Clit.

Two customers left, which left just a few in the store. He should probably get in line now. But his feet couldn’t move, like they were stuck to the floor, because he wasn’t sure whether facing Twink Barista or a blonde guy potentially named Clit would be worse.

Fortunately—unfortunately?—he didn't have to decide.

Blonde guy—Steve refused to refer to him as “Clit,” even mentally, goddammit—started bustling around after Twink Barista murmured something to him, and stepped out from behind the counter with a mug.

And headed straight for Steve.

Oh, god. This wasn’t—this couldn’t—

Steve tried to look anywhere and everywhere else he could, even considered getting up to flee, but it was too late.

Blonde guy—Clint! Steve noted with dizzying relief—set down the mug on the small round table that he was sitting at and beamed. “For you!”

Steve swallowed back… whatever he’d been about to say, and hesitated for a long few moments before saying dumbly, “I didn’t stand in line.” He could feel his shirt begin to get damp with sweat.

Clint seemed unfazed. He shrugged and smiled politely, maybe a bit awkwardly, but it was still just as warm as the one he’d given the other customers. “My buddy Bucky says it’s your favourite. Don’t worry, it’s on the house.”

Steve opened his mouth to reply, but Clint hurried away before he could. His favourite. What the hell did that mean?

He reached out, picked up the warm mug, and took a sip. His cheeks flushed with heat the moment the drink hit his taste buds. He pulled back almost reflexively, nearly choking on his drink, tongue burning both from the flavour and how hot it was.

He jerked his head up and towards the direction of the counter, and met Twink—Bucky’s—eyes for a split second before Bucky hurriedly looked away. His cheeks flushed a darker shade of pink than usual, Steve noted, because Steve always noticed small things like that. He suddenly began talking animatedly with customers, but Steve could pick out the tension in his shoulders, the way he kept swallowing reflexively like he was trying to push down bile, like he was nervous that Steve would—like he might—

No. Enough. Steve had a meeting in a bit more than half an hour. He’d come here to relax. So that was what he’d do.

He picked up the mug again and took another sip, then began to read his newspaper, because he was here to relax.

The article was talking about a dog that had managed to save four people from a fire before firefighters could step in.

Lucky, a golden lab at the spry age of two, suffered three mild burns after—

“Sir, please, I didn’t—please don’t leave without pay—”

“What the fuck did you say? You think it’s okay to just say that after you fuckin’ spill that all over me?”

“Sir, I’m s-so—”

—safe to say that Lucky did not suffer any serious injuries. Our furry neighbourhood hero—

“You think you can fucking get a bill after that clown show? You think—god, are you—are you that dense?”

“I promise, Sir, I’ll get you a new drink—”

“I don’t wanna fucking hear it. Unbelievable. You think it’s easy to get this dry-cleaned? Do you even realize how much I—”

Steve’s grip tightened on the paper, and he wished the store would turn up their soft jazz music, if only to block out the sounds in his head.

By the time he finished his drink, he had fifteen minutes to spare, but he didn’t want to spend a second longer in here. So, he yanked out his wallet, pulled out a few bills at random—they happened to be hundreds—and shifted the mug so that he could slide it under, just enough so that half of the bills were poking out. He grabbed the unused napkin Clint had brought with it, pulled out a pen from his pocket, and scrawled, Thank you for the drink, Bucky. My favourite. - S.R.

Then, he got the fuck out of there without looking back even once.

__________

For some unfathomable reason, Steve returned to the coffee shop a few days later.

Maybe it was to try to make amends, since his little napkin note wasn’t, well, enough. Or maybe he just wanted to stare at Bucky again. He was pretty.

He was disappointed to see that Bucky wasn’t there when he stood in line; it was just Clint again, and a red-haired girl, but that was okay. It wasn’t like his life depended on seeing the guy. Besides, Bucky had to have a life outside of his job too.

Steve wondered if he still thought about the incident as frequently as Steve did. He clearly remembered it, considering he’d remembered Steve’s order, but…

He jumped when the door opened with a loud jingle, and speak of the devil, in stepped Bucky. He looked flushed, and his hair was a sweaty mess that he reached up to push away from his forehead. He still looked pretty.

Steve almost raised a hand to say hi, and barely stopped himself in time as Bucky turned and met his eyes, covering his ass by pretending to scritch at his beard. He gave a small smile, a hopeful one, wait, no, what was wrong with him, and Bucky flashed him one that didn’t quite reach his eyes before scrambling to get behind the counter.

There were only two people in front of him, so it wasn’t a long wait, and in less than two minutes, Steve found himself standing in front of Bucky. Clint and the red-head squawked inaudibly to each other, but it was clearly some teasing thrown at Bucky, because Steve noticed Bucky subtly stepping on Clint’s toes, drawing out a muffled yelp from him.

“Hi, what can I get for you?” Bucky gave him a small smile. Again, didn’t quite reach his eyes.

That was mostly Steve’s fault, he supposed. He didn’t exactly look like a sweet, innocent little lamb right now either, probably worse than two years ago. “The usual,” he supplied, raising an eyebrow to see if Bucky understood, just because he wanted to.

Bucky’s cheeks grew rosy. “Of course. Is that all?”

“Mmm…” Steve let his gaze slide over to the pastries that were on display. “Give me your favourite from the desserts, too.”

“Of course.” Bucky tapped into the screen, brows knitting as he concentrated, and shit, he was really cute.

Steve swallowed. “Thanks. How much?”

“Oh, um, it’s fine. I’ll just—it’s on me. You paid more than enough last time.”

Steve rolled his eyes. “No, c’mon, kid. How much?”

Bucky flushed. “‘m not a kid.”

“No?” Steve pointedly let his eyes roam over Bucky’s face, then down to his chest before flicking back up, delighted—because he was a sadist, sue him—to see Bucky’s face growing even warmer at the attention. “Sure look like one.”

Bucky gaped, and Steve suddenly—he—what the fuck was he doing? Jesus. He shook his head. “Sorry, just, look, just tell me how much.” He was—that was so inappropriate and unprofessional, he shouldn’t even be—

“Ten bucks,” Bucky mumbled, and Steve paid.

He glanced over his shoulder and noted that there were only three people actually sitting in the shop and no one in line behind him, which, cool, that was good. “Thanks,” he said simply, then moved to sit down.

He watched as Bucky hurriedly bowed his head, making his drinks, hissing something to his co-workers, cheeks still pink, and Steve saw him pop a matcha strawberry brownie into the oven.

He glanced down at his phone, answered a quick email, then sent Pepper a text saying that he might be a few minutes late back from his break, which she responded to with a thumbs up, and then the water gun emoji. He smiled.

“Your wife?”

Steve jumped and looked up, turning his phone off reflexively. Bucky set down the plate and mug in front of him. “Oh, no, my, uh, my boss.” He laughed awkwardly.

Bucky looked mortified. “Oh my god, I’m—I don’t even know why I asked that, I shouldn’t have even been looking, I’m so sorry, I don’t usually—I didn’t—”

“Bucky, it’s fine.” Steve gave him a smile that he hoped was warm, and reached out to take his drink. Bucky’s eyes followed his movements anxiously. “Thank you for the drink.”

Bucky blinked. “You paid for it.”

Steve bit the inside of his cheek. “I guess so.”

Bucky swallowed, glanced over his shoulder at Clint, who raised an eyebrow at him, and Steve smiled, he couldn’t help it, okay? “Is there a problem?”

Bucky shook his head, hard. “No, no, oh—it’s just—you know, it’s just an inside joke or something.” He flushed again, and Steve’s eyes lingered on his face for a few moments before he tore it away to take a bite from the brownie. “Um, is there anything else I can—that I can do? So that—I don’t want to mess up like—maybe you don’t even remember that it was me, but—”

“Two years ago?” The words slipped before Steve could bite them back.

Bucky swallowed and nodded. “Yeah. Yeah, um, okay, you do remember. That’s… not fun.”

Steve took the time to think over his words before responding. “No, I suppose not,” he finally said. Bucky twitched. “But only because I keep remembering your tears while I yelled at you.” He huffed humourlessly.

Bucky hesitated, then— “My crocodile tears, you mean?”

“Oh, shit, I did call them that, didn’t I?” Steve gave him a rueful glance. “Look, Bucky, I didn’t—that was two years ago. And I don’t know what possessed me to say those things.” His chest tightened up anxiously, but it was fine, this was good, he’d have some closure, and if he was lucky, he’d be on good terms with Bucky. Who was very pretty. “I guess what I’m tryin’ to say is: I’m sorry.”

Bucky gaped at Steve, and Steve shifted uncomfortably in his seat, busying himself with his drink as he waited for—something. “It’s… it’s okay,” he croaked. “Thanks. I didn’t mean to.”

“I know.” Steve gave him a small smile. “We’re good now, okay? I promise.”

Bucky nodded, looking just as relieved as Steve felt. “Yeah, okay, cool.”

Steve saw Clint pump his fist in the air behind the counter not-so-subtly out of the corner of his eye.

__________

Steve visited every day during his break.

Bucky was less shy and anxious around him now, sometimes even cracking jokes with him, sometimes holding small talk with him, and no matter what he did, it felt perfect. Steve… was having fun. For the first time in years.

Sometimes, he didn’t even get anything besides a cup of water, and Bucky would still treat it like it was the most precious thing in the world as he carried it over to his table.

Bucky set down his coffee in front of him, beaming. “For you.”

Steve laughed. “Bucky, I’m—god, you’re gonna turn me into an addict.”

Bucky smiled shyly. “That’s okay. It just means you’ll keep coming back here, won’t it?”

Steve melted. “Aw, shit.” He grinned. “You’re a real charmer.”

Bucky laughed. “Yeah, yeah, says the guy in the suit.” He raised an eyebrow. “I’m glad everything’s going well for you.”

“Thank you,” Steve said warmly. “You—I didn’t know you’d still be here, actually.” He took a sip. “Thought you’d have, well, I dunno. Moved on.”

“Oh!” Bucky shuffled his feet, and he scratched at the back of his neck in a way, cheeks rosy. “Yeah, well, I mean. No Fortune 500 company wants a college dropout. I’ve tried, but not much success.”

Shit. “Sorry. That was rude.”

“‘s fine. It’s true. I mean, two years is a long time.”

That was true. Two years was a long time. Two years and Steve had changed. Maybe Bucky could, too. If Steve helped. And he wanted to. Bucky was… Bucky was the biggest sweetheart Steve had ever met. He already knew Pepper would be charmed by him, would love him, maybe even take him under her wing like she’d done for Steve, and that was good, because then Bucky would get a promotion—

You mean if it’s good because it means you get to see more of his cute ass— shut up.

Steve sipped his drink thoughtfully, then— fuck it. “I could try to help,” he said. “Pepper—my boss—she’s looking for another assistant. Well, assistant to her assistant, I guess, would be a better way to explain it. So, a personal assistant for me. It’s at Stark Industries.” He shrugged. “I already know you—” Barely. “—so it’s not like making a recommendation would be odd. Networking.”

Bucky gaped at him. “You’re—oh my god, you’re insane.”

Steve laughed, surprised. “Am I?”

“Yes!” Bucky spluttered. “I just—you can’t just offer a job like that, Steve.”

“Why the hell not? It’s my assistant, Pepper won’t care.” He shrugged. She really wouldn’t. Bucky continued to stare disbelievingly, and Steve suddenly began to wonder if it’d been the wrong decision, if he’d pushed too hard, too fast, too— Shhh. “We’re friends now, aren’t we? ‘s what friends do for each other.” Steve waited, then broke into a grin at the expression on Bucky’s face. He was pretty sure Bucky would be at a loss for words for the next five minutes, when—

“And does being your personal assistant entail some action behind the scenes at home?”

Steve choked on his drink, coughing, his face glowing with heat.

Bucky looked equally mortified and taken aback by the words that had left his mouth, and he cried out, “Oh my god, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean—I swear I didn’t—”

“Bucky!” Steve spluttered. “You’re fine! It’s fine!”

Bucky was still red in the face, and he was back to not looking Steve in the eyes, which, ugh, that was progress gone one step backwards. “I’m sorry. That was so unprofessional, I didn’t—”

Steve shook his head, shoulders shaking with laughter. “No, you’re fine. We’re friends. Friends joke around, don’t they?”

“Yeah,” Bucky said faintly. “Yeah, I guess so. ‘m still sorry.”

Suddenly feeling mischievous, Steve grinned and replied, “Forgiven—but only if you spell out what you meant for me.”

Bucky gaped.

Steve raised an eyebrow, and Bucky’s throat bobbed as he swallowed. “I’m waiting,” he drawled.

Bucky blushed and made a frustrated, embarrassed noise as he shifted his weight on the balls of his feet, looking hesitant as Clint and the girl bustled around behind him, clearly trying to be inconspicuous while eavesdropping. It made Steve’s lips twitch in amusement. “It’s just, I guess… you’re like, you emit rich energy now, my stupid brain just classified you—your offer as a sugar daddy thing, but as a joke, but I swear—”

Steve had been joking about earning his forgiveness, but curiosity took over against his better judgement, and he involuntarily leaned closer, but he never got to hear the rest of Bucky’s response because his phone suddenly rang out loudly in the nearly empty store, and he scowled. He snatched his phone up and the screen flashed the name TONY up at him. “Shit, I’m sorry. I have to take this.”

“Oh.” Bucky stared. “Oh, okay.”

