#p: sugar spice and everything nice

[ramp-it-up]

Baby Cakes & Tough Guy

Summary: You co-own Baby Cakes Bakery with your bestie Monica Rambeau, direct competition for the Bucky Barnes and Sam Wilson owned Howling Commando Baked Goods. And now you are competing head to head in The Best in Brooklyn Bake-Off. You're sugar, spice and everything nice and Bucky is... Grumpy. Can you sweeten him up, or is he going to make you into a sour puss?

Word count: 5.3K

Pairing: Baker!Bucky Barnes x Baker!Reader;

Sam Wilson x reader, & Monica Rambeau x reader (platonic)

A/N: This is inspired by the #BuckyBarnesBirthdayBingo by @avengers-assemble-bingo. This fulfills the square: Bakery AU, and has completed my card. I don't know if you could tell, but I have had an absolute BALL with these prompts. And this one was especially fun. Let me know what you think! Please reblog, comment, and like!

Warnings: 18+ Only, Minors DNI. Read at your own risk. All errors my own. Angst. Grumpy Bucky, rustic baking, baking competition, mutual pining, rivalries, undeniable chemistry, Bucky’s an ass, but he makes up for it, oral (m/f receiving), sloppy blow job, praise kink, nipple play, orgasm denial, raw p-in-v, creampie, reference to eating the groceries, possessive Bucky. 😁

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I Do NOT Consent to my work being reposted, translated or presented on any other blog or site other than by myself.

-----

The first time you ever saw Bucky Barnes, he was scowling at a sack of flour like it personally offended him.

You adjusted your Baby Cakes apron and bit back a laugh.

“This is gonna be fun,” you murmured as you set up your station in The Best in Brooklyn Bake-Off tent in Prospect Park.

“Fun?” 

Monica snorted from beside you. 

“Babe, this is war. Do you even know who that is?”

You glanced over at the very grumpy man two stations down. His broad shoulders strained against a black apron that read Tough Guy, and his arms were crossed like he’d rather be anywhere but here. His biceps popped as he folded them tighter. 

Damn. 

And then his sharp blue eyes flicked to yours. You definitely got caught staring. Bucky’s scowl deepened and you suppressed the urge to stick out your tongue.

“Should I?” you asked Monica, arching a brow.

She leaned in conspiratorially. 

“That’s Bucky Barnes. Co-owner of Howling Commandos Baked Goods. And you know they’ve been stealing our customers with their ‘no-frills, real-deal, rustic baking’ nonsense.”

You rolled your eyes. 

“Oh no. Not rustic baking,” you mocked.

“I’m serious!” 

Monica flapped a hand. 

“Foodie blogs won’t shut up about them. And he and his partner, Sam Wilson, act like they’re too cool for anything frilly.” 

She air-quoted dramatically. 

“AKA us.”

You shrugged. 

“Guess we’ll have to prove them wrong.”

But as you turned back to your ingredients, you felt it, that distinct sensation of being watched. And when you glanced up again, Bucky was still looking. 

Not just looking, but assessing. 

Outright staring.

Then, at the last second, his mouth quirked in the faintest smirk. A silent challenge.

Your stomach flipped. 

Yes. This was going to be interesting.

—

Bucky was already regretting this.

The second Sam convinced him to sign up for this competition, he knew it was a mistake.

"Dude, it’s good exposure. Plus, imagine the free marketing when we crush everyone else."

Bucky had reluctantly agreed. But now, standing in this tent, surrounded by pastel-colored mixing bowls and way too much cheerfulness, he was rethinking everything.

Especially when he saw you.

You.

You, with your too-bright smile and sugar-dusted cheeks.

You, adjusting your apron, hands moving with the ease of someone who loved this. 

You, already chatting with the other contestants, laughing like this was a Saturday morning bake sale instead of a competition.

And the worst part?

You were good.

He hadn’t tasted a single thing you’d made yet, but he could tell.

By the way that you measured your ingredients with confidence.

By the way you scanned your recipe, fully in control. 

By the way you smiled like baking was fun.

Sam elbowed him.

“Dude. You’re staring.”

Bucky grunted. 

“Sizing up the competition.”

“Yeah? Or are you just into her?”

Bucky fixed Sam with a glare.

“She’s the enemy.”

“If that’s what you need to tell yourself,” Sam snorted.

Bucky clenched his jaw and turned back to his station.

This was just a competition.

Nothing more.

—

You never expected this when you signed up for The Best in Brooklyn Bake-Off.

Stress? Absolutely.

Flour in your hair? Without a doubt.

A full-blown panic attack over an underbaked sponge cake? Practically guaranteed.

But Bucky Barnes?

Never in a million years.

And yet, there he was, the grumpiest, scowliest contestant in the history of televised baking.

"Are you serious?" he muttered, watching as you carefully piped pink buttercream onto your cupcakes.

You glanced up, blinking adorably up at him.

"What?"

He jerked a thumb at your apron, enjoying the view as he eyed the logo printed across your breasts. 

"Baby Cakes."

You flashed a proud grin. 

"That’s our bakery."

His scowl deepened. He already knew that. He was there for your introduction.

Of course, you would own a place called Baby Cakes, a bright, pastel-colored bakery specializing in mini cupcakes and love-themed treats. It was the exact opposite of his and Sam’s Howling Commandos Baked Goods, where everything was dark wood, bold flavors, and exactly zero sprinkles.

"Figures," he muttered.

Bucky told himself he didn’t like the way you smile. That the sound of your laugh wasn’t cute as hell. 

And that was a problem because every time you smiled at him, it got that much harder to pretend he didn’t love it. And every time you laughed, it became difficult as hell to not laugh with you.

And the way you looked. He took the opportunity to appreciate your generous curves, and the way your thick curls hid your cute as a candy button face as you were concentrating on what you were doing.

The thought popped into his head that wanted to taste you.

Where did that come from?

He cleared his throat as you finished piping, straightened up, and extended your hand. Bucky hesitated, then took it grudgingly. 

Your name rolled easily off your tongue, warm and inviting. He uttered his in return, then slowly extracted his hand, swiping the bit of frosting you left behind onto his finger.

And then, he licked it off.

You shouldn’t have found messy hands sexy. But watching Bucky Barnes taste your buttercream, his tongue swiping slowly over his fingertip? 

Yeah. That definitely did something to you.

You let out a small hum before you stopped yourself.

Or was that a moan?

His blue eyes flicked up, knowing, teasing, and challenging you.

"Way too much sugar," he muttered, backing away as he took note of your dilated eyes.

He thought about your reaction to him and almost tripped over Sam while trying to look cool. You bit your lip to hold back your laughter as he stormed back to his station, looking like an actual thundercloud.

Sam clapped him on the shoulder, shaking his head. 

"Man, you’re screwed."

And for the first time in his life, Bucky wondered if maybe Sam was right.

—----

Day after day, you and Bucky clashed.

He rolled his eyes at your sprinkles. You teased him about his obsession with “serious” baking. 

But somewhere between the macaron challenge and the lightning round, something shifted.

One night, after a particularly brutal bread challenge, you found yourselves alone in the kitchen. The others had gone, but you were still cleaning up when Bucky leaned against the counter, watching you.

“You surprised me today,” he said gruffly.

You glanced over at him, raising a brow. 

“Because I made a decent brioche?”

He smirked, just a little. 

“Because you didn’t let the stress get to you.”

You scoffed. 

“I did cry a little behind the fridge.”

That almost-smirk softened into something dangerously close to a smile. And you almost swooned at how handsome he was.

“You care about this. That’s… kinda cool.”

Your heart did a funny little flip.

Bucky should have walked away. Should’ve ignored the way you looked at him like he wasn’t the grumpiest asshole in the tent. 

But he didn’t. Instead, he reached out, swiping a bit of frosting from your wrist.

“Lemon?” he guessed.

“Vanilla bean with a hint of lime,” you corrected.

He licked it off his finger, his blue eyes never leaving yours. You grew warm as you noted the twinkle in those true blue eyes. 

You began to wonder if he did it on purpose, if he knew how it affected you last time.

He nodded.

“Not bad, Baby Cakes.”

And just like that, you knew that maybe grumpy, scowly Bucky Barnes wasn’t such a tough guy after all.

——-

By the fifth day of the competition, tensions were high.

And not just the who’s-going-to-win-the-grand-prize kind of tension. 

No.

This was something else. Something hotter.

Which is why, when you snuck into the kitchen after hours to squeeze in some extra practice, you weren’t even surprised to find Bucky Barnes already there, leaning against the counter, arms crossed, his black apron slung over his shoulder like he owned the place.

“Seriously?” you sighed, setting down your mixing bowl.  “You couldn’t pick another time to lurk in the shadows like some kind of kitchen goblin?”

The corner of his mouth twitched, the closest thing to a smile you’d gotten from him all week.

“Funny. I was about to say the same thing to you.”

You rolled your eyes and grabbed a whisk. 

“Well, I was here first.”

“No, you weren’t.”

You huffed. “I was in spirit.”

That did it. 

Bucky let out something suspiciously close to a laugh, a low, raspy sound that sent an unexpected shiver down your spine. Shaking it off, you started working, pouring flour into a bowl and focusing on your batter. 

Or at least, you tried to.

But you could feel his eyes on you, staring at you intently. After a few minutes, you glanced up, exasperated. 

“What?”

“I didn’t peg you for the burning-the-midnight-oil-so-you-can-win-the-competition kind of intense.”

"I’m not usually," you admitted, nudging a stray bit of flour with your foot. 

"Just… nerves, I guess."

He pushed off the counter and strolled over to you.

"You’re gonna dominate this competition, Baby Cakes. You’re good.”

You blinked. Did Bucky Barnes, the king of scowls, just compliment you?

Your brow furrowed. 

“Is this some kind of mind game? Because if it is, I’m not falling for it, Tough Guy.”

He shrugged, and this time, he smiled. A real one. Just a flicker, but enough to make your pulse trip.

“No games. Just calling it like I see it.”

You were incredulous.

“You do know I’m your biggest competition, right?"

"Yeah.” His eyes searched your face.  “And I still meant it."

Something in your chest tightened. And it was bad. Really bad. Because for the first time since this competition started, you weren’t sure if you wanted to beat Bucky Barnes.

Or kiss him.

You mentally rattled off all the reasons why that was a terrible idea, but before you could get through them, his voice cut through your thoughts.

“I can hear your brain going, you know.”

You gasped, half-thinking he could actually read your mind.

“You’re an over thinker,” he said, quiet but certain, like he already knew you.

“And your worst habit is scowling at my cupcakes like you're judging them,” you teased, desperate to steer the conversation somewhere safer.

Bucky laughed again. 

“I am judging. Too much frosting.”

You were ready to fire back, but the moment your eyes locked, the words caught in your throat. The dim kitchen light softened him. Made him look less guarded, more real. His sharp blue gaze flicked over your face, lingering on your lips just a second too long.

The air between you shifted, heavier than before. The only sound was the faint hum of the refrigerators and your own heartbeat pounding way too fast.

You gaped at him. 

"Well, you!... I mean, do you, um…,"  

You cleared your throat and looked around at everything else in the tent except Bucky.

"You have a favorite moment from the bake off so far?"

Bucky studied you for a beat, then smirked. He was making you uncomfortable. How interesting. He wasn't alone in this infatuation.

"Yeah."

You waited, expecting him to say something about his caramel tarts or his perfect sourdough. Instead, he took a step closer.

"It was the first day," he murmured. 

"When you walked in with that ridiculous pink apron and told the judges your bakery was called Baby Cakes. I remember thinking…" 

He shook his head. 

"Damn. I’m in trouble."

Your breath hitched.

"Bucky…"

But before you could say anything, before you could do anything, he stepped back, shoving his hands into his jeans pockets.

"Night, Baby Cakes," he said, his voice rough.

And just like that, he walked away, leaving you standing there, your heart racing, brain spinning, completely and utterly ruined for him.

—

After that night, everything between you and Bucky changed. You still bickered. Oh, did you bicker. But now every jab carried a tension that coiled tighter with every glance.

"Too much sugar, Baby Cakes," he mumbled during the pastry challenge, his voice low as his sharp eyes raked over your cherry almond tart with disdain.

"Too much salt, Tough Guy," you fired back, swiping a taste of his dark chocolate sea salt ganache before he could stop you.

He froze as you licked the spoon clean, your tongue sliding across the curve with deliberate precision. His eyes darkened, his jaw tightening as if he was wrestling with something he couldn’t name.

Oh.

“That’s debatable,” he finally managed, though his voice came out rough, almost strained.

You smiled, thinking you might have a lot power.

And then came the announcement that made your stomach flip. The dreaded Team Challenge.

"You’ve got to be kidding me," Bucky groaned when the producers called your names together.

"Oh, come on," you teased, bumping his arm with a grin you hoped looked more confident than you felt. "You’re gonna love working with me."

"Doubt it," he grumbled, but the twitch at the corner of his mouth betrayed him.

The challenge? A three-tiered wedding cake, elegant and sophisticated. 

A perfect harmony of flavors, the producers said. In reality, it felt like a recipe for disaster.

Your styles clashed like oil and water. You craved delicate piping and romantic floral details; Bucky wanted bold flavors and sharp, clean lines. 

Hearts versus hands. 

Sugar versus salt.

But somewhere between rolling fondant and whipping buttercream, something shifted. 

He steadied your hands when your piping wavered, his warm fingers brushing yours just a little longer than necessary. You softened his scowls with quick jokes, your laughter breaking through the walls he tried to keep firmly in place. 

You moved like you’d been baking together for years, finding a rhythm that felt natural.

When the final timer buzzed, you both stepped back, staring at your creation in awe.

Three tiers of vanilla bean sponge cake, layered with a tart blackberry compote and tangy lemon curd, wrapped in pristine white fondant. Gold dust kissed the edges, while delicate sugar roses cascaded down the sides like a fairytale.

It wasn’t just good. It was breathtaking.

For the first time, Bucky turned to you without his usual smirk or scowl.

“Nice work, Baby Cakes,” he murmured, his voice low.

“You too, Tough Guy,” you whispered, your heart racing at the way his eyes lingered on you.

The judges swooned, declaring it the best cake of the show. You and Bucky won the challenge.

Without thinking, Bucky picked you up, arms wrapped around your waist and spun you around. The broad smile on his face disappeared as you slid down his body back to the ground.

Both of you cleared your throats and went opposite ways out of the tent, as Monica and Sam shared a look.

Later that night, after the cameras stopped rolling, you found yourself outside by the catering table, sneaking an extra slice.

"Thought you’d be sick of it by now," Bucky said, leaning beside you, his presence close and warm in the cool night air.

"Never," you grinned, licking a dollop of frosting off your thumb before realizing how much attention he was paying to the movement.

“Although,” you added, suddenly self-conscious, “I should probably stop sampling the wares. My jeans are struggling.”

You looked away, cheeks warming, thinking about how you had to jump to put your jeans on, but when you glanced back, you caught him looking. Not just at you, but at your ass in your jeans.

“Looks like a productive struggle,” he muttered, his voice dropping into a husky timbre that made your pulse skip. “Don’t change a thing, Baby Cakes.”

Bucky licked his lips, his gaze trailing back to your mouth, and before you could process what was happening, his thumb brushed your lips, swiping away some frosting. 

And then he kissed you.

It wasn’t rushed or frantic. It was slow, deliberate, like he was savoring the moment, savoring the essence of you. Bucky tasted like buttercream and something more flavorful, something with more depth. Something like him. 

His lips moved against yours with knee-weakening confidence, one hand sliding to the small of your back, the other cradling your jaw. 

When you finally pulled away, breathless and dazed, you couldn’t stop yourself from murmuring, "Not bad."

He chuckled, his breath warm against your skin.

"Not bad at all."

The kiss felt like magic, like folding sugar into butter, like the perfect meringue gaining its peaks. But then reality came crashing back.

“Well, well, well!”

You and Bucky sprang apart, both turning to see Monica standing there, arms crossed and eyebrows raised.

"Uh," you stammered, feeling your stomach drop.

Bucky rubbed the back of his neck, looking anywhere but at Monica.

"So, are you two, like, together-together?" Monica asked, her tone dripping with amusement. 

"Or was this just a ‘we made a wedding cake and got caught up in the moment’ thing?"

Your mouth opened, but nothing came out. Bucky beat you to it.

"We’re not together," he said firmly, his tone leaving no room for argument.

Ouch.

You fought to keep your expression neutral, but Monica’s raised brow told you she wasn’t buying it.

"Riiight," she drawled. "Well, if you were together, you’d make a killer duo. That cake? Best one I’ve had in a long time."

She sauntered off, leaving you standing there, cheeks burning and heart pounding for all the wrong reasons.

"Listen, Baby Cakes," Bucky started, his voice tight, but you held up a hand.

"Nope," you said quickly, your tone sharp. "It’s fine. We’re here to bake, not… whatever that was."

His jaw clenched, but he nodded stiffly. 

"Right. Baking. That’s what we’re here for."

Later, at the bar celebrating with the crew, you avoided him entirely, but you felt his eyes on you all night.

“Bucky’s over there looking like someone stole his candy thermometer.”

You glanced at him over your shoulder and found him watching you moodily. You rolled your eyes and turned back to your drink.

“He’ll be aight.”

Monica shook her head.

“Ya’ll are two hard heads, but that’s one of my business.” 

When Monica left you alone, you thought about what happened earlier. How embarrassed you were when Bucky denied anything between you. And now here he was, moping around because you wouldn’t speak to him.

Too bad, you thought bitterly. Bucky blew his chance. You weren’t about to let yourself get hurt again.

But deep down, you couldn’t shake the question: Why did that kiss feel like the start of something?

At first, Bucky told himself he’d dodged a bullet. You were too bubbly, too happy, too... everything he wasn’t. It would never have worked.

But as he watched you laugh with everyone else, refusing to look his way, something felt wrong.

Wrong like a cake that collapsed in the oven.

Wrong like he’d measured something incorrectly and couldn’t figure out what.

He saw it in your eyes.

In the way your shoulders stiffened when he denied anything between you.

In the way you brushed flour off your apron aggressively.

Bucky fucked up.

And now, all he could think about was how to fix it, because for the first time in years, he was craving a little sugar to balance his spice.

—-

The next morning, before filming started, Bucky found you in the prep kitchen, alone. You were at the counter, rolling out dough with a little too much force, your shoulders tight, your jaw clenched.

"That dough do something to offend you, Baby Cakes?" he asked, leaning against the counter, hoping the teasing tone would draw out the usual playful spark in your eyes.

But you didn’t look up.

"Just getting out some aggression," you muttered, your hands moving with sharp, angry precision.

Bucky exhaled, frustration building. He wanted to fix this. He wanted to be better at saying the right thing, but years of being tough and closed-off made it hard for the words to come.

So he said nothing.

Instead, he did what he knew best.

He baked.

When he came back to himself, baking became his real therapy. A time and space for him to really work out all that he had seen and done.

A chance to create instead of destroy.

Silently, he worked at the station next to yours, kneading dough, measuring ingredients, and whisking with deliberate care. You pretended not to notice, but as the warm scent of cinnamon, vanilla, and caramel began to fill the air, it became impossible to ignore.

Finally, he slid a small plate toward you, a delicate pastry, golden brown and still warm.

"What’s this?" you asked, eyeing him suspiciously.

"Sticky bun," he said, shifting on his feet. "Made it the way you like. Soft in the middle. Extra pecans."

How did he know that? Monica.

Your lips pressed together, but the flicker of interest in your eyes gave you away. He'd done his research on you. Breaking off a piece, you popped it into your mouth, and immediately sighed.

It was perfect. Gooey and rich, sweet but balanced.

"Okay," you admitted, trying to keep your tone neutral.

"This is dangerously good."

Bucky’s lips curved into a small, tentative smile as he watched you eat.

"I was an ass yesterday," he said softly, his voice low and rough.

"I didn’t mean to… Look, I panicked. I wasn’t trying to hurt you."

You put the sticky bun down and turned to face him fully, meeting his eyes with a steady gaze.

"Then what were you trying to do?"

His tongue swept over his bottom lip, his brows furrowing like he was weighing each word carefully.

"I guess I thought if I said it out loud, it’d be easier to ignore how much I want you," he confessed, his voice raw and unguarded.

"Didn’t work."

Your stomach flipped. You swallowed, suddenly too aware of how close he was standing, of the heat radiating from his body. Of how he seemed to be holding himself back at the moment.

"You want me," you said slowly, almost testing the words.

Bucky nodded, his gaze unwavering.

"Yeah. And I know I’ve gotta prove it now. Because I fucked up.”

His blue, blue eyes shone with sincerity. And something else.

“I fumbled a beautiful, talented, sexy woman like you."

You let the silence stretch, let him sweat a little. Then, with deliberate slowness, you broke off another piece of the sticky bun and pressed it to his lips.

For a moment, he hesitated. Then, he opened his mouth, taking the bite, and sucking the tips of your fingers into his mouth and licking between them as he did, eyes on you the entire time. The gentle pull of his lips sent a thrill down your spine. And the vulgar promise of his tongue had heat pooling low in your belly. 

Your nipples hardened, and a fresh wave of arousal swept through you, dampening your panties.

"G-good start," you murmured, your voice husky. "But it’s just a start."

A slow, wicked smirk tugged at his lips at your stutter.

"Then I guess I’ll just have to keep sweetening you up," he drawled, the heat in his gaze making it clear he wasn’t just talking about baking.

But you weren’t letting him off the hook that easily. For the rest of the day, you kept your distance, not too far, but far enough to make him feel it. Enough to make him yearn for you.

Bucky turned into an absolute softie, sneaking you little treats between takes, making sure you had the good whisk before grabbing his own, brushing a hand against your lower back, warm finger splayed wide, when he passed behind you, murmuring a low "behind" that sent shivers racing across your skin.

Monica noticed, of course.

"You’re making him work for it," she said approvingly as she piled buttercream onto a tray of cupcakes.

"I’m not–"

She shot you a knowing look. "Girl, please."

Fine. Maybe you were. Maybe you liked watching Bucky struggle his way through this. Maybe you liked seeing the grumpiest man in the competition try to charm you with sugar, spice, and smoldering glances that left your pulse skipping.

They announced you as winner of the competition and Bucky inclined his head at you, a real smile on his face.

And that night, he took it a step further.

------

When you came back late to the brownstone after staying out with the others, you found something waiting for you on the kitchen counter.

A cake.

Not just any cake, your favorite. Fucking Monica.

It was carrot cake, three perfectly even layers of moist, spiced goodness, slathered with smooth cream cheese frosting. Tiny sugar pearls lined the edges, and an intricate sugar carrot sat on top.

You blinked, your heart skipping a beat.

Bucky stood off to the side, leaning against the counter, arms crossed, biceps popping. He was still in his apron, his face serious, but his blue eyes searched yours, a flicker of uncertainty behind them.

"Took me all damn night," he said gruffly.

You stepped closer, still processing.

"You made this?"

