#the last one? it gets out. its sensitive. it seems like its not overheating him. but it does a spark. they are worried something got ruined

[thecherrygod]

if i ever were to write anything for my robot hdb au the chapter in which harry finally gets a dick would be called "have you tried turning it on and off again?" and it would be a constant trial and error, it would end on the successful attempt but on a cliffhanger also

[savage-rhi]

Immortal Shield  Chapter 4: Pit Stop Bickering

**if you want to be tagged in chapter updates on tumblr, lemme know. 

The first several days of the journey had been interesting to say the least. For Ardyn anyway. He couldn’t speak on Caelan’s behalf yet she seemed to be holding up.

Traveling on foot for long stretches wasn’t an undertaking Ardyn was used to. Not when he was working for the empire. He reminisced of when he was younger, learning the ways of Eos and its many routes while he performed his pilgrimage healing the sick. He was more than fit to take on such adventures 2,000 years ago. Now, it felt painful. At least during the day. Ardyn was still attempting to reconcile how different his body felt this time around without the chaos of the starscourge encouraging him to press on. His endurance had been sufficiently hindered by comparison when he had daemons running amok under the flesh.

Sleep used to be something Ardyn could never obtain once he started daemonifying, not truly unless there was a strong chemical cocktail involved. Usually in the form of alcohol and sleeping aids. When Ardyn could sleep with the starscourge ravaging his mind, there were little to no dreams. Nothing to give him hope that he’d see Aera again or find peace. Since he re-awakened, Ardyn’s experiences had been the opposite. He was dreaming more vividly and his circadian rhythm was a mess. It became more prominent once he started traveling with Caelan. He started to loathe camping immediately, never imagining he'd come to miss Galdin Quay and the inn he resided at for a time.

The hot climate in the Leide region was different compared to what it was in the past. There were times Ardyn struggled to keep up because of how overheated he became. He knew it drove Caelan nuts at the amount of breaks he needed to take, but a reminder here and there about what Caelan was getting out of their pact had her mouth shut. That didn't stop the cold stares or snark utterances she'd drop on the occasion.

Ardyn couldn’t help but glance at his companion while they walked side by side, seeing Caelan was still wearing a look of irritation from their last pit stop.

“You haven’t spoken a word since we last restocked. I’m beginning to think you hate me.” Ardyn smirked, feigning he was wounded as he looked ahead of the road, feeling Caelan’s glare upon him.

“I didn’t think the powerful immortal was going to be taking so many damn naps,” Caelan said begrudgingly. “We could’ve been at Longwythe Peak by now.”

“Like I stated the other night, I’m not used to the sun. I’m more of a nocturnal creature.”

“Sure snore like one,” Caelan huffed. “I couldn’t focus on jack shit with the noise coming from you. Remind me again, why you have an issue with the sun?”

Ardyn furrowed his brows, taking in a deep breath as he felt a twinge of agitation. Surely she had been paying attention before, but it seemed that wasn’t the case. He didn’t like repeating himself too often. Then again he attempted to put himself in her shoes; Caelan hadn’t any real rest because of him. Her grouchiness was his doing, and despite being rather delighted he so easily got under her skin, Ardyn knew he was being an imbecile.

“With the starscourge and daemonic entities within myself, I became sensitive to the light. My skin used to burn, almost catch flame. The garb Verstael and the tailors of Niflheim made for me protected my body. Luckily, this time around, my skin isn’t as sensitive but I still feel pain. I feel drained walking out in this godforsaken heat.”

Caelan sighed. He did have a point. The weather had been atrocious as of late. Temperatures were at an all time high and traveling without air conditioning was foolish, but the two made their bed and needed to lie in it. At least Caelan knew she did. It was her bright idea to take off the following morning after Ardyn and she made their arrangements.  

“I still think we should’ve waited another day or two before travel.” Ardyn said, snapping Caelan out of her thoughts.

“We had to leave,” Caelan said bluntly.

“Yes, you said that.” Ardyn paused and raised a brow. The two of them making eye contact for a moment before Caelan adjusted her pack and looked away. “You never mentioned why though. I’m assuming it’s because of the men and women seeking to capture you. What could you have possibly done that would incur the wrath of so many?”

Caelan could tell from how high the sun was that they would need to make camp soon to escape the worst of the rays. Maybe even catch up on sleep loss. She tried to ignore Ardyn’s remarks, stopping for a moment to get an idea of how many miles they had traversed.

“I’d rather not talk about it right now,” Caelan sighed. “Do you see anything ahead, anything that looks decent enough to set up camp?”

“So soon? We were just getting started.” Ardyn shook his head. He used his right hand to block the sun from his eyes as he squinted, diligently looking for a place where Caelan and he would have high ground.

“I think there’s a plateau ahead. That or I’m hallucinating because it’s so damn hot.”

“For a man over 1,000 years old, you complain a lot.” Caelan said bluntly. Giving a laugh as Ardyn chuckled.

“I’ve done my time and then some. I deserve to make a fuss.”

“Sounding like a senior citizen everyday. Maybe we should tour a nursing home once we reach Insomnia. Save the king some trouble. Hell, I might just buy you a casket on wheels. Might work better than the car.” Caelan joked. She could tell she struck a nerve as Ardyn rolled his eyes and walked ahead of her. She smiled so big, Caelan could feel her cheeks hurting. It felt good when she could give Ardyn his comeuppance, especially with the many times he already pushed her buttons.

Caelan looked to the left for a moment, taking a gander at some Anaks. The long necked beasts with their brown coats made their way across the arid landscape with their young close by. Their high pitched squeaks could be heard for miles as they galloped to an area with more foliage. Caelan had been on the road for years, but it never got old seeing sights like that.

It suddenly dawned on Caelan she couldn’t find Ardyn anywhere. Her head quickly snapped several directions, wondering how on earth she could’ve lost sight of him. She started sprinting for the Gods knew how long, every so often taking a break to catch her breath. Minutes ticked by with no sign of the redhead, and she was beginning to worry.

Deciding to stop and scout, Caelan squinted her eyes. Shielding her face from the sun with her left hand, she let out a sigh of relief seeing Ardyn come back into view on the road. He wasn’t alone. He was sitting on the passenger side of a pick up truck, rolling towards her direction. Eyes widened, Caelan was speechless as Ardyn grinned like a kid at Christmas when they finally stopped several several feet in front of her. Ardyn getting out and shutting the door as he waved in her direction.

“You can thank me later. I talked this gentleman into giving us a lift. There will be no need for camp.” Ardyn mused as Caelan watched him head for the back end of the truck, making himself comfortable as she followed suit. She didn't bother to talk to the driver except nod to him out of thanks while walking past the drivers side, to which the old timer smiled in return.

“There was no one for miles, how the hell did you find the guy? I only looked away for a minute and you were gone.” Caelan swore as Ardyn chuckled amusingly.

“It takes a lot out of me, but I decided to teleport to save us some time.” Ardyn explained.

“What?!” Caelan responded in shock as Ardyn shrugged nonchalantly. As if having a power like that was too simple for the likes of himself. “Since when could you do that?”

“Since forever,” Ardyn joked, smiling as he watched Caelan sigh and roll her eyes. “I concentrated on where a cluster of people were located closest to us, then I imagined myself being there. Voila.”

“If you could do that the entire time, then why don’t you just teleport to Insomnia?” Caelan countered, crossing her arms as she leaned back on the siding of the cargo bed. The engine roared to life and the truck began to make a U-turn.

“You ask so many questions,” Ardyn sighed. More so out of amusement than agitation. “I’m limited at how far I can travel. Otherwise I would’ve done so. I also get rather tired using it. I guess I’m not as strong as I used to be.”

Ardyn stretched his arms, yawning as he relaxed. He sat across from Caelan in the cargo bed. His legs stretched out alongside hers as they enjoyed the breeze during the ride. The air was hot but it wasn’t as sweltering versus on foot.

“So, how far was the driver from us?” Caelan asked out of curiosity, looking at Ardyn as he hummed. He truly looked exhausted after warping, his eyes threatening to close at any moment.