Steve felt a pang of regret watching him back away, but there wasn’t anything he could do, not when Tony was calling him for god knew what. He picked up and when he spoke, his voice came out more curtly than he’d intended for it to, which was even worse because he knew Tony would pick up on that. “Tony.”

“Ohhh, Steve. Steve, Steve, Steve. You sound busy. Are you busy, Steve-o?” Tony drawled into the phone, then hissed, “Dummy, I swear to god, I’m gonna turn you into a pile of scraps, I’m gonna sell your parts, I’m gonna—”

“A bit,” Steve interrupted. “I was just in the middle of a conversation.” His gaze drifted to Bucky, who was cleaning up a table nearby. His cheeks reddened the slightest bit at Steve’s attention. Cute.

“Oh, really now?” God, Steve could just picture Tony wiggling his eyebrows delightedly. “That’s cute, baby, that’s real cute. Look, I need you to do something.”

“Don’t call me ‘baby.’” Steve rolled his eyes. “What is it?”

“You’ll find out. Tomorrow. Don’t ask Pepper about it. Can’t spoil the surprise, soldier. Just got excited, couldn’t help but call you about it.”

“God, Tony, you’re like, the CEO of the biggest company in the world; don’t you have better, more important things to do?” Steve chuckled fondly.

“Mm, nope.” Tony was smirking. Steve knew he was. “Now, I’ll let you go back to trying to hook up with twinks at your local cafe.”

“I— what?” Steve spluttered, and now it was his turn to get red in the face. “How do you even—”

“Byeee, Steve,” Tony sing-songed, and then the call ended.

Steve left shortly after that, because Bucky became too busy with a group of teenagers who’d come into the shop, and he could only make Pepper wait so long.

He didn’t forget to scribble his number on a napkin, though.

For networking purposes.

Totally.

__________

He waited, but his phone stayed silent for the rest of the day.

Steve had nearly given up by eleven when his phone buzzed, and the screen lit up with a message from an unknown number. He snatched it up immediately, unlocked his phone, and opened the Messages app.

Unknown Number: Hi. It’s Bucky.

Steve took the time to add Bucky to his contacts because duh, then replied.

Steve: Hey! :) Good rest of the day?

The response came immediately.

Bucky: Yeah, just got weirdly busy after our talk.

Bucky: Did you really mean it? The job thing?

Steve: Of course I did. I can’t guarantee it for sure, but I have some influence over who we hire, so. Better than nothing, right?

Bucky: Yeah, yeah.

Steve sucked the inside of his cheek, trying to think of what to say, when—

Bucky: Thank you. I appreciate it

Steve: No problem. A new (better) start to our friendship lol

Bucky: Lol yes. I promise I won’t ruin your suit this time

Steve typed out, You can ruin my suit anytime you want as a joke, but he hastily deleted it because that sounded way too sexual.

Steve: I’ll count on it ;)

Bucky: Stop by the shop tmr?

Steve: Baby, all you had to do was ask. Xoxo goodnight now

Shit. He hadn’t meant to use the pet name.

Bucky: Goodnight!!!

Bucky: <3

Okay, it was fine, then. More than fine. Bucky had sent him a heart. Steve grinned, then set his phone down to prepare for bed.

This was good. It was. It was a new friendship, and Steve couldn’t remember the last time he’d actually made a friend, and he should be happy with himself for having the courage to apologize and come to a reconciliation with Bucky. He had no idea how this was going to end, but that didn’t matter. He was satisfied with what he had.

He most definitely should not be wishing that they were more than just friends.

[snaxpo]

fuck it bugsnax/s4m au notes

alternate title: i’m at that point in liking something where i have to combine it with everything else i’ve liked previously and today i’m making that everyone else’s problem. 

- base premise is a lil different! instead of being a journalist who was invited personally to the island by the expedition leader, you (or FK if you consider them a separate character from the player) are tasked with investigating the habitat, a budding commune on snaktooth island that may or may not be devolving into a cult. there’s just one teeny tiny problem - the commune’s leader and also your main suspect, boris habit, has been missing for weeks by the time you arrive. 

- now it’s a matter of gaining the inhabitants’ trust/getting them to come back to the habitat while hunting and subduing the bugsnax, who seem increasingly eager to launch themselves at inhabitants at quite literally dangerous speeds, in a battle of wits to keep your newfound companions fed while documenting the strange creatures. and of course, the question of just what happened to boris habit still lingers in the air. think like... talentless nana where the protag pretends to be all cute and unassuming (complete with flower motifs!) but really they’re there on Super Secret Spy Business. but of course there’s less murder. 

- oddly the bugsnax seem to have only become more aggressive after his disappearance. i’m sure it’s nothing. 

- yes everyone is still a grumpus

- there isn’t really an interview “mechanic” so much as it is a Lot of cozying up to everybody in pursuit of whatever information you can find on habit/potential group rituals/events that led to his disappearance; you get it by bits and pieces rather than a single structured interview. there is of course a lot more interactions between characters than there is in s4m’s base game bc thats like 60% of the appeal of bugsnax and i would be a fool not to think of it.

- time for ideas for specific characters! kamal is the vice-mayor of the habitat and has been habit’s right-hand grump for as long as any of the inhabitants can remember, despite their relationship becoming increasingly strained ever since their arrival on the island, and especially before habit’s disappearance. i imagine you still find him passed out but instead of collapsing from starvation he’s like "please.... toothpaste... a breath mint.... some pepto bismol. i’ve been able to taste my own breath for weeks." has been trying to divide his time between looking after the habitat and looking for habit himself (and also his best friend wallus) but the dispersal of the habitat has left him a tad Demoralized, to say the least.

- i feel like trencil would play a wambus-adjacent role in the sense that he's the one taking care of the sauce plants and also one of the first townspeople you meet. you convince to come back with you not necessarily bc he'd be able to continue farming in town but bc he would probably have an easier time looking for his daughter if he got some sleep first (but only if you look for her in his stead)

- gillis is like. a wannabe chandlo. makes you capture a bunch of snax that he Says he's gonna use to get stronger but eventually you find out he's been releasing them or keeping them in like lil makeshift pet houses bc he always takes one look at their big googly eyes and turns to mush. but EVERYONE'S eating them so naturally if they find out he's not they're gonna think he's some kinda wuss so he just pretends. 

- dallas keeps asking for sweet n colorful bugsnax to give to mirphy to impress her (sweetieflies, instabugs, etc etc.) but by some streak of bad luck they always end up being her least favorite. he tries to see if Maybe he can use them to make some new bugsnak-exclusive pigments, but like in canon they always end up turning into mush before he can get very far. mirphy meanwhile is far more interested in preserving them for a potential display, but similar to dallas, she never gets very far.

- i imagine the kid habiticians are like. a roving band of semi-feral children bc if anyone's gonna keep them in town it's definitely not kamal.

- i wanna do something with wallus SO BAD like you find him somewhere up in frosted peak but i have no idea what he would even DO its fucking killing me

- those are all the ideas i have For Now; s4m has more characters than bugsnax so there’s a lot to be done w/ them lmao. if i think of any more i’ll probably put it in another post or if anybody wants to spitball with me.......  👀

- and now we get to The Big Guns: habit.

- he was fun to work on w/ this au mostly bc despite being the rough equivalent of lizbert he’s a way different type of flawed leader than her; where liz is responsible to the point of martyring herself without a second thought and not thinking to delegate any tasks to the other snaxburg residents, which is what ultimately causes them to fall apart once she disappears, habit's deal is that he wants the position and appearance of an authority figure because it'll keep him safe, but he kind of sucks at taking responsibility for anything he does wrong because he’s spent most of his life acting according to what other people (namely his family) expect of him and being met with a negative reception no matter what, so he doesn’t really believe he has power over anything, including his own actions, despite being such a control freak for most of his own game. so his arc would need something that’s kind of antithetical to what liz had, wouldn’t it?

- so what i got so far is that au habit was tryin to covertly start a bugsnax cult bc he sees being asborbed by the snax as a sort of ascension and was eventually planning to have everyone be absorbed; it’s important to note however that bc information on bugsnax is so obscure he doesn’t actually 100% know how absorption works so tl;dr: habit became the bugsnax monarch willingly and then 5 seconds later he was like "oh no wait this fucking sucks. what have i done. shit. fuck."

- unable to cope with the realization that he was once again forced to act in accordance to someone (or in this case something) else's desires, he shuts down emotionally, becoming an empty husk of a grumpus while the bugsnax above run rampant thanks to the extra fuel and absolutely no restrictions until the Big Climax when habit is finally moved to take back control of the snax and by proxy Take Some Fucking Responsibility for knowingly luring people to cthulhu island. however this does leave the obvious question of if he was such an empty shell for most of the game why didn’t they just. eat him.

- the answer i eventually landed on was that his self-preservation instincts were still kicking on a subconscious level and during the aforementioned climax he eventually realizes that he does not in fact want to die, he just doesn’t want to keep living the way he is now (as part of an ancient hivemind beyond his understanding) or the way he was before (you know.)

- also fun fact: i was thinking about what his monarch body would be based off of bc the snakdragon, while cool as shit, didn’t feel right for him, and then i remembered that blooming onions exist. i imagine he’s in the middle acting as the flower’s “stigma”

- as for endings i’m thinking like. in the neutral ending kamal joins habit but its left ambiguous whether or not they'll ever be able to leave the island or if this is even a permanent solution (call that the paw in unloveable paw ending). in the good ending you bust habit outta his queen body after fending off enough bugsnax together and it’s super gross bc the undersnax as a whole is super gross but hey at least everyone’s leaving alive. i don’t know what a bad ending entails except most if not all of the cast is dead and habit is left alone on the island surrounded by reminders of his spectacular failure.

- hell i can even think of a sequel hook for the good ending like in canon bugsnax; some time after the ending/credits you ask habit just Where did he get the information on bugsnax that led to him being like “you could make a religion out of this” and the screen fades to black before you hear his answer. there.

- its almost midnight.

[exquisitley-obsessed]

Fiances, Firebirds, Foxes and Fawns:13

Author: @exquisitley-obsessed

Summary: A few weeks after Briallyn’s attempt at uniting with Koschei, Lucien opens the door of Lockhart Manor to find Elain, cold from the rain and holding a note from the High Lady of the Night Court demanding her to assist Lucien in building alliances with the human councils. Forced to work together by their exhausted High Lord and Lady, Elain is able to convince anyone to do anything, while Lucien has the acquaintances to go anywhere he likes. Together, they attempt to unite the fae and mortal lands and unravel the deal made between Koschei and Vassa, while Lucien remains haunted by his own promise to Elain’s father. ELUCIEN, POST-ACOSF

Pairings: Elain x Lucien, Elucien

Warnings: NSFW

MY MASTERLIST

THIS FIC’S MASTERLIST

AO3

Chapter Thirteen: Unreliable Heart

I don’t care, I’m not leaving you behind.

Her voice echoed around Lucien’s mind, and though that certainly wasn’t the only thing about yesterday that was haunting him, those words had clung to him the moment they left her mouth.

And whose duty is it to protect you?

No one, to answer her question. Once upon a time, he’d thought it was his mother who was to protect him, and then he had watched year after year as she had destroyed herself doing just that. Eris hadn’t protected him, not really. Lessons and a sword were not enough, and Lucien had learnt not to consider scraps more than their worth. Tamlin…

Tamlin. His oldest friend turned…political acquaintance? Everything had been so good for so long, until Feyre, and whilst it was a terrible thought, perhaps Lucien hadn’t minded the obvious holes in their friendship because, simply, Lucien had had a friend. For the first time in his life, he had someone other than his mother, an uncaring brother or a random lover backing him, willing to fight and kill for him. He’d felt protected in Spring Manor and the years of peaceful, oblivious existence was proof of that.

Sighing, Lucien got up and out of bed. Before the sunset this day he and Elain would be settling in Spring Manor. The idea of bringing his mate into those ruined halls awoke the base mate desires, though those had been singing in his blood ever since the kiss.

God, that kiss.

The rest of yesterday had passed in his room writing letters and tying up loose ends with the mortal men for the following week, they would be missing the next meeting after all. The entire time Lucien’s body had grown more and more taut with frustration, and as he’d moved around his room deep in the night, throwing his clothes into a bag, his mind had been elsewhere, out in the forest by that riverbed. It didn’t take long for him to throw himself in an armchair before the roaring fire only to find that he was uncomfortably and unavoidably aroused.

He’d tried distracting himself with business numbers and thoughts of how to engage productively with Tamlin, but every time he shut his eyes, he just saw her. Heard her sighs. Felt the soft curves of her body pushing against him, the taste of her mouth, her scent as it had turned musky and yet still floral, like dried tea leaves.

When he’d opened his eyes again it was to find that he’d yanked on the drawstring of his pants, pulled them down and had taken himself roughly in his hand and was now lazily stroking himself. Glaring down at his throbbing member Lucien allowed his mind to empty, his entire being zoning in on that point of delicate pleasure as his fingers half-heartedly explored himself. There was a decision being made as he ran his fingers along the underside of his aching cock before gently stroking the head.

After a shiver of pure, physical pleasure, Lucien sighed with tired resignation. This was not going anywhere any time soon, not when her hot touch was still burning on his skin, and leaning back in his armchair Lucien allowed his mind to fill once more with the concept of her. His fingers moved from stroking to gripping as he took a firmer hold of himself, his other hand moving his trousers further down as his head rolled back.