His jaw ticked, like he was bracing for impact.

"Had some help from Sam," he admitted.

A loud snort came from the doorway.

"Some help? Try a lot," Sam called as he trudged up the stairs. 

"Give him a break, Baby Cakes, so he can stop behaving like a lovesick idiot every time you walk into, or out of a room. Or basically all the time."

Bucky ignored him, his attention fixed on you.

"Lovesick?" you asked softly, your voice barely audible.

He sighed, rubbing a hand down the back of his neck.

“Yeah. I uhhh…”

Bucky looked so cute in that moment, the most vulnerable you’d seen him.

"I need you to know that I see you," he said, his voice low and steady.

"I see how much heart you put into your baking. How much you care about this, about everything." 

He paused, his Adam’s apple bobbing. 

"And I see that I hurt you, and I hate that."

You stared at him, at the raw emotion in his eyes. Slowly, you picked up a fork and took a bite of the cake.

It was perfect. Moist, spiced just right, and the frosting was tangy and smooth.

"Damn you," you muttered, your voice thick.

"That bad?" he asked, a flicker of amusement breaking through his tension.

"No," you huffed. "It’s amazing."

His lips twitched. "Good."

Setting the fork down, you stepped closer until there was barely an inch between you. His breath hitched as your hand pressed against his chest, the heat of him seeping into your palm.

"You really want this?" you murmured. "Us?"

Bucky didn’t hesitate.

"Yes," he said firmly, his voice steady. "I do."

Your fingers curled into his shirt, tugging him closer. He leaned in, and this time, when his lips found yours, it wasn’t gentle. It was fire, slow at first, then smoldering.

But then Bucky groaned against your mouth, a sound that sent shockwaves through you, and the heat increased. He kissed you like he’d been starving for it, like you were the only thing that could satisfy him.

You pulled him closer by his shirt and his hands slid past your waist, gripping your ass like he was grounding himself, like he was making sure this was real.

You broke the kiss just long enough to gasp, “Bucky,” but he swallowed whatever you were about to say, and lifted you onto the counter in one fluid motion.

You barely had time to register the cold marble beneath you before his hands were everywhere, skimming up your thighs, gripping your hips, and tracing fire along your skin. You hooked your legs around him, dragging him closer, until you could feel his hard cock in his jeans, letting you know just how much he wanted this, how much he wanted you.

“Your room or mine?” he rasped, his voice thick with need.

“Oh God…” 

You struggled to think through the haze of arousal clouding your mind. Your room at the back of the house was tucked away from everyone else. 

“Mine.”

Bucky kissed you again, his lips curling into a smirk. 

“Smart cookie.”

You giggled softly as he lifted you off the counter, and the two of you tried, and failed, to make it to your room quietly. By some miracle, you managed to shut the door before his hands were back on you.

"I've not been with anyone in over a year. Still get tested every six months."

Bucky's voice was sexy; what he was saying was even more so.

“But tell me to stop if you don’t want to do this,” he rasped against your neck. 

You tilted your head back, offering more. 

“Don’t you dare.”

A low growl rumbled from his chest as his mouth crashed back onto yours, his tongue sweeping past your lips with a hunger that left you breathless. His hands slipped beneath your shirt, fingertips skimming your tight nipples and drawing shivers in their wake.

He pulled back just enough to lift the hem of your shirt, his blue eyes searching yours. 

“Can I?”

You nodded, but he shook his head, his jaw tight. 

“Need you to say it.”

You stepped back, peeling your shirt off yourself, a teasing grin on your lips. 

“How’s that for consent? I want you tonight, Bucky Barnes. Got tested last month and I have an IUD. You can fuck me raw if you want.”

His breath hitched, his eyes darkening with raw, unfiltered desire. 

“Jesus,” he murmured, his hands spreading over you like he was memorizing the feel of you. “You’re perfect.”

His blue eyes glowed as he wrapped one hand around your neck, his thumb resting on your pulse point, making your heart flutter. 

You lifted his shirt and ran your fingers over his stomach and abs, exploring his warm skin as the kiss intensified even more. 

You reached for his shirt, sliding it up to reveal taut muscle and smooth skin. Your hands explored him, tracing the lines of his stomach as the kiss deepened.

You were aching for him. 

When his mouth moved lower, tracing hot kisses down your neck and between your collarbones, a soft moan escaped you. He didn’t stop there, his lips finding your nipples through the lace of your bra. The wet heat of his tongue teased you mercilessly until he unhooked the clasp.

“Bucky,” you gasped, your pussy clenching as his lips closed around your bare nipple. He suckled urgently, his hand massaging the other, and the pleasure shot straight to your core.

When he knelt in front of you, tugging your jeans and panties down, you gasped as you looked down into his shining blue eyes.

You stepped out of them and almost immediately, and he used his thumbs to spread your pussy lips open. He pressed an open-mouthed kiss to you there.

“Been waiting to taste you, Baby Cakes,” he said, his voice a low rasp.

“Oh, fuck,” you mewled as his tongue parted your folds, licking a slow, deliberate stripe up your slit.

Bucky lifted one leg onto his shoulder and you arched against his mouth, gasping when he laved your clit and licked up the wetness collected in your slit.

“Mmmmm. Delicious,” Bucky’s eyes glinted up at you.

He groaned in satisfaction.

“Sweet, with just a hint of spice… just like I thought.”

You pushed Bucky’s head back to where it was meant be.

“Stop talking and eat me, Barnes.”

His chuckle vibrated against you, and then his tongue found your clit, sending a sharp spike of pleasure through your body. He licked and sucked, working you like it was his life’s purpose, and every flick of his tongue pushed you closer to the edge.

“Fuck, Bucky, I’m gonna…”

But he pulled back before you could finish, leaving you trembling and desperate. You barely had time to protest before he stood, kissed you hard, and moved you to the foot of the bed.

Clothes hit the floor in a blur, and when you finally looked down, his cock stood proudly between you. You sat down on the bed, and you were face to face with the most beautiful penis you’d ever seen.

It was long and thick and heavily veined with a large perfectly shaped head. Your mouth watered, and you looked up at him.

“Need to taste you now, Tough Guy.”

You leaned forward and licked him from base to head stopping to suck on it, relishing the tight flesh in your mouth, then slurped the pre-cum dripping from his slit. Then you pulled off, jacking him with the lubrication of your saliva.

“Tangy, yet surprisingly sweet. A piquant–”

Bucky cut you off by shoving his cock as far down your throat as he could. You moaned around him, adding to his pleasure. 

You looked up at him and his eyes were incandescent. You didn’t break eye contact as your throat constricted around his hardness, your mouth dripping with spit. Your eyes stung with tears, but you kept pushing until you were choking around the base of his big dick.

Bucky watched you with fascination, his hips involuntarily pushing shallowly into your mouth. 

“Christ. You’re gonna fucking ruin me,” he rasped. “So good. So perfect. But I knew you would be.”

You moaned at the praise, pulling off of him, long strings of fluid connecting your mouth to his delicious cock.

“Who knew that Baby Cakes was such a Dirty Girl,” he purred, eyes ablaze.  “Need to fuck you now, sweetheart.” 

You whimpered and leaned back as Bucky leaned over you and slid into you in one slow, deliberate thrust. You swore the world stopped spinning.

“Fuck, Baby…” 

His forehead dropped to yours, his voice trembling as he filled you slowly, completely. Your body arched, your nails digging into his shoulders as you reacted to the stretch.

“Bucky…”

“Look at me,” he murmured, his gaze locking with yours.

“Wanna see you.”

And then he moved, each thrust hitting you perfectly, dragging moans from your lips. After finding the technique to make you crumble around him, his control slipped, his movements grew frantic, desperate, and it was heaven.

“You’re mine,” he growled, his hands gripping your hips hard enough to bruise. “Say it.”

“Yours,” you gasped, your body tightening around him. “Always.”

Your climax hit like a tidal wave, pulling you under. Bucky followed with a ragged groan, burying himself deep as he spilled into you.

When the world settled, he pressed a lazy kiss to your jaw, a smug grin tugging at his lips.

“Told you I’d win… you over.”

You huffed a breathless laugh, running your fingers through his damp curls.

“Asshole.”

His grin widened.

“Is that what you want me to taste next?”

His eyes flicked down your body.

“Seems to be lots of buttercream down there…”

“Bucky!” you yelped as he reached for you again.

—-

Did you like it? Let me know!

[ankababy]

Also In That Another Universe…

Niragi x reader

Part 2 of In Another Universe bc y’all wanted more of them, so I granted the wish. Started writing a cute bathtub scene and it ended in sex, sorry.

cw. MDNI, unprotected p in v(please use protection y’all), happy sex(? if that’s a thing), bathtub sex, nicknames(“sunshine” and the overuse of “baby” bc they’re corny and in love and cute), loving relationship, reader not shutting the FUCK up because she’s sugar spice and everything nice

Also in that another universe…

The bathroom was fogged over, mirrors blurred with steam. The bathwater was a little too close to boiling, the kind that makes your skin turn pink and your brain go floaty. It was perfect—at least for you.

For Niragi? Not so much.

He was sitting across from you in the tub, long legs bent under the water, arms resting behind him like he was just barely tolerating the situation. His jaw was tense, like he was trying not to say something snarky about the temperature, and the tips of his ears were flushed—not from embarrassment, just from borderline boiling alive. But he didn’t say shit.

Because you liked it this way.

You sat facing him, legs tangled lazily between his, skin glowing and damp, eyes bright even through the haze. Your hair was twisted up in a loose bun, but he liked it more than anything that took you two hours and a YouTube tutorial. You were bare—nothing on but water and heat and that calm little smile that said you were in your element.

“So I started taking those biotin gummies I told you about.” you said, swirling the water absentmindedly with your fingers. “The strawberry ones? They’re amazing. When I was a teenager I ate a whole box in a day but they didn’t have to wash my stomach or anything. Might try to do it again.”

Niragi grunted. It wasn’t anything really, just to tell you that he’s still listening.

“I went out with the girls yesterday.” you said, dipping your hands under the water again, letting them skim up your legs. “We saw this little boutique in the plaza, right next to that coffee shop we sometimes go to. And they had this gorgeous lingerie set in the window. Like, satin, black, sheer, all strappy. I loved it.”

His eyes flicked up, finally interested. “And?”

You shrugged. “Didn’t buy it.”

He squinted. “Why the fuck not?”

You smiled at the way his voice dipped—that mild disbelief that you denied yourself something he would’ve killed to see on you.

“It was expensive.” you said. “And it’s not like I need it. You never care what I wear.”

He blinked. “Yeah, ‘cause I’d fuck you in a paper bag.”

You kicked your foot under the water, hitting his thigh. “You’re such an asshole.”

You were so soft in moments like this. So open. Talking about nothing like it mattered. Because in a way, it did. You didn’t need anything more.

And he liked that.

He liked that you didn’t demand these big, emotional conversations every time you were alone. You didn’t want to dig through his trauma, or beg him to pour his heart out over dinner. You just wanted to be with him. Here. Now. In too hot water, talking about vitamins and lingerie and whatnot.

The water sloshed softly as you moved again, shifting forward a little, your knees brushing his. Your skin glowed in the low light, beads of water catching on your collarbones, the curves of your shoulders, sliding down between your breasts. You didn’t notice. You weren’t trying.

That was the thing, you were never trying. You were just this. Bare and unbothered and golden with affection, talking to him.

His eyes tracked you—always watching, always on you. You talked. He didn’t. Not really. But his knee pressed against yours. His foot slid along your leg. One hand slipped under the water to rest against your thigh, fingers spreading.

It was his body that did the loving. His touch, not his voice.

“Your piercings.” you said, scooting in closer, water rising with the shift. “You ever tell me why you got them?”

His brow lifted. “They’re piercings, not ancient runes.” he said dryly.

“I know.” you said, reaching forward, fingers brushing the silver thing in his eyebrow. “But still. You had to pick this one, right? That’s a choice.”

He tilted his head but didn’t move away. Your touch was featherlight, tracing the metal, the line of his brow bone beneath it. You leaned in, face close to his, studying the way it glinted in the foggy light.

“You look good with it.” you murmured, thumb brushing over the silver. “A little mean.”

“That’s the goal.”

You tapped his cheek gently. “Asshole.” Then your eyes dropped lower. “Tongue.”

He raised an eyebrow at the “ask,” then he opened his mouth and poked his tongue out for you before drawing it back in almost immediately.

“Still there.” he said. “Why?”

You leaned forward, completely unbothered, elbows on your knees now as you stared at his mouth. “No reason. Just… you don’t show it a lot.”

“I don’t do party tricks.”

“You could if you wanted to.” you said. “Bet someone would love to see that silver ball roll across your teeth.”

“You volunteering?” he asked, giving you a look.

You laughed, light and warm, then kicked him gently in the side with your foot under the water. “No.” you said, smiling.

Your fingers trailed down from his brow to the line of his jaw, then under his chin, tilting his face up slightly. You weren’t trying to seduce him. Not really. You were just curious.

“Did it hurt?” you asked softly, fingertips just under his lip now. “When you got it?”

He shrugged. “It’s a needle in your tongue. Hurts like a bitch. Then you can’t eat for two days.”

You smiled, because he was so bad at admitting pain in an actual serious way. Like it made him less. Like softness was poison. But then there he was, letting you touch him this gently, letting your legs tangle with his. And you knew the truth, even if he didn’t say it.

“You’re such a baby.” you said sweetly.

He pinched your thigh under the water—just a little. Enough to make you squeak.

Your hand moved to his chest, tracing the line of his collarbone, the faint scar you always meant to ask about but never did. You let your palm rest there for a moment, flat against the thrum of his heartbeat. Slow. Steady.

“You look tired.” you said quietly.

“I am.”

“You should sleep.”

“I will.”

“When?”

“When you do.”

You didn’t say anything to that. Just slid a little closer in the water, so your knees pressed into his side and your arms hooked around his shoulders.

Your cheek rested against his, warm and wet, and you breathed in the scent of soap and heat and him.

“You’re not so scary.” you whispered.

His hand came up under the water, slid around your waist, fingers splayed on your lower back. Tight. Holding. Still no words. But he didn’t need them. He never did.

Your fingers moved over the side of his neck, brushing damp hair behind his ear. Your touch was slow, casual, familiar—the kind of intimate that didn’t ask permission anymore. He just let you, eyes half-lidded, like you weren’t completely rearranging his chemistry with every soft word and inch you inched closer.

“Your skin’s all flushed.” you murmured, tilting your head. “I knew it. You hate this. You’re dying in here.”

His jaw flexed. “It’s fine.”

“You’re boiling.”

“You like it hot.”

You laughed, leaning in so your chest brushed his, nipples dragging wet and lazy over his skin beneath the water. “Thank you.”

You moved again, water sloshing around your thighs as you straddled him without warning, knees bracketing his hips, the tip of his cock brushing up along your inner thigh where the water shifted. His hands making themselves comfortable around waist out of instinct. One slid down, fingers curling under your ass, dragging you flush against him.

You smiled, pressing your mouth to his jaw. Softly, once. Then again. Then his cheek. His temple. You didn’t rush it. You kissed the side of his mouth next. Then again, slower. This time, he turned his head just enough that your mouths brushed fully. Not quite kissing. Not pulling away, either.

Your hands curled behind his neck, pulling yourself in closer. You shifted your hips just slightly—not to start anything. Just to feel him. The way his cock stiffened under you without effort. The way he held you tighter with that one hand under your ass, gripping into the flesh like he couldn’t help it.

“You always touch me like this.” you murmured, rocking just a little in the water. “Even when you don’t say shit.”

“I am saying shit.” Niragi said lowly, his thumb tracing over your hip. “You just don’t listen.”

You reached for his face again, thumbs brushing over his brows, down his cheeks. You kissed his mouth—longer now, with tongue, wet and deep and slow. His tongue piercing brushed yours, sudden, making you moan into him.

That seemed to hit something. He pulled your hips down harder, chest flush with yours now, water rising against your torsos, sloshing between you as his mouth moved rougher. Still not fast. But more.

Your hands moved to his hair, tugging gently, your knees tightening around his waist. You let your hips grind down on him, not enough to push things over, but enough to make a point. To let him feel it. Your laugh bubbled out of you, sweet, echoing off the tiled walls as his hand slid down your spine, wet fingers splayed low across your back. You let out a little shriek, the delighted kind, as you jolted at the sudden heat of his palm groping lower again.

“Hey!” you giggled, squirming in his lap, the water sloshing up over the edge of the tub. “Don’t grab me like that if you’re not gonna do something about it!”

He smiled, eyes lazy, head tilted against the edge of the tub like he wasn’t being driven crazy by the way you rocked your hips against him, slowly, teasingly, water slipping and sliding between your bodies.

“Keep talking.” he muttered, low and flat, his fingers sinking harder into your ass, pulling you tight against his cock. “Let’s see how long you last.”

“Oh my god.” you laughed again, shoulders shaking as you leaned into him, wrapping your arms around his neck, still riding that line—not quite fucking, not quite innocent. Your body rolled over him in slow, playful waves. “You’re so mean to me. You know that?”

“Yeah.” he said, “And you love it.”

“I do.” you said sweetly, kissing the corner of his mouth again. “I love you so much, you asshole.”

He let you kiss him, let your mouth linger there, and then again on his jaw, his ear, your soft breath warming the side of his face. Your legs tightened around his waist as you rocked your hips again—this time slower, deeper, dragging your slickness over the length of his cock beneath the water. The feeling was muted, wet and warm and perfect, the steam curling around both your bodies as you moved.

You pulled back just enough to look at him again, hair clinging to your shoulders, water dripping off your chin. You looked happy. Really happy. Glowing in that way that had nothing to do with the light or steam—it was you. That deep, real happiness that came from being with him, even when he barely spoke, even when he gave nothing but his hands and the hard weight of his cock under you.

“You feel so good.” you whispered, biting back another breathy laugh as he shifted his hips just slightly, grinding up into you, slipping in a bit. “You’re always so—fuck, shut up.”

He didn’t reply, but the muscle in his jaw twitched. His hand gripped your ass harder. Your eyes fluttered. Water sloshed and spilled over the edge of the tub with every grind of your slick skin on his cock, not even in you yet—just sliding through the wet mess between your thighs, rutting against the underside of you like your body couldn’t wait for more.

One hand slid up to your waist, while the other dipped lower, under the water, rough fingers sliding between your thighs, teasing where you were swollen and soaked for him.

You shrieked—a high, shocked sound of joy—and slapped his chest with a wet smack.

“Asshole!” you giggled, clinging to him, thighs trembling around his waist.

“Mhm.” he replied flatly, dragging his fingers back through your folds, middle one circling slow and firm around your clit now, not teasing anymore.

You whimpered, face buried in his neck, voice trembling between laughter and something rawer, almost crying now from how good it all felt.

Then, he stopped. Grabbed the base of his dick, guiding you up.

“…Oh.” you whispered, still smiling, still panting. “Wait—oh.”

“Sit.” Niragi told you, voice low.

You held his eyes. You could’ve made a joke. Something about being a good girl, or asking please, or teasing him one more time. But you didn’t. You just sank down.

The stretch knocked the air from your lungs.

Your mouth opened in a silent gasp, fingers digging into Niragi’s shoulders, your chest trembling with the sound of it. Your laughter was gone now—not lost, just tucked behind something bigger. You were swallowing him inch by inch, slow and perfect, your eyes fluttering shut as he filled you.

“Holy shit—” you breathed out, head falling forward. “You’re—oh my god—fuck.”

You rocked. Just once. Deep. Slick and hot and full. And then again, hips circling, water rushing between your bodies, both of you soaked in heat and steam and each other.

“I should be asleep right now.” you said, half-laughing, even as your voice shook with the way he filled you. “But no. I’m here. In your lap. Getting fucked stupid. Because I’m so nice.”

“Shut up.”

“And you,” you said, leaning in, kissing his mouth hard, slow, wet. “are in love with me.”

His hips bucked up into you at that—a sharp, involuntary thrust. Your moan caught against his lips.

“Tell me.” you giggled, mouth open against his, voice dissolving into a moan as your pace picked up. “Tell me I’m the best thing that’s ever happened to you. That my pussy’s made of—of fucking heaven, and you’re—”

He slapped your ass—hard. You yelped, cried out—the sound turning into a squeal of laughter. Because even when he barely spoke his body was yours. He was yours. And in that bath, soaked and steaming, choking on your own moans, laughter, and his cock—you never felt more loved.

You dropped your forehead to his shoulder for a second, laughing softly into his skin.

“Rude.” you giggled, voice thinner now as your hips started to find a rhythm, not too fast, but deep enough to make your thighs shake a little. “Is this why you won’t talk? You’re scared you’ll say something nice?”

He shifted again—not answering. Just driving you harder onto him with both hands, cock thick and firm and stretching your walls so good.

“I think,” you gasped, barely able to shut your lips, voice breaking into another shriek-laugh as his hand slapped lightly at your thigh under the water. “I think you’re secretly the sweetest man alive and you just don’t know how to deal with it.”

“Jesus.” Niragi muttered. “Shut the fuck up.”

You laughed, a soft whimper mixed in, arms tightening around his shoulders as you buried your face against his neck, rocking harder now. “I wooooon’t.”

He just pulled you tighter, harder, his mouth brushing your shoulder as you sunk down onto him again and again, the sound of your water sloshing echoing through the room as your body worked with his like you were made for this. Your head tipped back, moaning softly, hair stuck to your temples, your smile still breaking through all the pleasure on your face.

You looked like heaven.

Niragi looked like he was losing it.

You giggled again, high and breathless, as his palm smacked lightly against your thigh under the water again—not hard, not even really meant to hurt. Just a little bite. A little warning.

“Hey!” you gasped, grabbing at his wrist. “What the hell was that for?”

He smirked, eyes half-lidded, his other hand squeezing a firm handful of your ass under the water. “You were talking too much.”

You shrieked as you rode him, laughing hard now as you swatted at his chest, water splashing up between you both. “You love when I talk too much!”

He tilted his head, lips twitching—and god, that little twist of a smile was so rare it made your heart squeeze. “Do I?”

“You do.” you grinned, leaning in closer, nose brushing his. “You just like acting like you hate it. Like you’re too cold and serious for this much affection.”

You reached out and flicked his nipple under the water, just because you could, and he flinched back an inch with a scowl.

“Do that again and I’m drowning you in this tub.”

You burst into laughter, full and unrestrained, even as you felt each inch of him slide into you again and again. Your laugh was so happy, so real.

He just leaned forward—the tiniest shift—and kissed you. Hot. Quiet. You moaned into it, giggling again even as your tongue slid against his. You were too soft to be taken seriously, but your hips were still rolling slow and sweet onto his cock.

He groaned under his breath, and you felt it in your belly.

You pulled back from the kiss, breathless and shining, and pinched his cheek just to annoy him.

“Baby.” you said dramatically. “I’m gonna fall in love with you all over again if you keep being this sweet.”

“I literally just slapped you.”