“Fifteen minutes give or take, at a pit stop past the plateau we would’ve made camp at funny enough. We should arrive at Hammerhead by nightfall. I suggest we rent out a caravan there for the night.”

“So I was running around looking for you that long, while you were enjoying cool air conditioning coming back to fetch me?” Caelan asked irritably to which Ardyn smiled.

“If its any consolation, I find it endearing you cared enough to try and find me.”

“You’re paying me to be your shield, gotta throw in the compassion you paid for.” Caelan said sarcastically.

“Ah, you’re the ‘can’t mix business with pleasure type’. I can respect that.” Ardyn complimented.

Caelan shook her head in disbelief. It seemed Ardyn always had a new trick up his sleeve. She briefly reminisced about the past couple nights they had made camp. How he could conjure up weapons with a snap of his fingers, the royal arms he called it, the legendary arsenal of former kings. Ardyn easily took down a sabertusk their first night with that power. Ensuring they had meat for two days as well as putting years of training Caelan had undergone to shame. He could easily start a camp fire using magic while it would normally take twenty minutes of prep for Caelan. She even recalled Ardyn sharing an ancient skill of finding water in the desert terrain by digging down to the roots under the bases of trees. Something she didn’t even know was a thing.

Ardyn was like the human embodiment of a swiss army knife, and it humored Caelan to no end as well as provoked her. All that power, all of those abilities, and yet he wanted nothing more than to cast it aside for death. Not to mention there was a vast richness of history he possessed yet told her so little about. Being over 2,000 years old, Caelan was curious about what kinds of marvels Ardyn had seen during his time. She was too chicken to ask, plus they would be within Insomnia’s walls in a matter of days. It would be a waste of time. That's how she justified her cowardice.

Ardyn was capable of so much, and it fascinated yet frightened Caelan during the short time they had known one another. It scared her as much as the fact that she was traveling with the Adagium. The man who inadvertently ruined her life when she was younger and not just the world. Gods above, if Julian, her father, could see this now he’d be rolling in his grave. Caelan thanked her lucky stars he was no longer involved in her life.

Nightfall had come, and sure enough as Ardyn promised, they arrived at Hammerhead in one piece. As soon as Caelan got off the back of the pick up truck, she headed to the Hammerhead shop to get an update on her vehicle while Ardyn conversed further with the man who drove them.

While Caelan approached the garage port, she could feel her confidence dwindle as an assistant came out from underneath a truck being repaired. He sat up and gave a friendly nod.

“Howdy!”

“Howdy back! I know it’s late but is Cindy in? I’m a client of hers.” Caelan asked as the younger man shook his head. He wiped some oil off his forehead.

“Sorry miss, but Cindy and her paw-paw Cid had an emergency.”

“Oh,” Caelan furrowed her brows. Recalling the old timer was sick around the time she requested her car to be towed. “Is Cid doing alright? Cindy mentioned he was unwell.”

“Oh he’s fine now!” The assistant was quick to say with a laugh. “Nah, they had a friend that needed some help ASAP with their vehicle. Never saw a 92 year old man run so damn fast in my life. Must’ve been important. I know you ain’t my client, but what’s your car? I can give ya’ll an update.”

“It’s the Scepter. The muscle type.” Caelan smiled, feeling relieved that the old timer hadn’t croaked just yet. The few times Caelan had met Cid, he was a blast to be around once you’d get over the profanity and sometimes nonsense that left him.

“Alrighty, gimme five minutes.” The assistant hopped up, dusted his pants off and headed further into the garage.

Caelan leaned up against the entryway of the garage port. Her eyes carefully scanned over the tools and various vehicles being worked on. Ever since the king and his cohorts swore up and down over Hammerheads services, not to mention Cid and Cindy being considered war heroes, business boomed during the last five years. Hammerhead expanded, with more garages and other establishments scattered across Lucis, yet Cindy and her grandfather managed to keep the small rustic charm of the original location.

For Caelan, it was strange to see Hammerhead reverted back into its original state from a hunter stronghold during the Dark Decade, to a fully up and running garage and pit stop. Caelan felt nostalgic as she looked towards the office space within the port, seeing near the entry point a large wall with photographs of hunters, kingsglaive, crownsguard, and ordinary folk that fought during the Dark Decade. She herself was up there, though much younger with a few Hunters that were long dead. It amazed Caelan that in such a short lifespan, she had seen so many come and go.

Caelan felt a shadow cast behind her, and she quickly turned to see Ardyn. He looked disappointed as she sighed in relief.

“Why do you look so glum?” Caelan asked as Ardyn gestured towards the area where the caravans were parked.

“Every caravan is taken for the night. It seems we will have to camp after all. How’s your car?” Ardyn asked.

“I’m waiting for an update as we speak. You don’t sound enthusiastic.” Caelan said with a tease as Ardyn rubbed his head and looked away. “I thought you liked camping with me.”

“Oh, I don’t mind you at all. But I must say sleeping in close proximity has been bothersome. I’m not the only one that snores, for the record.”

“Well don’t snuggle up next to me and we won’t have a problem.” Caelan joked as Ardyn shot a brief glare towards her.

“You can be quite infuriating.” Ardyn frowned.

“It’s charisma.” Caelan huffed. Her eyes focusing on the assistant as he waved from afar, traveling back to them.

The assistant gave a quick tip of his hat to Ardyn then furrowed his brows. Caelan could feel herself bracing for the worst as the assistant took in a deep breath, his palms together almost as if he was performing a prayer.

“Do you want the bad news or the good news first honey?” He asked.

“Just hit me.” Caelan was blunt. At this point, things couldn’t get worse than they already were. At least when it came to her vehicle.

“Good news is, Cindy got the parts installed for you. The engines been replaced, and she went ahead and smoothed out all them punctures from the damn Flexitusk you were wranglin’. Bad news is because a Scepter engine is scarce nowadays, you’re looking at 17,000 gil for the total.”  

Caelan bit her lip. “Well I can--”

“That won’t be a problem,” Ardyn interjected as Caelan looked his way as if he were crazy. He merely smiled at the assistant and continued. “Do you accept credits from Niflheim?”

“We ain’t picky,” The assistant shrugged. “Some establishments ain’t as kind to imperial refugees despite the restoration movement, and I’m proud to say we ain’t one of them folks. I can ring ya’ll up now and you can pick up the car first thing in the mornin’.”

The whole process was rather quick, and the entire time Caelan was utterly speechless. Watching Ardyn give away his money nonchalant, as if he wasn’t being robbed, had her wondering just how much gil or whatever he had in total. Then again, he was a chancellor. The emperor had to have paid him a fortune. Nevertheless, Caelan didn’t feel right about it considering the man was going to fork over 40,000 gil upon arrival of his execution date. She decided not to bring it up to Ardyn after much thought.

Afterward, the two traveled a little ways outside of Hammerhead toward a designated camping post. They were both silent, Caelan adjusting her backpack with the tent and other necessaries while Ardyn carried the ration bag. Eventually making it to a decent spot where they could still see the lights of Hammerhead from afar, they began to unpack and set up.

“I thought you would be pleased to be here.” Ardyn said aloud, catching Caelan out of her thoughts as she looked away from the scenery and focused back on Ardyn.

“Huh?” She was taken back as he made a face.

“You seem more upset now than when we were traveling by foot,” Ardyn paused for a moment, looking behind them as he heard footsteps, assuming it was a creature but to his relief it was another group of people making camp.

“It was my assumption that you’d be less apathetic once you’d get your car.”

“I guess I’m just at a loss,” Caelan said with a shrug.

“Really, about what?” Ardyn asked, his tone inquisitive as Caelan let out an exasperated sigh.

“Lots of things. Mainly how you’re powerful physically, mentally, and materially. If I’m being honest, this whole thing about you getting dropped off at Insomnia to die again is pissing me off. You haven’t been alive for even a month, and you already want to bow out, especially when you got over 50,000 gil to drop at random? I mean---c’mon!” Caelan yelled out, knowing she wasn’t making her points in full. She was surprised when Ardyn began to crack up.

“You are angry with me!” Ardyn said in between fits, looking proud of himself. He noticed how the past four days, Caelan had grown more irritable with him it seemed. He now finally had an answer.