Gritting his teeth Lucien closed his eyes and was once more overwhelmed by the sensation of her. Now moving from everything they had done to everything he wanted to do. The noises he wanted to pull from her, the expressions he wanted to see as pushed into her for the very first time.

It wasn’t hard to imagine that it was her smooth, delicate hand gripping him, and as his thumb brushed over the buds of precum weeping from his head, he pictured placing each droplet on the tip of her pink tongue and watching as she lapped them up eagerly.

With his other hand, he now moved to lift his shirt, his fingers running luxuriously across the tight, lithe muscles of his abdomen which promptly fluttered into rigid tension. Again he imaged her fingers running across his skin, feeling him, getting a scope of his body – the body that was made specifically for her. Gripping himself even tighter his entire body turned taut and quivering, his thighs straining, his ass clenching as his hips abruptly jerked into his awaiting fist.

A breathy curse tore from his lips as the images flooded into his mind in a jumbled, desperate mess. Her thighs spilling out of stockings. The sloping curve of her ass as she bent in front of him. The swell of her stomach as he took her from the side. Hair and tits and teeth scraping down his throat. Her lips on him, around him – licking, tasting, teasing.

Taking her in his chambers for hours, putting ice in her mouth and not letting her cum till it melts. Running his hands along her thighs under the dinner table, his hand on her leg like a permanent accessory. Fucking her hard and fast in that raw, animalistic way the bond craved for – that he craved for too. Making her fucking scream, letting the world know how sinful her pleasured whimpers sounded and then reminding that same world that she was his.

Her body. Her mouth. Her cunt. Warm. Tight. Wet.

Lucien came with a jagged gasp. His entire body coiling in on itself as his hip raised off the chair before he collapsed with a shudder as wave after wave of pleasure tore through him. His orgasm barrelled into him with a raw intensity bestowed only by the bond, causing his entire body to tremble as his cum splattered on the awaiting bare skin of his abdomen.

It seemed to take several moments with his hand still lazily milking himself before Lucien felt his entire body give out, his muscles turning into something liquid and satiated as he collapsed back in the chair. Sitting there, he could only manage to heave several breaths, his entire body feeling damp and warm as a light sheen of sweat coated his skin, making strands of his ruby hair stick to his face. When it came to Elain, everything was so much more intense.

After several heaving breaths, he felt himself begin to soften in his hand and let himself go as he pushed his hair off his face.

Looking down, he glanced at the milky cum splattered across his torso, the pale colour making his skin look even richer in the flickering firelight. An unbidden image of Elain on her knees before him, tracing the pattern of his cum with her tongue flooded into his mind and he let out a distressed groan.

So not entirely satiated then.

Chest still heaving for breath, Lucien pull his shirt from his body and began to lazily clean himself up. Pulling his pants off quickly after, Lucien threw away both offending items of clothing. He would bathe in the morning but for now, for tonight, he would enjoy the satiated feeling of his body, the sponginess of his muscles, the lack of taut hardness between his legs.

With the fire slowly dying Lucien had crawled between the sheets of his bed, pulling them down to his waist so that his bare torso may be kissed by the soft summer’s breeze coming from the window.

He’d slept better than he had in months, perhaps even years, and when he’d woken up it was to find something at ease within him.

Yesterday had happened, he’d kissed Elain and today they were travelling to Spring together where it was just to be them – and Tamlin.

Lucien had bathed hurriedly, not allowing his hands to linger too long on any part of himself. Then he was out and dressing, making sure to throw on an outfit that had come from his days in Spring. He wasn’t going to make much progress if he showed up in Illyrian leathers, again. After checking his bag several times, Lucien took a deep breath and went to find Elain.

She wasn’t in her room. Lucien had knocked and knocked and knocked and, nothing. The knocking was, of course, mostly a formality given that Lucien’s intuition as well as the bond clearly told him that his mate was not behind the door in front of him.

Trying to calm the rising ocean of panic Lucien knocked once more and after no answer, he turned the handle and peeked his head around the door.

Trying to calm the rising ocean of panic Lucien knocked once more and after no answer, he turned the handle and peeked his head around the door.

“Elain?”

Nothing. Not a whisper of life in the barren room. Opening the door wider Lucien could see that her bed was made, and her vanity cleaned out, the room was as he’d always known this guest room to be, spotless and lifeless. The only evidence Elain had ever been her were her bags stacked neatly in the centre of the room.

She was packed and ready which meant that surely she wasn’t too far, though this had been the time and place they’d agreed to meet before they travelled to the border and winnowed. Sighing, Lucien pushed into the room – and was hit by a mans scent.

Freezing mid-step, his entire body going rigid, Lucien inhaled deeply and found none other than Jurian’s scent laced throughout the room, mingling with the scent of his mate.

Something cold and deadly ran the length of his spine as the mating bond pumped a lethal protectiveness into his veins, or perhaps that was simply him. Setting his jaw, Lucien dug his hands into his pockets and surveyed the room, his metal eye whirring and clicking and searching for any evidence of the man who had dared to enter his mate’s room.

Mid-search Lucien heard voices far down the corridor, and it was only a second later that he recognised them as Elain and Jurian’s. The direction they were coming from told him they had just been in his room and were now heading to hers.

Extinguishing the flames coiling around his fingers, Lucien turned to the door.

***

“I just thought you should know,” Elain sighed as Jurian walked her back to her room.

She’d woken up and decided that she just had to tell someone about what she’d seen last night. There was no point ignoring such a pivotal vision given the circumstances. Especially given that her powers seemed to be coming back, whatever that meant.

Lucien had been her go to but when she’d reached for the bond that morning she’d been overwhelmed with such a pure, endless peace that she’d found she could not be the one to disturb it. For the first time, the usual tint of sadness that came from her mate’s end of the bond was nowhere to be found – and that was a magical thing indeed.

With Vassa still transfigured Elain had gone to Jurian’s room, only a few paces down the hall from hers. He’d opened the door with a knife in his hand and a murderous expression. Apparently, he didn’t get many visitors, particularly before 9 o’clock.

“I understand. I’m glad you told me of this.” Elain didn’t need to look at the madman to know he was being sincere.

“I’ll tell Lucien when I see him, perhaps you could tell Vassa too.”

“Yes, I don’t know if she ever was able to see Koschei with her own eyes, but I shall ask if grey arms and white scars ring any bells. Either way, you should hear from me soon.”

Jurian had been surprisingly quiet and contemplative as Elain had spoken of her vision-dream. Nothing she had said was lost on him, he didn’t scoff or brush off anything, he’d simply listened and appeared to be taking mental notes as he did so.

It had surprisingly warmed her heart as she thought back to those early days out of the Cauldron when she’d desperately tried to speak to her Night Court family. In her head, she could still see the rolling eyes of Nesta or the pained pitying expression of her brother-in-law as they both dismissed her pleas for rambling madness.

But before her stood a man who knew what it was to lose yourself, and never give up on the fight back home. That morning, for the first time since turning fae, Elain felt as though she were making a true friend, not just adopting someone else’s.

“Thank you,” she turned and smiled at him, bowing her head slightly.

As she had turned back to her upcoming door she’d nearly stumbled to find Lucien there, his stature filling the doorframe as he leant against it. He was the image of perfect boredom, his arms folded over his chest as he looked lazily around him, but Elain could instantly feel a dark swirling possessiveness radiating from the bond. Reaching for him, Elain was surprised to find that this dark storm of emotions was concentrated into one repeating word.

Mine.

“Lucien!” Jurian called out with an easy smirk, ignoring the very evident gloom swirling around her mate. Walking closer, Elain saw how Lucien’s eyes flickered to her and seemed to stare at her with a hard, concentrated emotion that she could not decipher. Then his eyes were on the madman, and they turned entirely deadly.

“Jurian,” he husked, and a shiver ran the length of Elain’s spine.

“You ready to head to Spring? Bags all packed?” Jurian goaded, bouncing on his feet as he refused to stand still. Lucien didn’t deem Jurian with a retort, he merely looked back to Elain, that same hardness in his eye.

“Yes, I am.” He spoke slowly, dragging the words so that goosebumps prickled across her skin. “I was just coming to check on my mate…only to find her missing…and your scent polluting her chambers.”

Ah.

“Lucien-” Elain began, quickly understanding the misunderstanding that had occurred. But stupid, stupid Jurian got there first.

“Ah yes, I’ve been frequenting her room as of late,” the madman grinned, hands behind his back. Lucien seemed to somehow, impossibly, turn more rigid. “We’ve had plenty of interesting topics we’ve needed to…discuss.” Jurian toyed with the words in his mouth, and the whole situation was not made any better by Elain’s cheeks furiously flushing red.

“No-” Elain interjected.

“No?” Jurian gasped with faux drama. “Don’t lie to the poor man Elain-”

“I’m not-”

“We’ve had plenty of things to discuss-”

“I know-”

“Like what you think of at night-”

“Jurian.”

Lucien watched the exchange with a careful eye, but even Elain noticed that some of the tension easing from his form. The sibling-like bickering seemed to soothe some part of his mind.

“I’ve come in the night to alleviate her worried mind.”

“Jurian-”

“Amongst other things-”

“Jurian!” But the madman was simply grinning stupidly at her mate, the glint in his eye revealing that he knew exactly what he was doing.

“He’s being stupid,” Elain sighed, stepping closer to Lucien who observed her instantly. When she was a few inches away she spoke again, putting a hand on his shoulder. “He’s trying to get a rise out of you, there is nothing between us, we’ve merely been discussing Koschei.”

Lucien seemed to ponder her for a moment. Then he was looking between his mate and the grinning, stupid madman observing them both with a fierce, pensive stare. After several moments of contemplation, it seemed that Lucien had decided the best course of action would be to curl his arm around Elain’s shoulders and pull her protectively against his chest.

“I know buttercup,” Lucien husked, somehow glaring through the grin he gave the madman.

It was an almost animalistic display of possession.

Elain wasn’t used to fae customs, and as her cheek pressed into the thin cotton of her mate’s shirt all she could think was that she and Lucien weren’t ‘allowed’ to touch in front of company – at least according to mortal customs. But Lucien didn’t seem to want to hold Elain for any other purpose than to flaunt her in front of Jurian, and though some part of her mind knew she should dislike being displayed, another part of her – an overwhelming part of her – loved the idea of Lucien brandishing her as his.

“I would’ve thought Jurian smarter, though. Provoking me has never fared well for him.” It was Jurian’s turn to scoff.

“I can take you fox-boy.”

“No. You can’t,” Lucien said with enough ease to show his honesty.

“In a duel, no,” Jurian tilted his head, “But if we were really fighting I wouldn’t play by the rules. I play dirty, Lucien, you know this. Before you’d know what was happening I’d take that pretty mate of yours and slit her throat before you could beg.”

Lucien’s arm tightened viciously around Elain and perhaps subconsciously, she burrowed into him too. Stealing a glance up at her mate, Elain saw such a vicious fire as there appeared to be a thousand deadly promises in that one look. Elain knew she should be frightened, that the sight of a fae with such death in his eye should send her running. But she just found him beautiful.

Just when the tension seemed to reach a breaking point, Lucien tilted his head back and laughed. Somehow, this made him feel more dangerous.

“You’re a funny man, Jurian.”

“It wasn’t a joke,” Jurian sighed, bored.

“I know, and it’s the only one I’ll allow you to make,” one of Lucien’s hands came up to twirl a strand of her hair, “As you should know that if you ever joke of hurting my mate again, I will leave only enough of your corpse that it would be Queen Vassa’s duty to recognise you.”

Elain didn’t fully understand the threat but something bitter settled in Jurian’s coffee-coloured eyes as he surreptitiously shifted his stance, his hands coming to rest in front of his crotch. Though Elain’s focus was very much shot as Lucien’s arm still curled her into him, his hand still burrowed into her hair, combing her curls.

“Enough…” Elain eventually sighed, glaring at the two boys, “Enough peacocking for one morning, okay? Aren’t we expected in Spring?”

Elain’s voice seemed to clear the air as both man and male seemed to shake their heads as though to empty their minds. And just like that, they were back to being friends.

“Yes, we should head to the border as soon as you’re ready, from there we should be set to winnow.” Lucien looked down at her, and to her great pleasure, he didn’t move his arm and seemed entirely at ease with keeping it around her.

Elain nodded before meeting Jurian’s eye.

“I…what Jurian and I were discussing…”

“Yes, buttercup?” Lucien frowned down at her, brushing some of her hair away from her face.

“I had a vision…” Elain began. Lucien turned rigid.

“About Koschei-”

“About Graysen-”

They both spoke at the same time, and in turn, both of them scrunched up their faces, confused. Graysen? Why would she be having a vision about Graysen?

“Oh,” Lucien muttered after a moment, evidentially bewildered.

“We can talk about it when we get to Spring but…yeah, I just thought you should know.”

Lucien continued to assess her, his hand running down the side of her face before he seemed to realise just how close he was holding her. Clearing his throat Lucien grinned down at her before removing his arm and turning back to her room where he walked in and hoisted her bags.

“Right, looks like we’re all set,” Lucien huffed a few seconds later as he re-entered the corridor and proceeded to hold out his mate’s bag. From the shadows, Nuala’s two grey hands reached out and grasped the bag before pulling them into the dark crook and making them disappear.

“Well, we’re off.” Lucien grinned at the madman as he presented his arm to Elain, who took it gladly. Jurian seemed to nod absentmindedly.

“I’ll walk you down.”