“And it was so hot!” you laughed, pressing your face to his neck, biting gently at the skin there, sucking a small mark that made his fingers clench in your flesh.

“Jesus.” he muttered, but his hands slid over your back anyway, fingers spreading across the curve of your ass and squeezing until you gasped.

You retaliated immediately, slapping his chest—not hard, more like a playful thump with your palm. “You’re such a dick.”

“You’re riding it.” he said, deadpan.

You lost it at that. Giggled so hard you had to drop your forehead to his shoulder again, your entire body shaking as you choked on laughter. “You are so stupid, oh my god—”

He gripped your hips hard, shifting under you so the thick head of his cock dragged right up your walls just perfect.

You froze a little at that, breath catching. Then exhaled slow, eyes fluttering open, mouth parted as your hips rocked forward just once in answer.

“Oh.” you whispered, voice soft, awed. “Oh, fuck.”

You felt high on it. On the heat, the slick grind of his cock trapped between your folds, the sheer weight of him under you, arms holding your ass so tightly, like you’d vanish if he didn’t. Gripping your ass with both hands again as you lifted your hips up, pulling out of you, dragging you forward so your clit rubbed hard over the ridge of his cock, trapped beneath you and rock-fucking-hard. You cried out—not from pain, not even pleasure, but from the sheer shock of it. The friction. The heat. The way your whole body flinched and then melted into his, flushed and frantic and still giggling.

“I hate you.” you gasped, curling your fingers in his hair, tugging just enough to make his head tilt back.

“You wish.”

“No.” you said, grinning so hard your cheeks hurt, breath ragged against his mouth. “I do. I hate you. You’re such a fucking bully.”

“Uh-huh.” His hands were everywhere now—slippery and tight, gripping the backs of your thighs, the curve of your ass, squeezing and slapping and pulling you over him again and again. “That why you’re whining like that every time your pussy rubs up on me?”

You made a noise. Not a word. Just a desperate, shocked moan that fell right into a laugh again, a giggle that shook through your spine as you collapsed against his chest.

“Shut up.” you whined, voice muffled against his shoulder. “You’re so fucking rude.”

He kissed the side of your head.

Quick. Like a reflex. Like it didn’t mean anything. Which meant it probably meant everything.

You pulled back a little, mouth still open with another laugh about to fall out, but he caught it this time. His mouth met yours like he was tired of letting you do all the kissing. It wasn’t sweet. It wasn’t slow. It was teeth and tongue, his little tongue ball sliding against yours like ice in whiskey. His hand came up to your face and grabbed your jaw—firm, fingers pressing into your cheeks just enough to hold you in place. To make sure you felt every inch of his mouth moving against yours while you felt every inch of his dick slip back into you. And you moaned into it, high and helpless and happy as hell. Because even when he was like this—especially when he was like this—he was yours. Yours to touch, to tease, to climb on top of in the bath and laugh in the middle of sex and kiss until you were dizzy with it.

“You’re gonna make me pass out.” you whispered into the kiss, completely honest.

“Then stop bouncing like a fucking rabbit.”

“I can’t.” you whined dramatically, rolling your hips before continuing the up and down motion just to prove your point. “You feel too good. I’m not built for restraint. I’m built for—ah, fuck—”

He’d shifted his hips again, pushing up into you slow, trapped and pulsing and perfect between your swollen walls. Your whole body jerked with it, hands grabbing at his shoulders, breath cracking apart.

“Fuck, fuck—fuck—”

He felt you clenching around him. Heard it in your voice. The way your moans were getting breathier, shakier. He felt that you were getting close, so he asked, “Just from this?”

You grinned through it, eyes wild and shining. “Yeah, actually. Because you’re fucking perfect and I love you and—oh my god—keep—fuck, just like that—”

Your laugh cracked open mid-moan, breath catching on the way out as your hips stuttered. Water splashed up against the sides of the tub, crashing over, dripping from both of you onto the floor you’d definitely have to mop later—not that you cared. Not now. Not when his cock was buried so deep inside you, stretching you wide, heat pulsing between your thighs like you were made to take him.

You rocked your hips again—not graceful, not teasing anymore. Just needy. Desperate to keep him there. Desperate to feel everything, even if it was too much.

“I can feel you in my stomach.” you breathed out, eyes wide and glassy, voice still warm, high, full of awe. “Jesus Christ.”

Niragi was flushed now—chest pink, neck red, a single drop of water trailing down the side of his face. His hands clutched at your hips. He was still—but barely. His cock throbbed inside you with every shift of your body.

You ground your hips in a slow, deep circle, your mouth parting at the pressure, the perfect stretch of him, your voice falling to a breathless whimper.

He made a sound in his throat—low, strangled. Something he almost swallowed.

You leaned in, mouth brushing his ear, your hair wet and clinging to your back, your tits pressed to his chest, nipples grazing him every time you moved.

You bounced, rocked, deeper, little gasping moans slipping from your lips as the water sloshed high around your torsos, every sound obscene and wet and perfect.

You laughed through a broken little cry. “God, you always try to be so in control, huh?”

His hand smacked your ass again—a slap dulled by the water that made you cry out and laugh, the water rippling from the movement.

“Fuck—” you moaned, panting, clinging to his shoulders. “You really don’t like being talked back to, do you?”

“You like running your mouth when you’re this full.” he muttered—low, tight.

You smiled down at him, breathless, flushed, a little wild. “I like you.”

He looked at you—really looked. Eyes heavy, pretty, mouth parted, cock twitching inside you like he might fall apart any second.

And it was beautiful.

You leaned forward and kissed him, slow and deep, letting your moans melt into his mouth. Your hips never stopped moving—rolling now, tighter, faster, grinding down until the friction was just enough to make your legs shake.

Your body went tighter, your breath shorter. You were trembling.

“Shit—baby—fuck.” you gasped, voice breaking. “I’m—fuck, I’m gonna—”

He grabbed your hips, slammed you down—once, hard—and held you there, full, stretched, completely pinned. You screamed—a bright, raw sound, halfway between a sob and a laugh as the orgasm hit you like a wave.

Your body snapped, your back arching, hands scrambling across his shoulders, thighs squeezing around him as your whole body trembled with it. You came hard, mouth open in a silent cry, tears pricking the corners of your eyes from how full, how deep, how perfect it felt. You came on him like a sunbeam—laughing into it, gasping, shuddering, clinging as your whole body went tight and flushed and overwhelmed. Your head dropped to his shoulder, voice sweet and broken against his neck.

His hips snapped up, just once, hard and fast.

Your whole body jolted.

“Fucking hell—” Niragi growled, his sweet voice cracking for the first time that night, rough and vulnerable and real.

You barely had time to look up, eyes fluttering, lips parted—before he was pulling you down, fucking up into you in short, brutal thrusts, his hands bruising on your ass now, and every time he bottomed out, you cried out again.

He grabbed your chin with one wet hand, forcing your eyes to his.

“Smile for me.” he said—voice wrecked. “Come on, sunshine.”

You beamed.

And that was it.

He came hard—buried inside you, pulsing deep, his jaw tight, hips stuttering as he emptied everything into you with a low, broken moan that he barely let escape. His arms wrapped around your back, holding you tight, fucking you through it until you were both spent and shaking, tangled together in the fading steam, water lapping at your sides like waves crashing against wreckage.

You stayed there. Still in his lap. Still full.

Still smiling.

Always smiling.

You kissed his cheek, soft and slow, your lips brushing the corner of his mouth. “Told you I’m the best thing that ever happened to you.”

He didn’t answer.

But his arms didn’t let go.

And that was all the confirmation you’d ever need.

~

Steam clung to your skin like silk as you stepped out of the bathroom, warm towel wrapped around your chest, still damp and flushed from everything. The hallway lights caught the shimmer on your legs, your collarbones, the smile that just wouldn’t leave your face no matter how bruised your hips were or how jelly your knees felt.

Niragi followed close behind, towel slung low on his hips, wet hair dripping onto his shoulders, eyes already half-lidded in that post-release haze. He looked a little ruined—and not just because you’d ridden him into the fucking earth. He always looked like that around you, actually. Like having you around was too much and not enough all at once. Like you were messing with the steel trap of his brain just by existing.

His hand landed on your waist like a reflex. A small one, maybe. But it lingered. It always did with him. His knuckles dragged along your side, catching the edge of the towel, fingertips brushing the swell of your ass like it wasn’t even intentional.

You looked up at him, lashes wet, lips bitten pink. Smiling. Always fucking smiling.

“You’re such a boy.” you whispered, giggling under your breath. “Touchy and mean. You gonna let me get dressed or just keep groping me until I melt into the wall?”

He raised a brow. “You wouldn’t complain.”

You kicked him. Soft. Barefoot. Just a little jab to his calf. “Still mean. Even after I made your eyes roll back.”

“Hm.”

“What was that?” you asked, voice syrupy and warm, your arms winding around his neck.

His hand slipped to the back of your thigh. Squeezed. No words.

You grinned. Kissed his cheek. “Yeah. Thought so.”

You pulled away then, the towel barely hanging on as you made your way into the bedroom, humming something tuneless and girly under your breath. You were already moving on—body buzzing, giddy, your head somewhere between love-drunk and just dumb in love. You peeled your towel off and let it drop to the floor, rifling through the drawer he’d long ago cleared for you, even though he still pretended he hated having your “shit everywhere.”

(He didn’t. He liked it. You knew.)

You tugged on a pair of soft, pale panties and one of Niragi’s shirts—oversized, worn, smelled like detergent and him. It hit mid-thigh and practically swallowed your shoulders. You loved it. You always picked the one he’d just worn the day before. It made him insane.

“You’re not gonna wear your own clothes?” he asked from the doorway, now shirtless, towel discarded, sweatpants halfway up his hips.

You turned, all cheek. “You like me like this.”

He said nothing. But his eyes dragged over you—legs bare, hair dripping, soft and sweet and wearing his shirt—and you saw the way his jaw flexed. He came up behind you before you could say something smart, hand landing heavy on your hip again like he couldn’t help it. You were warm. Always warm.

You beamed.

He let you go when you turned to crawl onto the bed, laying back like a little goddess, all glow and legs and bare thighs, kicking your feet in the air like the picture of bliss.

Niragi climbed in after you, already sighing like your presence was going to kill him—like your brightness was both a blessing and a chronic fucking headache. He laid beside you, arm slung over his eyes, pretending to ignore you, but you caught the way his free hand rested just close enough to touch your thigh if he needed to.

You kicked him.

He didn’t move—didn’t open his eyes—but his fingers brushed your thigh once. Soft. Intentional.

You leaned over, kissed his cheek again, voice sweet. “Love you, too.”

Yeah, he was horrible. Closed-off, cold, didn’t like people, didn’t like noise, didn’t like talking unless he absolutely had to—but you were an exception. You were light. You were sugar and bare feet and the smell of soap and the hum of the city outside and your laugh in his ears when everything else felt like a fucking war.

And him? He was just the asshole lucky enough to get all of you.

Plus the sheets were a little wrinkled, the air smelled like his body wash and the faint trace of sex still floating in the steam left over from earlier.

Your feet was bare, hair still wet and curling where it wanted to, his shirt falling off one shoulder and bouncing around the bed like the mattress was your playground. Your legs were tangled in the sheets, your phone was abandoned somewhere near the pillows, and you were kicking at him again—half-hearted, bratty, toeing his thigh until he huffed and finally caught your ankle with a death grip.

“Stop.”

You just grinned. Bit your lip. Tilted your head with that knowing, irritating, irresistible look that made him want to kiss you and strangle you at the same time. “I’m not doing anything.”

He tugged your ankle, dragging you toward him, until you let out a little squeal—high and breathless—falling onto your back with your leg still in his grip, head thrown back against the pillow, laughing.

“You’re holding my leg.” you pointed out, smile splitting your face. “You’re so weird about touching me. Always saying you don’t care, but then your hands are on me.”

He didn’t look up from your leg. But his grip didn’t loosen either. “You’re soft.”

“And you’re emotionally constipated.”

His eyes did flick to you then.

You blinked, sweet as ever. “What? I’m in psych. I can diagnose you with that.”

“Pretty sure that’s not a real disorder.”

“Not officially.” you said with a little shrug, rolling onto your side and propping yourself up on your elbow, the leg he was holding bent slightly at the knee. “But if it was, you’d have it. Classic symptoms, blunt affect, low empathy presentation, defensive sarcasm, obsessive work habits, clearly compensatory. And that’s just what I picked up today.”

He squinted at you.

You smiled wider. “Also you’re mean.”

He smirked at that—barely. “You’re meaner.”

“No.” you said, crawling toward him now, dragging your sheet with you. “I’m good. I’m an angel. Ask literally anyone.”

“No.” he muttered as you finally reached him, straddling his thigh without asking and tossing your arm across his chest like you owned it. You leaned in, rested your chin on his chest, right over his heart.

“You don’t let people in. Because every time you did, they either left, or hurt you. You got used to silence. You got used to fighting your way through everything alone, even if it meant getting kicked around a little. And now that you have someone—someone who loves you soft and silly and stupidly—you don’t know what to do with it.”

His jaw ticked.

You kissed it.

“And that’s okay.” you whispered. “I don’t mind figuring it out with you. I’ve got time.”

He finally looked at you—eyes heavy, jaw tight, guarded in that way that made you ache for the boy he used to be. The one who got picked last. The one who had to get sharp and cold just to survive.

“You’re fucking strange.” he said eventually. Voice low.

You grinned, warm and gentle and annoying. “So are you.”

His hand slid back up your leg, palm dragging over your thigh. You didn’t stop smiling.

You pressed your cheek to his chest, right over where his heart beat a little too fast, and let the silence stretch out—soft and easy now.

You traced circles on his chest.

He rested his hand on the back of your thigh.

You didn’t need to say more.

You already knew.

So yeah, this was your relationship. It didn’t make sense, not on paper. People didn’t really get it when they saw you two together. Not really. You were all softness and warmth, eyes lit up with curiosity about the world, voice like a song even when you rambled about nonsense, which was often. You were the kind of person strangers smiled at on the street. The kind of girl who remembered birthdays, brought snacks to study sessions, stopped to compliment people’s nails and outfits even if you didn’t know them. Kind. Gentle. Smiley. Lovely.

Niragi was horrible. The guy who barely looked up when someone walked in a room, who got irritated just by existing around other people for too long. He was the walking embodiment of don’t talk to me, and half the time he looked like he was one eye twitch away from throwing someone out a window. Hell, even his compliments sounded like complaints.

But then there was you.

And something about you just fit.

It shouldn’t have worked—but it did. Only because of you, honestly. You were the bridge. The reason he learned how to breathe when the world made him feel like he was drowning. It was you who opened the door to his apartment and made it feel like home. You who pulled him out of his own head when the self-loathing got too loud. You gave softness without asking him to be soft, gave love without conditions, gave affection without asking for it back in equal measure—because you knew he didn’t know how to love like that yet. But he was trying. God, he was trying.

And it showed in the quiet ways.

The way he kept your favorite snacks stocked in the kitchen, even though he claimed he didn’t eat junk. The way he always pulled your phone charger closer to your side of the bed before you even realized your battery was low—though that was because his insecure side made him look at your phone at all times—The way his hand never didn’t touch you, even in silence, even when you were arguing, even when he didn’t say a word for hours. There was always a hand on your thigh. An ankle hooked around yours under the sheets. A palm resting on your lower back as he passed behind you in the kitchen.

That was his love. Not big words. Not loud declarations.

Just presence. Just touch.

And you accepted that. You loved him like it wasn’t hard—even though it was. Even though Niragi was frustrating and complicated and built from the ruins of too many years spent hurting in silence. You loved him even when he didn’t love himself. Maybe especially then.

Because you saw it. You saw him.

The kid underneath the scowl. The man who kept the armor on because no one ever made him feel safe enough to take it off.

Until you.

He still didn’t say much. But you didn’t need him to. You’d lie in bed with your head on his chest, rambling about school, or the dream you had, or a TikTok someone sent you, and he’d just listen—quiet and grumpy and pretending not to care—but you’d feel his thumb stroking lazy lines on your shoulder, or his nose nuzzle against your damp hair, and that was all you needed.

You could love for the both of you.

At least, until he learned how.

But sometimes, he surprised you. Like the time he texted you “wear that thing from last week,” out of nowhere, which made you laugh in the middle of your seminar. Or when he leaned into you one night, unprompted, face buried in your neck, and whispered, “Don’t leave.”

He never said shit like that. Never admitted to needing anything. But that night? He said it like it hurt.

You didn’t tease him. You just kissed the side of his head and said, “Not going anywhere,” like it was the easiest promise you’d ever made. Because it was. You weren’t going anywhere. Not when you’d spent all this time peeling him back, cracking open the shell he thought was a fortress and finding the soft, scared, loyal soul underneath. Not when every day with him felt like a victory—a tiny, hard-earned, precious victory.

He was still fucked up. Still stubborn and angry and quiet.

But with you? He was good.

And no one could touch what you two had. No one could understand it. That didn’t matter.

It was strange. Messy. Half broken. And perfect. In your own weird, private, beautiful way.

You ran the tip of your hands along his chest softly, his hand sliding up your thigh automatically, and you let out that soft little hum of contentment he always pretended not to love.

And for a guy who never smiled in photos, never laughed at parties, never liked much of anything—Niragi swore, sometimes, he could feel himself smiling, just under the skin.

Just because you were there.

~

It was early.

Too early for how warm the bed was. You were already dressed—tucked and sweet and ready to take on the day. Your hair was done, lip gloss perfectly glossy, tote bag full of color-coded notebooks and your headphones tucked into the pocket with a little granola bar you didn’t even really want. You were standing at the foot of the bed, adjusting the strap of your bag, and Niragi was half-curled under the blankets, shirtless, hair messy from sleep—that unfair kind of messy that made him look beautiful. He had one hand behind his head, but the other? Gripping your wrist. Firm. Relentless.

“You’re gonna make me late.” you warned gently, not pulling too hard. “C’mon. I have class.”

Niragi didn’t even open his eyes all the way. Just squinted at you. “Skip.”

You scoffed. “I’m not skipping abnormal psych to lay in bed with you all day, you caveman.”

“Your loss.”

You tried to pull away again. His grip tightened.

“Baby.” you whined, a little. You didn’t mean to, but it came out soft and full of air, because you were always weak in the morning. Especially when he touched you like that.

He just dragged your wrist down until you stumbled a little closer to the edge of the bed, until your knees hit the mattress.

You laughed under your breath, leaning on the bed with your free hand to balance yourself. “I’m better than everyone, baby. Can’t let them get ahead now.”

His hand slid from your wrist to your thigh. He squeezed. “Come prove it.”

“You want me to be late and be your whore this early?”

“Exactly.” He reached with his other hand, tugged your bag right off your shoulder and tossed it to the floor. “Stay.”

You bent forward, nose scrunching as you kissed his cheek. “You’re literally the worst.”

He looked smug, all sleepy and stretched out under the blanket, eyes half-open but still devouring you like breakfast, like he’d pull you under the covers and make you forget your own name if you stood there a second longer.

You pulled away, trying to grab your bag. He grabbed your wrist again.

“Baby.” you said, exasperated.

“What.”

“I need to go.”

“No you don’t.”

You made a soft sound, part frustration, part laugh. “You’re just horny and lazy.”

“Mm.” he said, tilting his head. “And you’re better than whatever stupid thing you’re about to learn about.”

“I’m a psych major.”

“Exactly.”

You glared.

He didn’t blink. His thumb stroked your inner wrist.

You leaned down again, lips brushing against his just barely. A sweet kiss. “You’re not keeping me hostage in your bed, sorry.”

“You’re not even sorry.”

You giggled, finally pulling free again, though you had to reach way too far across the floor to grab your bag.

Niragi watched you the whole time. Watched you straighten up, adjust your skirt. Watched the way your necklace shimmered against your throat. Watched your glossed lips pout slightly as you checked your phone. You looked like the epitome of light. Sweet and bright and put together. So girly it was unfair. It was a fucking miracle you ever gave him the time of day.

You turned, standing near the doorway of the room now. “I’ll see you later, okay?”

Niragi didn’t say anything. Just leaned back into the pillows, stretched, lifted a hand lazily—and flipped you off.

You blew him a kiss.

That was your relationship.

You, glowing in the sunlight, cheeks pink and bag bouncing on your shoulder, laughing on your way out the door.

And him, grumpy and hard to love, trying to drag you back to bed because he didn’t know any other way to say I miss you already.

And god, did it work.

Because the second the front door clicked behind you and the cold of the hallway touched your skin, you just… stopped. Froze there, blinking at the dead silence beyond the apartment walls. And then, like the dumb, in-love little creature you were, you exhaled something close to a groan, dropped your head back against the door, and turned right the fuck around.

You shoved the door open, tossed your coat somewhere near the wall, your bag thudded against the floor, and your shoes didn’t even make it past the threshold before you were squealing—actually squealing—on your way back down the hall.

“I hate you!” you shouted, all breathless glee, skidding into the bedroom. “I hate you so much, oh my god!”

Niragi’s head lifted from the pillow just enough to see you launch yourself across the room. His lips quirked—just barely—as you jumped back into bed with enough force to bounce the mattress.

“Changed your mind?” he asked, deadpan.

You were already crawling under the covers, the hem of your skirt bunched up around your thighs. “You ruined me! This is your fault!”

“I didn’t do shit.”

“You ruined me!” you repeated, dramatic as fuck, wrapping your arms around his bare chest and smooshing your face into his neck. “I was ready! I was cute! I was gonna be productive!”

He snorted. Full-on this time. Tried to stifle it behind his hand, but you heard it.

“Don’t laugh.” you mumbled against his skin, voice muffled. “You’re toxic. You’re the reason I can’t be normal.”

“Good.” Niragi muttered, rolling to press you deeper into the bed. “Normal girls don’t moan the way you do.”

You let out a scandalized little gasp and kicked him with your knee. He caught your thigh instantly, gripped it and pushed between your legs again like his body was wired to know exactly how to make you stop fighting.

“Baby!”

“What?” he murmured. “You came back. Don’t act like I’m the problem.”

“I am the problem.” you said, like a confession. “I’m obsessed with you. Like sick. Mentally unwell. I literally smelled you on my coat just now and had to come back.“

His hand slid up your back under your shirt. Not urgent. Not impatient. Just there—skin to skin, warm and steady.

“I’m not sorry.” he whispered.

“I know. I hate you.”

“You already said that.”

And he was right—you had. Said it a million times. Said it even now, curled against his bare chest, his hardened cock pressing firm against your thigh through his pants, his hand up your shirt, his mouth brushing your collarbone. You said it all the time, because you knew he didn’t take it to heart.

But the truth was obvious.

You weren’t thinking about your textbooks. You weren’t thinking about your schedule or your attendance record or your meticulously highlighted calendar back at your place.

You were thinking about Niragi.