“Yes! Yes, I am!” Caelan said as a matter of fact, nailing down the final post of the tent as she stood up and faced him. Now feeling emboldened. “You’re immortal and Eos was nearly brought to ruin!”

“Of which was my fault--” Ardyn began.

“However,” Caelan interrupted. “You have an opportunity here being alive yet again to make a difference and fix things. Things that you royally screwed up, yet you take no pride or privilege of being offered what men would kill for! Another shot!”

Ardyn’s eyes slightly widened as her words grew more firm with each passing sentence. He was humored to no end at how bold she sounded. As he crouched down to the firepit to set it up, he shook his head out of disbelief with a sigh.

“I’m afraid my tales of immortality these past few nights we’ve become acquainted have given you a false sense of grandeur on my part.” Ardyn mused, waving his hand over the pit as sparks began to rise from the ground. He made an up and down motion with his palm, and the flame sprouted like a plant until it was a mature fire.

“Or maybe you’re a coward that doesn’t see potential staring him in the face.” Caelan remarked, looking at Ardyn incredulously.

“Pray tell sweet girl, if you were in my position, what would you do with this so called exclusive opportunity?”

Ardyn chuckled darkly, taking a seat on the ground while Caelan finished up the interior of the tent. He watched as she crawled out of it, dusting her pants before sitting beside him. She shoved a small bag of the meat from their earlier travels at his chest, causing Ardyn to grunt.

“I wouldn’t have called a woman I barely know a sweet girl, cause that’s creepy.”

Ardyn merely laughed, not seeming to be phased in the slightest at her insult. As much as the man had been infuriating at times, Caelan felt herself begin to laugh a little too. She cleared her throat.

“Second, I’d ask where I’m needed and where I can make the biggest impact to rectifying the mistakes I made. If there was even an opportunity to go back to Niflheim and somehow make amends, I’d do it without a second thought. Maybe approach the king and ask for--”

Caelan stopped in her tracks, looking to her side as Ardyn regarded her with more laughter and a fond smile on his face.

“What’s so amusing?”

“You,” Ardyn started. “This passion that runs away with you. You ever feel exhausted by it?”

“No,” Caelan paused, seemingly stuck on her words as she furrowed her brows. “Not until I met your sorry ass.”

Ardyn laughed. “I’ll consider it an honor of sorts then.”

Caelan shook her head. At this point in the conversation, she was too speechless and grumpy to say anything much less open up her own bag of leftover meat. She was surprised at feeling a touch upon her shoulder, her eyes darting to Ardyn’s hand before reaching his gaze. He offered a few pats, like one would give to a pet, before withdrawing.

“You have a kind heart, and a kind heart has no place among kings, people, and politicians who don’t see the world through rose tinted glasses. Especially regarding the Adagium himself.” Ardyn sighed. He knew Caelan meant well, though he scarcely doubt she would be touting the same rhetoric if the shoe was on the other foot. For barely knowing her, Ardyn did admire Caelan had a certain impudence.

“Things are so different than they were ten or even five years ago,” Caelan sighed. Her brows knitted. “Especially after the starscourge, what you did, it’s a whole new Eos.”

“If it were that simple to beg forgiveness, then why are you yourself terrified to set foot in the crown city and plead your case? If you’re not guilty and committed no crimes, surely the powers that be will see the repentance you’re offering and all is forgiven.” Ardyn’s tone came off as rather callous and sarcastic. "You know as well as I, that no one listens. And you don't have to share your sob story for me to know that."

Ardyn’s voice was bitter to Caelan as her eyes searched his. She visibly swallowed. Much like Ardyn had tried to keep a lot about his past under lock and key, she too was on the same ship. Caelan recalled she had done a good job dodging Ardyn’s prying questions about her history, and she found herself subconsciously thankful they only had less than a day left together.

“That’s--I know what you’re up to,” Caelan spoke softly. Trying to diffuse the tension all the while hold her ground.

“You’re trying to project and dodge the conversation by targeting my issues. Ardyn, if I had an ounce of what you have, if I was anything like you, I’d do everything you said. I’m merely a regular human and not a politician. You though---man,” she shook her head. “If you gave yourself a chance, you could rise again. On your terms. I can't do that, and I admit I envy you.”

“Cahl,” Ardyn gently grabbed a hold of Caelan’s chin, the touch calm as he glanced over face. He wasn’t sure why he did this. Even more uncertain about his feelings at this moment. A slight smile snuck onto his lips. He couldn’t believe that someone who was practically a stranger border lining acquaintance, would vouch for whatever remained of his honor. Conflict ran amok in his amber eyes as he shook his head.

“Please, sweet girl, whatever you do, don’t give me hope where I can’t follow.” He then let her go, getting up and making his way to the tent to turn in for the night.

Caelan in the meantime sighed out of frustration. She could feel her mind reprimanding herself. Getting this worried about a captive, hell the Adagium himself was ludicrous. She was doing the world a favor, turning in his sorry hide to the king to be dealt with. She’d have her freedom, and would finally stop running. Julian’s ghost wouldn’t be there anymore to haunt her. She’d be free of him at last. This, Caelan kept reminding herself, is why she decided to help Ardyn. Not because she felt remorse for him, but because at the end of the day, he was a means to an end who happened to be alright with the arrangement. Regardless of the rather intense conversation they had just now, and the past few nights, this whole experience was another transaction.

Looking up at the stars, Caelan could feel the anticipation grow. It would all be over soon come morning as it would over for him.

[browsing-my-favourite-fandoms]

MonoTodo Pre-Relationship Headcannons

Neito Monoma’s Side

At first Monoma just wanted to get some reaction from Todoroki okay? He totally did NOT intend to fall in love in love. 

He was like, “boy, this Mr Recommend is unfazed from all my comments huh? lets see how longer he can hold up against my genius tactics”

In fact, Todoroki was the only one immune to Monoma’s obsession and that fires the blond to try his best to get his attention

And boy, Monoma takes obsession to a whole new level

He stalks Todoroki until he knows every little details from his fondness of soba, to his painful childhood

In fact he managed to know more about Shoto in a few months than Natsuo and Fuyumi did in years

And somehow he even managed to get Shoto’s phone number and Line

By the way, the teasing never stopped until Todoroki actually snapped and told him to stop bothering him.

Monoma should have stopped there because his initial goal was completed but he was like nay man, lets take it to the next level

And so Monoma’s obnoxious attitude continued until it became normal for both of them.

A few times Todoroki got really mad at Monoma and for a few days Monoma would tone down things a little (until Shoto calmed) and then go back to normal. 

But the teasing was always in limit and he never brought up sensitive topics (excellent knowledge due to his obsessive stalking :) 

Then one day Monoma realised that he’s in love (after lots of denials and debates) 

And he thinks its impossible for them to stay together for a lot of reasons.

Firstly, Todoroki was taller, smarter, more skilled and way too popular. He deserved someone better and Monoma didn’t want to be the “inferior one” in their relationship.

Secondly, Todoroki was from Class A, and he didn’t want to swallow his pride or seem like a hypocrite. 

Thirdly, Todoroki already had Bakugou and Deku so he didn’t need him.

Fourthly, it was all one-sided. All this time he was the only one pursuing (and annoying) Todoroki. 

And so, slowly for the sake of himself, he started to create distance between them and the teasing and interactions began to be lesser and lesser until they finally stopped one day. 

Shoto Todoroki’s Side

At first he was really confused by Monoma. 

Like that blond was always trying to prove Class B superior yet he always praised him? “Oh, if this isn’t Mr talented-in-everything!” “Oh, if this isn’t Mr- overpowered!” (that was Monoma’s sarcastic taunting by the way that he totally failed to understand)

He legit thought Monoma had a crush on him 

His theory got even solidified when he found out the amount of info Monoma had on him. 

But then slowly Monoma’s strategy changed and it started to be even more annoying

And one day, to his surprise, and making hundreds of excuses, Monoma asked for his contact

But he managed to surprise himself even more and gave Monoma both his phone number and Line address.