He did just that, trailing behind the mated couple as they made their last journey through the home and down the stairs. As they neared the looming wooden door and Lucien passed out a few farewells to the awaiting maids and cooks, Jurian called out once more.

“Lucien!” Elain watched as her mate turned and eyed the madman, his foot already out the door. Jurian seemed to glare at him for a moment before, “It would do you good to remember a certain promise you made to Master Archeron.”

A shiver ran the length of Elain’s spine, and as she looked up at the suddenly hard look on her mate’s face – a bead of inquiry took root.

***

Their journey had been a quick one, Lucien winnowing them most of the way to the border. He’d even stopped several times to encourage Elain to winnow on her own, she’d made it only a few feet forward, but Lucien had looked at her as though she’d invented sliced bread.

The Spring border loomed near when they talked of her powers again.

“Have you been having visions for a while?” Lucien held back a branch so that she could pass under it, birdsong and the early morning sun surrounding them.

“One or two, here and there, but everything went quiet after Hybern.” Lucien hummed, shouldering his pack.

“Do you think something has catalysed it?”

“Maybe,” Elain pondered, “I certainly think I’m shown these things for a reason – none of them have been accidental, they’ve all proved to have a purpose.”

“That worries me,” Lucien hummed, pulling back another branch.

“It does?”

“Koschei showing up in the dreams of my mate isn’t exactly my image of a perfect situation.”

“No…but that vision was strange, it didn’t feel right.”

“No?”

“No, it didn’t feel like an image of the future it felt like it was actually happening, like I was actually talking to Koschei.”

“Well, that’s just…brilliant.” Elain couldn’t help but grin at her mate’s incredulous tone. Their conversation faded to matters of Nesta and her powers, the ones she had given up and they also spoke of the Cauldron and how it had taken to Elain.

Soon enough they neared the edge of dead woods in which there used to be the poisoned magic of The Wall, keeping the mortal and fae realms divided. Now there seemed to be an overwhelming sense of absence, and this darkness had taken its toll as the ground turned dead and crunchy underfoot as all plant life thinned into black and brown dust.

Lucien, of course, only seemed brighter and full of more life in this land of death. Turning he extended his hand with a grin to which Elain presented her arm.

Without a word, Lucien wrapped his fingers around her wrist as he readied himself. However, the minute his fingers were wrapped around her, Elain was thrust back into a recess of her mind.

***

Elain was standing in the Study of the house she’d grown up in, a forbidden place full of adult, mature items. Before her stood her mother, steely in her age and not yet touched by the poisoned hands of illness. She was wearing her hair in a wreath of braids and a navy, modest gown.

“Show me your wrists,” the woman said in a plain, even tone that sent shivers down Elain’s spine.

Elain’s jaw locked awkwardly as she furiously bit her tongue. With more aggression than necessary Elain thrust her right hand and forward, palm facing the ceiling. Her mother looked down at the hand with something akin to watered disgust.

The woman proceeded to wrap her middle finger and thumb around Elain’s wrist, all the while looking at the act analytically. Elain’s skin was pulled taut as her mother desperately tried to make both fingers meet, but there remained roughly an inch of space. The woman sighed heavily, evidently disappointed in her daughter’s lacking, and when her mother brought her hands over her chest, Elain allowed her somewhat abused wrist to fall back by her side. She knew what was coming.

“Elain-”

“I know-”

“Do you?” Oh, she was furious. “Do you have any idea why I do these things? Why I ensure that all my daughters are kept to such a strict standard?”

Elain said nothing.

“Elain.”

“I know, ma’am.”

“Tell me.”

“We are kept to strict standards because we are worthy of it. It is out of your kindness that we have our lessons and are guided into better lives.” The words were mechanical, spoken in a monotone voice, the mantra falling from Elain’s mouth as they had done so a thousand times before.

Elain’s mother appeared to consider her for a second and something within Elain flinched – had she said it wrong? Was this mistake worthy of a beating? What was coming next, why did it scare her so much to not know?

But to Elain’s morbid surprise, her furious mother who stood like she was made of steel sank back against the desk and buried her head in her hands. Elain merely watched, numb and shocked, as her mother showed perhaps the first true emotion Elain had ever seen from her.

It was macabre, to see the woman whom Elain had known to be ruthless and mechanical, break down. It was at that moment that Elain realised that she needed her mother to be that person – the villain in her story – because that was the only justification of the small stone of hate Elain carried in her heart for the woman.

The silence dragged on, the room now feeling impossibly small and stuffy as Elain merely watched her mother tiredly drag her hands down her face as she looked at the floor. Then, quick as a whip, her mother’s eyes met hers and for the first time in a long time, Elain could not read her.

“Elain I…” her mother said tiredly, her arms returning to their defensive position across her chest. One Elain so often did herself. “I raised you to be extraordinary, I need you…to be extraordinary.”

Elain had nothing to say to that. Her mother’s harsh attitude had only worked when it felt as though it had come from a place of aristocratic concern over the family image, the idea her mother was genuinely trying to care for her, in some weird way, was painfully unfathomable.

“This world will crush you, Elain,” she continued, “Because it loves girls like you. It loves girls who are innocent and unprotected. Those are the girls men like to break. When you go to them with a heart already made of steel, there is nothing for them to abuse.”

Elain’s mother tilted her head and began to rub at the spot in which her neck and shoulder connected, the first sign of relaxation or weakness Elain had ever seen of her. Her mother continued.

“Nesta was forged and Nesta, in time, will find her battle armour and will be indestructible. But you…your big heart is not poetic, Elain, not in a world full of so much greed. Your heart is a weakness, it’s a beautiful thing just aching to be exploited. This world will crush you regardless so let me do it first. Let me break you so I can protect you.”

Having now moved on from being blind-sighted by her mother’s display of emotions, Elain felt the gravity of her words sinking in.

“You’re wrong,” was all she said, and not for the first time, she felt like a tiny, little girl begging for her mum’s attention. “I don’t – mother’s don’t need to break their children – I-”

“Elain-” Her mother sighed, standing from the desk and walking to the drinks cabinet.

“No, I know, I know you’re trying to protect me and Feyre and Nesta, but you really don’t have to!” Elain’s mother poured a glass of sherry and knocked it back with surprising ferocity. “Mum I don’t want to marry a prince; I want to marry someone who I love!”

The woman poured herself another glass, shaking her head tiredly. Slowly, she turned around and leaned against the cabinet, and in that move, Elain saw an opening for her argument.

“I don’t care for kingdoms or palaces mother. Nesta’s the one to do that she’s the one to score the future King. But I want to marry for love, even if that man only owns the clothes on his back and a simple hut.”

She knew what she sounded like. Stupid, infatuated, aristocratic with no sense of reality. But Elain had always been a dreamer, cushioned enough by her family’s wealth to never touch the ground. It was only her Mother’s harsh schooling that had stopped her from running away with fairies at night.

“I want to marry for love,” Elain reasserted, though her argument sounded weak to her own ears, “Love is the best thing that can happen to me – not wealth or a Lord and…and you cannot change my mind.”

They stared at each other for a solid moment. Elain’s hands shaking by her sides, her mother staring at her in a way that was slow and steady as she finished her drink and put down her glass.

“It doesn’t matter how much of a hopeless romantic you are, Elain.” Her voice was slighter colder than before. “Regardless, you will be married to a man whether we do this my way or not. It doesn’t matter who you meet nor how much you think you love him, one day you will wake up next to him and hate everything about him. Then, you’ll hate yourself even more for being deluded enough to think he was worthy of your time. You may as well make sure that when that morning comes, and it will, you will be waking in a palace, and not a hut.”

Elain hated how her mother’s words cut into her, the skill she had no doubt passed onto Nesta. Elain couldn’t do that, she merely did not care for intentionally hurting others, she had no interest in diluting her heart or manipulating the emotions of those around her.

She was like her father in that way. She knew nothing other than how to be vulnerable and whilst she could understand her mother’s itch to protect her, Elain truly believed that there was someone out there who would love her completely and entirely – and they would never hurt her.

“You loved someone didn’t you?” Elain finally whispered; she didn’t need to even look at her mother’s reaction to know she had struck gold. “But…it went wrong…and now you assume the same will happen to everyone else…”

They said nothing. Did nothing.

“You’re miserable, mum-” the woman flinched. She wasn’t called ‘mum’. Ever. It was too informal. “-you’re miserable and so you think everyone has to be too because that’s how life is. Right? But what if it's not?”

It was a futile attempt. There had already been too many years of bitterness that had sealed her mother’s heart in a case of ice and there was nothing to penetrate it – not even the pleas of her daughter. A small silence fell in which all that could be heard was the wood snapping, a noise familiar to the one Elain’s arm had made when she fell off that horse – the sound of something breaking.

“I love you, Elain.” The woman breathed, her eyes were firm, but her mouth was folded down slightly at the corners. “More than you can possibly know.”

Elain had nothing to say to that. All she knew was that her mother’s mind was decided, and she had lost the battle.

“You know why?” The woman continued, “Because you’re like me. More than Feyre or Nesta – you’re like me when I was young. If, when I was your age, I had someone like me, guiding myself away from the bad things in life, I could’ve been saved a whole lot of hurt.” Elain shook her head furiously.

“Do you really regret those experiences? Or did you just get hurt and that scared you, and now you can’t open up again?”

“I got hurt. Again, and again, and again. By rich men and poor men, by poets and scientists and men who hunted fae to those who believed they were gods. I didn’t care how much it hurt or the fact I never learnt my lesson, because all of that went away the minute I got the pure rush of realising that someone wanted me.”

Elain flinched.

“That’s what this is about, Elain.” Her mother’s eyes had turned uncomfortably glassy as she told Elain more of herself than she ever had before. “You don’t want to fall in love with a poor man and feel secretly superior in your hut with your clothe-less children. You just want to feel wanted.”

Tears stung behind Elain’s eyes.

“You need it, you depend on the idea that you are beautiful and romantic and the girl that everyone wants. How better to prove that everyone wants you than by having the most perfect, fairy-tale romance? You need to get your head out of the clouds Elain and get back to Earth. There’s nothing about men wanting you that is good. It is a cursed desire and will only lead to your own destruction. They use you, all of them. You will never be enough for them, because nothing is – not even the most perfect, beautiful girl in all the lands. Not even you.”

They were spilling down her cheek now.

“I do not wish to be cruel to you, Elain.” The woman moved back, her typical mask coming back into place, the emotion receding deep into the abyss of her heart. “You have a heart of a gold, it’s a shame that it’s worth nothing in this world.”

Elain felt something within her crumble – the final echo of hope she had had for her mother. While this disintegrated within her, Elain felt herself only cling tighter to her beliefs.

“You’re wrong, mum,” Elain sighed.

Someone to love her wholly, completely, incandescently. Someone who would never hurt her, who would take care of her, who would truly love her and her liability of a heart.

“You have to be.”

***

The memory faded from view and the world came back into focus around her. As her eyes met the russet of Lucien’s she was thrust back into her body and everything that came with it – the bags, the trip, Spring – it all came to the forefront of her mind.

By the way Lucien’s eyes widened slightly as she came back, Elain realised that she had sent the entire vision down the bond. She wasn’t sure how, but she could feel the bond glowing between them, fizzing like a frayed wire, and when Elain brushed against it images of the family’s Study Room and echoes of her mother’s voice flooded her mind.

Lucien had seen it, perhaps the most vulnerable moment Elain had ever had with her mother before she had passed a year later. Elain had only been a child.

Nothing was said as the two seemed to stare at each other for several moments, dumbfounded over what had just happened. They had just shared a vision. Elain had stumbled as her mind pulled back and had grabbed onto the best thing to anchor into this world – it is only now that she realises that she had grabbed onto the bond and as such, connected her and Lucien’s mind.

“I…” She began, a bit breathless, “Do you think I could do that again?” She surprised herself by asking. Lucien considered her question. “I mean…if I could show you the vision I had of Koschei…”

Lucien began to nod, “It’s worth a try but,” his arm came back around her shoulders and Elain realised that she had been swaying on her feet, “Later. Much later. For today let’s just focus on getting to Spring in one piece.”

Elain nodded numbly, feeling a familiar ache of tiredness drag on her muscles. As such she allowed herself to lean further into Lucien’s warmth and strength as the familiar, fleeting sensation of winnowing took over her senses.

Elain knew the instant they were in Spring. The air around her seemed to sparkle into life as she was once more standing on ground sown with the magic of Prythian. The sun seemed brighter here, the sky bluer, the air cleaner. Bird song ran rife, a cacophony of chirping melodies that arose from all around her.

And once she was past the overall sensation of being back in the Fae Realm, Elain was able to take in the Manor they were standing on the steps of.

Spring Manor. The home in which her sister had been stolen to, the home in which her sister had been abused.

And yet, it was Lucien’s home too for a time, and Elain’s thoughts shifted from her sister to her mate as she began to wonder what he saw in these lands that had made him stay for so long.

Shivering slightly, Elain took in the endless ivy growing across the ancient stone. She also took in the large claw marks entrenched in the wooden door – a perfect symbol of this falling court.

“It’s nice isn’t it,” Lucien sighed next to her, seeming to tilt his head back and absorb the sunlight. “To taste the magic again.”

Elain took a deep breath and allowed some of the tension to ease from her shoulders.

“Mhm,” she breathed, “I’d never had guessed I could miss it so much.”