His piercings. His face. His style. How tall he was. The low hum in his throat as he kissed your shoulder and palmed your ass like he had nothing else to do today but love you the only way he knew how—with his hands, with his body, with his unbearable, addicting, asshole self.

You wiggled closer to him, if that was even possible.

There will food be in the kitchen if you get to that. Warm sheets here. Your charger on the nightstand. Your toothbrush in the bathroom. Your bra on the floor. His shirt on your back.

And Niragi.

That was the whole list.

What else could you possibly need?

You shifted your face on him. “Baby…”

“Hm?”

“Your dick’s poking me.”

“Yeah.” Niragi said, not even pretending to be sorry. “Been poking you.”

You lifted your head. “You’re so annoying! I came back here to cuddle and you’re—baby.”

He blinked, completely unaffected. “Not my fault.”

You dropped your head with a groan, kicking your legs under the covers like a tantrum but still staying wrapped around him like a baby koala.

“It’s like sleeping next to a loaded gun.” you whined, rubbing your face against his collarbone. “I can’t even be sweet to you without getting dicked up.”

“That’s not a complaint.”

“It is a complaint!” you insisted, voice muffled now. “I’m trying to be a good girlfriend. I came back to snuggle you and now I’m thinking about—” You paused. Pouted. “About stuff.”

“That’s all you.” Niragi said simply. “I didn’t say anything.”

“Because you don’t have to. Your dick’s doing all the talking.”

“Good. That one’s smarter than me anyway.”

You snorted so hard you actually slapped his chest, light and playful, which only made him pull you closer, one hand sliding lower to squeeze a handful of your ass as if to prove the point.

“I hate how cocky you are.”

“You don’t. You love it.”

“No, I love you. The cockiness is just, like…” You paused again, scrunching your nose. “…part of the starter pack.”

Niragi’s fingers squeezed your ass again. “That mean you’re gonna take care of it?”

You whined. Slapped him again, this time on the arm. “You’re gross.”

“You’re the one rubbing your thighs together like a slut.”

“Baby!”

“Tell me I’m wrong.”

You couldn’t. You wouldn’t. Because it wasn’t his fault, really—it was your own. Your fault for being such a sucker for him in the morning. Your fault for wearing this skirt. Your fault for crawling into his arms like you didn’t know exactly what you were doing. And now here you were, legs tangled up in his, skin warm, brain stupid, mouth dry.

Still smiling.

Still blushing.

Still so damn sweet, even when he was driving you crazy.

Niragi leaned in suddenly, mouth at your ear, voice low and beautiful. “We don’t have to do anything. I just wanna hold you.”

You melted, instantly, which only made you more annoyed. “Don’t say it like that…”

“Like what?”

“Like you’re sweet now.”

He huffed out a quiet laugh, kissed your cheek, and rolled you over so you were flat on your back, tucked beneath him. Not heavy. Not crushing.

“You are sweet, though.” you whispered, breathless again. “Even when you pretend not to be.”

He kissed your shoulder.

Then your collarbone.

Then the underside of your jaw.

“I’m not sweet.” he muttered into your skin, so in the mood. “Just obsessed with you.”

“Oh.” You blinked. Heart thudding. “Well… okay then.”

That was all you could say.

Because yeah. His dick was still poking you.

But his mouth was soft, and his hands were steady, and your world was warm and stupid and safe, right here.

So yeah—you’d come back for that.

You’d always come back for that.

[eddiesxangel]

Sugar and Spice | Santa!Eddie x Reader

Thank you to my beautiful darling Gia @onegirlmanytales for the prompt 🩷

“Santa Eddie and Sugar Plum are making a gingerbread house that turn into a food fight and then fucking in the kitchen while they lick the frosting off of each other ☺️”

wc: 1.4k

cw: pet names, p in v, blowjob, nipple play, food play

“Babe!” You scolded, “It will fall if you put too much icing!”

“How does that make sense? It’s like extra glue?”

Your gingerbread house looked like it belonged in Alaska with the amount of “snow” Eddie had used.

“I know, but it’s going to get too wet and gooey and crumble!” You huffed. You wanted it to look pretty and cute, not like it had been made by a 5-year-old.

“Oh, I know something that also crumbles when it gets wet and gooey,” he wiggled his eyebrows at you.

“Don’t be gross!” You laughed.

About half an hour later, you were still frustrated; the house walls were collapsing.

“Why won’t it stay!” You cried out in frustration.

“Why don’t we take a breather?”

“No, I want this to work!” You really should have listened to Eddie. You were at the point of steam coming out of your ears.

“Sugarplum…”

“What!”

You look up at him, and a little green jellybean bounces off your forehead.

“Eddie!” You scold as he is bent over laughing.

“It’s not funny!” You try to hold back your laughter, but how could you when it was so ridiculous?

You retaliated by tossing a handful of the peppermint swirls at Eddie.

“Oh, you wanna play it that way?” Eddie cocked an eyebrow.

“No! No! I take it back. I’m sorry, I’m sorry!” But it was too late. Eddie had picked up the leftover icing and started to chase you around the kitchen table. You were quick. You managed to outrun him around four times, but then you got dizzy and tried to escape on the left. But Eddie was cunning and saw how your brain worked.

He anticipated the switch and got you by the wrist before you could escape.

“Got ya!” He tugged you into his middle and smeared the sweet white icing all over your cheeks.

“Babyyyyyyy” you whined.

“I didn’t think you could get any sweeter sugarplum.” Eddie bent down and licked a tiny bit off your cheek before peppering small kisses all over your face. You couldn’t help but giggle at his antics.

You tried to shimmy your way out of his grip to get the piping bag, but he was too strong.

“You know… I can think of a better way to use this stuff…. It’s clearly not working on the house.” He wiggled his eyebrows suggestively.

“What do you have in mind?” You decided to play along.

“Take your shirt off, and I’ll show you.”

Eddie let you go tentatively… making sure you wouldn’t try anything in retaliation...

Eddie watched as you wrapped your arms around yourself and slowly lifted your red Christmas hoodie. His eyes glazed over when he saw you weren’t wearing a bra and that your nipples were already peaked and ready for Eddie’s attention.

You let out a squeak when you felt something cold and wet touch your chest. Eddie had squeezed the sugary substance onto your chest.

“Eddie!”

You watched as Eddie licked his lips before he tilted his head down and wrapped his mouth over your nipple, coated in the sweet, sugary goodness.

“Mmmmmmm” you let the weight of your head take over as you moaned with pleasure. With your neck exposed, Eddie took the chance to squeeze more icing into your supple skin.

“Oh-ohhh, that’s nice,” you stutter as the goosebumps spread across your skin.

“You taste so good… just like Sugar”

“I guess the nickname is fitting,” you sigh.

“Yes, it is, my sweet girl.” Eddie’s hands found your waist and pulled you in closer to him. He squeezed the icing into your lips and tossed the bag onto the kitchen table before kissing you sensually.

It was literally the sweetest kiss the two of you shared. The taste of ginger, vanilla icing, candy cane and Eddie swirled around in your tongue. You deepened the kiss; you wanted more, needed more. Eddie was intoxicating. Everything about him made you need more.

“What are you trying to start here, baby?” He asked playfully.

“Me? You got me half naked in our kitchen,” you mumbled into his mouth.

“Yes, just how I like you.” He bit your lower lip.

“I thought that was fully naked?” You slip your hands under the waistband of his plaid flannel pyjamas.

“You cheeky little thing. You trying to take advantage of me, Sugarplum?”

“Can’t a girl just love on her man?” You ran your hand lower to cup his hardening cock.

“You can do whatever you want,” his breath hitched.

“Got any of that icing left?” You slid his pants down his thighs.

“Oh, you cheeky little thing.” Eddie bit his lip and handed you back the bag.

You strategically squirted some in the tip right where a bead of precum lay. You begin to kitten lick the tip, collecting to set and salty taste of vanilla mixed with Eddie. You hummed at the taste and piped more icing all the way from the tip to the shaft, avoiding the soft, curly hair at the base.

“Oh you are a little tease”

“Just gotta get my fix,” you winked before licking him from top to bottom, following the line of sugary goodness you had placed down moments before. The fallen gingerbread house was long forgotten as you enveloped Eddie’s shaft in your mouth. Eddie’s eyes rolled back with suffering lashes as your warm mouth worked his shaft. The mix of saliva, icing and precum was a delicious lubricant on Eddie’s hard cock.

“Fuck you’re so good at this.” Eddie’s knees buckled as he leaned into the kitchen table for support.

“Better than gingerbread house making?”

“Shut up” his cock slipped off your lips with a loud *pop* and continued to work his cock with your hand.

“You know we’re out of icing, but I can think of something else white and sticky to help hold that house together.”

“Oh my god,” you laughed.

“Wh-aa what?” Eddie stuttered but cut you cut him off as you took just the tip back into your mouth and gently sucking on the head.

“You like that baby? You like having my cock in your mouth?”

You hummed in agreement. The vibration of your mouth was too much. Eddie needed to pull you off before he blew his load.

“I need to fuck you, Sugar” he helped you up and bent you over the kitchen table.

Your pussy was already dripping from the foreplay. It didn’t take much to get you ready for your man to finally stick it in you. You felt his hands spread your pussy lips before slowly plunging in two fingers.

“Ohhhhh,” your eyes rolled to the back of your head as his strong fingers massaged your inner walls.

“Yes baby get loud for me.”

“Mmmmmmfph”

“You ready for me sweetness?”

“Yes.”

You leaned into Eddie’s body as he stretched you out. The feeling of him filling you made you cry out in pleasure once again.

“Fuck, your pussy was made for me” Eddie gripped your hips with each hand and started to speed up his pace.

“It’s all yours,” you sigh.

Your mind went blank; the feeling of Eddie's cock brushing your walls was the only thing you could focus on. A blot of lighting struck through your body as Eddie wrapped his arm around you to give your clit the attention it desperately needed.

“You fuck me so good, baby!” You moaned as Eddie’s hips snapped against your ass. The sound of smacking skin filled the empty kitchen.

One of Eddie’s hands moved up from your hip to your hair. He gave your scalp a small tug to bring you up so you were flush with his chest. His other hand continued on your swollen bundle of nerves.

"Gotta fuck my girl right, can't have her running off," he spoke into the side of your neck before assaulting it with his mouth. You knew you would have to wear a turtleneck tomorrow. Thank god it's winter...

“Baby, I’m so close,” you whispered. The combination of him inside and on you was getting you close to your breaking point. “Can’t hold it anymore.”

“Let go for me, Sweetness”

You were cumming in an instant. Your shaking legs somehow held you up as your orgasm spread throughout your body.

“Good girl, let go for me,” he huffed. He baby you back down, and with one last stroke of his cock, he pulled out and let his release spurt out onto your ass and lower back.

“Why did you pull out?” You asked after you came back to earth moments later.

“ 'cuz I thought we could use more icing for the house…”

"Eddie!"

Santa sluts tag list: @slutty-thevampireslayer @reidsbtch @onegirlmanytales @chrrymunson @taintedcigs @xxhellfirebunnyxx

[giveafike]

Sugar, Spice & Everything Nice! -B.T.S

TLDR: making gingerbread cookies w Ben :p. This is part 4/12 of Azzie's Advent Calendar 2024!

Word count + info: 4.6k. including dialogue.

Warnings + Content Ahead: SFW! No warnings : )

Azzie Notes ✚: this one’s heavily inspired by my own family tradition - we always bake gingerbread cookies since I was a little girl! The first time I did, it was in primary school when I was maybe 6, 7 years old? And after that, my family took it and made it our own little mess :) v v wholesome making little biscuits, shaping them and waiting for them to cool and then decorating them… it’s such a pure act of patience and love, right? Also, changed the middle pic to the MSG pic, his eyes are twinkling, god I love him bad

————————————————————————

The morning was quiet, the kind of stillness that only came when the house was nearly empty. A faint December golden light filtered through the kitchen windows, warming the wooden table where you sat, flipping through the cookbook you had picked up at the Christmas market. The glossy pages felt smooth under your fingers, each recipe accompanied by photos of perfectly baked treats and artful decorations. It was the sort of book that made everything seem achievable, even for a novice. A steaming mug of coffee sat on the table beside you, the rich aroma mingling with the faint hint of pine from the Christmas tree in the other room. Ben had made the coffee, placing it in front of you with a casual kiss on the top of your head and a small rub on your shoulder before taking his place, sitting across you at the table with his own mug. Underneath the table, Halo was sprawled out comfortably, still softly snoring against the floorboards whenever you shifted your feet.

The house was calm, Lisa and Bryan were out doing some last-minute Christmas shopping, and Emma had spent the night at her friend’s house, leaving her still lounging over there for the day. It was just you and Ben.

He seemed at ease, leaning against the counter in his sweats and a faded T-shirt, sipping his coffee and scrolling on his phone. There was something different about him in his childhood home, a quiet confidence, a comfort that came with years of familiarity but you being with him? He liked the way that felt.

Curiosity got the better of him as he set down his phone and stepped closer. “What’s got you so locked in?” he asked, peering over your shoulder.

You smiled, holding the book up slightly so he could see. “Gingerbread cookies,” you said, pointing to a page with intricately decorated cookies that looked almost too good to eat.

Ben squinted at the lengthy recipe and let out a soft laugh. “That’s... ambitious. Is that what you’re thinking of makin'?”

“Maybe,” you said with a shrug. “I mean, when I was a kid, we made gingerbread cookies once or twice, but it was the easy kind. You know, cutting out shapes from pre-made dough and sticking them on parchment paper. Not exactly homemade.”

He chuckled, leaning against the back of your chair. “So, you skipped all the hard stuff and went straight to the fun part, huh?”

“Exactly,” you said with a grin. “But this... this is the real deal. Making the dough, rolling it out, and baking from scratch. It feels like something I should try at least once, one day...”

Ben’s eyes softened as he watched you, the corners of his lips twitching upward. “Well,” he said, straightening up, “why not today? Let’s do it.”

“Really?” you asked, raising an eyebrow. “You sure? This recipe is, like, a full-day commitment. I was just looking for inspiration.”

He nodded, setting his empty mug on the table. “Yeah, I’m sure. Mom’s stocked up on all the baking stuff for the holidays, so we should have everything we need. Besides, you’ve been talkin' about a baking day since we got here. Why not now?”

You hesitated for a moment, scanning his face for any hint of second thoughts, but his broad smile was nothing but genuine, his excitement contagious.

“Alright,” you said, closing the cookbook and standing up. “Let’s do it. But you better be ready to work, I’m not doing this all by myself.”

Ben smirked, crossing his arms. “Don’t worry, I’m a great assistant. I’ll handle the hard labour.”

You rolled your eyes, unable to hide your small smile as you began to call out ingredients while Ben gathered. Ben leaned casually against the counter, watching as you carefully measured out the flour, sugar, and spices, the soft clinking of measuring cups the only sound in the room. There was a quiet concentration in the way you moved, a small crease forming between your brows as you checked the recipe and sifted the flour into a large mixing bowl. Every so often, he caught you muttering numbers under your breath, double-checking your measurements, making him smile in pure smitten adoration.

“You’re taking this seriously, huh?” he teased, arms crossed as he leaned a hip against the counter.

“Of course I am,” you replied, not looking up. “You don’t mess around with dough. One wrong move, and it’s game over.”

Ben chuckled, stepping closer to the cabinets. “Alright, Chef. What’s next? Spices?”

You nodded, dragging your finger across the page of the cookbook to check the measurements. “Yep. Cinnamon, ginger, cloves, and nutmeg. You got it?”

Ben nodded before he pushed himself off, stretching up to the top shelf of the cabinet, his fingers easily reaching the small spice jars that were out of your reach. He handed them to you one by one, lingering close as you measured each spice into a small bowl. The kitchen was soon filled with a warm, heady aroma, the kind that instantly made everything feel more festive.

“Smells like Christmas, for sure. You're doing somethin' right” Ben said, leaning down slightly to take a dramatic sniff.

“Smells like a lot of hard work,” you corrected, smiling as you added the spices to the bowl. “Alright, next is the wet ingredients. Butter and molasses, grab the molasses for me?”

Ben grabbed the jar and slid it across the counter toward you, watching you spoon the thick, dark syrup into the bowl. “That stuff’s like tar,” he remarked, raising an eyebrow.

You laughed. “It’s basically liquid gold for gingerbread, though. Trust the process.”

He nodded, though his expression remained sceptical. “Mhm. If you say so.”

As you cracked eggs into the mixture and began to combine everything, Ben wandered over to your side, resting a hand lightly on your back as he peered into the bowl.

“You’ve got this,” he said playfully. “But if you need some real muscle for the next part, I’m available.”

You glanced up at him, smirking. “Oh, don’t worry, you’re about to get your hands dirty.”

His grin widened. “Man, I’ve been waiting for you to say that!”

Once the dough had started to come together, you handed him the wooden spoon, pointing at the thick mixture.

“Alright, muscle-man. It’s your time to shine. But be careful, don’t overwork it. We need the dough to be soft and pliable, not like a brick.”

"Don’t overwork it," he echoed, his voice deliberately mimicking your tone. He tried to press his lips into a straight line, but his smile betrayed him. With a playful glint in his eye, he took the spoon from your hand. "Got it," he said, his grin slipping through despite his efforts.

You stepped back, crossing your arms as you watched him take over. His biceps flexed slightly as he stirred the dense dough, and you couldn’t help but notice how effortlessly he managed it, effortless and, somehow, ridiculously attractive. He was a mix of charm and frustration rolled into one.

“This isn’t so bad,” he said, glancing at you with a smug grin. “I thought you said this would be hard work.”

You rolled your eyes, sighing as you distracted yourself by taking the dirty utensils and bowls into the sink to stop yourself from drooling. “That’s because you haven’t gotten to the part where your arm feels like it’s going to fall off.”

He laughed, shaking his head. “Please. I’m a professional athlete. I think I can handle-”

Mid-sentence, the spoon hit a particularly stubborn clump of dry dough, plastered in flour, and Ben’s smug expression faltered as he struggled to keep a massive part of the unmixed batter from spilling over the edge of the bowl.

“Careful!” you exclaimed, eyes widening as you stepped forward to steady the bowl.

“Alright, alright,” he said, his voice tinged with laughter as he adjusted his grip. “Maybe this is a little more work than I thought.”

You grinned, giving his arm a playful nudge. “Told you. Now, keep going. You’re doing great.”

With a determined look, Ben continued to fold the dough, his movements steady and deliberate under you as you glanced every now and then. You found yourself smiling as you guided him, appreciating how he seemed to take it all in stride, even the mess.

Finally, the dough was smooth and well-mixed, and you placed a hand on his arm to stop him. “Okay, that’s perfect. Any more, and you’ll ruin it.”

Ben set the spoon down with a dramatic sigh, shaking his hand as though he’d just finished a workout. “You weren’t kidding about the arm workout.”

You laughed, reaching for the plastic wrap to cover the dough. “See? Baking isn’t just about precision, it’s about endurance. You’d better hydrate if you want to make it to the next round. Maybe take a seat on the bench.”

Ben chuckled, as he watched you wrap the dough in cling film and set it in the fridge to rest. His gaze soft as he admired the way you moved around the kitchen.

“You’re kinda cute when you get all serious about this,” he said, his voice low and warm.

You shot him a playful glare, your cheeks warming. “Focus, Shelton. We’re only halfway there.”

He held up his hands in surrender, a grin tugging at his lips. “Alright, Chef. What’s next?”

With the dough resting in the fridge, you began tidying up, wiping down the counter and setting out the tools you’d need for shaping the cookies. Ben, however, wasn’t nearly as patient. He leaned against the fridge door, staring at it like he could will the dough to finish resting faster.

“So,” he said, breaking the silence, “do we have to wait for an hour? Can’t we just… you know, start shaping them now? It's not like we're in an exam, no one's gonna know.”

You glanced over your shoulder, catching the almost puppy-like look in his eyes. “Yes, we absolutely have to wait,” you said firmly, though you couldn’t help but smile at his impatience.

Ben groaned dramatically, dragging his hand down his face and through his curls, tussling them softly. “But why? It’s just dough. It’s not like it’s a steak that needs to rest or something.”

You laughed, shaking your head as you reached into a drawer to pull out the cookie cutters. “Because,” you explained, setting the cutters on the counter, “resting the dough lets the gluten relax, which keeps the cookies from spreading too much when they bake. It also gives the spices time to blend together and makes the dough easier to roll out. Trust me, it’s worth it.”

Ben sighed, back again with that sceptical look, before mumbling, “Sounds like a lot of fancy science talk just to make some cookies.”

“Maybe,” you admitted, grinning at him. “But it’s the kind of science that keeps your cookies from turning into sad little blobs.”

He broke into a smile, finally conceding. “Fine, fine. You’re the expert.”

“Thank you,” you said with mock seriousness, giving him a teasing salute before focusing on your setup.

While the dough rested, you busied yourself with preparing the island. You got Ben on an exploration to find a large rolling pin and the cookie cutters, while you dusted the surface and neatly lined up the equipment, spreading them out across the counter as excitement spread through you. There were hearts, stars, gingerbread men and women, Christmas trees, and a few other festive shapes.

Ben watched you work, his hands tucked into the pockets of his sweatpants. “You love preppin', huh?”

“Always,” you replied, tossing him a smile as you laid sheets of parchment paper onto baking trays. “Baking is all about being ready before the chaos starts.”

He raised an eyebrow. “Chaos?”

“You’ll see,” you said ominously, grabbing a canister of flour and sprinkling a thin layer across the island. “Just wait until we’re elbow-deep in icing and sprinkles.”

Ben chuckled, stepping closer as you worked. “Oh, that sounds like my kind of chaos.”

Once everything was set up, you took a step back, admiring your handiwork. The counter was clean, floured, and ready to go, with the trays and cutters neatly arranged. Ben, however, was back to pacing near the fridge, occasionally glancing at the clock.

Once the dough had rested, you pulled it from the fridge and placed it on the floured countertop, its chilled surface smooth and pliable under your hands. Ben leaned in eagerly, eyeing the mound of dough like it was a prize.

"Alright," you said, handing him the rolling pin, "your turn. Just don’t go too wild. Nice and even, okay?”

He raised an eyebrow, gripping the rolling pin with an exaggerated flourish. “Nice and even. Got it. I’m basically a pro already.”

“Uh-huh,” you teased, stepping back to preheat the oven.

Ben pressed the rolling pin to the dough and began rolling, his movements a little uneven at first. He squinted down at the dough, muttering, “This is harder than it looks.”

You glanced over, biting back a laugh. “It’s not a race, Ben. Just take your time and keep it even.”

“Don’t worry, I understand it now” he whispered, almost to himself, as he shot you a grin. “I’ve got it handled. Gimme a second and this dough’ll be flatter than a pancake.”

You couldn’t help but laugh, shaking your head as you prepared the cookie cutters, dipping them lightly into flour to keep the shapes clean.

Once the dough was rolled out to the perfect thickness, you stepped in, lining up the cutters.