To be honest, he had not received SO MANY texts in his whole life and yeah it was very overwhelming and annoying and after a while he really snapped and told Neito to stop bothering him. 

But that obsessive blond did not and soon it became normal to him. 

In fact, he found him to be a great distraction, maybe because Monoma was so annoying, Shoto forgot all the other worries he had for a while.

The expectations, the family conflict, his broken past, everything. For once he was content with handling his that pest

But still sometimes (really rarely though) Monoma did go overboard and Shoto had to bluntly and often harshly tell him things like “Don’t text me” “Don’t talk with me” “Don’t bother me”

A few days Monoma gave him space until his temper calmed down. 

To be honest, Shoto’s anger hardly took a day to be over but Monoma’s “space giving” usually lasted for 3 days so for a few days Shoto would subconsciously check his phone every 15 minute or so, stare at the seat where Monoma sat, and wait after school perhaps for a comment he would not maybe like to hear

Then after 3 days or so, Monoma would send a message or note like, “Did Mr Recommend’s half-Hot side that got overheated calm down?” 

And then slowly things went back to normal. 

But one day he noticed something was off with Neito. He did not give a single text the whole day and did not even insult Class A when they met at the corridor. 

Shoto wanted to know why but he realised he had never asked anything before

This time he made a note when things went back to normal, that is, when Monoma would start his full-on teasing and a sea wave of texts, he would nonchalantly mention about that day.

But the “normal” did not come, the texts, the messages, the teasing just got lesser and lesser until they finally stopped.

Shoto couldn’t guess why it happened, neither could he ask. His logical side tried to convince him that was for the better, he wouldn’t get teased or his storage won’t run out, but his subconscious side just wanted things to go back to normal.

---to be continued---

Part 2 here// Part 3 here

[aquietwritingcorner]

Sicktember Day 20: Doctor’s Visit/Check-up Word Count: 1244 Author: aquietwritingcorner/realitybreakgirl Rating: K/G Characters: Captain Buccaneer Warning: Summary: Buccaneer gets a check-up from Neil and Doc over his new automail arm. Notes: AO3 || ff.net

__________________________________

Doctor’s Visit/Check-up

“It’s just not working the way I want it to.”

Buccaneer looked down his arm—his new, metal, automail arm. He was still having a bit of trouble remembering it was his, if he was honest. It still felt sort of foreign to him.

Neil and Doc were looking at it, and Buccaneer resisted the urge to shift in his seat. He sort of felt like a bug in a jar or something, although he knew that neither one of them would try to make him feel that way on purpose.

“Not work the way you want it to, how?” Neil asked, running a critical eye over the piece of hardware.

Buccaneer frowned. “Its… Its not responding right. It does sometimes, but then other times I’ll try to do something and it’ll go wrong. I accidently threw a glass of water all over Miles yesterday. I was lucky I didn’t hit the general. But I did shatter one of the general’s teacups when we were in her office.”

Doc and Neil exchanged looks.

“That all seems pretty normal, actually,” Neil said. “You’ve had the automail seven months now. Its still going to take some getting used to. I mean, we can check it out if you want us to, but you can’t expect to be completely back to normal yet, especially since you’ve only had it seven months.”

“Isn’t seven months long enough to have this thing working right?” Buccaneer pressed. “I’m tired of misfires! It makes me unreliable!”

“It’s going to take time,” Neil said. “Lots of it. You didn’t learn to use your flesh arm as well as you did in seven months, did you? It’s going to take time for you to learn to use your automail arm.”

Buccaneer frowned. “…I suppose that makes sense. But—I feel so useless! I can’t stay out long in the cold, I’m not reliable with a weapon. I can’t even be trusted to hold things all the time! What good am I going to be here if I can’t get this under control?”

“R&D is working on a new metal mix that should last longer in the cold,” Neil said, reaching out and running his hands over the arm, examining it. Buccaneer didn’t try to stop him. “And I’m working on some modifications that might can help as well.”

“Yeah?” Buccaneer said, his interest piquing.

Neil nodded and reached for Buccaneer’s shoulder. “Mind if I…?”

Buccaneer shook his head. “No, go ahead.”

Neil pressed the release points, expertly manipulating the arm and taking it off. He looked at the joining point on the arms itself, and then around the port in Buccaneer’s shoulder.

“Yeah,” he said, a little distractedly. “Part of the problem is the type of metal, of course. We need something that’s more resistant to the cold and won’t transfer the cold to your flesh as easily.” He ran his hands around the rim of the port. “When we find the right mix, that will mean replacing some of this to help.”

Buccaneer nodded. “Sure, that makes sense. But what else?”

“Well, that’s where it’s a little trickier,” Neil said. “The length of time you want to spend outside is longer than most automail users want to be. It’s longer than most people wanna be, to be honest. Even when we do find the best metal mix, keeping your flesh warm is going to be a challenge.”

He ran his fingers over the edge of the port, where it intersected and overlaid with some of his flesh. “If we could put some sort of insulating material here, it would help…”

Doc moved back over to look at where Neil was indicating and frowned. “The problem with that would be keeping the flesh healthy. Too much insulation there wouldn’t be good for it.”

“Yeah, I know.” Neil frowned. “The other idea I had was trying to find a way to warm it from the inside.”

“The inside?” Doc asked.

“Yeah, like, the body generates its own heat anyway. And automail is basically just a machine. Machines generate heat as well. If there was a way to increase that and disperse it to the outer edges of the flesh, then that would keep it warmer.” Neil said. He looked in the port. “Here and here… I have some preliminary ideas worked out.”

Doc frowned. “But what about when he’s not outside? Overheating the flesh could become a problem as well.”

“Yeah, I know,” Neil leaned back, considering. “We usually put in some regulators to help with that, so that the heat caused by the automail doesn’t hurt the outfitee too much. Its not like it’s typically a lot of heat anyway. The arm is powered by the nerves, so it’s mostly just heat from that and general movement that we have to worry about.”

Buccaneer listened to the two of them go back and forth. It was all very interesting, and he was definitely grateful for the two of them working so hard on it, but it didn’t really answer his question.

“This is great, but what about my lack of control?” he pressed.

Doc stepped back, hands on her hips. “That sounds like a problem that can be solved by physical and occupational therapy to me,” she said.

Neil nodded, running his finger along the inside of Buccaneer’s port before lifting the arm and clicking it into place. “Yeah. It basically boils down to practice.” His hands kept moving, and it was only seconds before Buccaneer felt the jolt of the nerves reconnecting. “Best thing to do is keep up the exercises that they gave you back in North City. I think one of the occupational therapists is scheduled to come up this way sometime next month. She can give you some more tips then.”

Doc nodded. “Yeah, she should be. She’s got a few people to check on. I think you’re one of her priorities, though, Captain.”

“In the meantime,” Neil stepped back, apparently satisfied with the state of the arm and the port, “Things that might help are practice. Come down to R&D some. We’ve got a lot of stuff that you can’t break that you can practice grip sensitivity on. And didn’t the General offer to train with you? You know how she is. You’re not likely to hurt her even if you’ve got a lack of control.”

“That’s not a bad idea,” Doc said. “You might see what other hands-on jobs there are that you could do. You’ll be slow and clumsy at first, maybe even have lapses where you are anyway, but the practice will pay off in the end.”

Buccaneer sighed but stood up. “Thanks Doc, Neil. Other than that, how am I doing?”

“Great!” Neil said. “Your body is still taking to the implants well, and everything seems to be healing up. Hopefully we can get this new metal figured out before the skin starts to grow over the connecting port areas. I’d hate to damage that.”

“Just come back to see us next week, or sooner if there are any other problems,” Doc said.

“Will do,” Buccaneer agreed, and turned to walk out the door.

He was, honestly, a little disappointed that there wasn’t a quicker fix, but it sounded like he would just have to do some work. Well, what’s some more hard work? He’d make it. There was no other option. He was, after all, a Briggs Bear. And Briggsmen didn’t give up.

[kkulmoon]

I KNEAD YOU | jhs ✦ m

𝐬𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲: You have had your mind filled with indecent thoughts of your spin class trainer, Hoseok, ever since you started taking his classes. However discreet you thought your antics had been, Hoseok had somehow found out and was more than willing to fulfil your fantasies.