Next to her Lucien opened his mouth, his eye glinting with what was no doubt a snarky retort. But at that moment a figure had appeared behind them both at the base of the stairs, causing the pair to turn around in a haste, Lucien angling himself so that Elain was somewhat behind him, protected from view.

The figure was dressed in simple, ragged clothes. A cream linen shirt that had several holes, and which the drawstrings were not even laced properly. Brown trousers, three-quarter length. Bare-foot. Uncombed hair. Curious, pained eyes – a savage.

“Tamlin,” Lucien muttered in a guarded voice. A savage, and a king.

This was the first look Elain had ever truly had of Tamlin; besides the few glimpses, she had seen during the time of the war. Before her stood a man whom Elain could’ve easily found to be handsome. There was something about his pretty, long blonde hair and perfect green eyes that promised an easy, handsome life.

Of course, his image was somewhat tainted by the obvious signs of neglect to not just himself but his residence, the gardens behind him full of overgrown bushes and dying flowerbeds.

The High Lord looked at Lucien enigmatically before his eyes slowly slid to Elain, semi-concealed behind him. Something flared in those emerald eyes at the sight of her, and Elain realised that she and Feyre were not too unlike in appearance.

Those green eyes stayed locked on her, and Elain refused to look away, though this did not stop her from shifting uncomfortably under his assaulting gaze. Lucien seemed to be hyperaware of Tamlin’s prolonged staring and shifted so that he was at his full height, his arm snaking around Elain’s waist as he pulled her closer to him.

It could have been a sign of possessiveness. Or it quite easily could’ve been Lucien wanting Elain in a certain position should he need to jump into action.

Tamlin’s eyes flickered to Lucien, considering him once more before they returned back to Elain. Looking at Elain as though he could see right through her down to her soul, a corner of the High Lord’s mouth tugged up.

“Welcome, Archeron.”

[dontmindthefangirling]

The Switch {p.p.}

gif not mine!

Summary: In World 824, you’re the incredibly famous and incredibly obnoxious Peter Parker’s assistant. In World 626, you’re the nerdy and Star Wars loving Peter Parker’s best friend. In both worlds, you manage to fall in love with him, but what happens when there is a glitch in the universe, and they switch places?

Warnings: swearing, alcohol, FLUFF

Pairing: college!Peter x reader, famous!Peter x reader

chapter 1 | series masterlist

This chapter is mostly about famous!Peter, but the switch will be coming soon! 

chapter 2 - uncharted territory

-

World 626

You couldn’t sleep. The only image you had in your mind was of Peter’s arms resting gently on your waist and yours snaking up around his neck to play with the curls at the nape of his neck. 

You knew you were both drunk, but you felt almost pulled towards him. The way he looked down at you with the moon’s light shining on you both and the frat music blasting from the house nearby made you feel a way you never felt before. 

It was like all of the moments you shared suddenly clicked and everything made sense. 

You were laying on your back, staring at the ceiling and thinking about what you were going to do next. You felt an ache in your chest from simply not being with him in that moment. You rolled onto your side and spotted the framed picture you had of both of you at your high school graduation. Peter’s arm was around your shoulders and you were both elated, smiling up at the caps being thrown in the air. 

The memory made you smile. 

You let out a soft sigh. The moment you shared was so minimal, you thought. You hug all the time, why was this any different? 

Was it because you couldn’t stop staring at his lips, or because your heart felt like it was going to explode out of your chest? Was it the way he bit on his chapped lips, never removing his gaze from you? 

You’ve dated other people in the past, and so has Peter, but you two always gravitated back to each other. You were his best friend and he was yours. 

But you couldn’t shake the thoughts of what it would feel like to kiss hi-

Tap tap tap!

You lifted your head in alarm and looked towards your bedroom window. You glanced towards MJ, hearing her soft snores to confirm that she was still asleep. You frowned as you quietly walked towards the window, your heart almost leaping out of your chest when you saw Peter on the fire escape dressed in his Spider-Man suit. 

You cautiously looked back at MJ before lifting the window and crawling out. 

“Peter? What’s wrong?” you asked, hugging your arms around your body as soon as your bare arms hit the chilly air. Usually Peter came to you when he was injured and needed help getting patched up, but he seemed healthy. 

“I was just patrolling and I was swinging by your apartment,” he said, going to pull the mask from his face. His hair was a mess underneath, but you liked how the curls almost fell in front of his doe eyes. 

You laughed lightly. “So you thought you’d just stop by?”

Peter chuckled nervously while looking down at the mask in his hands. 

“Yeah...I uh...was just...I couldn’t-”

“Spit it out,” you giggled, teasing him because you knew it made him laugh. Most of the time. 

He looked up and met your gaze, and the serious expression on his face made you suddenly nervous. Was he mad at you? Did you do something wrong?

“I couldn’t stop thinking about you,” he said, barely above a whisper. 

You felt your stomach lurch as you looked at him while also deciphering what he just said. 

“Oh,” was all you were able to come up with. Was he having the same thoughts that you were having?

Peter swallowed thickly. “I’ve just been thinking a lot about...us.”

“Us?”

“Y-Yeah.”

You were raking your mind, trying to come with something more coherent to say, but your heart was beating a mile a minute, which you were sure Peter could hear considering his senses were heightened. 

“Me too,” you finally managed to say. 

Peter’s eyes suddenly lit up. “Really?”

You nodded. “I don’t...I don’t know what it means, but I can’t stop thinking about you either.”

“You’re my best friend, (Y/N),” Peter said softly. “But I’ve uh...been having these feelings for a while.”

“Me too,” you found yourself saying. And it was true. Every time Peter hugged you or kissed your forehead or came over for cuddles, it made you think it was just him being your best friend, but now...you knew it was more than that. 

“What feelings are you having...exactly?” Peter asked cautiously. 

You rung your hangs together, playing with your fingers as you looked down at them.

“That maybe there’s something more here.”

“Something more?”

You looked up and saw that Peter had stepped closer to you, his eyes bearing into yours. It was like he wanted to hear you say it. 

“Something more than just best friends,” you said, barely above a whisper. “Because, I-”

You paused because you felt like you couldn’t breathe. This was the first time you were admitting these feelings to not only him, but yourself as well. You knew they were always there, but now you were actually acknowledging them.

“Say it,” Peter whispered. “Please.”

“I like you,” you said, your voice shaking along with your hands. You were both entering uncharted territory now, and you didn’t think there was any coming back from this. “Uh...more than a friend.”

Suddenly, Peter’s hands were on either side of your face, cupping your cheeks as his lips crashed down onto yours. It was like upon hearing those words, it gave him the green light to do what he had always wanted to do. You kissed him back, smiling against his lips because kissing him was everything you imagined it to be. His lips were chapped, but he tasted like fresh mint, and you couldn’t get enough of it. The kiss was soft and gentle as you both tested the waters. 

When you finally pulled away from each other, you felt like you were going to pass out because this was all you wanted, and he was perfect, and the moon was once again casting light on your budding relationship.

Peter’s arms fell to wrap around your waist and he pulled you to him. He rested his forehead against yours as you both tried to catch your breaths. 

“What does this mean?” you whispered.

“I hope it means you’ll be my girlfriend,” Peter whispered back, his breath fanning your lips. You played with the curls at the nape of his neck and looked up at him, pulling away slightly so you could actually look at him. 

“What if this ruins us?” you croaked. 

Peter furrowed his eyebrows. “We won’t let it.”

“You can’t promise that.”

“(Y/N),” Peter whispered, brushing a stray hair out of your face. “You’re the most important person to me...I won’t let anything take you away from me.”

You felt a smile pulling at your lips as you rested your forehead back against his. You brought one hand down from his neck to rest on his chest and you could feel the thump of his heart against it.

“By the way,” Peter whispered while capturing your lips in a brief kiss, something that you knew that you would already never get enough of. 

“I like you too.”

-

World 824

You didn’t realize how many drinks you had had until the world around you was spinning and your vision was blurry. The afterparty to Will’s movie was packed with celebrities, paparazzi, producers, and basically anyone who was anyone in Hollywood. You had been hanging out with Will and Peter for a majority of the night, and it was only bearable because Will’s girlfriend, Lexi, was there to keep you company. 

“(Y/N)?” Lexi laughed taking your drink out of your hand. 

“Hey!” you protested, grabbing for it back, but failing miserably. 

“I think that’s enough for one night,” Lexi chuckled. “I’m cutting you off.”

You pouted. “Why?”

You never really got to let loose at events like these. You were always on the lookout for Peter, making sure he wasn’t getting into some dumb fight or drawing any negative publicity to himself. Being his assistant and publicist all in one was the most exhausting job you’ve ever taken on. 

Maybe doing this job for a normal celebrity would have been easier, but of course you had to do it for a superhero.

“Lexi’s right, that’s enough (Y/N),” Peter said as he appeared by your side. You glared at him. 

“You’re one to talk,” you spat. “You’re always getting drunk and making my job ten times harder.”

Peter scoffed. “Oh please, that happened like once.”

You felt your blood boil. “Are you kidding me? It happens like every other night! I’m always there to save the day because Spider-Man can’t use his own fucking head!”

“Then why don’t you quit (Y/N)?!” Peter snapped. 

“Fine! Maybe I will!” you turned on your heel, storming away from Peter while your heart raced a mile a minute. You couldn’t see straight from both the alcohol and the anger that laced your vision. He was never appreciative of what you did for him, and the alcohol just gave you the confidence to say it. 

Peter went to follow you, but Will put his arm in front of him. 

“Let her cool off, man,” he advised. Peter huffed as Lexi jogged after you. He already regretted what he said and he wanted to mend it with you almost immediately. 

Lexi caught up with you and hooked her arm with yours to keep you steady on your feet. Angry tears were racing down your cheeks as Lexi led you into the bathroom. 

“Don’t listen to him,” Lexi said. You angrily wiped away your tears, sniffling and looking at your reflection in the mirror. Your makeup was going to be ruined. 

“He’s such an asshole,” you grumbled. 

Lexi smiled. “I know. But he cares about you. You know he didn’t mean what he said.”

“He doesn’t care about me,” you scoffed. “I’m his employee.”

“(Y/N), you’re more than an employee to him,” Lexi said, placing her hands on your shoulders to get you to look at her. “Don’t you see it?”

Your drunk mind couldn’t comprehend what she was saying so you just shrugged her off.

“No, not really,” you grumbled. You splashed your face lightly with some water and wiped away the streaks of mascara that were under your eyes. 

“Come with me to the bar to get some water?” you asked, turning to look at your friend. Lexi nodded and the two of you left the bathroom. 

Peter’s eyes never left you as he spotted you and Lexi leave the bathroom and head towards the bar. He almost intervened until he noticed that Lexi was just getting you some water. He felt terrible about what he said and he didn’t know how he would survive without you as his assistant. 

He knew you were right. You did everything for him. You saved his ass more times than he could count and he owed so much to you. He didn’t know why he acted out so much, maybe it was because he didn’t know how to handle his emotions after Tony died, but he knew he needed to stop. 

It was obviously taking a toll on you. 

“You good, man?” Will asked, placing a hand on Peter’s shoulder. 

“Yeah,” Peter sighed. “Just need to figure out how to apologize to her.”

“Damn right you do,” Will nodded. Peter rolled his eyes and took a sip of his water. He told himself he wasn’t going to drink tonight the moment he saw you raise a glass to your lips. If you were going to drink, he had to stay sober and make sure you were okay. 

That’s why his eyes narrowed in on the man who approached you and Lexi at the bar. 

“Can I buy you ladies a drink?” a deep voice said, startling you from behind. You turned around to see a man you didn’t recognize. He was handsome with sandy blonde hair and dark eyes.

“It’s an open bar,” Lexi pointed out with a shit-eating grin. 

The man laughed. “So I guess I’ll just have to owe you.”

“No thanks,” Lexi said because you were too focused on sipping your water so you wouldn’t throw up all over your expensive dress. “We’re good.”

“Oh come on,” the guy persisted. “You girls like tequila?”

“I said we’re good,” Lexi said, grabbing your arm and pulling you closer to her. You didn’t realize how close to you the guy had wandered, his breath practically fanning down the back of your dress. 

“I didn’t hear your friend say that,” the guy said, gesturing to you. “Seems like she likes to have fun.”

“I’m good,” you managed to mumble. “No more drinks for me.”

“You sure, sunshine? You don’t have to listen to your friend. You and me can go have a fun time together,” he sneered with a grin that made you want to vomit. 

“She said she’s good,” Peter said angrily appearing behind the man. “Get out of here, man.”

“Nobody asked you, Spidey,” the guy laughed. 

“I said, get out of here,” Peter growled. “Or I’ll do it for you.”

“Oh really? Is the good vigilante Spider-Man going to punch me? That’d look really great for headlines huh? Not really superhero material.”

Peter’s blood began boiling as he sized up the man. He could easily pummel him into the ground. He lunged forward and grabbed the collar of the guy’s shirt and lifted him from the ground. 

“Watch your mouth, tough guy,” Peter hissed. 

“Peter,” your small voice echoed in Peter’s ears and brought him back to reality. “Don’t, he’s not worth it.”

Peter looked at you, the way you were huddled into Lexi’s shoulder while Will stood behind the both of you. He dropped the guy to the ground and huffed before walking towards you. 

Much to Peter’s surprise, you stepped away from Lexi and opened your arms to him. Peter was quick to catch you, wrapping his arms around your waist and burying his face in your shoulder. He couldn’t get enough of your scent as he inhaled the smell of your perfume. 