“Okay, now for the fun part,” you said, handing him a gingerbread man cutter. “Start with this one. We’ll work our way through all the shapes.”

Ben pressed the cutter into the dough, lifting it to reveal a cleanly cut gingerbread man. He held it up like a trophy, beaming. “Look at that! First try. Told you I’m a natural.”

“Alright, natural,” you said, handing him a Christmas tree cutter. “Let’s see how you do with the next one.”

The two of you fell into a steady rhythm, cutting out hearts, stars, and more gingerbread men and women. Ben found himself holding up each shape, constantly amazed and proud before gently setting the cookies down onto the parchment paper.

As he cut out another gingerbread man, he paused, holding up one of each. “Now, hold on. We gotta make sure there’s an equal number of these two.” He gestured between the gingerbread man and woman cutters. “Gotta keep things fair. Equality and all.”

You rolled your eyes, laughing. “How very noble of you.”

“I’m serious!” he insisted, though the twinkle in his eye betrayed him. “We’re not gonna have more dudes than ladies on the tray. That’d be unbalanced.”

“Okay, okay,” you relented, humouring him. “Equality it is.”

As the shapes piled up, flour seemed to cover everything and everyone. Ben had a streak of it across his cheek, and you could feel it dusting your own hands, arms, and even your clothes. At one point, he reached across to grab another cutter and left a powdery handprint on your sleeve.

“Ben!” you exclaimed, pointing to the mark.

He glanced down at his flour-covered hand, then back at you, his grin widening. “Oops. Too focused on the task at hand.”

You shook your head, fighting back a smile. Despite the mess, you were both surprisingly focused, working in sync as you filled tray after tray with perfectly cut cookies. The shapes were neat and even, and the dough scraps were rolled back together with care to minimise waste.

“You know,” Ben said as he carefully placed a gingerbread woman onto a tray, “I’m impressed. I thought for sure I’d mess this up by now.”

“You’re doing great,” you said, genuinely impressed by his effort. “See? Patience pays off.”

“Don’t get used to it,” he teased, brushing a bit of flour off his hands. “I’m still not sold on this whole ‘waiting for the dough’ thing.”

“You’ll thank me when the cookies turn out perfect,” you shot back, sliding the trays into the preheated oven.

Ben stood back, surveying the trays of cookies with a satisfied look. “Alright,” he said, crossing his arms. “What’s next? More science lessons, or are we finally gonna taste-test these bad boys?”

“Not yet,” you said with a laugh. “We still have decorating to do. And no, you’re not eating them straight out of the oven.”

“Why not?” he drawled, feigning a pout.

“Because,” you said, placing a hand around his waist, “burnt tongues aren’t fun.”

“Patience isn’t my strong suit,” he admitted, as he put his head in his hands, groaning.

“Really? I would've never guessed,” you said dryly, earning a playful nudge from him.

“Alright, what can I do while we wait?” he asked, clearly trying to distract himself.

You handed him a dishcloth and pointed to the floor where flour had inevitably dusted its surface. “You can start by cleaning that up.”

Ben groaned but grabbed the cloth anyway, crouching down to wipe the floor. “Slave labour,” he muttered under his breath, though the smirk on his face gave him away.

“You’re the one who asked for something to do,” you pointed out, crossing your arms as you watched him.

He glanced up at you, his grin widening. “Yeah, yeah. Just don’t forget this when I’m a pro-level cookie decorator later.”

“Oh, trust me,” you said with a laugh. “I won’t.”

"You’re on decorating prep duty, babe. No rest for two pros like us.”

“Deal,” you said, as you hauled over the bags of powdered sugar, food colouring, and piping bags from the counters. As Ben wiped down the counter, his movements methodical but still sprinkled with his usual flair, you busied yourself mixing the icing. The clinking of bowls and the soft sound of Ben scrubbing created a cozy rhythm. You glanced over occasionally, catching the sight of him brushing stray flour onto the floor with a sheepish grin.

“Hey,” you called out, pointing a spatula at him. “I saw that.”

He froze mid-swipe, his grin widening. “What? The counter’s clean, isn’t it?”

You shook your head, giggling, and returned to your icing. With a careful hand, you divided the thick, glossy mixture into separate bowls, adding drops of food colouring until you had a rainbow of festive hues: deep red, vibrant green, black, soft white, and even a cheerful yellow.

Ben, having finished the counter, moved onto the floor. “How does flour even get under the table?” he muttered, crouching down to clean up.

“Halo probably helped,” you teased, glancing at the dog, who was padding through the house innocently.

“Traitor.”

As the first batch of cookies began to brown in the oven, the warm scent of spices filled the air. You could feel your shoulders relax as you peeked through the oven door. The cookies were holding their shape perfectly, with no spreading, no cracking.

“Success,” you whispered to yourself, relieved.

Ben stood up, dusting his hands on his sweatpants. “Counter’s spotless. Floor’s… basically there too.” He leaned against the island, watching as you filled the piping bags with icing and lined up the bowls of candy, mini M&Ms, jelly tots, and even icing pearls.

“This is starting to look serious,” he commented.

Ben didn’t wait for an invitation. He reached out, snagging a still-steaming gingerbread man from the tray.

“Ben!” you exclaimed. “It’s hot!”

“Yeah, I noticed,” he said through a wince, pulling the cookie back quickly and blowing on it. He took a cautious bite, only to pause, his face twisting.

“Ow!”

You couldn’t help but sigh at the way he pouted, holding the cookie gingerly in one hand.

“I warned you,” you said, stepping closer.

“Yeah, yeah,” he muttered, his pout deepening.

Still laughing, you leaned in and pressed a soft kiss to his lips, lingering just long enough to distract him from his discomfort. When you pulled back, his expression had shifted from a pout to a sheepish smile.

“Guess it was worth it,” he murmured, his voice warm.

You rolled your eyes playfully, taking the cookie from his hand and setting it back on the rack. “You’ll get your turn when they cool down. Patience, remember?”

“Patience is overrated, babe,” he said, but his grin told you he wasn’t serious.

As the cookies cooled, you finished preparing the decorating station, laying everything out neatly. Ben leaned against the counter, watching you with an easy smile. The kitchen felt brighter, and warmer, with the two of you moving around each other in sync. The air smelled of gingerbread, and the promise of creative chaos hung in the air.

Finally, it was time to start decorating. You handed Ben a piping bag filled with red icing and grabbed a green one for yourself. “Okay, let’s see those artistic skills,” you teased.

“Oh, prepare to be amazed,” he said, squeezing the bag experimentally.

The first few cookies were simple, a heart with white trim, and a star with bright yellow accents, but the moment Ben decided to create a gingerbread woman to resemble you, all bets were off.

“Hold still,” he said, squinting at you with a ridiculous level of concentration.

“Ben, it’s a cookie, not a portrait session.”

“Shh. Art takes focus,” he said, holding up a finger up dramatically.

You watched as he gave the gingerbread woman what was supposed to be your hair but looked more like lopsided spaghetti. The face was slightly off-centre, and the dress he attempted was smudged in one corner. When he finally set the piping bag down, he stepped back with a proud grin.

“Ta-da!” he announced, holding it up for you to see.

You stared at the cookie and burst out laughing. “Is that supposed to be me?”

“It’s abstract,” he defended. “You don’t get it ‘cause it’s, like, high-level creativity.”

“Uh-huh,” you said, wiping tears of laughter from your eyes. “I think I’ll stick to realism.”

You got to work on your gingerbread man, deciding to return the favour as you made a gingerbread version of Ben, giving him signature curly hair, his big grin, and, of course, his ON tennis kit, complete in black with a bright pink line in its detailing.

When you showed him the finished cookie, his eyes widened, clearly taking it sorely. “Okay, I see what you’re doin’. Showin’ me up.”

“It’s not a competition,” you teased.

“Everything’s a competition,” he said, but the small smile on his face told you he didn’t mind losing this one.

Next, you both decided to make cookies representing the rest of the family. Bryan’s gingerbread man got a blue sweater, Lisa’s had an apron and a pearl necklace, and Emma’s had her glasses and a small, closed-eye smile.

“Think they’ll recognise themselves?” you asked, tilting your head as you studied the lineup of gingerbread people.

“They’d better,” Ben said, carefully adding a final swirl of icing to Lisa’s apron. “I put effort into this.”

By the time you’d decorated the rest of the cookies, trees, stars, hearts, and more, the sun was setting, casting a warm orange glow through the kitchen windows. The oven was off, the counters were cleared, and the air was filled with the lingering smell of gingerbread and icing sugar. Just as you were cleaning up the last bits of mess, the front door opened, and the sound of laughter and familiar voices filled the house.

“Y’all home?” Lisa called out.

“In the kitchen!” Ben answered, rinsing the last mixing bowl in the sink.

Lisa and Bryan walked in first, carrying shopping and takeout bags, with Emma trailing behind. The three of them paused when they saw the island covered with cookies, their eyes immediately landing on the five gingerbread figures standing together at the front of the spread.

“What …on earth...?” Bryan said, leaning in to examine the cookies more closely. His eyes darted from the gingerbread man with a blue sweater to the one wearing an apron, and his face broke into a grin. “Are these supposed to be us?”

Lisa gasped, clapping a hand over her mouth. “Oh my gosh, look at this!” She reached out delicately, picking up the cookie version of herself. “This is adorable, what a sweet surprise! Is that… an apron? You even added pearls!”

“That one’s me!” Emma crowed, pointing to the gingerbread woman with glasses and a massive smile. “I look so happy. Accurate.”

“Yeah, that was intentional,” you said with a smirk, glancing at Ben, who gave you a sly grin in return.

Bryan carefully picked up his cookie, inspecting the details. “Meanwhile all I got was a bald cookie and a sweater. Real funny.”

“You love sweaters, Dad,” Ben teased, drying his hands with a kitchen towel. “Don’t act like it’s not spot-on.”

Lisa placed her cookie back on the tray and turned to you, beaming. “This is so precious. Did you two make all of these today?”

“All day,” you confirmed, leaning against the counter. “We went all out, cutting, baking, decorating. Ben even rolled out the dough.”

“Don’t let her fool ya,” Ben drawled, nudging your shoulder with his. “She was the boss in this operation. I was just the muscle.”

“And the comic relief,” you added.

Emma leaned over the tray, picking up one of the star-shaped cookies. “These look amazing. Did y’all seriously make all these by hand? No, like, premade stuff?”

“Handmade, start to finish,” Ben said, puffing out his chest. “We’re pros now.”

Lisa laughed, shaking her head. “Well, I’d say it was worth it. They’re beautiful. I almost don’t want to eat them.”

“Almost,” Bryan echoed, already reaching for one of the undecorated trees.

Ben darted forward, intercepting him. “Hold up! Food first. Cookies are dessert.”

“Who made you the dessert police?” Bryan asked, but he let the cookie go, chuckling as he set it back down.

Lisa set the takeout bags on the counter, and the family gathered around, plates and utensils being passed out as everyone helped themselves to the food. The conversation flowed easily, filled with laughter and teasing, and the cookies remained at the centre of attention, a charming reminder of the day you and Ben had spent together.

Later, Ben stood with his arms crossed, watching his family laugh and talk as they picked out cookies to eat. When he noticed you looking, he gave you a soft, warm smile, the kind that made your chest feel full as he opened his arm to invite you in for a hug.

You walked over to him, settling into his side. “This turned out pretty great, huh?”

“Yeah,” he said, his voice low. He glanced at the tray of cookies again, then back to you. “Today was fun.”

You let your head rest on his shoulder. His arm slipped around your waist, holding you close as the room buzzed with warmth and love.

“Next time,” he murmured, his lips brushing your temple, “we’re makin’ gingerbread tennis rackets. I’ve got ideas to workshop.”

You sighed, feigning exasperation before laughing softly, tilting your head up to look at him. “I can’t wait to see how that turns out.”

“Better start stretchin’ my art portfolio now,” he teased, but the look in his eyes was anything but playful, soft, steady, and full of affection.

And just like that, in the middle of his childhood kitchen, surrounded by his family and the lingering scent of gingerbread, you realised this moment was one you’d hold onto for a long, long time.

[lipglossanon]

Pumpkin Patch

stepbro!Leon S. Kennedy fem!reader - SFW

Warnings: stepcest, cute and fluffy moment with Leon 🤭

not proofread ✌️

"If I hear pumpkin spice one more time, l'm going to scream."

You fight down the smile on your face but Leon still notices and squints at you. 

“Don’t.”

“Pumpki—“

He claps his hand over your mouth muffling the rest and making you giggle against his palm. 

“Now now you two, no horseplay,” your mom chides as she shades her eyes to look around for your stepdad. 

“You know where to find us?” she asks turning in time to catch Leon yanking his hand back with a disgusted face as he wipes his palm on his jeans. 

“Real mature,” he rolls his eyes as you shrug. 

“You put it there.”

“Kids,” your mom clears her throat with a huff, “I asked you—“

“Yep,” you smile brightly at her, adjusting your coat, “we’ll find you guys once we’ve picked out our pumpkin.”

She sighs but smiles back, “Yes, well you have fun and remember—“

“No horseplay,” you all three say at the same time. 

You and Leon share a grin as she turns her back to you both, muttering under her breath as she walks over to your stepdad near the vegetable stand. 

“So princess, what’s the goal?” Leon smirks at you as he throws his arm over your shoulders. 

Instead of annoying you like it usually does, you relax into his side, soaking up his body heat to combat the chilled afternoon air. 

“We’re off to find the best pumpkin, duh,” you pat his chest, “you’re talking to an expert.”

“Oh am I?”

You roll your eyes at his snarky tone but preen to yourself when he keeps his arm wrapped around you as you both walk further into the farmstead, making your way over to the rather large pumpkin patch. 

The place is pretty busy, families and couples mingling and calling out to each other, pushing wheelbarrows laden down with pumpkins past you and Leon as you make your way down the rows. It smells like fresh dirt and growing things, making you breathe deep even though the cold air stings your lungs. 

You both walk in comforting silence as you take in everything. Even though there’s a ton of people there’s also twice as many pumpkins, so you don’t feel rushed in finding one. The people running the place have dotted corn stalks and scarecrows all along the patch and strung up cute pumpkin shaped lights to add to the festive look. 

“How about this one?” Leon pauses and pulls away from you to bend down and roll a warty looking pumpkin right side up. 

“What? No!” you shake your head, “that one’s terrible for carving.”

Leon tosses the fringe from his eyes as he stands up, “And why is that? Doesn’t this one look Halloweenie?”

“Nope,” you pop the p extra loud, “we need one that’s smooth on one side but sturdy on bottom. Oh! And with a good stem.”

Nodding to yourself as he rolls his eyes at you, you scout the area before grabbing Leon’s hand and pulling him along. 

“This one!”

You let go of his hand and kneel next to the bright orange gourd, “It’s perfect.”

You look back up at Leon with pouty lips, “Will you carry it for me?”

“That?” he scoffs rolling his eyes, but you don’t miss the way a blush dusts the bridge of his nose, “why should I?”

“Because you’re nice like that?”

He shakes his head, “Just get a wheelbarrow.”

“But I don’t wanna,” you whine, standing up.

You step in front of him, clasped hands resting on his chest as you make the saddest face possible, “Pretty, pretty please with sugar on top.”

He glares down at you but you don’t move. 

Finally with a put upon sigh, he pushes you back, “Fine, but you owe me.”

You laugh and wave him off, “Okay, okay.”

He crouches down and lifts up the pumpkin with a huff, “Please tell me I don’t have to lug this around the rest of the afternoon.”

“Of course not,” you roll your eyes as you  wrap your hand around his bicep to help guide him, “just until after we get some hot cider.”

divider: @firefly-graphics

[weird-bookworm]

LET'S SPREAD SOME LOVE!!!!!

talk about your favourite mutuals and why you like them

😄

oh god this is gonna be one hell of an answer

@fairyhaos because shes the sweetest comfiest most adorably chaotic lil ball of energy + she gives the best advice like hello??? what are you??? oh god my heart goes a little off track everytime we talk i just love you so much

@wheeboo okay shes part 2 of the they-make-me-feel-the-safest trio along w yena and axe like please i stumbled across the sweetest sassiest boo stan ever ALSO UR GORGEOUS???

@blue-jisungs axeaxeaxeaxeaxe so chaotically lovely and so boomer and so fun and yoid think shes savage but no shes just soft and as harmful as a pinecone (why do u remind me of tht one joon meme of him just. sitting there. peeling potatoes. in tiny.)

@slytherinshua we kinda talked less for a while bc life happened and then caught up (kinda lol) and im so glad to see shes still as crazy and lovable as ever (im waiting for tht ppt) like talk abt impressive. impressive is her whole personality. sometimes in, uh, less than conventional ways...hehe

@eternalgyu HANNIE WHERE TF R U I MISS UUUUUUUU 😭😭😭😭🫶🏻 like yk what i imagine when i think of hannie? causing mischief. LIKE IDEK WHY OKAY i just feel like we'd be running around giggling like idiots js pulling random pranks on people and js the thought makes me smile

@yllouhannie ylli is like love. ylli is gentle and kind and sweet. shes understanding and passionate and really quite cute. oh my love you make me wanna jump off a cliff because how can someone like you exist 😭 (no srsly what is this witchcraft ilysm mwah)

@woozvc nora is like home. which is saying a lot lmao i sound dramatic but like yk when u just talk to someone and it feels just right even tho ur not rly doing much? shes older but she lets go and i can just feel how absolutely beautiful this person is *melts off a cliff*

@welcometomyoasis shu oh shu i have no words so pardon if this is a little small but. ik i say this a lot but i rly do mean it. i love you. so much. yr msgs and reblogs and asks always make a smile and they make me giddy and suddenly nothing is wrong with the world 🥺

@haecien bro is my ultimate gay bestie like what else do you need in life other than cien. what. nothing is the answer. life is complete when u hv cien and his shenanigans lolol like i dare you try to Not like him. i m p o s s i b l e.

@glosskirt AYYYYY MY ARMY SOULMATE we connected over min yoongi. we still rant over min yoongi. we shall die talking about min yoongi. like there is nothing better than having someone to fangirl with over my favs gloss you filled a hole in my life <3

@mesanthropi weiwei!!!! my little bundle of sugar spice and everything nice!! (+ chaos and a passion about the randomest shit ever how do u live why am i not this exciting) how is it always fun to talk to you and why do ur msgs excite me so much

@aaniag chaos. thats it. chaos. this woman brought with her about half a dozen more desi moots for me like how do i hug you how do i appreciate you enough i ugghhhh 😩

@thepoopdokyeomtouched im still waiting for my flirting yk? lol on a serious note, u and ur crazy streak r probably the most entertaining thing on here, and i fucking love it. i love ur chaos and the fact tht u choose to share it w me, thank you 🫶🏻

@arafilez bro rly dropped outta thin air like a fucking ghost and made my life abt a 100x more exciting where were you my entire life ara. where. why didnt the atz rants and the writing and the random asks show up sooner. why.

@nonononranghaee HAFS MY LIL CUTIE PATOOTIE WHY DO I ALWAYS WANNA SQUISH U NOMNOM U CRUSH U KSKSJEHEH u give me so much cuteness aggression oh my god...

@kkooongie sarah sarah sarah sarah sarah i live for ur writing and im always looking forward to our little chats abt books and random stuff (...when r u updating btw 😅)

@maeleelee @mxnsxngie @imagine-a-life-like-this i don't tell you guys enough how much i love and appreciate each one of you. i dont tell u enough how grateful i am whenever i think abt u bc god ik how hard it is to take in a random person in ur circle, to adjust w a kid, to make said kid feel safe and included and loved. so thank you. for all that you do for me and for loving lil ol' me <3

@cadenonlinelive where u at damn i hvnt seen u in ages

@rubywonu @idubiluv GUYS STOP HIBERNATING ITS NOT WINTER ANYMORE I MISS U

[syd-djarin]

Sugar, Spice & Please Fuck Me Nice (neighbor!joel AU)

chapter three: fair game - in collaboration with @katiexpunk

*18+ Minors DNI*

Word count: ~6.5k

a/n: katie and I wrote to our slutty hearts' desires. srsly she is a smut fairy & loving friend. plz follow her. @katiexpunk

warning(s): SMUUUUUT.

tags: f & m masturbation, 2000s style (needs a TW lol), joel is a little rough/bossy, unprotected p in v, creampie, blowjob, pet names, praise kink, spitting (1), fair date, eating, flirting

NOV 2005

You can’t stop thinking about that night at Joel’s a week ago. The way he touched you, pleasured you in a way that you've never experienced before. The way he kissed you, fervently yet soft. You could kiss him for hours and never tire. 

Not only are you craving his touch, but you also find yourself wanting to learn more about him. You want to know him. The things you’ve learned about him through Sarah and what you’ve picked up on are tiny crumbs, leaving you starving for more. 

You hope he feels the same. 

You haven’t had a chance to talk to Joel since that night, as you’ve been drowning at work. You started working for this publishing firm in college, first, as an intern, and now that you’ve finished school, you’re an editor. You agreed to take on extra responsibilities due to your coworker being out on maternity leave, which has exponentially increased your workload, on top of your boss being a micromanaging asshole.

Joel’s been burning the candle at both ends. He’s working against a tight deadline on a big project for a persnickety client and Sarah’s soccer team is in the playoffs for the district championship; he’s incredibly proud but attending her neverending roster of games has left him a bit preoccupied. He never thought he would end up being a soccer dad, but life has a funny way of keeping him on his toes. 

Much like you, he’s replayed you squirting on his leather couch in his mind over and over, a never-ending lascivious reel that plays in his head as he fucks his cock at night. Joel longs to hear those saccharine sounds you make while you ride his cock, your tits bouncing in tandem with your movements. He’s kicking himself for not getting his hands, or mouth, on your pillowy breasts. The cheekiness of forgoing a bra in your bunny costume revealed a side of you that he wants to unleash. 

He wants to know everything; what keeps you up at night, what makes you double over in laughter, your ticklish spots, which movies make you cry without fail, all of your little quirks. Hell, he even wants to know if you believe in aliens. 

+++

You pull into your driveway after a long, grueling day at work. Your brain is so fried you didn’t even turn the music on for the drive home; a rarity for you since you always have music playing in your car, whether it be the FM radio or one of the various CDs you’ve collected over the years. A true indicator of your current state of being. You can’t wait to veg out on the couch, rid your mind of this shitty week, and huddle into an antisocial ball. 

After a few moments of idly sitting in your car, you peel yourself from the driver’s seat and go to retrieve your work tote from your trunk when you hear a deep voice calling out to you, one you’d recognize anywhere. You turn in the direction of the sound and find Joel. He’s clearly working on a renovation project; a miter saw, lumber and a plethora of other tools are set up in his front yard. There’s another man with him, bearing a slight resemblance to Joel. Brothers, maybe? 

“Hey, neighbor!” Joel immediately regrets his word choice, finding it oddly stiff — considering he’s had his face between your thighs. 

“Hey Joel!” You manage to shout back, despite your energy battery being crucially depleted. 