𝐩𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠: Hoseok x Reader(f) | 𝐠𝐞𝐧𝐫𝐞: smut, pwp? | 𝐫𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐠: 18+ | 𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭: 7.3k

𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬: cunnilingus, fingering?, slight praising, ass play, he has his hand around her neck, unprotected sex (wrap it up guys~), slight edging, groping, biting, spanking, bathroom sex.

𝐛𝐞𝐭𝐚 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝 𝐛𝐲: my muse and soulmate @inkedxclouds​ as well as the amazing @meowxyoong​ (thank u loves <3333)

𝐚/𝐧: nothing to say other than I seem to like butts more than I thought,,,,, also victoria monét’s “ass like that” was the very inspo for this au, cause that song is a bop and for some reason it gave me hobi vibes + “juice” by lizzo (though I doubt the fic gives off that type of vibe but oh well) enjoy 🥺

Three months down the line and you’d think you would have developed somewhat of a sweat resistance by habitually working out. No, not at all. Still as sweaty as ever, but maybe now it was less about hard work, and more about hard want. You relax onto the closed toilet seat sighing deeply at your unfortunate situation. The changing room wasn’t safe and neither was the shared portion of the washroom.

At every and any small intermission you were offered during the heated class, you dashed towards the toilets letting your sweaty fingers hectically slip against the cold metal of the tap handles. The cold water slipping past your fingers as you tapped its remains on your skin, hoping to cool down or at least seem cool enough. But there’s only so much a little bit of cold water could do for your overheated body. As aware as you were about this, you made it a habit, involuntary of course, to let some of that desire out in the confinements of one of the bathroom stalls.

Today is no exception. You rush to the toilet, rugged breaths filling the air as you snap the flimsy lock shut, bending over to roll off your snug cycling shorts. You think back to Hoseok’s instructions : “You should always keep an eye on your breathing while doing vigorous exercise, you want to avoid back pain and strain on your blood vessels.” Back in class you almost let your thoughts tumble through your heaving mouth. “I don’t think exercise is the one doing that”.

As obedient as you are, you let deep puffs reverberate through your chest before diving in. Your hands, tired from clenching hard against the handle of the cycle to stay on it, tremble their way down your folds swinging with the same dynamic present in Hoseok’s glistening legs while he pedals. Your eyes flutter, blinding you from your surroundings, mind tumbling through all the imprinted images of your instructor you have stored in your mind.

That’s all you need. For now.

While you suck at cycling and picking up speed in that circumstance, the image of Hoseok’s huffing mouth, stable legs, and bouncing brown locks, drenched with his hard work, sticking to him the way you wanted him to stick to you, was more than enough for the tentative deep plunge of your fingers to rival the set speed record for your spin class.

Remember: deep breaths Y/N. You slow down, finger languidly straining against your walls. You hit a particular spot, staggering on the one leg touching the ground as your other hand anchors your edged form onto the whimsy bathroom stall walls.

The slow pace allows you to revel in the imagery of Hoseok’s long fingers pointed high in the air to countdown to your thirty second long spinning sprint, imagining those long digits plunged into the same heat your fingers are scissoring. He would know exactly what to do, ordering consecutive gushes of arousal out of you, the same way his fingers point towards your direction when he sees your energy falter.

With Hoseok, nothing but one hundred percent was acceptable. While you couldn’t always keep the promise of giving him just that in all of his classes, if he were to ask you, whether it be after class or somewhere in the lobby of the gym building, you would say yes to showing him where you excelled without fail.

Heart beating a firing rhythm you would snatch his trained fingers to some designated corner of the building, ready to get on your knees and stay there to take it all, the one posture you knew you could manage to keep without fail. Anything for Hoseok really.

Dripping fingers, drying cycling shorts clinging to your heated flesh, you croak out a moan, doing your best to quiet it down in the sleeve of your gym top. “Shit—” your hips buck into your erratic palm as you knead the sensitive flesh of your bud, hissing through clenched teeth.

“What the fuck are you doing to me, Hoseok,” the whispered whine travels to the small cracks of the bathroom stall, the sloppy sounds of your continued assault on your wetness bounce against the walls to fall upon the ears of the figure entering the toilet room.

“Hmmmm, fuck Hoseo—”

Your anticipated wave of pleasure catches your breath, stuttering breaths colouring the air with its warm essence. “Ahhhh,” you sigh into the sensation rippling through your bones, fisted hand sprawling itself across the cool wood of the bathroom stall door. A particular touch of your knuckles against your clit has your nails scratch against the material.

In the heat of the moment, eyelids heavy and ears focused on recalling the authority of Hoseok’s voice, you fail to register the footsteps that sound in the room. Footsteps that stall themselves during your explosive demonstration of your instructor’s effect on your body only to leave the toilet room after you’ve calmed down and said in a condescending yet satisfied tone, “How pathetic, masturbating to your instructor in the bathroom like some teenager. What the fuck is wrong with you?”

Puffing out what’s left of your pent up air, you drag your fingers from your settling walls, staring longingly at the wetness and wishing you could be looking at another pair of fingers glazed with your cum.

Hand hanging lazily by your side you do your best to lift your shorts back up to a correct position using your only available hand. You fiddle with the lock, slowly opening the door. You peek to see if there’s anyone there to whom you might reveal your latest conquest  and only probe your head out of the stall when the coast feels clear.

As weak as legs might feel, you do your best to hurry up with the cleaning, washing the product of your forbidden fantasy down the drain just like the possibility of ever actually having the honour to let yourself be used by him in any way he sees fit.

Commanding words and strokes telling you exactly what he wants you to do for him, to give to him and you doing your absolute best to abide with clenched fists and a gagging mouth. You feel yourself fall down the rabbit hole, again, but you bring yourself back with a good shake of your head. You do not have another ten minutes to calm yourself down by attempting to fulfill your own lust.

You take one last look at the mirror to check that you do not look abnormally flustered before you leave to head back into the spinning room, face sweet and innocent, unlike the thoughts trying to invade your mind the moment your eyes focus on their inevitable target.

The hypnotising movement of his lips. Inviting and pink and shimmering from the quick swipe of his pointed lip against the surface. You sigh, in desperation, wishing for the presence of that muscle somewhere else. How pathetic of you, you think, almost releasing a single sobbing sound out of frustration. If only he knew.

You heave yourself into the cycle, fitting your tensed feet into the small caged armor of the pedal, unaware that Hoseok indeed knew and was very much ready to act on it.

His sudden constant and deliberate churning of your increasingly hot figure has you agitated, gaze meeting the floor. It is unusual for Hoseok to get off of his spin bike and personally assist you with your posture. Rather, he settled for quick commanding reminders that were shouted as enthusiastically as possible despite the sternness of his sweating face.

Yet for some reason, unbeknownst to you, he stops spinning and drags his taut slim legs all the way to where you like to stay at the back of the class, to personally adjust your swaying pelvis. “Engage your core. Squeeze your glutes.” He says, the order somehow managing to sound even louder than the blasting music. This is the first time he has touched you. You immediately stop spinning, hips swaying even more than before, chasing the inviting and rough heat of his short finger glove covered hands.

Your heart should have calmed down by the time he got back on his bike, but it doesn’t. You fail to admit to yourself that the coincidental eye contact you had with Hoseok in his classes, was more than enough to throw off your already fumbling posture.

If his wandering eyes are enough for you to follow their movement, accentuating each part that they laid on, his hands on your straining body is all you need to alleviate the ache of your muscles. You turn into a puddle, something that manifests itself right between your legs even before your body comes in contact with his.

“Okay guys, we have another half hour before we are done, so stay with me and there will be a sweet treat at the end,” Hoseok shouts out to the class, bursting your little thought bubble. Your eyes close as you nod, encouraging yourself to pull through, not for the sweet treat but for you. It’s the least you can do given how much you pay for these classes. But what a shame that your eyes are closed, unable to register the hungry and curious gaze Hoseok throws your way.