“Take me home, please,” you whispered. 

“’Course darling,” Peter murmured. “Come on.”

You both said goodnight to Will and Lexi before heading towards the front of the club where a private car was waiting to take you back to the mansion. Your head was pounding and you let out almost a sigh of relief when you sat down and relaxed in the leathery cushion. Peter settled in next to you as he told the driver to take you both home. 

The first five minutes of the drive were silent, the soft music of the radio humming in the background. Your ears were still ringing from the loud music of the club as you looked up at the LA night sky above. You always wished you could see the stars, but the smog made it nearly impossible. 

Peter watched you, his eyes looking at every detail of your face illuminated by the city lights passing by in the windows. He wanted to so badly reach out and brush the stray piece of hair that had escaped your up-do out of your face. 

Slowly, with the hum of the car and the gentle music playing, your eyes began to close. Your eyelids were so heavy and you were beginning to crash from the alcohol. Your head was bobbing as you tried to stay awake, but eventually sleep overcame you and you let it. 

Peter was startled when your head found his shoulder. He froze, scared to move for the fear of waking you up.

He glanced down at you. Your lips were parted slightly and you were breathing softly. He had to fight the urge to place an arm around your sleeping form because he felt like any sudden movements would scare you off. 

You both stayed in that position for the rest of the ride until the car pulled up to the mansion. Peter thanked the driver before he scooped you up in his arms. He carried you towards the house, opening the front door with the eye-scanning technology he had installed. 

His heart almost burst when you snuggled your nose into his chest. Peter inhaled shakily as he carried you towards your bedroom. 

He placed you down on the bed and carefully removed your heels. He winced in doing so, wondering how sore your feet must have been walking around in those all night. 

He gently pulled the covers over your body, sighing when he saw you cuddle into the fluffy blanket. A surge of confidence overtook Peter as he leaned down and pressed a gentle kiss to your forehead. 

“Goodnight, darling,” he whispered against your skin. He pulled back, wanting to savor this moment where you didn’t hate him, but eventually decided he had to leave. He went to walk away when suddenly your hand reached out and grabbed his. 

“Stay,” you mumbled. Peter didn’t think he was hearing you right. Did you just ask him to stay with you?

“What?” he croaked.

“Stay,” you whispered, opening one eye to look at him. “Please.”

“(Y/N)-”

“Just sleep,” you murmured, closing your eye. “Don’t wanna be alone.”

Peter’s inhaled sharply as he looked down at your hand in his. 

“Are you sure?” he whispered. 

“Mhm.”

Peter quietly slipped off his shoes and stared at you for a moment, feeling his heart beating a mile a minute before he finally gained the confidence to climb into the bed with you on the other side. He almost laughed. He never got nervous around girls, but he was terrified just sleeping next to you. Sleeping, not even having sex. He felt the heat rise to his cheeks at the thought. 

“Thank you,” you whispered, rolling onto your side to face him. Your eyes were still shut but a small smile danced on your lips. Peter felt like he could barely breathe.

“For what?” he whispered back. 

“Saving me tonight,” you said while opening your eyes. “It’s almost like you’re a superhero or something.”

Peter laughed and rolled onto his side so he was facing you.

“I kind of am,” he sighed. You smiled and closed your eyes while pulling the blanket up to your chin. 

“Goodnight Peter,” you whispered. 

“Goodnight (Y/N).”

-

World 626

You woke up wrapped in Peter’s arms, the sun starting to shine through your window as New York began to wake up for the day. It took you a moment to remember what had occurred last night and how Peter Parker, your best friend, was now your boyfriend.

You had stayed up talking and laughing on the fire escape until you must have drifted off to sleep. You woke up in your bed and the thought of Peter carrying you to it and falling asleep next to you made your heart want to soar.

You looked up at Peter and took in every detail, every freckle, every eyelash. Your legs were twisted together and one of his legs twitched as he seemed to be deep in his sleep. You wondered what he was dreaming about because you know you had dreamed about him and kissing him again. 

You brought a hand up to his cheek, gently tracing the freckles that lined his cheekbones. He stirred slightly, just nudging his head further into the crook of your neck. 

“Good morning, sleepy head,” you chuckled. Peter groaned softly as he hid his face in your neck. 

“You can’t hide from me,” you laughed, tangling your fingers in his curly hair. 

“Yes I can,” he grumbled, pressing a kiss to your skin. Goosebumps immediately broke out as soon as his lips came in contact with your shoulder and your breath hitched in your throat. You weren’t aware of the effect Peter had on you until you realized he took your breath away with every touch or kiss.

Peter slowly pulled his head back and groggily smiled at you. His eyes were heavy with sleep, but he looked at you with such adoration that you thought your heart may burst. 

“Good morning, beautiful,” he whispered. Your heart skipped a beat and you blushed at his words. 

“How’d you sleep?” you said softly. 

“Best I’ve ever slept,” Peter said with a smile. His voice was laced with sleep, raspy words coming out and it made you want to kiss him until you both ran out of air. 

“Me too,” you whispered. 

Peter looked down at you and brushed the hair out of your face. He smiled at you as he pressed his lips to yours. You smiled against his lips, knowing already that you would want to kiss him everyday for the rest of your life. Your lips fit together like two pieces of the puzzle finally connected. Your hands came up to rest in his curls as you tugged him closer. 

He was everything you could have ever wanted and more. 

You had admitted to him last night that you liked him, as more than a friend, but you knew deep down that you had fallen for him a long time ago. 

“What the fuck is this?” MJ’s voice scolded, causing you and Peter to pull apart quickly in alarm. Your roommate stood by your bed with her hands on her hips. 

“You two better not have sex while I’m in the room,” she scoffed causing you and Peter to both laugh as you turned red. Of course you had thought about having sex with Peter, how could you not when he looked like...that. But now that it was a real possibility, you felt incredibly nervous of the prospect of it. 

“And Parker, if you’re going to stay nights you could at least make me coffee in the morning,” MJ said while turning on her heel and heading towards the bathroom. 

“Fucking finally,” MJ muttered under her breath, causing you and Peter to laugh. “Ned owes me twenty bucks!”

“What do you mean?” you called as MJ slammed the door to the bathroom. “You two had a bet?!”

“Of course we did!” MJ called back as the shower started to run. “You two have been making eyes at each other for the last five years!”

You and Peter looked at each other, blushing in embarrassment. 

“Guess I should have asked you out a long time ago,” Peter whispered. 

You chuckled. “Better late than never.”

Peter hummed in response before cupping your cheek and bringing your lips to his in a sweet blissful kiss that made your head spin. 

-

chapter 3 - do you regret it? [1/25/21]

taglist: @hannahelizabeth-537​

[jenomark]

➔Pairing: Idol!Haechan x Idol!Johnny x Reader (Female) ➔Other Members/ Characters: Doyoung, Mention of Taeyong ➔Genre: Smut ➔Warnings: Oral (M+ F) Penetration (F), Masturbation (F+M), Threesome  ➔Word count: 3,492

➔Summary: Haechan comes home after a booty call and finds your mouth around his roommate Johnny’s cock. He wants to know what that’s like. 

  Bucket hat hanging low, Haechan pressed the elevator button for his floor. Being without a manager these days didn’t happen much, but he managed to escape for a late night booty call. He looked around the elevator after the doors closed and pulled the mask from his face. He was tired from the sex, but his mind was still reeling. He looked down at his feet and smiled, shaking his head like he couldn’t believe what positions his body was put in. When the elevator doors opened, he was starting to feel cocky when he remembered the low moans in his ear, his fingers slipping deep inside of the warm, wet hole.

 “Haechan,” Doyoung said. “You’re home at a late hour.”

“I was with Jeno and Renjun,” Haechan said. “Playing games and lost track of time.”

 They weren’t exactly lies. Haechan had been with the Dreamies before he made his way over to his booty call, the Dreamie manager questioning him thoroughly. Luckily, Doyoung didn’t question too much, just shuffled his way back to his bedroom. 

  Haechan looked around the dorm living room. It was mostly silent. He could hear Taeyong listening to music in his room, his odd chirps sounding now and then. Haechan hung up his leather jacket and dropped his bag on the floor. He thought about looking for a late night snack, but sleep was catching up with him. He placed his hand on the door to his and Johnny’s room and pushed it open.

“You’re still up.” Haechan said.

 The first thing he saw was Johnny lounging across his bed with his arms behind his head. He was used to his roommate laying on his bed shirtless, his arms outstretched in relaxation. Usually, Johnny was listening to music or playing around on his phone. This time, Johnny’s mannerisms seemed off.

  That’s when Haechan saw you laying between Johnny’s legs, his cock in your mouth. 

 You didn’t notice him right away, didn’t feel his gaze burning a hole through your face. You kept sucking Johnny, keeping your eyes down and your lips tight around him. Johnny invited you over because Haechan was gone, and when Haechan was gone, Little Johnny liked to make an appearance. 

“Baby.” Johnny said.

 When you didn’t hear him call you, Johnny threw a blanket over your head to save any bit of modesty left. You stiffened, but it was too late. The damage had been done, and Haechan had seen what you got up to when he wasn’t around. 

 Quietly, Haechan closed the door with him inside of the room. He let his body fall onto his bed and picked up his phone, flicking through the apps. 

“Don’t let me stop you,” Haechan said. “Carry on.”

 You took Johnny’s cock out of your mouth and sat up. Your hair was messy when you removed the blankets, your ego sore. Johnny kept the blanket over his naked lap, his eyes on the nonchalant Haechan searching through his phone like he didn’t just catch a girl going down on him.

You wiped at the corner of your mouth. “I should go.”

“Yeah,” Johnny agreed. “Call me when you get home. Don’t forget, okay?”

  You had never moved so fast. You just about launched yourself from Johnny’s bed, your belongings slipping out of your hands. When you made it to the door and opened it, Haechan sat up and kicked the door shut with his feet.

“You should stay.” he said.

  Johnny stood from the bed and adjusted himself. He was unsure of what Haechan was doing. He looked from your puzzled face, to the smugness moving across Haechan’s face, like a shadow. 

“What are you doing?” Johnny asked. 

  Haechan stood, too. You had met him many times before, even talked to him about trivial things. You had never been close enough to him to count the moles on his face. You had never smelled his natural scent, or noticed how hypnotizing his eyes were when they were locked on a target. You were wanting to look at Johnny, to ask if the kid was really serious, but you couldn’t bring yourself to look away.

“My turn?” Haechan said.

  It was posed as a question, but one he knew you wouldn’t refuse. He rubbed the front of his tight jeans and made a move to unstick his balls from the side of his leg. Hopping from one foot to the other was cute, but you had yet to smile. Fingers on his button and sliding his zipper down, you knew what Haechan was asking.

 During this, Johnny was silent. He was watching you closely, his eyes taking it all in. You gave him just the smallest of looks before he nodded his head, a curtain of his brown hair falling in front of his face. Seeing him standing there shirtless, his half-hard cock not yet gone down from your suck, you realized you were still horny.

“Okay.” you said.

  You dropped your bag on the floor and sank down to your knees. Haechan removed his cock and held it out for you, soft and shy. You looked up at him as you took him into your mouth, using your tongue so he would have a nice visual. You didn’t know how sexually experienced Haechan was, but you guessed he was used to women giving him their best. 

“That’s it, “ he said. “Just like that.”

  When he was hard, you couldn’t seem to stop. Your knees were numb, your jaw tired. Johnny had come closer to watch, but you couldn’t seem to see him, either. You sucked Haechan’s cock without getting tired and alternating between a hand job. You swore you could taste someone else’s lipstick as he hit your taste buds. 

  Haechan tilted his head back and tried not to groan too loud. His hands were on his hips, his pelvis pushed out. You took him out of your mouth and very lightly pushed him back until he had fallen onto his bed in a sitting position. He didn’t say anything, only smiled when you slid between his legs and continued sucking him off.

“Johnny, “ Haechan sighed. “Now I know why she’s always here.”

“I think that’s enough, Haechan.” Johnny said.

  Johnny’s arms were crossed, while Haechan leaned back on the bed. You furrowed your brows and looked at Johnny. Your hand was on Haechan’s cock, as you could feel yourself gearing up to disagree. You spit into your palm and kept going, your voice eager to whine.

“It’s enough when I say it’s enough,” you said. “I have a big appetite.”

 Haechan laughed and rolled his head back on his neck. He laid all the way back on his bed and peered up at you, his chin glued to his chest. You put him in your mouth again, the salty taste letting you know it wouldn’t be long. 

“Well then maybe you should eat for two.” Johnny said.

  Coming up beside you, Johnny’s hand was underneath your chin. You kept sucking Haechan until you felt Johnny’s big hand hold you still. He carefully pulled your mouth from Haechan’s cock and hauled you to your feet.

“Play nice.” Haechan said.

Johnny smiled. “I always do.”

  You returned the smile, receiving the message loud and clear. You got onto Haechan’s bed and laid on your back, bringing your neck up to the edge of the bed. You thought about what their roommates would be hearing, and you hoped they would witness how delicious it sounded when Johnny’s cock was choking you. 

  From beside you, Haechan’s hands were on his cock. His heart wasn’t in it as he was masturbating, working his cock like he was going through the motions. He watched intently as Johnny moved his cock up to your mouth. Your head was upside down, your precious neck hanging in what looked like an uncomfortable position. When Johnny’s cock went all the way inside your throat, almost down to his balls, Haechan could see him bulge in your throat. When Johnny pulled out, a string of spit and mucus followed. You sputtered and begged for him to fuck your throat again. 