He waves for you to come over. Unfortunately, or fortunately, you’re unable to resist him. Not when he’s covered in a sheen of sweat, hair tousled, and coaxing you across the street. 

Though you feel drained, being in close proximity to Joel makes your body thrum in nerves. You’re being energized by anxious attraction. 

Joel and the mystery man greet you at the edge of the yard. 

“This is my brother Tommy. Tommy, this is my neighbor.” 

“So, this is the pretty neighbor you were tellin’ me about,” Tommy says, his southern drawl identical to Joel’s. 

Joel glares at Tommy. If looks could kill. 

Tommy holds out his hand, you tell him your name and give him your hand for a brief shake; much like Joel’s does, his palm size is large in comparison to yours and envelops your full hand. You survey the man in front of you; handsome, dark curly hair like Joel, slightly longer and free of the grays his brother sports, deep brown eyes, similar to Joel’s. The Miller genes are super fucking strong. 

“Nice to meet ya, sweetheart,” he says, nodding his head in acknowledgment, his eyes dragging over your figure just a second too long. 

“I’m gonna start packin’ these tools up,” Tommy announces to Joel and then shoots him a wink. It’s obvious he wasn’t aiming for subtlety, clearly wanting to give you and his brother a moment alone. 

Joel shifts his broad frame to face you directly. You wish you didn’t feel so bashful in his presence, but it’s hard to breathe evenly when he is standing so close you can smell him - earthy and a hint of his deodorant wearing off. It should be gross to you, but you want to put his scent in a candle. You’re fucking deranged. 

“Sorry, ‘m all sweaty…” Joel apologizes, looking down at himself, remembering that he probably reeks like a locker room. 

You wave off his apology, giggling at his self-awareness. 

“I wanted to ask you somethin’,'' Joel says, gently wrapping his hand around your arm right above your elbow. Goosebumps erupt on your skin at the touch of his calloused fingers. 

“Okay…” 

“I was wonderin’...” Joel pauses, his fingers now grazing over the soft skin of your arm. 

You gulp in anticipation. “Yes, Joel?” 

“I was wonderin’ if you’d like to go on a date with me,'' he asks, his eyes dropping to his boots for a second before coming back up to meet yours, “a proper one.” 

You’re so giddy at his proposition you think you might burst.

“Well, you know…I’ve gotta check my calendar,” you say, a big grin plastered on your face. You see his face drop, but before he can sulk too much you wink at him and say, “yeah, I’d love to,” you exhale and try to keep your voice level, not wanting to give away how excited you actually are. A date. With Joel Miller. 

“You free tomorrow?” he asks, beaming, revealing the dimpled smile you’re so fond of. 

“Lucky for you, I am,” you say, feeling your skin warm. 

“Pick you up at 7?” he asks, dipping his face closer to yours, his hand now on your waist pulling you into him. 

“Works for me,” you confirm while planting a chaste kiss on his cheek, “see you then, neighbor!” you conclude, being sure to emphasize the neighbor in your words, and before he can convince you to stay, you’re sauntering across the street back to your house.

+++

It’s finally here. Your big date with Joel.

The day went by torturously slow, anticipation pulsing through your entire body.

You spent almost two hours getting ready, the majority of the time trying to pick an outfit. You probably changed 30 times, trying to find the outfit that conveyed the perfect balance of sexy, yet subdued. 

You decide on a pair of dark wash flares and a lacy top, both accentuating your figure heavenly. You spritz on a little perfume you save for special occasions. If this ain’t a hell of an occasion. 

Joel, with impeccable timing, rings the doorbell right as you tug your black cowboy boots on. It’s sill relatively warm in Austin, so you decide to forgo a jacket. 

Opening the door, you and Joel take a moment to check the other out, neither of you trying to hide it whatsoever. Joel’s wearing his signature jeans and a green flannel with the sleeves rolled up to the elbow, exposing his veiny, strong forearms. You’d hump his arms given the opportunity. 

“Absolutely stunnin’, sweetheart,” he licks his bottom lip while his brown irises roam over your entire body, paying special attention to your waist and tits. You’re mentally patting yourself on the back for your outfit choice. 

“One could say the same for you, cowboy,” you quip back, a smug grin plastered across your face. 

Your smile shoots blood straight to Joel’s cock. 

He swallows as he realizes the night is just beginning. 

+++

Joel takes you to a quaint diner for your date. From the outside, it’s unassuming; an older building in urgent need of a pressure wash, adjacent to a virtually empty shopping center. A true hole-in-the-wall in the middle of downtown Austin. 

“It doesn’t look like much on the outside, but I promise ya, they got the best damn burgers in town,” he assures, seeing the questioning look on your face when he pulls into the parking lot. 

You and Joel slide into a booth in the far corner, Joel insisting that booth seating is part of the experience. You both order burgers, per his recommendation and boy, it does not disappoint. 

Between bites of food, you and Joel learn more about each other. The conversation flows easily, both hanging onto each other’s every word; no awkwardness or feigning interest. You both share parts of your childhoods and you share stories from your college days. Joel recounts the mischief he and Tommy got into when they were younger, earning several belly laughs from you. 

Joel loves the way you laugh; candidly, throwing your head back, your shoulders jerking uncontrollably as you try to catch a breath. 

You’re pleased to learn that both you and Joel have a fondness for 80’s action movies, especially the over-the-top-borderline-cheesy ones, and 70’s artists like Fleetwood Mac and Electric Light Orchestra.

Joel asks about your job as an editor. You tell him the different types of manuscripts you have to read; some you drudge through, others you enjoy. “I love seeing how the story progresses from the first rough draft up until the final copy,” you tell him,” a lot of authors are really full of themselves, so you have to boil down a lot of the flowery language and hubris.” 

In return, he tells you about how he got started as a contractor, hard work rewarded him with promotions until he opened up his own contracting business six years ago. “It’s priceless gettin’ to be your own boss,” he says, “not havin’ to answer to anyone, can be more selective in projects you wanna take on,” he continues, and you swear you’re listening but you’re secretly caught up in the sound of his voice and the way his lips move when he’s talking; hypnotizing you with every word.

Joel opens up about when Sarah came into this world; the happiest day of his life while simultaneously being scared shitless — he was wild and ungovernable, definitely not ready for fatherhood.  

Through the years he’s found his rhythm. He doesn’t talk about her mother and you don’t ask; you’re not looking to dig into that lore on the first date. He tells you what Sarah was like as a baby and the subsequent years. Your heart melts at the adoration and pride that glow in his eyes when he talks about his daughter. 

You both sit in the overused booth, totally absentminded to the world around you. You’re both locked into one another, afraid of missing even the faintest shift in facial expressions. You might as well be the only two people here. 

Taking the final bite of your burger, you tell Joel that you’re inclined to agree that these are the best burgers in town. 

He mumbles something to the effect of “told ya,” before finishing his last bite. 

On the ride home from the diner, you spot an illuminated Ferris wheel, glowing in the distance of the Austin night. 

“Oh, I didn’t know the fair was still in town. I haven’t been in years!” exclaiming a little loudly for a woman your age, “can we…..?” 

Joel can’t say no to you, not when you’re giving him a pleading, pouty look. 

+++ 

Once inside the fairgrounds, you both walk through the selection of vendors, and it doesn’t take long for the funnel cake sign to catch your eye; Joel purchases you one and you continue on your adventure together. 

“Here,” he says, offering you a paper napkin. 

You gently shake your head, shoving another bite of funnel cake into your mouth, “don’t need one.”

He laughs. You look like a stubborn child learning what sugar is for the first time, “you’re gonna get all sticky,” he says, a big grin enveloping his face, your eagerness for the sweetness of the battered dough reminds him of Sarah’s sweet tooth. God, you’re cute – it makes him wish she was with you both tonight. 

Well, that is until he notices it. It’s subtle, but it’s there – a sprinkling of powdered sugar on your cheek and exposed chest.

He knows this is a family event, but he wants to do anything but PG-rated things with you right now.  

He stares at the white dust on your skin until your voice catches his attention again. 

“Maybe I want to be sticky,” you reply, “gives you more to lick off of me later.” 

And fuck, if that doesn’t turn him on. 

The thought of his tongue on you sends a flood of impure thoughts to his brain; much like the ones he had when you first showed up at his door, covered in remnants of flour, all sugar and sweetness. 

He knows now.

You may be sugar, but fuck, if you haven’t got some spice in you, too. 

+++ 

As you stroll, your eyes grow wide when you see it; a yellow wooden sign with the words “bobbing for apples” in Comic Sans engraved into it. 

“Ah! Joel! Bobbing for apples! I haven’t done that since I was a kid – we have to do it!” you say, your voice is a little too eager and a little too high-pitched, but the childlike wonder on your face is all the convincing that Joel needs. He might not admit it, but he’d give you anything you want. You reach out for his hand, and he takes it, letting you lead the way. 

You and Joel make your way up to the station, and a fair worker in an apron and a straw hat shouts to the crowd, “Come one, come all! Test your skills at an apple grab; the winner gets a prize,” his voice is low in octave but loud enough like he’s speaking through a megaphone. 

A line of fair-goers of all ages quickly forms around the barrels filled with water and apples, and you look at Joel with eager eyes as you step up to yours.

The rules of the game were explained by the worker with a chuckle, “Alright, folks, no hands, just your teeth. Lean in, and bob for an apple, and what you catch is yours to keep plus a prize from the booth to the right.” 

“You sure about this, sweetheart? You’re gonna get all wet,” Joel asks, probably just a smidge too concerned about your well-being considering it’s just bobbing for apples. 

“You gonna act like you don’t know that I’ve been wet this entire night?” you say, not waiting  to hear his response as the worker calls out a loud “GO!” 

Giggles and cheers fill the air as you and your fellow participants lean over the barrel. Your face disappears into the water; your competitiveness in overdrive  – edging yourself deeper and deeper into the water; so far that your shirt gets soaked. You don’t care, though, and you gleam from satisfaction as you resurface with a gleaming red apple held triumphantly between your teeth. 

The crowd erupts in applause at your efforts, and Joel stands watching you with his hands on his hips, a smile plastered on his face. As his gaze drops from the apple in your mouth, he notices the wetness of your shirt and shit, you’re positively drenched. 

It takes Joel all of .0002 seconds to notice the silhouette of your nipples peeking out from your shirt, the goosebumps littering your skin, and the tail ends of your hair wet and starting to curl under the weight of the water. 

You drop the apple from your teeth and catch it in your palm.

“Well, well…looks like you’re on a date with a prize-winnin’ apple picker. Feeling lucky yet?” you tort, attempting to flirt through the uncomfortable press of the damp fabric on your skin. 

“Sweetheart, I’ve seen that mouth in action, I already knew you were going to win,” he says, “but you know I’d never thought I’d see the day…” he trails off. 

“What do you mean?” you ask, slightly confused. 

“Never thought I’d see the day that I was jealous of a fuckin’ Red Delicious apple,” he says, humor behind his voice, “s’ashame I wasn’t the one you were bobbin’ for in that barrel.” 

“Listen, if you want to get wet and let me put you in my mouth, I am more than happy to accommodate,” you reply back, your voice flirty and suggestive. 

Joel doesn’t respond, but you see him palm himself through the denim of his jeans at your suggestion, interjecting his thoughts. 

You can’t hide the shivers that take over your body from the chill of the night air and the wetness of your clothing. 

“C’mere, baby, you’re freezin’,” he says, brow furrowed, and arms wide open stretched out to you, beckoning you into his large arms. You take a step forward and step into his brace, letting yourself melt into the warmth of his arms and the aroma of his natural scent. 

You stand there, wet in more ways than one, and let him hold you. Your arms wrap around his thick middle, and he rubs up and down your back with both palms in an attempt to warm you up. He releases you momentarily before saying, “Here, take this.”

You step away from him for a second, giving him space to slip off the flannel he’s wearing, revealing nothing but a white t-shirt underneath; the little tufts of hair peeking out through the collar of his shirt almost send you into a tailspin. 

He holds the flannel open by the collar to face you, encouraging you to put it on. You turn your back to him, allowing him the privilege of holding  it as you slip your arms into the sleeves. The fabric of the shirt is warm from his skin, and the moment you put it on you’re flooded with the smell embedded deep within the fibers; all musk, whiskey, cinnamon, wood, and Joel. 

“Come on, now, you little bobbin’ minx,  let’s go get you your prize,” he says, tilting his head to the prize booth. You grab his hand and let him lead the way this time. 

You and Joel make your way to the prize booth, the smell of kettle corn invades your senses; sure, you were already stuffed with funnel cake and your dinner, but the sweet aroma makes your mouth water. Or maybe it’s just Joel, you’re not quite sure, but you don’t really care. 

In the small structure of the prize booth, the shelves were adorned with a colorful array of stuffed animals of all sizes, trinkets, and games. You carefully assess your prize options while the attendant tries to convince you that of all of the random assortment of prizes, you absolutely need the goldfish. Right. 

You look over the options in front of you for what feels like a good ten minutes before the attendant not so subtly grows tired of your indecision. You sigh. You decide on a small puppy dog with beady plastic brown eyes, and you nod in thanks as he hands it to you, and you and Joel walk away from the booth. 

“Had a tough time decidin’ there, didn’t ya, sweetheart?” Joel asks, not really questioning. 

“Well, to be honest, none of the prizes were really appealing to me,” you respond, playing with the fluffy ears of the stuffed plush in your hands. “I only picked this one because I thought Sarah might like it,” you say. Your consideration for Sarah, and your accepting demeanor to her, warms Joel’s heart. 

“But I can think of one I’d really like to claim,” you say, catching his gaze. You see his jaw clench at your words. 

“Oh yeah? And that would be..?” 

“You,” the word comes out breathy. 

You both stop walking and the crunch of the dirt under his boots and the distant sounds of the fair in the background all but freeze as you stand there, seemingly paused in your own little private moment. 

“Take me home, Joel,” you say, planting your palm on his broad chest and stepping closer to him, your chest nearly flush against his. His hands skate down to your waist, and he closes the gap between your bodies, holding you close enough that you feel the growing bulge between his thighs. 

“Yes, ma’am,” he says, leaning down, planting a kiss on the top of your head. 

And it’s sweet. 

Just like the funnel cake. 

And just like he thinks you are. 

But you have other plans for him tonight. 

And he has the same for you. 

+++ 

You and Joel make your way out of the fairgrounds and to the lot where Joel parked his truck. 

Still wearing his flannel, the stuffed puppy dog intertwined between your crossed arms, you wait for him to open the passenger side door. You all but eye fuck him as he reaches into the depth of the  front pocket of his jeans and grabs his keys. He unlocks the door, and opens it for you; offering you a hand to help guide you in. 

“Always such a gentleman,” you say, placing your hand in his, accepting his offer, using the strength of his arm to help lift yourself into the bed of the truck. 

Joel rounds around the front of the vehicle, unlocks the driver’s side door, and slides in. He turns the key in the ignition and the engine rumbles to life and the radio turns on, “Come a Little Closer” by Dierks Bentley plays over the speakers. 

Deciding to take a note from the lyrics, you don’t bother to buckle yourself into the passenger seat, and instead slide over into the middle seat of the truck, positioning yourself tightly against Joel’s side. You lace your arm through the underside of his and interlock them, your hand curls around his firm bicep. You lean your head into his shoulder, and close your eyes, taking a moment to bask in the solitude of the strong man beneath you. 

He looks down at you for a moment – god, he could get used to this. He dwells on the thought for a moment longer and then begins to drive away. 

You’re clinging to him and you both ride like that in an easy silence, apart from the faint music and the hum of his truck. It has been so long since you felt so content, so at peace with the moment and yourself; not worried about work or life, or anything. It was just you and Joel, and you like it that way. 

Nearly back to your house, and your shared neighborhood, you let your left hand wander on the expanse of his thigh. The time for sweetness is over. The events of the night, your combined obvious want, and the flirtatious taunts catch up with you. 

Joel keeps his eyes on the road, but you don’t miss the way his grip on the steering wheel tightens as your hand makes its way closer to his belt buckle. You begin to toy with the cool metal there, and his large palm comes down to cup yours. 

“We’re almost home,” he says, holding your hand tight against his stiffening cock, not letting you move. “But I want to feel you now,” you whine. 

“I know, baby, I know you wanna get your hands on this cock, and I would like nothing more,” he says, “but you’re gonna have to be patient, we only have a few more minutes until we’re there.” 

“And why do I have to be patient, neighbor?” you ask, pulling your hand away, slightly keyed up. Greedy. Horny. 

“Because I wanna give that needy little pussy the attention she deserves,” he says, “and because once I get started, I know ‘m not gonna be able to stop.”

“And neighbor ain’t gonna be what you’ll be calling me,” he says roughly, “I’ll fuckin’ make sure of that, sweetheart.”

He takes a turn and pulls into your neighborhood. You catch a glimpse of Mrs. Morrison taking out her trash. She glares at you in disapproval as you drive past in Joel’s truck. 

You sometimes wonder what your neighbors might think; a pretty little young thing like you, the youngest daughter, hanging out with the older, single-father neighbor across the way. 

But truthfully, you don’t really give a fuck. 

+++ 

Joel pulls up into your driveway, the engine purrs softly before falling silent.  You both pause in silence. 

Joel turns to you, a smirk on his lips “We’re here,” he says, his voice carrying a hint of invite me in behind his voice. 

You glance out the window, your house bathed in the soft glow of your porch light. You turn back to Joel and say “Thank you for tonight, I really had a fun time. But to be honest, I just realized I never got to thank you properly…” 

Joel looks at you and something dark flickers in his gaze. “And what would you need to be thankin’ me for, sweetheart?”  As if he didn’t know. 

“For the best orgasm I’ve ever had. Come in and I’ll return the favor” conjuring your sultriest voice, knowing he doesn’t need an invitation.  

You step out of the truck, and the night air is cool, a  gentle breeze whispers through your hair;  your features are illuminated by the street lights in your neighborhood, and the warm glow casts an inviting aura around you. Joel appears at your side of the truck and helps you exit. 

The gravel under your feet crunches as you walk toward the front porch; the air is charged with electricity, a livewire, a magnetic pull drawing your bodies together. 

The porch light by your door casts a warm yellow glow on your faces. You pause at the front of the step and reach for your house keys in your purse. Your porch swing sways gently in the breeze, its rhythmic creaking adding to the undertone of the moment. 

You insert the key into the lock, but before you can fully turn the doorknob to open the door, Joel already has his large palm on yours, opening the door,  pushing you through the door frame and into your house, his hands cradling your face before he crashes his plush lips into yours. 

The second you’re both fully in your house, Joel's hands are on the hem of your shirt,  silently begging for you to take it off. You let him work on getting you topless, meanwhile, your hands are hastily working to undo his belt buckle, the excitement of finally being able to touch him and him not being able to stop touching you has you worked up.  Joel presses his thighs together against yours, drawing little moans from you while he nips at your neck. 

As much as he is trying to distract you, he’s no match for your determination. In record-breaking time you have his buckle undone and the zipper of his jeans is down; you gracefully fall to your knees before him, tugging his pants and his boxers down with you to the floor. Joel’s cock releases from the confines of his clothing and slaps against his tummy, leaving a little trail of pre-cum in its wake. You already knew he was big, but having him in full view makes you realize just how big he really is. 

You lick your lips and reach out to grab his thick cock, affectionately kissing the tip of his cock; you run your tongue through the slit, lapping up the salty pre-cum that drops out before you circle your tongue along the underside of his head. You let your jaw go slack, and you begin to dip down on his length; a gurgling sound escapes your lips as you pull back up again. You do this a few times before letting his hard cock fall from your lips, your lips puffy and coated in saliva, some of it dribbling past your chin. 

You pull off momentarily and smile up at Joel. He thinks you look far too sweet and innocent for someone who is absolutely taking his cock deep in your throat like a champ. He intertwines his fingers through your hair and groans, before gently urging you back down onto his cock. 

“Fuck, sweetheart – can’t tell you how long I’ve been thinking about having that pretty little mouth of yours on my cock,” he says slightly breathless. 

The thought of him thinking about you goes straight to your core and makes you want to mouth fuck him harder. 

You wrap your lips around him again, and he thrusts his hips to glide his cock inside of your mouth to the back of your throat. 

He begins to pick up his pace, holding your head steady by your hair as he fucks into your throat, pressing deeper and deeper until spit pools at the corners of your mouth and slight tears form in the corners of your eyes. He presses you down onto him until your lips are wrapped around the base of him and the coarse hairs that reside there. You’re drowning in the taste of him, hardly able to breathe, but you don’t care; you want him to chase his high, to use your mouth for his own pleasure. He made you come harder than anyone ever has before; this was the least you could do for him. 

“Jesus – look at you, pretty girl, fuck you feel so good wrapped around me,” he grits out, “takin’ it so well, baby.”

His words go straight to your cunt, the ache now insufferable. 

You begin to work him harder with your tongue, struggling for air, and he inches closer to the back of your throat and you begin to gag. Joel pulls out, not wanting to hurt you, and a strand of saliva trails between your lips and his cock. You blink back tears and look up at him, your mascara now a mess on your face, and your eyes glossy. 

“You okay, sweetheart?” he asks, his brow furrowed in concern. 

You swallow, and reach up to wipe a tear from your cheek. You are okay. More than okay. 

“Peachy. I'm relieved I finally got to return the favor,” you hum, standing to rise to meet his face. 

He wraps his hands around your waist, and pulls you tight against the front of his body; you feel the warmth of his tummy, the hardness of his cock, and the strength of his back behind your grip and it makes your legs turn to Jell-O. Fuck, you need him. 

Joel kisses you for a moment, before pulling away and bringing his lips to your ear “Gonna fuck you now, sweet girl.” 

You feel your stomach swoop and your folds tingle; you have thought about this moment for so long and you yearn for the stretch of him; to know what it’s like to be filled to the brim with Joel fucking Miller. 

He kicks off his boots, steps out of the clothing bunched around his ankles, and takes your hand to follow you down the hallway into your bedroom. 

Part of him wants to take his time; to make you feel good, to taste you again, and feel you come and come on his fingers. Part of him wants to shuck down your jeans and put your pretty pussy in his face. 

Joel doesn’t particularly think of himself as a selfish man, but he has waited patiently, and he needs you. Now. 

As much as he wants the taste of you on his lips, the part of him that wants to shove himself into your addictive cunt until you forget your name until you forget every other name except for his, is the dominant one right now. 

Once in the bedroom, he crowds you back until the back of your calves meet the edge of your mattress. He grabs both of your hips in a bruising grip and pulls you tight against his chest, his hips grinding into yours, and you lean your face up to kiss him. You think he might kiss you, but instead, he ghosts your lips and leans forward until your back meets the soft fabric of the mattress with an oof, and he’s on top of you. 

He grabs both of your wrists, pinning them above your head. His grip on you is firm, yet gentle. You’ve seen his brute strength in action and the fact that he could overpower you sends a shiver to your clit. 