Twenty minutes have gone by, or maybe just ten? You feel so hot and disoriented from all the effort you’re putting in. Yawning, and trying your best to rid yourself of the final remains of sleep, you had theorised in your car that your goal for this class was to beat your old record, the one you had back when you came to class for the right reasons. Before the thought of riding Hoseok overtook your ambition to get fitter.

Calves burning, every muscle pushing itself to the verge of exhaustion, you think back to your breathing. Your mouth opens and closes as if you are giving birth, trying its best to collect all of the sweat ridden air needed to keep you going.

“Five minutes left. Keep going, you’re almost there!”

Your hanging head, that was focused on counting the sweat droplets falling from your face onto the shiny floor, shoots up to look at your instructor. It must be because of his job as a trainer and a coach that Hoseok flashes you his dashing smile the minute your eyes, gleaming with hope at the prospect of the class soon coming to an end, meets his own soft gaze.

Not wanting to seem rude or like a total nutjob, you tame your panting mouth into a simple smile, no teeth so as to not come across as too excited about something as infantile as eye contact. He winks in response and you swear you almost twist your ankle leaning forward to check if your eyes aren’t deceiving you.

Hoseok’s good at his job. He manages to keep your mind away from the propagating ache in your body as your legs chase time, looking to leave the room with your own small victory. He keeps you rooted and gives you the last bit of energy you need to make it. The timer beeps, startling you. You shake in your seat, breaking your contact with his warm brown eyes. If this is the power of his eyes, what the heck does his body have in store?

As much as you would want to let your mind wander to give you a probable hypothesis to the complicated case that is Hoseok, you’re too far gone to think that deep. Drained and sweaty, your arms dangle on your sides as you let your head lifelessly fall onto the bar of the spin bike. Too weak to push yourself back up but still wanting to know how far you cycled, you roll your drenched head onto the speed counter and stare down at it. At the sight of the double digit number, larger than the previous feat you had achieved, you sigh, a light laugh slipping past your dry lips. Finally some good news. As a way of congratulating yourself, you pat your thighs with the little force you have spared.

The surrounding claps invade your wandering ears, as people shout out, patting themselves in the back and congratulating others for pulling through. Nobody congratulates you but it’s nothing you haven’t had to handle before. Content with your progress, you step off the cycle.

You gather your items, hurrying as you feel the effects of gorging on too much liquid during class. With a drenched towel hanging of your forearm and an empty water bottle in your other hand you speed to the unisex toilet.  

As you set your belongings on the sink countertop, someone enters. You don’t bother to spare them a glance, something you regret the minute Hoseok’s familiar tight fitting cycling top is reflected on the wide mirror. Your head instinctively looks his way to admire the soft slope of his nose and the harsh lines of his profile. He knows you’re looking to which he smirks softly. Your body shifts more to your right, afraid of what other things, sinful things,  you might feel compelled to do if you stay so close to him.

You aggressively pump some soap into your palm, anything to remove the silence etched in the surrounding air. Hoseok does the same, except he does it graciously like everything else he’s ever done.

“Y/N, right?” He inquires, letting a steady stream of water wet his hands as he lathers them.

Your mind tells you he’s simply asking for formality’s sake. Did he plan to keep a conversation with you in the bathroom? How much could you possibly fit into the time it takes to wash your hands? Unless he plans on drawing it out and drying out his skin? Many more questions run through my mind as you bite your lips, eyes staring at the floor until they inevitably wander up his legs.

This is your verbal first interaction with him that doesn’t seem to hint at any subject related to your given roles in the establishment, a trainer and his trainee. No, he’s asking as Hoseok, curious to know about a certain regular Y/N who spends her free time thinking indecent thoughts about his body.

Realising that you’re taking too long to answer to your own name, you blurt out, “YES!” before clearing your throat in hopes to compose yourself. Swallowing thickly, you have another go at it, “I mean, yes, that’s my name. Y/N is me.”

While your ears warm up at your embarrassing behaviour, Hoseok’s soft chuckle manages to overpower the loud hand dryer. Usually, once someone’s done cleaning their hands they leave the bathroom and that’s exactly what you see Hoseok do. You watch him walk up to the toilet room door only to turn back around to face the mirror, doing your best not to let the dejected feeling in you overtake your features.

You breathe in, trying your best to catch your sanity. He was just being nice and trying to  break the tension, one you seem to believe could only be perceived from your side. With eyes closed, you let the cool rush of the water provide some sort of relaxation and solution to your heated body. Your dripping hands reach towards the hand dryer on your side only to reach back when you think about the hot air, you don't need to get fired up again, so you decide to pat yourself dry with paper towels.

Ready to leave, you look up into the mirror to take one last inspection at your face.

Oh.

Hoseok’s eyes catch your own. He’s leaning against the toilet’s room door frame, head slightly hanging to his side and tongue dancing calmly in the small intrusion between his lips. You thought he left?

You want to look away, but you can’t. Not only because of the demanding energy coating his eyes, but also because of the entrancing way he runs a hand past his hair, heel kicking against the door as he pushes himself off of it.

He darts towards you. Or at least that’s what it feels like to you. An overwhelming wave of desire coats your senses forcing your legs to stagger backwards as your butt comes in contact with the hard and cold edge of the sink counter.

Those hands, those fingers, the ones you’ve fantasied about having buried inside of you or stuffed in your mouth, find their way on each side of you anchoring themselves on the hard surface as Hoseok corners.

He’s close. Close enough to hear your shallow breathing, to notice your confused yet intrigued eyes and to smell the fertilised desperation in your body. Head somewhat leaned down so as to reach your gaze, he lets his eyes take their own free tour around your face, mouth slightly parted.

“I don’t think it’s pathetic at all,” he breathes out, sloping down to bathe your hot ears in his warm breath, “it’s cute, actually.” The sweet tone is almost enough to deceive you of his intentions but the prominent scraping of his teeth against your earlobe makes it clear.

Your chest curls into itself at the action, slipping down, out of reach from his inviting mouth. You want to think it’s a coincidence that Hoseok references your words from earlier but to simply think isn’t enough, you need to confirm it. “Uhmm… I don’t kn–ow what you’re referring to.” It comes out more jagged than you intended to as he steps closer, so as to almost graze your heaving chest.

A pout on his lips, his gaze zig zags across your features, “See, cute.”

You feel like you’re melting. Your face finds refuge in the minor protection of your shoulder as you squeeze your eyes shut. This is all you had thought about. To have Hoseok look at you as if he already knew what is obscured from his sigh, for now, a sight he couldn’t wait to explore. To let his eyes, hands and mouth colour his imagination into reality.

“I mean that it would be nice if I could show you what I can actually do to you.” If you were properly breathing before you sure you aren’t anymore. His voice is covered with sweetness and curiosity. It acts as both a gentle threat and a request. He could and would show you.

The rub of your knee against his thinly clothed thigh says yes before you manage to catch enough air to utter an eager “please”, eyes opening to stare at his chest. “Go ahead,” at the sight of your yearning eyes he encourages you. The thin elastic material did little to protect your sanity from the hardness of his body.

Had your eyes been closed, you could have been fooled into believing that you were touching his naked chest. You pinch the material, tugging it off his skin only to let it slap back down. Something that brings a soft smile to Hoseok’s shifting lips. Hoping that he understands your wordless request, you repeat the action a couple more times.

He dodges your eyes more than once, letting his playful side show, before he leans into you. Your lips collide, strong enough to have your head inclined against the mirror, your body moving upwards at every hungry push of his determined body. You latch onto him, hands lacing themselves around his straining biceps as you match the feverish dance of his tongue.

If your moaning wasn’t already evidence enough of your state, Hoseok’s willingness to offer more encourages him to run a slow swipe of his delicate hands up your thigh and dangerously close to where you’ve imagined him placing every class that you’ve attended. The touch is prominent enough to have you squirming, letting whiny moans spill into his smirking lips as your legs bring him closer.

But Hoseok’s gentle yet clear tapping of your thighs tells you he has something else in mind. “Stand back up.” The order is clear yet in your current hazy state, you slide off the counter anticipating your weak landing, something Hoseok takes care of by pushing you flush against him.