“Of course.” Johnny said.

  Again, Johnny pushed his cock slowly into your mouth and down your throat. How deeply he penetrated you stunned Haechan. The younger member placed his hand over your throat to feel Johnny’s cock as he moved. 

“I wouldn’t come, if I were you,” Johnny said. “It could be a long night. I don’t think you can handle it, squirt.” 

  Haechan stopped stroking his cock. His hands were moving underneath your shirt and your bra. He played with your nipples, his thumb moving them around,  like a rookie. When you weren’t busy swallowing Johnny’s cock, you took Haechan’s hand and placed it between your legs, using his hand to hump against. It was all outside of your clothes, but the friction made it more exciting.

“I want to fuck.” Haechan whispered.

  He kept his hand stationary, moving his fingers only slightly as you used them. His eyes were greedily taking in your body, as you moved. He leaned up to kiss your neck, his lips so close to your ear. 

“Fuck me on my bed.” he said.

  At the same time, Johnny pulled out of your throat. You opened your mouth as wide as possible to accept his cum. He jerked himself, his tip pouring into the roof of your mouth. After finishing, Johnny backed against the wall. 

“Finally,” Johnny said. “Nothing worse than not getting to come.”

“Yeah,” you said. “Tell me about it.”

  You moved yourself further down the bed to make your neck comfortable. Haechan was laying on his side next to you, his cock out. You took him in your hands and jerked him off. Touching him with the slightest made you realize how sensitive he was. 

“You’re so….” you said, searching for the right words.

“Soft?” Johnny offered.

  You smiled and kissed Haechan. He was unsure of what you were saying, and if he should be insulted or not. Your tongue was in his mouth and smoothing across his bottom lip, your nose beside his. You pushed him until he was on his bed and climbed on top of him. Your palms were pressed into his chest. You could see some of his stomach, the flash of skin feeling like it was off-limits. You wormed your hands underneath his shirt and felt his warm skin, anyway. You made out with him, minutes passing by before you stopped. Johnny’s attention did wonders for you. You couldn’t stop grinding your body into Haechan, couldn’t stop reaching through your legs to play with his balls. The more Johnny watched, the further you wanted to go. The whole time, you expected Haechan to be compliant. You would have thought he was the submissive type, but his aggressiveness came out in bursts. All it took was a moment of hesitation, and Haechan had you on your back.

“Stay still.” he said.

 His lips were on your neck, his hands in your pants. You never thought you would experience what his fingers felt like clawing at your thighs. You had shaken his hand many times, even watched how he held his stage mic during performances. He moved your panties to the side and slipped his fingers inside of you, coming out to tease your clit when you were wet enough. 

“Take her pants off.” Johnny said.

 Johnny watched over him, the best big brother. At first, Haechan wanted to defy the direction, but he yanked off your pants and your underwear. It was easier to finger you, his middle and ring finger fucking you. He leaned over your body to kiss your pussy lightly, his tongue parting you for a second.

“More.” you pleaded.

  You leaned up, almost curling your body in half. Haechan fingering you felt good, but the split second of the tip of his tongue flicking your clit made you hungry for more. You eased yourself back down, as you saw Johnny step forward and push Haechan out of the way. 

“Thanks for getting her ready for me.” Johnny said.

  Johnny grabbed your thighs and pulled you to the edge of Haechans bed. Reaching over, he took Haechan’s pillow and placed it underneath your head. You kept your legs in mid-air as both boys stared each other down, Haechan burned eyes through Johnny’s skull. 

“You’re just a warm up.” Johnny said.

  Haechan pressed his tongue into his cheek and held his hands up in surrender. You couldn’t stop watching him, even as Johnny rolled a condom down his cock and pulled you into position. You touched your lower stomach because you knew Johnny’s big cock would fill you up good. He closed your legs and threw them both over his right shoulder. He skimmed his fingertips over your pussy lips before inserting one inside of you. 

“You better get ready, “ Johnny teased. “Because that’s what you’re going to feel when Haechan fucks you.”

  The competition made things hotter. You touched your breasts and watched Haechan sitting on Johnny’s bed, his cock stuffed into his boxer briefs, his expression dripping with acid. You knew there was a fire burning inside of him, and you wanted him to take it out on your body.

“Fuck.” Johnny said, his cock inching inside of you. 

  You and Johnny liked to fuck like it was exercise. Each time was different, but every time, your body acted as if it never had a cock quite as good. The uncomfortable feeling of him first moving inside of you always subsided after a few thrusts.  When he started to gain a nice rhythm, Johnny always hit you so deeply that you couldn’t help but cry out.

“You’ll wake the whole house.” Haechan said

“That’s the plan.” Johnny retorted.

  Johnny fucked you fast, the wet sounds loud and frequent. You separated your legs and swung the other onto Johnny’s left shoulder. He leaned down until you were almost bent at the knee, the angle satisfying you. When he was through with that, he flipped you onto your stomach and held your hands behind your back as he drilled his cock into you. 

“Johnny,” you moaned. “You’re going to break his bed..fuck.”

  Haechan’s bed was creaking loudly. Some of his belongings from the overhead shelf had fallen onto the floor. Johnny didn’t listen. He let go of your hands and snaked his way up your spine until his grip had fallen to the back of your neck.

  When Johnny moaned, it was so deep it felt like the vibrations were going to slam into you like a freight train. You knew you shouldn’t wonder about the way Haechan sounded when Johnny was inside of you, but you couldn’t help yourself. All the way up until Johnny’s climax, you pressed your nose into Haechan’s sheets, his scent making you think of him. After Johnny came, he knew he had to finish you off. He flipped you onto your back and used his thumb to gently caress your throbbing clit. The orgasm came full force, and when he pulled out of you, he kept pushing his fingers inside of you and bringing out your stickiness. 

“Oh, you’re done.” Haechan said, yawning. “It’s about time. “

  Johnny laughed, but his exhaustion at fucking you so solidly was showing up. He collapsed beside Haechan on his own bed, using the back of his hand to wipe the sweat from his forehead. Once your body felt more stable, you sat up, removed the tedious shirt and bra and watched them both staring at your naked body.

“That was fun.” you said.

  Comparatively, their bodies were much different. Haechan was built on the smaller side, his body more delicate. You thought he was pretty, but there was something about him that dared to prove you wrong. Johnny had always been strong physically, his body hard, and his focus even harder. You looked at both of them and felt that you were lucky. 

“I think it’s time you undress.” you told Haechan.

  Haechan looked at Johnny’s abs and looked down at his lap. He tugged at his earlobes and smiled bashfully. Getting up from his bed, Johnny crossed the room in two strides and sat in Haechan’s computer chair. 

“Don’t let me get in the way.” Johnny said. 

  You didn’t wait. You got up from the bed and attacked him, your lips wanting to finish what they started. Haechan caught you and let you bring him back down onto Johnny’s bed. His hands were up your sides, the back of his fingers brushing against you. For someone who had become soft, his cock was erect in seconds. It was you who removed his shirt, kissing every bit of his skin before you brought it over his head. You ran your tongue across his teeth and licked his upper lip. 

“Fuck me.” you said.

  Again, Haechan rolled you over until you were on your back. You kissed passionately, your fingers curling around the waistband of his underwear. Haechan got up from the bed and removed his pants and underwear like he couldn’t stand them being in the way anymore. He took a condom and ripped it open, and although he tried his best to be careful, you could tell he was dying to feel the warmth between your legs.

“He’s always so impatient.” Johnny said. 

  Neither of you were listening to Johnny. Haechan put his knee on the bed and held onto your legs. His fingers lingered on your calf. He kissed it, moving his mouth down your thigh. Feeling his tongue fully on your pussy made you convulse. Having him eat you out after Johnny had come inside of you turned you on more than anything. You reached out to grab at his hair, and arched your back when he started getting into it. You came, the orgasm feeling never-ending. Before you could recover, Haechan was inside of you, slowing his pace when he reached his end.

“Oh.” you said.

J  ohnny was wrong. Haechan’s cock felt much like Johnny’s, but the sinful feeling of him leave and come back struck you more profoundly. All the nerves in your body felt alive. His rhythm was slow and more deliberate, his hips smooth and mellow. The way he moved was more passionate, and you could feel it in everything he did. You held the back of his neck when he moved down, bringing him to your lips for a kiss.

“Faster,” you moaned into his mouth. “A little f-”

  Haechan listened and bucked his hips faster. Even if you didn’t ask, you felt him taking that direction. Fucking him felt raw. He stayed inside of you as you moved into a new position, with you on top. When you started riding him, your bodies moved together as one.

“Spin around.” Haechan said.

  You held onto his knees, lifting your body off of him and spinning around. When you took Haechan’s cock again, your eyes locked with Johnny’s. Johnny was at the edge of his bed, and he was spilling his load onto his blanket. You held out your hands and he came to you, putting his knee up onto his bed to reach you for a kiss. You rode Haechan in reverse, your tongue jammed down Johnny’s throat. Haechan smacked your ass. You leaned your head back, and he wound your hair around his fingers and pulled. Johnny’s mouth was on your breasts, his fingers playing with your mound.

  Haechan’s moans were high-pitched and loud, and he went still when he came, the veins in his neck popping out. You and Johnny looked behind you to see him release. You kept riding Haechan, kept taking him in and out of you slowly, both of you loving how dumbfounded he looked by all of the pleasure.

“I think you broke him.” Johnny said.

“I didn’t come.” Haechan said.

“What?” you asked.

  Haechan sat up and held your thighs to lift you up from his lap. He tore the condom from his cock and held the base of himself in his hands. Your mouth was on him without missing a beat, the suction pulling the cum out of him. When he came for real, his voice was much deeper, like how you thought he would sound in the morning after he had woken up. He groaned and fell back onto Johnny’s bed, his eyes vacant.

“Are you done, big man?” Johnny asked.

“Are you?” you asked Johnny.

  Johnny held either side of your waist and leaned down to kiss the back of your neck. He pulled you so that your ass was in the air, until it was easier for him to squeeze it. The condom was already on when Johnny entered you from behind, his hands pushing your head back down onto Haechan’s cock. 

“Let’s keep going,” Johnny said. “I don’t think the whole house has heard us yet.”

[korpuskat]

Kinktober Day 5 - Sadism -Tomura Shigaraki/Reader

[Ao3 Mirror] Rating: Explicit Word Count: 1,721 Summary: Tomura has a lot of fun hurting you. Contains: rape/noncon*; Sadism, biting, painplay, 

=====

"Beg me to stop." He rasps into your ear- and sinks his teeth into the meat of your shoulder, in and in until something hot slides down your chest.

Everything about you trembles, "Stop..."

Pain explodes over your ass- you yelp, jump beneath him- and his mouth, still wet with spit or blood rubs against the shell of your ear. "Louder." Teeth nip at the thin, sensitive skin there as his lips split into a grin, "I want everyone to hear you."

Your fingers twist into his sheets, "Stop! Please, stop! Don't-"

And his hand meets your ass again, the imprint of his palm makes your skin sting, burn with each impact- and they keep coming. Over and over until you're trying to scramble away, pressing yourself down into the bed to get any respite- but the hand at your waist keeps you near enough, keeps your hips angled back for him to continue his assault. Another hit has his bitten nails scratch you and you're gasping, whining, "Hurts, hurts, Tomura,"

And the hand at your hips twists into your hair, yanks you back- you grab at his wrist on instinct, move back with him as he pulls you up to your knees again, further until your back presses entirely to his front. Still, he does not release his grip, pulls until your head is against his shoulder, neck long and arched and exposed. His other hand gropes at your stinging, welted ass, makes you squirm back against his hard cock. "That's the point."

In an instant you're face-first in the bed again, his weight coming down on the hand on your head while he reaches past you, grabs something. The weight eases, his hand disconnecting from your hair to slide down the long line of your back- and his nails dig in, rake four perfect red lines through your skin. You hiss, arch away from his hand- and with your knees still planted, you're acutely aware of how you're presenting to him. The hand stops at the small of your back, presses there in warning to keep still- and moves again.

He parts the lips of your cunt, draws one finger from the leaking hole there down to the swollen bud of your clit. One touch has your thighs shaking, has your glad your face is buried in the blankets to hide your shame. He shuffles his hands for a moment- and something touches either side of your clit. He rubs there- and it's too firm to be his fingers, slightly cool, smooth with a bit of a hard edge and- you stiffen as the switch flips. You turn your head as far as you can to look back at him- and he meets you with that wide, terrible grin. "Wait! Wait, don't, please!"

Tomura lets out one pleased breath as you tense- and he lets the clothespin close over your swollen clit. The noise that leaves you isn't human, the raw animal instinct of pain makes you freeze, thighs shaking as every muscle in your lower body pulls taut in the simultaneous need to stop moving, to ease the pain and to get it off. Shock and agony leave tears in your eyes as you struggle to hang on.

"How's that? Too much for you?" His laugh is the only thing you can hear past your own broken gasps- and his palms rub in soothing strokes on the smooth expanse of your thighs.

"It hurts," You whimper.

"Good." Pain eclipses all other thought- until something warm is prodding at the slick between your legs. His hand is cool on your overheated, bruising rear while he holds you still. "I'm going to fuck you and you're going to feel that every second of it."