“So beautiful, darlin’ – you know that?” he kisses your nose and trails a slew of them down your cheek, your jaw, your chin, and neck. Once at the nape of your neck, he nibbles on your earlobe and whispers “You ready for me, sweetheart?” his breath is heavy in your ear. 

You can’t nod fast enough in agreement. 

“You gonna be a good girl for me?” he practically purrs the question. 

You want nothing more than to be a good girl for Joel. You nod almost aggressively to make up for the fact that you’re unable to construct a single sentence right now. 

He lets out a satisfied moan and drops his grip on your wrists, and drags his heavy hands down your body to the center of your jeans and undoes the button of your pants, and hooks his thumbs in the waistband of both your jeans and your panties and pulls them down in one fell swoop. 

He dips down to place a delicate kiss to your tummy and lets the weight of his head rest on the softness of you. He inhales deeply, the aroma of your perfume comforts him, and he fights the urge to dip his face lower and bury himself in your pussy. 

You drop both of your hands and grab his head, your fingers carding through his hair, and he groans. 

“Thought you were gonna be a good girl for me,” he says, not really questioning. 

“I am being a good girl,” you respond back, not really sure what prompted his statement. 

“Maybe I wasn’t clear enough the first time. When I put you in a position, I want you to stay there, until I say you can move. Got it?” 

And holy fuck, bossy Joel turns you on. 

You only hum in response. 

“Need you to use your words, sweet girl. Answer me, or I’ll make you,” he says, voice low, his head closer to your center now, almost to exactly where you need him but not quite. 

“Ye - ah, yes, fuck I understand,” sending all of your energy to string the words together. 

He hums in acknowledgment and pushes your hands back up overhead, telling you to keep them there, and only to touch him when he says you can. When he releases your hands and sees that your arms stay put, he rasps out a “good girl”. 

He then reaches down and notches his tip at your entrance, and drags the weight of his thick cock through your glistening folds.

“Mmmm so fuckin’ wet, this all for me?” 

“All for you, J-oel,” you’re trembling, desperate to feel him deep inside you. 

He pauses momentarily, only the tip of him inside you, and god, it’s such a tease. 

You know it’ll sting, but you want him to just fucking bury every inch of himself inside of you. You don’t care about the pain; you crave the stretch of him. 

“Joel – ah, need more,” you moan, “need all of you.” 

“You sure, sweetheart? I ‘don wanna hurt you,” he says, once again concerned about you. 

“Joel, I want you to fucking wreck me. Need you to move, please.” 

After your plea, he obliges. You feel every inch of him, the way he throbs inside of you, and the tip of his head drags against the spongey spot inside of you. 

Your eyes flutter shut as he begins to move in and out of you, he feels so fucking good, and you’re so perfectly full. 

“Open your eyes, sweetheart,” he says, voice low and gruff, still continuing to saw in and out of you. ‘’Want you to look at me while I fuck you.” 

And his words are like music to your fucking ears. He’s the perfect balance of gentleman and fucking filth. 

He brings a hand down to circle your clit, and with the added sensation you’re not far off from your orgasm. You can feel it growing in your stomach with every circle of his thumb and every thrust of his cock. You open your mouth, your jaw slack, and you begin to moan. 

“Fuck, baby – you shouldn’t open your mouth like that,” he moans. 

“And – fuckkkk, why not?” You respond back, breathless from each of his thrusts. 

“Just a reminder of another hole I need to use,” he responds, and then gruffly says “Open,” while pressing his thumb and index finger into your jaw, holding you in place. 

You do as he says, and he spits into your mouth. Your eyes wide as saucers. It was hot, dirty, filthy. 

“Taste how perfect we are together, baby” he says, still pounding into you and circling your clit. 

His words send you into fucking oblivion, and you’re gone. Your vision goes white, and despite his order to keep your eyes open, your eyes fall closed and he fucks you through your orgasm. 

Your tight, slick walls pulse and squeeze around him. His hands squeeze your hips, his fingertips bruising your skin as he rocks your limp and shaky body against his cock, chasing his own orgasm. 

Not long after you’ve come, he’s finishing too. He fucks into you at an erratic pace and then shoots his seed deep into your cunt. 

“Fuckkk, baby” – he trails off, letting the final spurts of his cum paint your walls. 

You let out a sigh, and once again drop your hands to his head, intertwining your hands with the hair behind his head. 

You both lay there in your fucked out bliss and then he pulls out of you, taking a dribble of his cum with him, a glob of it landing on your thigh. 

You’ve never felt so satisfied, to be laying there, content and full of Joel Miller. 

He rolls over onto his side and puts his hand on his chest. 

“Fuck, baby. You’re perfect,” he says. “I don’t think I’m ever gonna get enough of you.” 

You hum in delight and roll over onto his chest, melting into him. 

“You in the mood for some cookies?” you ask, and he beams in delight. 

He hit the fucking lottery with you. 

THE END

[fatalitysficbakery]

𓆰♥︎𓆪 Confessions Of Sin. —

Selina Kyle x Black Fem!Y/n

genre: (sprinkle of) angst/fluff/SMUT.

warnings: vampire!selina, hybrid!y/n (wolf/witch), g!p (selina), degradation, stalking, slight dub-con, mating, sadism, masochism, mommy kink, slight!puppy play, intercourse, slight fingering.

synopsis: she’s been watching you.

↳ 𓆰 Fatalitysficbakery navigation menu 𓆪.

↳ 𓆰 Fatalitysficbakery multifandomed &&’ oc menu 𓆪.

⌫

I'd been running from fate my entire life, I didn't believe in it, thought I was destined to trek through life alone, I thrived better in the solitude, that is, until I saw her face.

Been here over a thousand years and nothing quite captivated me like she did, she was the embodiment of everything I was opposite to, she was sweeter than the sour I was accustomed to, that I so admired because within my life, I could never be described as...sweet.

But her? She gave me a damn toothache, and it was worth the cavities. I admit, it turned into a bit of an obsession, an understatement I'm sure the readers will realize soon enough.

—

I liked crimson. Red. Blood. I've never been one for sweets, I enjoyed the finer delicacies the humans found disgust in as they continued eating their rare bloody raw steaks without thinking twice, a nice glass of blood could do a body good, but I get it, I do.

I liked my blood like I liked my wine, dry, bitter, it was true but again, you'll find that I changed my tune.

Y/n Y/ln is sweet, made of sugar, spice, and all things nice so to say, with her body wrapped in visions of pink and hues of deep purple, jet black curls framing a deep brown complexion. When she spoke, I swore I could hear birds singing to her pretty little tune, but love is blind, and I was too.

I saw innocence in her eyes, she couldn't have been more out of place in a city like Gotham, with evil lurking throughout every corner, maybe I felt it my responsibility to protect her. That's a nice excuse, right?

The truth was far more sinister, though I guess it's somewhat true, her blood while enticing belongs solely to me and I needed the filth in this dreaded town to know it, so maybe I told a few more lies but you would too to protect what's yours.

And she...was mine.

𓆰♡︎𓆪𓆰♥︎𓆪𓆰♡︎𓆪𓆰♥︎𓆪𓆰♡︎𓆪𓆰♥︎𓆪𓆰♡︎𓆪𓆰♥︎𓆪𓆰♡︎𓆪𓆰♥︎𓆪𓆰♡︎𓆪

She worked in downtown Gotham in this slumlord-owned bar, as a barista and despite her sweet exterior I could tell she held her own rather well in a place with gross older gentlemen going from wall to wall, their younger dates passing disgusted glances hoping those pockets went deep and that the discomfort proved worth it.

It was only right that I keep a close eye on her, no? Besides, I needed a job, and Blue Silk had a spot open for a new dancer, it wasn't like I had no experience on the stage; It wasn't all about the pretty-eyed soft-spoken bartender, was it?

↳

Selina had just gotten off the stage, she was Catwoman to the crowd and Sel to her colleagues, slipping some shorts over her lingerie, she made her way to the floor, eyes searching until she found Y/n standing behind the bar, a smile spread across her face, her lively kind demeanor inviting to the locals that came in regularly as if their lives depended on it. She could see instantly why Y/n was a good fit for the nightclub, that smile could charm a polar bear.

It wasn't until that smile fell that Selina became worried, she sees the woman stiffen when a regular named Lenny walks in, she cocks her head, zoning in on the scene before moving in.

"Hey, Barbara's looking for ya. Said she needs your help".

Selina steps behind the bar, her eyes on the man hard in contrast to the gentleness she displayed when wrapping her arm around her shoulder and pulling her in a little closer, Y/n is more than thankful for the interruption, her smile when she sees Selina is one of utter relief.

"Bet". Is all she says, putting her dish towel down, her gaze never breaking the man's until they leave him and head into the back, her heart thunders through her chest, adrenaline on a 10, Selina hadn't heard everything that was said but she could see the anger and anxiety on her face.

"You okay"? She asked when out of earshot of the floor, letting the other barista know you were taking a moment.

"I'm good, Sel. Got a light"?

"Always".

The air was cold against your skin, light snow was falling over Gotham and neither you nor Selina, in your haste to escape the scene had remembered a coat, grabbing nothing more than a pack of cigarettes.

Y/n was still rattled, but Selina, Selina was thinking about their proximity, watching her blow her smoke out into the air, her eyes remained fixed on the woman's every move, she'd been doing it for so long now it was like muscle memory observing her from head to toe.

"Sel"?

"Yeah, Hun"?

Passing her the cigarette, she lets out a sigh the chill from the air turns her breath into its own cloud of smoke as she turns to face her friend, leaning against the pillars that were just outside the double doors of Blue Silk, "We need to look out for each other. Okay"?

"We will, Honeybun".

𓆰♡︎𓆪𓆰♥︎𓆪𓆰♡︎𓆪𓆰♥︎𓆪𓆰♡︎𓆪𓆰♥︎𓆪𓆰♡︎𓆪𓆰♥︎𓆪𓆰♡︎𓆪𓆰♥︎𓆪𓆰♡︎𓆪

And just like that, Selina was walking her out nightly, sometimes walking her home when she needed to, and within that time she decided, she wanted more than her blood, she'd started this after a whiff of something so tantalizingly sweet, so delectable smelling that it invaded her mind for days on end. God, she needed the poor doe more than anything, and now...She was seeking all of her.

She'd learned so much about the woman she felt she'd known her for years, from something as surface level as her favorite color to the more personal like how she'd ended up in Gotham in the first place — Through an orphanage.

There was more than met the eye to Y/n Y/ln but Selina hadn't found out just how deep the mystery went until the night it all came out in throes.

↳

Y/n hadn't asked Selina to follow her out in a week due to being out sick, the night she came back the world had become a vibrant place for the vampire again and she wasn't going to waste it, not when she was so close to her end goal, so close she could practically feel the pulse of the woman's veins against her tongue.

She was absolutely drooling for it, as desperate as it sounded to admit it. She was hungry, and the only craving to satiate her appetite rested in the manicured hands of a 5'3 bartender with bright shining e/c eyes that lit up any room she damn walked into.

Selina was at the mercy of Y/n, but in due time she hoped to welcome the opposite.

"Missed ya, Kitty cat".

She was quick to wrap Sel up in her arms, that smile shone brightly up at the Cat, so sickly sweet it made her weak in the knees, why wouldn't she hug her back? Her arms wrapped tightly around her in return and she wasn't shy about nuzzling her cheek up against hers.

"Missed you too, honeybun. Walking homes been so lonely without you, sweetheart".

"We'll fix that. You're gonna kick ass out there, Kit. I missed seeing you in your element".

A smirk threatened to tug at Sel's lips thinking about the younger woman watching her on stage and possibly enjoying it, if that in any way hinted at reciprocation, she'd hold onto hope.

"You're gonna watch me? Be my good luck charm"?

"I don't know what luck I'd bring but I'm for sure gonna watch you, I always do".

When they pull away, Y/n leaves her with the lightest feathering of a kiss on her cheek. Selina feels her fangs threaten to pull, and Jesus is it so dangerous to be so close to her like this. "You always do..."

𓆰♡︎𓆪𓆰♥︎𓆪𓆰♡︎𓆪𓆰♥︎𓆪𓆰♡︎𓆪𓆰♥︎𓆪𓆰♡︎𓆪𓆰♥︎𓆪𓆰♡︎𓆪𓆰♥︎𓆪𓆰♡︎𓆪

It was around time for Y/n and Selina to leave but the bartender hadn't seen a hint of Selina after her last performance that night, even as she looked around for her; It wasn't until she'd gone out for a smoke that she appeared almost out of thin air behind the girl as silent as a mouse, she swiped the cigarette from her hand and slipped it between her own lips that curved into a grin after she exhaled and let the smoke flow freely. "You didn't think I'd forgotten, did you"?

She flinches, the hand that had been on the knife only loosening when she hears the familiarity of Selina's voice, shaking her head, biting back a matching grin at the sudden appearance.

"Maybe. You disappeared, Kit. Where'd ya go? Didn't see ya round after that last performance, you killed it by the way. As I knew you would".

Playfully she punches her shoulder, but the Cat has one thing on her mind and it's pumping through her veins like lava, she licks her lips and throws down the cigarette, stomping on it with her boot, "Fancy a ride home? I had a few loose ends to tie up".

"Mm, a ride"?

Selina holds out her hand, grin broadening when Y/n easily takes her hand; leading her over to her new wheels, a smooth black motorcycle, she holds up a backup helmet and hands it over to her.

"You ever been on one of these, love"? She asked, watching her struggle with the helmet before coming over to help her out.

"Once or twice, one of the kids I was placed in the orphanage with got his own when he was adopted, he was like a little brother to me so when I was trusted to go out on my own, we'd go out riding".

"Oh yeah? So you know I need you to hold on tight, right? Real tight, don't let go".

She was a breath away now, her breath tickling Y/n's skin as she fastened the helmet to her head, eyes locked to hers while she did it.

"I won't, I promise". Y/n mumbles, slightly blushing and happy the helmet could help hide it, but Selina had always had that allure that took her in and refused to let go, anyone could fall victim to it, man or woman, and Y/n was no exception.

Holding onto her hand gently, Selina aids her on the bike and then situates herself as well, Y/n's arms firmly wrapped around her waist. They set off just as it begins to fade into a starless night, few to no bodies on the streets.

𓆰♡︎𓆪𓆰♥︎𓆪𓆰♡︎𓆪𓆰♥︎𓆪𓆰♡︎𓆪𓆰♥︎𓆪𓆰♡︎𓆪𓆰♥︎𓆪𓆰♡︎𓆪𓆰♥︎𓆪𓆰♡︎𓆪

Mystique. She threw wrenches into the lives of many but never did I expect myself to be playing her game, I thought I had everything figured out, she was one of many necks, I'm an expert in my selections, but I missed so much, far too much.

When we got to her house she invited me in under the guise of a drink, but I had planned in advance to talk my way in, the fact that she was so willing to gaze at me all sweetly, so trusting, so naive, it was a rush. Something like a drug.

Her hand tugged at mine, and she smiled all brightly, eyes staring up at me so...enticingly. If I could've kissed her then, I would've but that would've ruined the surprise and we didn't need that, no. For this to work I needed her to trust me...fully.

"Coffee...Or wine"? Her neck craned to the side and my eyes capped it immediately, her throat like a lure and I was the fish that had taken the bait, my mouth went dry; It was then that I realized how close I really was.

We were alone. She was mine.

"Dry"?

"You're in luck, I don't enjoy dry, myself but I do keep it for guests that do".

"Social butterfly".

"You aren't the first to call me". Sending a wink my way, I was in hook line, and sinker, and her every movement sent my body into overdrive, I could feel myself pulsing beneath my jeans.

"It is how you got the necklace, no"? I asked referring to the butterfly pendant around her neck, she'd been wearing since the day we met, I could tell by the way she frequently fiddled with it that it meant a lot to her.

"Keen eye. When I finally got adopted, I was a teen, freshly 13, and a teacher from my school became my own real-life Ms. Honey from Matilda, adopted me after fostering me when I was at my worst; Nickname is from her, necklace is from her. I've been Butterfly to anyone I've ever known".

I chuckled, hanging onto every fucking word she said. Her accent was distinct, Nola dipped heat spoken like honey, I wanted to hear it moaning my name, and it would. In due time.

"Now you are Butterfly to me". I got closer, fingers grasping onto the glass she held, our fingers brushing against one another briefly.

"I've never heard it better".

She would be the death of me, I swore.

Even after our hands stopped touching, I could feel her fingers running down my arm, traveling the length while my lips wrapped around the glass, something out of my wildest fantasies if you asked me; I sat the glass down and within a moment my lips were against hers.

⌫

It was finally time, after the first kiss Selina found herself craving much more than a sample taste, she'd waited so long for this moment and she was prepared to savor it, tugging Y/n to her and pressing her lips to the woman's chest, kissing what revealed skin she could reach, and Y/n didn't resist, not with the way a soft whimper fell from her lips, parted to allow her noises to freely drip shamelessly but a whimper was just the tip of the iceberg, Selina wanted to hear far more.

"This, this is what I've wanted since I met you, at the club".

It had always been entertaining to hear prey speaking of their own crushes on her, how they fantasized, and manifested...With Y/n, however, it meant something different, something special. The woman threw her off of her game, she was so used to being in control but it all came crashing down the moment she'd gotten her hands on the one she was convinced fate wanted her to have.

"You're filled with sugar, ain't ya, Sweet thing? C'mere. On my lap".

Moving to sit on the couch, Selina has Y/n sat in her lap, her back to Sel's front, and her lips quickly find her neck just as they'd found her chest, she's damn near quivering with anticipation when she has the sweet girl in her lap at her very mercy, it all feels like it's fallen into place.

"Let's play a game, yeah? I wanna play a quick game, it's simple".

Y/n trembled underneath Sel's touch, her hands roamed her body eagerly, and her body reacted like it was made solely for the vampire and her alone, her core throbbing with a sick need for Selina to touch her. She gulps. "What's the game"?

Selina laughs, her grin akin to the Cheshire cat when she's met with curiosity instead of reluctance. Her claws gently run over the girl's stomach, goosebumps left in her wake. "It's called two truths and a lie, it's as simple as it sounds, I'm going to tell two truths and one lie. You tell me which one the lie is, okay? ...Little pup"?

Y/n's voice is timid, her eyes following Sel's every touch on her skin trying to keep her composure though it seemed for naught the moment she felt Selina's boner poking into her backside, the thought of it inside of her instead sent unwavering unadulterated arousal washing over her.

"I can".

"Good girl. You're too damned sweet, angel. You know that? Listen carefully, love. 1. I hate sweets. Disdain them even...2. Bloodthirsty creatures? They're not...as mythical as you'd believe they are And 3. I...know you better than you'd like to think, sweet girl".

All of this is said while her hands play with the hem of her shirt, allowing her time to think over all of Sel's questions thoroughly, and immediately her eyebrows furrow in confusion, trying to think through a lust filled lense was already hard enough but Y/n could swear she spotted two lies, one truth.

"I'd say...2 maybe, but 3. Are you sure? I think there's more to me than that, no"?

A chuckle leaves the Cat's lips, she leans her head back and squeezes her just a bit tighter than before. "You might be right, but you are incorrect and misguided in so many ways, may I count them as I undress you"?

Letting out her own laugh, Y/n moves Selina's hands from her waist back to the hem of her shirt, and Selina so happily counts the ways.

𓆰♡︎𓆪𓆰♥︎𓆪𓆰♡︎𓆪𓆰♥︎𓆪𓆰♡︎𓆪𓆰♥︎𓆪𓆰♡︎𓆪𓆰♥︎𓆪𓆰♡︎𓆪𓆰♥︎𓆪𓆰♡︎𓆪

Her hands worked your shirt over your head, lace pink bra underneath taking her eyesight happily, smirk on her face she speaks up but her eyes don't leave your chest. "I don't know which will scare you off first but know that this is all I've ever needed, and hear me out before you scream".

Most would've ran from those words alone, but the woman on her lap stayed firmly placed allowing Selina to undress her even while her words became ominous and vague. "We live in a world where superheroes fight villains. Go on then, frighten me".

That was exactly what she meant when she called you trouble, she groans, leaving a trail of kisses down your neck, voice raspy when she speaks, "Bloodthirst is all too real, and it's...how we got here today, you see? It ties into my other, pretty little truth, and funnily enough? Also my lie. See...I thought I hated sweets".

"I thought you did too, I don't think I've seen you eat a dessert ever in my time knowing ya".

"You haven't. But you're the reason, the reason I started...craving them. I've been on this earth for over a thousand plus years and nothing has quite lured me in like the scent of your blood, my dear".

It took a minute for her words to register but when they did you almost thought you were hallucinating, it was shocking for all the most insane of reasons, her news.

"I can see you look...disturbed and for all good reasons, I'm sure. I won't confuse you with my vagueness so let's cut it straight, I'm what you humans call...a vampire. I have a bloodlust that I just found cannot be satiated by any other, any other but..."

She pauses to let you answer, humming when you do, "Me"?

"Smart girl. Gotham is filled with monstrosities, I'm sure you're aware, and I, unfortunately, am one of many of the freaks this town has to offer. I've always had a rather strict appetite, but you? You have ruined me".

There was a heat in her voice now, a darkness and danger that settled in the pit of your stomach listening to what no longer sounded like the Selina you knew, and even though you knew you should run, get out. It was like she had you pinned to her lap, under her spellbound with the hypnosis that was her voice; You weren't sure if you could move or if you'd stay compliant even if you wanted to.

"I-I ruined you? How could I eve-" Your words are cut short when her fingers hooked onto your leggings, taking them down with ease whilst whispering sinful truths into her ear.

"I'm hungry and it's all your fault, I haven't looked at another neck in 10 months, sugar and let me tell you...living off blood packs isn't sustainable for a woman like me, and that, I will have to fix and soon. And how, tell me, do you think I should fix it, Y/n"?

Your mind ran, it ran with many things but the first that falls from your lips is fueled by shock, "What do you mean 10 months, Selina"?

From your point-of-view it had only been 3 months since you'd known one another, she'd only been working there for that long so it couldn't have been ten months but the more you ran through it, the more you realized what she'd meant by two truths and a lie, and if she'd been watching you that long, truly...Was all of it true?

"Do you wanna run"?

You'd sat up by now, running over everything in your head repeatedly trying to come to terms with the fact that what seemed to be Satan, herself was in your living room, her fingers running the length of your neck and collarbone watching you put it all together.

Did you wanna run? A normal person would wanna run hell anyone in their right mind would be calling the cops, right now yet you were still there sitting in her lap, watching her hands run over your skin, her fingers now playing with the fabric of your lace pink thong.

"Do you wanna play two truths and a lie, Selina"?

If Sel had a heart it would probably be beating out of its chest right now, how could this innocent, pure little thing be so close to death itself and not completely freak out? "Lay it on me".

Y/n stands up, Selina's eyes following after you when you do, slight surprise on her face as you, instead, take down the pink thong on your own, your eyes dancing with mischief, you speak too calmly for a woman standing in front of the undead who'd apparently been stalking her for longer than they'd even known each other.