Following through, he presses his long fingers in the soft flesh of your ass, spreading your cycling shorts covered cheeks all while pushing you closer to his straining cock. Spread out, head shying away from looking at his face, he leans in with a soft whisper, “Now tell me, kitty, how did you get an ass like this?”

Timid hands roam across his hard frame as your intended whisper becomes a rushing gasp, pulled out from you by Hoseok’s prominent kneading of your ass, “You.”

“What did you say, sweetheart?”

Hesitant, and quite frankly too hot to think straight, you let it all spill out.

“It’s because of you. You gave me an ass like this.”

“Huh, you think so?” His stretched palm travels up and down your clothed cheeks. You don’t respond letting the steady stream of strained moans be an answer in itself. “So you’re saying, my classes gave you this juicy ass,” He hisses out, firmly squeezing the jiggly flesh.

You nod your head against his shoulder, humming in agreement, the cadence at which the soft moans escape intensifying. Moans that you attempt disguise by biting into his cycling jersey.

“Don’t you think I should get to enjoy what I created?” The implications of his question makes your breath hitch.

What is he thinking of doing. Anal? Eating your ass? Spanking? Your mind is in haywire but you know what you think.

“You can do anything you want.”

“Anything?”

You nod once again, hardened buds tickling his covered chest. All Hoseok does is smirk at your eagerness.

“Not today, kitty,” he pushes lightly against your breasts, making your shiver at the friction, turning you around with a swift hand as he shakes his head, “I like it from the back.”

You’re now facing the mirror, able to notice the distraught state of your body as your desperation creeps further into your limbs. Hoseok finds himself caging you in again, but while you could have hid your warming face in his chest before, now you’re completely exposed.It’s something that brings a playful expression to his features.

As if he wasn’t already close enough to you, Hoseok drives his eager hips into the heated plumpness of your butt and your fingers tense further around the edge of the countertop. Every hitching breath of yours is complemented with his groans.

“What a beautiful ass I’ve made,” he says, pride in his voice as he crouches down behind you to give each cheek its own shameless squeeze. “Don’t you agree?”

“Hmm,” you hum breathlessly before a pointed strike to your cheek makes it clear that that’s not how he wants you to respond. Nodding, head straining backwards to catch Hoseok’s dark gaze, your knees buckle driving your ass closer to his face while you whine out a stuttering yes.

Hoseok’s your trainer. He knows how breathing works during physical activities and makes it known that, whether or not you’re in class, he rules still apply. It’s soft, yet commanding whispers to not forget to breathe or he will stop, tingling confessions that let his appetite for your body infest your nerves as you delve deeper into despair. You want his cock inside of you and, unlike your willingness to wait, his patience is much greater.  

The continuous sway of hips quickens his breaths, and they land on your shoulder where they leave shivers that travel down your spine forcing you to shimmy your ass into his crotch even harder. “Come on, kitty, patience.” He breathes out, biting your scalding shoulder.

“Nghh, but plea—,” the hard slap that lands on your misbehaving cheeks has you stiffening, hands slipping against the glass. At this point you’re sure you’re not going to sit down on your train ride back home. Hoseok seems to want to leave you sore and marked.

“I said patience. I will give you what you need when I want to.” You nod lazily, not that your mind registers the sentence, but the alarming tone has you on your best behaviour.

Your compliant action earns you a few sloppy kisses along your covered shoulders, his hands snaking upwards to catch the zipper and let it slide down as you bend, body yearning for his touch until his determined hands engulf your freed and neglected mounds.

“Hmmm, just as soft and juicy as your ass.” He moans loud and clear and you fear someone outside might hear. Yet it still makes you melt onto his hard body. “Hose—yes, like that, ahhhh.”

Hoseok, given his position, does like orders, something he lets you know by running his fingers around your perked buds and squeezing them so hard you screech and bend even deeper. Fuck. As much as it hurts it also feels so good; your watering folds are proof enough.

“I don’t like to repeat myself, Y/N. Misbehave and I’ll keep drawing this out, leaving you wet and begging for me.” His tone is calculated and laced with a certain layer of pity that has you whining as you place one hand on his forearms to turn around and meet his eyes.

You witness the slowed blinking of his eyelids and hope that he can decipher your distressed eyes that ask for more. While Hoseok cares for his trainees, he likes to push them to see how far they can go. That’s what the smirk creeping up on his lips tells you.

“All in due time, kitty. First, let me taste something that I want to make mine.” One confident hand pats your dripping pussy to further awaken your sensitive nerve endings. Your thighs instinctively snap shut capturing his hand. Hoseok catches your eyes in the mirror, shaking his head before delivering another strike to your ass.

“Ahhh, shit,” you bite your quivering lips and let your hesitant thighs part to welcome the sweet slide of Hoseok’s fingers past your clothed folds as he hums in approval at the present wetness. “Just how I like it.” The praise compels a soft smile on your end.

You can’t hide the confusion that coats your features when he suddenly extracts his hand, something that has him snickering to himself. He enjoys torturing you and you want to complain but you don’t think your ass could handle anymore pain so you suck up your remarks along with some air.

Your head dances around, left to right and back again trying to figure out what exactly he plans to do as he crouches back down to face your butt. Before you can enquire in order to save yourself from any surprise attacks, he dives his head into the expanse of your globes shaking it as you squeal trying your best not to lose your stance.

He hums deeply, breathing in your scent and you whimper once his wet tongue pokes out to slide along your pussy lips, his saliva mixing in with your oozing arousal. His arms snake around your thighs, fingers digging into the flesh to push you further against his face. “Fuck, your kitty is dripping for me.” You manage to hear the muffled sound above the blend of his groans and your stumbling moans. But for once Hoseok doesn’t abide by his own rules as his hands rush to the hem of your cycling shorts, wanting nothing more than to rip them apart, to have you bare as to allow him to witness your clenching pussy– soon to be his pussy.

Exposed and wet, ready for him since the day you laid eyes on him, you stare down at his soft brown locks, where your hands will find refuge in shortly, and try your best to examine his eager expression through hooded eyes. He has your right leg up on his shoulder and you let the rhythm of his stroking hand guide your breaths. “So fucking pretty,” his other hand travels up your other thigh, “and wet,” he bites his lips leaning into your drenched center, “and mine.”

It’s only one lick but you already feel like falling apart, hands squeaking against the mirror. “Ahhh shit,” your hips move on their own accord, meeting his hot appendage and coating it with your increasing neediness. Either Hoseok doesn’t mind or your eagerness, looking to satisfy your own urge, doesn’t register in his mind as all that’s there is the goal to have you trembling and gushing all over his hungry mouth.

For each lap at your folds, he takes a breath away. Your fingers find the courage to place themselves on his head, soft hair left to be scrunched in your clenched fist. His head moves vigorously up and down, drinking up your juices under feverish groans and needy hands that latch on the cheeks of your ass to keep you from staggering away.

His tongue drives your pants, saturating your cunt with pointed licks coupled with soft nibbles at your throbbing clit, an action that has you quivering in surprise. “So fucking sweet,” he drags out the suckling of your vulva as he hums, satisfaction clear on his face as his tongue slides across his bottom lips. You mewl, hips bucking into the empty air. He plants a soft kiss on your heat, “Just for me. How cute.”

“Hoseok, please,” your strained plea runs from your lips without much thought to meet his mocking pout. You’re so close, you just need him to keep lapping at your soaked entrance, feasting on your juices and you would come undone before you know it.

However Hoseok seems to have other plans in mind as he stands back up, the straining in his pants all the more noticeable in his tight shorts. He leans in to kiss your neck, holding your behind flush against his cock. “Unfortunately, I can’t eat you out until you fall apart. We wouldn’t want anyone to come open the door, now would we?”

Your want has made you forget your predicament. You’re in the bathroom of your gym, ready to have the trainer you’ve been daydreaming about rail your neediness away. He made sure to lock the door but someone could soon start asking questions, looking for staff to complain to. Staff who would surely hurry to unlock the door, after all client satisfaction is important. Something that Hoseok is very aware of.