He waits for you to beg- lets the head of his cock nudge the underside of your swollen, clamped clit. The twinge of pain brings your voice back- "No, no, wait!"

His cock splits you open so hard, so fast, you don't even feel it for a long moment; the pain of the backs of your ass cheeks meeting his thin, taut abdomen, the hard lines of his hipbones is the first thing you feel. It chokes down any other words you might've had, smothers them into submission- and then he withdraws. As he pulls out, it tugs against the sensitive lips of your pussy-- and your clit. A wail rises in your throat- and the sound of Tomura's laughter pierces your ears.

He doesn't give you the luxury of building pace, of the slow ascension to decent friction, no- one hand tangles into your hair again, the other at your hip while he fucks you. With your reddened ass that smarts with each impact of his hips and your clit that throbs with each downstroke, you get no rest, no moment to catch your breath.

Tomura leans over you, his thrusts turning shallow and easy. The heat from his body warms your back, but there's no warmth in his words. "You're going to cum for me." The hand that was wrapped in your hair scratches its way down your body- and circles around until his fingertips press into the soft mound just above your pussy. "Just like this."

And he finds the hood of your aching clit, the sensitive flesh beneath throbbing with every beat of your heart and he rubs.

Pain. Pain has your back aching, breath coming in fast, unfulfilling gasps. Every motion has him tugging on that thin skin, makes the clothes pin bob between your legs. And it hurts, it hurts, and his cock is moving in you and it feels good-

it comes out of nowhere. Masked under the pain, raw sensation has driven you up and up until something uncomfortably close to pleasure rears its head. The realization makes your head spin, that you're already so close, your pussy pulsing around him. His hand on your hips pulls you back into his next thrust, drives down- and it's enough.

You clench around him- and your clit's sensitivity shoots through the roof. For one agonizing second all you can feel is that unrelenting, cruel pressure- until he's knocking it off. The removal is nearly as painful, the rush of hot blood back into the crushed nerve endings and it doesn't matter because it's stopped and you're cumming, clit throbbing in time with your pulse, counterpoint to your cunt's merciless grip on his still-moving cock-

and as soon as you can take a breath, you're screaming.

.

.

.

.

.

Dabi's seen all sorts of things in his time lurking around any space that abhors heroes- which is mostly among villains. They're not good people, but this was something else. He didn't have any delusions about Shigarki's nature- he'd tried to kill Dabi in a childish fit when they first met after all- but he hadn't expected that. Nor had anyone else, from everyone else's reactions.

Jin had half a mind to charge in there after please, stop, but Atsuhiro and Shuichi had been enough voice of reason. Maybe if it was anyone else displaying their unsavory tendencies they would've let him, but it was Shigaraki. What could they do, really? Get dusted for trying to get him to keep it in his pants or take his morbid conquests elsewhere? Atsuhiro corrals them into stepping out, to "give our esteemed leader some privacy." and even Dabi with his burnt-out taste buds can taste the derision.

Kurogiri's response is the least surprising; he sits in one corner, quiet and unconcerned with his charge's hobbies. Toga- well. He should've expected it, her obsession with people all beat up and covered in blood. Her cheeks flush pink, eyes going far-off as her lips curl up. He can't blame her- it's exactly what he's feeling. At the broken-off scream, they each excused themselves to separate rooms, probably to do the same thing.

If he were being honest it might've been the hardest Dabi's cum in weeks.

He meets Shigaraki's eyes after, while his leader trudges to the bathroom to clean himself up. They're each unconcerned with the other's presence and Dabi figures, sure, whatever. They're all wanted murderers anyway and Shigaraki knows well enough to clean up his messes- and it's certainly faster and easier than Dabi's Quirk.

What he doesn't expect, however, is the next morning, after everyone's gathered again-- Shuichi's face the only one exposed to look uncomfortable, actually-- is the voice from Shigaraki's room. The door clicks open and- everyone in the room's thoughts stutter to a stop as your shoes scuff the floor, your voice carrying through the thin walls.

"Sorry, guess I passed out." And you laugh; nobody in the main room even breathes. Had he not killed you? Why?

"You needed it." Shigaraki says.

"I really did need that." You say, a double meaning heavy on your tongue. "Thank you."

Kurogiri stands, approaches the little hallway just as you step around the corner. Your eyes go wide at the unfamiliar faces, scan across the room before looking away in shame, one hand rising to rub at the back of your neck. It draws Dabi's eye down- and the pieces begin to fit together in his head.

Everywhere above the collar of your shirt is covered in dark, unhealed bites, a perfect outline of Shigaraki's hand- sans middle finger- is imprinted in your skin in purple bruises. Even on your chin, Dabi sees it now- a pink halfmoon of what can only be teeth marks.

Shigaraki steps into the room behind you- and Dabi's seen him when he wants to kill. No, no, Shigaraki just looks bored. That had to be it- he was right about the boss being a sadist, but you. Dabi's cock is so hard it hurts, aches between his legs as you speak with Kurogiri, tell him where you want to go. A masochist able to keep up with even Shigaraki's sick fantasies? It takes every ounce of control he has not to palm himself right then and there.

"Are you gonna be on Cloud Seven tonight?" Shigaraki asks, unconcerned as Kurogiri's warp expands out.

You tap your chin, "Probably not 'till after six, but I'll see you then." You wave to Shigaraki, who shrugs and turns to go back into the dark hallway- and just like that you're gone.

=====

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[blouisparadise]

Upon request, here is a rec list of bottom Louis fics where Louis and/or Harry use drugs during the course of the fic. If you support our rec lists and want them to continue being made, please reblog this post and spread the word. Happy reading!

1) Lips Are Like The Galaxy’s Edge | Mature | 2365 words

Harry licks over Louis’ hole slowly, deliberately, and his tongue is like velvet and Louis’ skin is burning at every junction where Harry touches him and it’s all so good he thinks he might cry. He licks a few more times, moaning softly like he’s relishing the taste of Louis and that’s just, well, fuck.

2) Can You Feel The Fever | Explicit | 5113 words

Note: This fic is a sequel to this fic.

Tour has Harry exhausted. Luckily exactly what he needs is waiting for him in his Sacramento dressing room.

3) Read You Like A Book | Explicit | 8089 words

Louis realises Harry can read his mind. He’ll do anything to make Harry admit it. Set during the North American leg of the WWA tour.

4) Put You On Repeat, Play You Everywhere I Go | Explicit | 8290 words

Harry is a college radio show host and Louis is a contemporary dancer attending said college. After a drunk hook-up, naturally a whole bunch of pining, dedicated love songs and make-out sessions on dance studio floors ensue.

5) Keep It Sweet In Your Memory | Explicit | 17039 words

'How'd it go?' Harry pushes them into Niall's room and shuts the door behind him, so Georgia doesn't overhear.

'It was good. We just caught up, mostly... I may have done something a little stupid, though.'

And Niall's eyebrows are in his hairline at that.

'I mean. Okay, so I invited Louis out on Saturday.'

'Saturday? Your--'

'Yes, my bachelor party...' and then Harry has to explain himself, 'I just felt guilty. I think. He was like. Telling me he wanted to hook up.'

'He WHAT!?'

'No. I mean, not with me. Like. He wants to go out and meet people.'

'He'll hate that. He's too much of a romantic.'

'Yeah, well. Whatever his name was messed him up a little, it would seem.'

6) Never Understood What Love Was Really Like (But I Felt It For The First Time Looking In Your Eyes) | Not Rated | 18431 words

The one where Louis meets Harry at 14 and things don’t quite go as planned.

7) Ain’t My Fault | Explicit | 18690 words

Note: This fic has mentions of BH.

AU. Liam posts an ad on the wrong section of Craigslist, Louis is pretty sure they’re gonna get murdered as a result, and Harry’s missing an avocado.

8) Kiwi | Not Rated | 24110 words

AU. Harry plays on Saturday nights at The Motley. Louis bartends on Saturday nights at The Motley.

It’s a thing.

9) Honey, Make This Easy | Explicit | 25483 words

AU; Harry’s sister recently passed away, leaving him with temporary custody of her daughter. Needing help, he hires Louis as a nanny and the boy turns out to be help in more ways than he expected.

10) Can’t Fool Me | Explicit | 30162 words

AU where Louis hates fraternities and would never be into a frat boy. And one of these things is definitely not a lie.

11) Captain Jack | Explicit | 31752 words

Note: Please take note of the tags and warnings on this fic before reading

Louis has been searching for something and Harry is there to give it to him. Drugs, sex, disappointment, and the tangled web they’ve woven that keeps them trapped in the same cycle.

12) Can I Make It Any More Obvious? | Explicit | 35560 words

AU where Louis does ballet and Harry is the epitome of everything Louis’ friends want him to stay away from.

13) Bluebird | Explicit | 39024 words

The 2,789 miles between New York and Los Angeles is a long way to go alone.

14) Another Hazy May | Mature | 41042 words

Louis is a terrible poet and Harry lives in the now and they have six weeks to fall in love but, really, it only takes six seconds. bookshop meets military meets summer romance AU ft. Marlboros, the backstreet boys, and underrated literary devices.

15) Looking Through You | Explicit | 41905 words

Just as Louis and Liam were starting out in the music industry, writing and producing for up and coming artists, a fateful meeting with new pop singer Harry Styles changes everything. Four years later, just as Harry is set to embark on his next world tour, a drunken confession causes a rift between once inseparable friends. As Harry tries to make sense of his feelings for Louis, he begins writing his next album to express them as it may be the only way to break through the walls that Louis has built between them.

16) Tangled Up In You | Explicit | 45152 words

Harry blinks once. And blinks again. And says, his voice dangerous: “Niall, did you get me a mail-order bride?”

Because what the actual fuck. It kind of looks like Niall’s just purchased a person. For Harry.

Niall blinks back at him for a few moments, before throwing his head back and howling with laughter. Harry throws a pillow at him. Hard. “No, what the fuck, Harry.”

“A prostitute then?” Harry also doesn't want a prostitute.

“Of course not!”

“A stripper?”

“No!”

Damn, he’s running out of ideas. He settles for launching another pillow at Niall’s head. Niall bats it away easily, still laughing. “Stop!”

“What did you get me, then?!” Niall must hear the tinge of hysteria in his voice, because he’s pulling himself together, trying to stop himself from laughing.

There’s still a big grin on his face, though, when he says, “I got you a professional cuddler.”

A professional…what. “What?”

17) Apples Always Fall (As I Do For You) | Mature | 54609 words | Sequel

Note: This fic is locked and can only be read by AO3 users.

Louis is staying at his Aunt's farm in a small town in Minnesota for four months. To deal with the boredom that sets in a week into his stay, he starts working at the local apple orchard, owned by twenty six year old Harry Styles.

Louis quickly finds himself falling in love with the orchard, and he finds a family in Harry's friends Niall, Liam, and Zayn.

He also starts to fall in love with Harry.

Falling in love with him turns out to be the easy part.

18) Into The Midnight Sun | Explicit | 63525 words

It’s 1983, Harry embarks on his first world tour and Louis is a budding actor in LA. Life spent apart isn’t easily adjustable, but somehow they make it work.

19) Like Real People Do | Explicit | 64175 words

Louis didn’t ask for a lot of things. He didn’t ask for his entire family to die in a car crash that may or may not have been his fault. He didn’t ask to get powers out of that accident, either, powers that eventually led him into a two-year relationship with a man who was far more than met the eye. But one night, he chose to ask for a replacement to a broken camera from someone he hadn’t spoken to in a year and a half. He did ask for that. And that kind of led to everything else.

20) Liberté | Mature | 64603 words

AU. 1647. “Pretending you don’t have a heart is not the best way to not get it broken. It’s just the easiest.”

21) Pinkies Never Lie | Explicit | 83615 words | Sequel

AU in which Louis hates his job and loves Harry, Harry just wants a distraction, everyone else wants them to get their shit together, and Louis learns the hard way that new beginnings are only possible when something ends.

22) Baby Heaven’s In Your Eyes | Explicit | 120875 words

They couldn’t be more different if they tried. Louis Tomlinson is 17 years old and in his last year of the most prestigious private school in Doncaster. If there’s one thing that completely annoys him, it’s that there is a poor community college right across the street.

Harry Styles is 19 years old, and (once again) in his last year of college. He goes to community college in Doncaster. He never shows up to classes and if he actually bothers to, he’s either high or drunk; sometimes both. His skin is littered with tattoos and if there’s one thing he absolutely hates, it’s the snobby students attending the private school right across from his.

23) Saving Symphony Hall | Mature | 124766 words

Note: This is a sequel to this fic. This fic has been locked and can only be read by AO3 users.

“I think I have an idea,” Louis said. Slowly, and reluctantly, but with a growing sense of the inevitable. “God damnit, I think I have a really good idea.”

“Oh christ, that’s the problem-solving face,” Babs said. “Last time we saw that face, he sold a company.”

“Wait, what?” Zayn asked.

“Right place, right time,” Louis said. “Also, fuck my life,”

“What?” Zayn repeated. Niall patted his hand.

“I usually just roll with whatever Louis is about to do,” he said. “It’s better for us all.”

“That’s the attitude,” said Louis, “I’ll tell you tomorrow. Tonight, I need to do some research. Zayn, give me your number. I’m gonna save our symphony.”

24) I Only Ever Want You | Explicit | 180079 words

Note: This fic is the sequel to this fic.

Louis & Harry and Liam & Zayn begin to have sex in front of each other and a lot of kink-discovery results from that.

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