"1. I knew that you weren't human...2. I hate all things bitter, sour. And 3. I, myself, ... am not human".

You reveled in the way Selina's eyes widened, how her shock turned into intrigue thinking over your words and making her final decisions before she pulled you in closer by the thighs, her chin resting on your legs, sage green eyes staring up into your e/c ones.

"Tell me a story, mama. I wanna hear it all from those gorgeous lips of yours, and don't leave a thing out, ight"?

Your breath hitches at her words, lips parted but not a peep comes out. 'Adorable', Selina thinks, pulling you back onto her lap and spreading your legs effortlessly, her head dipping down to whisper into your ear. "Ready, set..."

Her fingers move to toy with your clit, a dangerous, sadistic smile spread ear to ear, finally getting what she wanted, and God was it worth the wait. Her cock twitches in her pants, and she's glad she has a semblance of self-control, she just really needs to hear every little thing Y/n says, she finds your words...fascinating. And maybe, maybe she wanted to see your squirming and moaning in her lap, dripping from her fingers dipped into your sweetness all by themselves.

Struggling to get your words out.

"Witches blood. My family's one of the oldes- Selina... I-I'm also half-wolf, I could smell it on you from the moment we met".

"Wolf's blood... and witch? It must be why you smell so damned sweet, a hybrid. I don't know how I didn't peg it sooner". Selina grunts into your ear, her hips involuntarily bucking up against the wolf, now that she knows, she's aware she has something more special than originally thought. she takes a moment to think before dipping her fingers inside your cunt, she knew she couldn't wait too long, she had too much desire building within her own stomach.

"If I were a stronger woman, I'd have you trembling and squirting on my lap before I even thought about fucking you but when it's you..."

Pulling her fingers from your pussy, she puts the fingers in her mouth, fangs popping out when she gets even the slightest taste of your essence on her tongue. "My control— It's evaporated into nothingness so here's what I'm gonna do".

She stands you back up, but this time she follows after you, taking your hand and leading you down the hallway to your own room as well as you yourself could find it.

"I don't want to compel you but I could make it easier on you when I feed. Now is that what you want, Darlin"? When you turn back around, she's lowering her pants, and underwear revealing 7 inches, circumcised and a caramel brown, it's something that leaves Y/n's mouth-watering. She shouldn't want this but she does, and it's intense.

"No".

That was exactly what Selina wanted to hear, she needed to know in her heart of hearts that you wanted this just as much as she did, and even if she had the power to bring you to your knees, herself? She wanted it to be real, fuck this wasn't like her at all but her cock wouldn't let her hold back any longer.

"And you know what that means, princess"? Sitting on the bed, she brings you over to her, stood between her legs, she turns you to face the door, groaning quietly at how beautiful you looked up close and personal, better than any invention of you her fantasies could create. "Spread your legs and talk to me".

You're snapped from autopilot, spreading your legs only to be grabbed swiftly into her lap, and this time she keeps your legs open and breathes into your ear, "I said...talk to me".

Taking her length in her hand, she guides her cock between your slit, collecting your slick and pulling an audible shudder from you as you finally begin to talk, "I-it'll hurt. I know, but I don't...I want it to".

Selina grunts. She grunts, and suddenly her cock is bottomed out and sunk deeply into your cunt, the only things heard are the sounds of the effect she has on you, from the squelching between your thighs when she sinks as deeply as she can to the way you let out the cutest little yelp she'd ever heard, tugging your hair back, she exposes your neck to her.

"It will hurt, but you don't care. You don't even care. Fucking masochist, look at yourself".

Scooting to the end of the bed, a hand firmly around your waist and the other forcing your eyes to the full-length mirror in the corner of your room not allowing you to look away, and the sight is as erotic as Selina made it out to be; You can see her slowly pumping into you, your lips parting to allow soft moans to escape, eyes struggling not to roll back. And when you look up to her, she's already staring back at you, lips curved into a shit-eating grin still leaning down so she could whisper into your ear. "You see that, hun? You're so pretty, baby but my god...You're a damned whore".

Her words though degrading are said with the care you'd provide a wounded animal with, they are meant to lull, to tame, and you were so sick with arousal that you didn't even notice you'd fallen right into her trap; She wasn't about to let you leave.

"You're gonna look at yourself and bounce on my cock, got it"?

Without needing anything more said, you'd been broken out of your stupor and ready to obey her every whim, your hands are braced on the bed in front of you, eyes to the mirror, and back arched; Selina, pressed against the headboard sitting with eyes low and a hand resting on your hips, she watches the first roll with an entranced intrigue, your hair still wove around her fingers, she lets her fangs graze your neck, reveling in the way you slightly flinch but never stop moving.

"Count down from 3..."

Her claw digs into the hip she holds, pricking the skin beneath and drawing your blood with a scent so dizzying she forgets her own words, and with a hiss, she sinks her fangs into your neck.

"T-THREE"! Y/n screams out, pain melding with pleasure, your cunt clenches tightly around her, ensnaring her into a chokehold, the light behind your eyes bright and blinding you feel yourself growing ravenous as the room fills with your collective pleasure and Selina helps you along with the thrusting when she realizes how distracted and clouded you are with her feeding from you.

She doesn't let up, she speeds up her pumps, pulling herself back from your neck, your ass pressed to her pubic bone, she savors the way the blood looks against your complexion, licking you clean, her hands move from your hair and underneath your chin, tilting it up slightly. Raising your leg for better access, she angles her hips deeper inside you, drinking in the way you moan her name. "I knew it, shit, I knew it...so. damn. sweet".

"S-sel, I need a little more, I need—" Your head is on fire, you didn't even notice that it wasn't only the lack of blood clouding your judgment, but something more, Selina's pheromones carried a floral scent to it that sent you into a world of your own, enhanced the already natural chemistry the two of you already had.

"Ah, say please, pretty thing. Mommy can make it all better".

Her voice is like a siren's song, a snake charmer. All you can do is succumb to her efforts, your cunt soaking the bed and in kind, Selina's stomach and thighs, as well as your own; You feel her throb inside of you, swelling at your words. "Please...please mommy".

She couldn't deny that, now could she?

This time, her eyes lock in on her target, the space between your shoulder and the nape of your neck, the final nail in the coffin of your lovestory, then it would all be set in stone. "Mm, since you asked so nicely".

"Cum. for. Mommy".

Selina growls into your ear, pushing herself to the hilt and sinking her fangs into your neck again, this time harder than she had before, on a mission to make you hers for good. Your body quivers in response to her power, moans loud yet strained, she can feel the moment you let go; Your legs wrap around her torso, and your cunt turns into solitary confinement, keeping her in an inescapable hold, hole twitching around her.

She could cum at that alone but it takes a few more rough pumps, her body leaned over yours, she holds her wrist up to your lips and compels you to bite. "It won't hurt me, I promise".

And so you listen, not as though you had much of a choice; It's when the black de-oxygenated liquid spills onto your tongue that she finally climaxes, rope after rope flooding your womb whilst you feed from each other shamelessly, heads filled with only thoughts of sin.

𓆰♡︎𓆪𓆰♥︎𓆪𓆰♡︎𓆪𓆰♥︎𓆪𓆰♡︎𓆪𓆰♥︎𓆪𓆰♡︎𓆪𓆰♥︎𓆪𓆰♡︎𓆪𓆰♥︎𓆪𓆰♡︎𓆪

She watches over her sleeping figure, a crimson-splattered soft grin spread across her face, she watches Y/n's mate mark swell and glow as it all settles down, and leans down to whisper in her ear.

"The midnight won't be so bad, not with you here, sweet deer".

All she gets in response is all she needs, Y/n turns in her arms and wraps herself up in Selina's grasp, mumbling incoherently; she presses a kiss to Selina's shoulder.

She falls into a dreamless sleep.

𓆰♡︎𓆪𓆰♥︎𓆪𓆰♡︎𓆪𓆰♥︎𓆪𓆰♡︎𓆪𓆰♥︎𓆪𓆰♡︎𓆪𓆰♥︎𓆪𓆰♡︎𓆪𓆰♥︎𓆪𓆰♡︎𓆪

A/N: let's call this your birthday fic, love you more than the moon loves the sun, happy 21st grandpa bear~ <33 @u4iuh

[ghcstfish]

hi hello guess who did a Thing. I joined soulmate sweepstakes and I'm allergic to shutting up so uh. post for the worldbuilding I did for Sugar, Spice, is Everything Nice?, a fic set in wild life where a wildcard goes Just a Little Bit wrong and now the lifers find themselves in a candyland, yk how it is!!

alrighty so I won't mention the player changes again since they're already in the fic itself!! however we still have mob and block replacements. not all mobs n blocks ever got a candy replacement, and a bunch were never mentioned in the story, whoops.

please note that I copylasted this directly from my notes, typos n grammar errors might be present :P

for mobs:

zombies: similar texture to gummy bears. have a 10% chance to spawn with a sharpened candy cane

skeletons: made from white chocolate, hollow on the inside. easy to defeat with a few good punches. bows replaced by gummy strings to attack players

bogged: similar to normal skeletons, though their white chocolate looks a bit greener (mint). chocolate appears cracked in some areas, yet they're not easier to take down than normal skeletons

creepers: made of popping candy. hard to knock down, when touched with bare hands it leaves a tingling sensation. has a small chance of exploding.

spiders: bursting bugs shaped like spiders. gummy-ish at first, but filled with strawberry syrup.

endermen: made of strings of licorice, hard to knock down. they can't teleport anymore, but instead they have very long limbs that are very good at holding people down. they can also run away very easily due to their flexibility

creaking: their skin is chocolate bark, their eyes are hard orange candies. extremely fragile, yet they somehow don't die unless their hearts (a block of pure chocolate with orange shavings) are broken

breeze: marshmallows. wind charges are mini marshmallows tossed at the player. breezes, while still hostile, are way less threatening

blazes: while not spawned, they're molten/burnt marshmallows, and they attack with burning hot molten marshmallows.

wolves: cotton candy.

sheep: their cotton is replaced with whipped cream, their bodies are made from chocolate.

bees: hard honey candy.

horses: hard sour candy.

cows: their white parts are made out of foam, their dark spots are made out of gummy.

chickens: they're made out of white chocolate, but they're not solid. their feathers consist of white chocolate shavings, and two punches can turn a chicken into crumbles.

cod, salmon and squids: smooth pudding. cod and cods are made of banana pudding, salmons are made of strawberry pudding and squids are made of chocolate pudding.

frogs: candy frogs.

pigs: bubblegum.

for blocks:

grass: sour apple mats.

dirt: cookie crumble.

stone: nuts.

oak wood: lollipops.

birch wood: candy cane.

bamboo: long, round sticks of peppermint.

dark oak wood: cinnamon sticks.

pale oak wood: decaying cinnamon sticks.

eyeblossoms: small bits of cinnamon with a core of chocolate and orange shavings that looks a suspiciously lot like an eye.

resin stuff: orange shavings.

rest of pale garden is absent.

cherry wood: strawberry pocky.

cherry leaves: strawberry cotton candy.

cherry blossoms: little bits of cotton candy.

everything copper: caramel.

sculk blocks: dark chocolate.

sculk veins: dark chocolate powder.

sculk shriekers: N/A, disappeared alongside sculk sensors.

sculk catalysts: pieces of chocolate that spread chocolate powder on hit.

water: milk. harder to see through than water, easier for ambushes if desired.

lava: thick syrup. sticky, hard to swim through, can probably suffocate someone if they drown in it. can be used to harm!!!! but more in a spiderweb sense.

dripstone block: wafer cookie.

dripstone: wafer.

[neeyahhhswrld]

Sugar, spice, and everything nice, these were the ingredients chosen to create the perfect little girl.

But Professor Utonium accidentally added an extra ingredient to the concoction--

Chemical X!

Thus, The Powerpuff Girls were born!

My take on the Powerpuff Girls, all grown up, obvi ;p

———————————————————————————

My first time using pose player! Still trying to get the hang of it lol. Does anyone know of any mods to make camera adjustability better? Or any better, more in depth S3 photography mods?

[ppumeonae-bigvibe]

꒰ nov + dec scheduler below ꒱

will be moved to my notice board start november !

subject to changes/ in the midst of writing

sugar, spice and everything nice! -> 11/11/24 - ateez j. wooyoung ↬ "bye...see you again!" he precariously leans over the counter, neck craning as you walked off. he sighs dreamily before having a "reality check" when another customer not-so-subtly coughs a distance away from him. love on the line -> 21/11/24 - enhypen p. sunghoon ↬ sunghoon stood protectively beside you as you swung your legs back and forth on the ledge, not at all bothered by the cool night breeze. he shifted his weight towards you, arms ready to catch you if you fall. unnamed -> 1/12/24 - nct undecided member i'm at his and he's at mine -> 11/12/24 - svt b. seungkwan ↬ "an apology isn't going to save you when your body gives out on you. next time just text me, call me or whatever. wherever you are, whenever you can, because if it's you i can wait." the sincerity lacing his voice caused your heart to skip a beat.

@ppumeonae-bigvibe 's work ; likes and reblogs are appreciated <3

[momercurio]

#NEW! Sugar, spice and everything nice make this darling bear sweeter than holiday cookies. Her decorative jacket is removable and includes a mini plush gingerbread man in the pocket! Comes with the Scent Pak of your choice. 🧸

https://momercurio.scentsy.us/shop/p/86740/gretchen-the-gingerbread-bear-scentsy-buddy

[instagrambioforgirls]

Best Aesthetic Instagram Bio for Girls

In love with sunsets, coffee, and good books ☕️📚

Happiness is the best makeup 💄😊

Aesthetic enthusiast, capturing the world around me 📸✨

Passionate about art, fashion, and everything in between 🎨👗

A girl with a vision and passion for success 🔥💼"

Creating my own path, not following trends 👣💫

Life is a canvas, paint it beautifully 🎨✨

A day without chocolate is like… just kidding, I have no idea.

Bio under construction... adding more sass and sarcasm daily!

Just a girl with a heart full of wanderlust ✈️ and a mind full of donuts 🍩

Living proof that Pinterest and reality are two different worlds 📌

If sarcasm was an Olympic sport, I'd definitely win Gold.

I'm the kind of girl who rearranges the candy aisle at the supermarket! 🍭

Professional ugly crier, but still cute AF 😢💁‍♀️

Putting the 'Pro' in procrastinate since... oh, look, a squirrel! 🐿️

I come with a warning label: Contains excessive amounts of sass and sarcasm! Handle with care.

If looks could kill, my mirror would be a crime scene 🔪

Just a girl chasing dreams, ignoring responsibilities, and eating ice cream 🍦

Unfiltered, unapologetically me 💃 Life's too short for Photoshop anyway!

Sorry for what I said when I was hungry... and when I wasn't. 🥪

I've mastered the art of binge-watching and overthinking, ask me anything! 🍿

Still trying to figure out how to adult gracefully. Any tips? 🤷‍♀️

Hopes to be as iconic as the 'undo' button. Life regrets, begone! 🙅‍♀️

Fierce, fabulous, and not wasting any time apologizing for it! 💁‍♀️

I'm not a regular girl, I'm a cool girl. And by cool, I mean the kind who wears a blanket as a cape! 🧥

Currently writing an autobiography titled 'My Life in Memes' - stay tuned!

In a committed relationship with WiFi and Netflix 💑

My superpower? Always finding the cutest cafes in the city! ☕️

Out to prove that unicorns exist. So far, no luck... but I won't give up! 🦄

Love is in the air... and so is the smell of freshly baked cookies! 🍪

Believes that the best exercise is eating chocolate while lifting eyebrows 💪

I put the 'pro' in procrastination... but I'll get back to you on that later.

On a mission to find the perfect balance between sarcasm and maturity. Wish me luck! 😂

I'm not pretty like those girls on Instagram, but I'm pretty funny! 🤪

Not all girls are made of sugar, spice, and everything nice. Some, like me, are made of sarcasm, laughter, and a little bit of chaos! 🌪️

Life is a combination of magic and pasta - don't underestimate either! ✨🍝

Pinterest Queen 📌 - Curating endless inspiration for a beautiful life.

Sunshine seeker ☀️ - Chasing rays of happiness.

Classy and sassy 💋 - Living life on my own terms.

Life is short, buy the shoes 👠 - A fashionista with a love for footwear.

Moonchild 🌙✨ - A dreamer in a world full of reality.

Wanderlust 🌍 - Exploring the world, one adventure at a time.

Flower child 🌸 - Dancing through life in a garden of dreams.

Free spirit 🦋 - Embracing the beauty of authenticity.

Coffee lover ☕ - Caffeinating my way through life.

Vintage vibes 📷 - Capturing memories with a retro touch.

Bookworm 📚 - Getting lost in the pages of a good book.

Beauty with brains 💡✨ - A powerful combination.

Beach lover 🏝️ - Salt in the air, sand between my toes.

Adventure awaits 🧭 - Ready to explore the unknown.

Dreamer 🌌 - Believing in the magic of tomorrow.

Music lover 🎶 - Finding solace in melodies.

Fashion enthusiast 👗 - Dressing up is my form of self-expression.

Hopes and dreams 💭💫 - Building castles in the sky.

Fearless and fabulous 💃 - Conquering the world one step at a time.

Artistic soul 🎨 - Painting my world with vibrant hues.

Angel with a devilish smile 😇😈 - The perfect balance.

Self-love advocate 💖 - Celebrating the beauty within.

Dancing through life 💃 - Finding joy in every step.

Nature lover 🌿🌺 - Embracing the beauty of the natural world.

Empowered and unapologetic 👑 - Breaking down barriers one day at a time.

Capturing moments 📷 - A passionate photographer with a keen eye.

Gothic Vibes 👻 - Sometimes dark, but always fabulous!

Daydream Believer 🌈 - Creating magic even in the simplest moments.

Fashionista 💃 - A canvas for showcasing style, one outfit at a time.

Music Junkie 🎧 - Dancing to the rhythm of life's beats.

Bookworm 📚 - Lovers of fresh pages and untold stories.

Beach Babe 🏖️ - Sun-kissed and ready to conquer the waves.

Self-love Advocate 💖 - Embracing every flaw and celebrating uniqueness.

Sports Enthusiast ⚽ - Living by the motto "Play hard, have fun".

Foodie 🍕 - Exploring diverse flavors and creating delicious memories.

Makeup Lover 💄- Enhancing beauty with a touch of artistry.

Fitness Junkie 💪 - Striving for a healthy body and a happy soul.

Laughter Queen 😂 - Spreading contagious giggles everywhere she goes.

Wanderlust Princess 🧚 - Following the call of the unknown.

Ambitious Soul 💫 - Dreaming big and chasing success.

Film Buff 🎥 - Lost in the world of captivating stories and endless creativity.

Artist by Heart 🎭 - Sketching life with passion, colors, and emotions.

Beach Lover 🌊 - Soaking up the sunshine and salty air.

Spiritual Seeker ✨ - Finding solace in the depths of the universe.

Dream Weaver 🌙 - Making the impossible possible, one thread at a time.

Sunshine Addict ☀️ - Spreading warmth and happiness wherever I go.

[a-merman-not-a-guppy]

Sugar, Spice, and Everything Nice | BFFs

@justkeepdancing-nemo​

Finn had been itching to get started on a costume as soon as October had rolled around. He and his group of friends had been back and forth about just how and what costumes they would want to do for a while before settling on the powerpuff girls. Finn was incredibly excited.

He could have chosen to come up with something that had shorts and was more masculine, but that sounded like no fun at all. He wanted to go all out: a skirt or a dress. Finn wanted to embody Bubbles the best way that he knew how.

And he wanted to help Nemo be the cutest Blossom ever. He had the material he needed, though this time he kept it all in his room and invited Nemo right up. There was no need for them to deal with the grumpiness that was Charles Flounder. Not today anyway. 

Finn had his sewing stuff ready, the different colors for Blossom, Bubbles, and Buttercup, and different options: skirts, dresses, and shorts. “S-S-S-So w-w-what are you thinking for B-B-Blossom Nemo?”

[ao3feed-larry]

Sugar and Spice and Everything Nice

by snappyeagle

Words: 1252, Chapters: 1/1, Language: English

Fandoms: One Direction (Band)

Rating: Mature

Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply

Categories: M/M

Characters: Harry Styles, Louis Tomlinson

Relationships: Harry Styles/Louis Tomlinson

Additional Tags: Christmas, happy holidays!, Baker Harry Styles, Louis Tomlinson Loves Harry Styles, Established Harry Styles/Louis Tomlinson, Boyfriends, Making Out, cookie decorating, Frosting, Baking, Sassy Louis Tomlinson

via AO3 works tagged 'Harry Styles/Louis Tomlinson' https://ift.tt/3ESVH1U

[pinkroboticunicorn]

The revision.... + new stuffs for the Powerpuff-Verse.

Introductions.

Sugar, Spice, and Everything Nice, these were the Ingredients Chosen To Create the perfect Little Girls, but Professor Utonium Accidentally added an Extra Ingredient to the concoction Chemical X...

And since then the Powerpuff Girls were born, and dedicated themselves to the people.

But did you know that there are others? Other Powerpuff Girls? They're all just in different universes, in different timelines, in different versions. You will find them in the stars of Pocket Dimension P-0, or PO, the other dimensions are called Puffs, and they are numbered by the billions, upon millions, strange it is, but there is a reason as to why, it is because as predicted once one timeline was created, more and more followed, this is usually what happens when you become a big enough hero and all.

Hey! Pinkroboticunicorn here! Have you considered the PPG-Verse? Uh let me explain... I came up with the concept due to People's OCs of their own Powerpuff Girls, based off the OG, cause let's be honest, it's fun, and off different show versions of the Powerpuff Girls, so I made a bit of a Parody to the Spider-verse, and made this, enjoy!:

The PPG-verse

Introduction: The OG Tale.

The Original Story is but a classic, known throughout the panels and annals of history, the Original tale of 3 little girls who became superheroes...

Sugar, Spice, and Everything Nice, these were the Ingredients Chosen To Create the perfect Little Girls, but Professor Utonium Accidentally added an Extra Ingredient to the concoction Chemical X...

And since then the Powerpuff Girls were born, and dedicated themselves to the people.

...it was a classic, a classic story down to the bone, everyone loved it, everyone loved them.

But what if I told you there was more of them, more of the Powerpuff Girls.

Out there are different dimensions, which are represented through different stars in the sky of Pocket Dimension PPG-0, there's the original which is PPG-1, there's PPG-2 which is where they're Magical Girls, and it goes on and on and on, mostly OCs or remakes, just that it fits.

They usually stick to one formula however.

They have to have their own twist on the Origin Story, or something else but similar, and be a group of 3. Usually heroes, but sometimes things get mixed up.

The time has now come however, now that everything is prepared, to summon everyone into PPG-0.

And that's that, your OCs have been summoned! Prepare to enter PPG-0 friends!