You shake your head as his husk approval meets your slick ear, “Good kitty.” He bites the shell of your ear, scraping against the heating flesh, “Now spread your legs for me.” You shuffle your feet side to side following his orders, legs too heavy to lift. “You’re doing so good for me,” he says, hoping to reassure you as his hands leave your body and you watch him, in the mirror, slide his pants down to expose his erect and flushed cock.

You almost turn around on instinct, one based on your countless dreams of having him in your mouth, weighing down your tongue. But you stay put, resorting to ogling his long and pretty dick. Hoseok doesn’t seem to mind as his hand goes to stroke lazily at the throbbing length while continuing to keep his distance from you.

His eyes lock with yours and you whimper because you know exactly what you could do to that dick of his if he’d just let you. However, he’s adamant on having his way with you. Maybe another time? Maybe. You close your eyes to let the sour thought of this being a one time occasion wash away and let Hoseok’s touch bring you back to the moment at hand.

His hand digs into the flesh of your hips and your needy heat clenches around empty air at the sweet and slow slide of the fleshy and precum glazed tip of his cock. Hoseok’s likes to drink up your reactions, staring into the mirror to admire your furrowed brows, your open mouth and your squeezed eyelids as he continues to run his pulsating member up and down your slit. He slips up, his enthusiasm getting the best of him as the tip grazes your clit and you bite into your clenched fist, your moan still managing to seep through.

Hoseok’s chest leans into your back as he places one of his hands above yours. He orders your gaze to meet his, the other hand hiding between your bodies to position himself at your entrance.

“This is gonna be just like our sprints in class. Are you ready, kitty?”

You munch on your wet lip, and repeat, through your panting mess, the only the only two words that seem to be in your mind, “Hoseok plea—ahhh”

His hard cock eases into your needy walls, slowly filling you up as his other hand moves back to restrain your only free hand. Chest against back, hands weighing on yours, and forehead bent down against your shoulder, he bottoms out and you release a combined sigh. You shut eyes spring open to stare at the delightful connection between your edged bodies. You can’t comprehend the situation, nor do you try to. This is really happening, huh?

It feels too good. Too good to be true and too good for your practically spasming pussy. Hoseok’s calm approach is short-lived, his second thrust as frantic as your breaths. The force at which he moves inside your slick walls, force strong enough to have the edge of the sink countertop dig against your stomach.

Your hand reaches back to hold onto his shoulder, trying your best to stay stable as each continuous attack of his hips sounds against your tender ass. Hoseok drags his dick out, making you moan and pant so much you’re clouding the mirror. He eagerly snaps back against your straining tightness, bottoming out as he puffs out laboured breaths and you gasp into your trembling shoulder. “Yes, yes, right there,” you sigh in between ragged breaths

He delivers another pointed thrust, pumping himself deeper into your warmth, “Here?” He breathes out and you nod hastily.

You can feel the short yet intense slap of his balls against your ass, the thrill of it all making you bend to spread your legs even further apart. Your face only centimeters away from the cold, metal tap, you shriek feeling the weight of Hoseok’s imprints on the small of your back as he pounds your sopping pussy. “Shit, all of this for me?” He pants, delivering his beloved strikes on the ass he’s made.

With your current limited vocabulary all you can do is nod, head bracing itself in the crook of your arm. Chasing your own pleasure, all while melting on the wonder that’s Hoseok’s cock, you move your hips to meet the now frantic pummelling of his straining dick.

One of his hands migrates to surround the soft and tender flesh of your neck as he pulls you up to reveal your fucked out gaze. “So fucking pretty.” He suckles the skin of your neck, biting into it to suppress his own moans. You wrap your hand around his forearm, chanting your go-to high-pitched request once again, this time managing to add one more word, “Hoseok, please, harder.”

Your heart is about to leap out of your chest at sight of the soft gaze he throws under heavy eyelids. “Anything for you, kitty.” And he gives you just that. He pumps in and out, hard, hand still around your neck, more so as a sweet gesture to help your head stay put as he admires his work. His other arm pushing you flush against his body, mushing your ass cheeks against his crotch. A feeling he welcomes with a low hiss.

Hoseok’s dick pulsates against your walls, as they suck him deeper, his length allowing him to graze spots in you nobody has touched before. The quick and pointed hammering makes your breath stutter. You’re so close, you think, but fail to communicate, mouth unable to form any coherent sounds apart from heavy moans and whines.

You spare a glance in Hoseok’s direction, to see his head nested in the crook of your neck, eyes shut and his cheeks puff out for every passionate thrust he delivers. Warmth, not the kind that comes from your current vigorous activity, but the one that’s born out of hope for more, overtakes you only this time you have no wish to dispel it.

Your free hand meets your sensitive bud, rubbing circles as his cock continues to make a mess of you. He must have felt the soft graze of your fingertips against his hot girth as his hands move to meet yours. He slides his fingers past your slick coating fingers that are soon placed back on your clit. Digits dancing around each other, your chest stutters into the bliss, back morphing into the bend of his chest. “Oh,Hos– ahhh, I’m clo–se.”

Hoseok finds the sounds that leave you endearing, a smile stretching along his lips. “Go on kitty, let my pussy cum all over me.” You shut your eyes, lips pressed against each other, glutes clenched to Hoseok’s striking approval, letting your pent up and often castoff desire for a certain man with a blinding smile, and inspiring ethic rush over your limbs, choked moans leaving your once sealed lips.

He thrusts on every breath intake, adamant on literally taking your breath away as his own unraveling follows shortly. Even in this state of frenzy, he manages, ever the professional and hard worker, to land his last thrusts just where he wants them. Deep within you, before he snatches his hypnotising member away from your ever yearning heat to decorate your back with a fat load, as he grunts out, “Ugh, hmph–mine.”

Strikes of white cum hit you as you sigh, trying your best to regulate your breathing all while hitting your face to convince yourself of the reality of the situation. You just fucked your trainer. The one you’ve been fantasising about for the past three months. You try to find some sort of guilt, looking to appease your mind and assure yourself that nothing bad will come out of this.

You’ll still be able to attend your lessons each week, sitting down at your same spot, staring ahead at him indifferently as he manages to not even break a sweat during his excruciating classes. You tell yourself that you’re sure everything will go back to normal once the two of you step outside the sex stenched toilet room. Everything will be just fine. You almost believe it, until you’re brought back to the present moment, as he swipes a cool water drenched paper towel against your ruined slit. Yeah, this is bad.

Mixing fantasies, longing stares and care can only lead to one possible thing. A bus you doubt he would jump on if it were to show up at his door steps. You scramble to retrieve the towel and proceed to clean yourself. Hoseok jumps at your less than gentle action, but decides not to give it much thought, unlike you.

“Thanks,” you attempt to lessen your rude behaviour. He gives you a lopsided smile, winking away your weakly established reassurance that you’ll manage not to think about this encounter from a point of view that’s filled with craving feelings and expectations.

“That was nice.”

You fail to suppress the laughter that’s screaming to be released, to see him flustered has you smiling, nodding reassuringly at his statement.

“Very nice, indeed,” you respond, throwing away the towel as you join Hoseok in putting your cycling shorts back on and closing the zipper of your cycling jersey.

Your eyes travel across the room to make sure that nothing is terribly out of place or different before your hands stroke down your front while you stare at the now silent man. You wait, expecting him to say something, wanting him to. When he doesn’t seem to have it in his plans to speak again, you turn around to walk towards the key he left in the lockset of the door.

A loud cough sounds behind you and you snap around, eyes eagerly staring at him to notice the full blown smile on his glowing face, making your heart skip.

His fingers gestures towards his back and once he notices your confused expression, he articulates his concern with a small laugh and scratch to his neck, “Uhm, you kinda forgot the back, my…. yeah, is still there”

“Oh,” you turn around to look at your back through the mirror. The sight alone of his cum has your mouth watering and legs clenching, something that doesn’t go unnoticed to Hoseok’s focused eyes. Just the reassurance he needed to feel like you weren’t completely regretting what just happened. “Right.” You sidestep him to reach for some more paper towels, hands trying their best to clean it up only to end up smearing it even more.

Hoseok’s hand reaches out. “May I?” Sighing you nod, discarding the ruined towels in the bin.

On second thought, you should have said no and struggled through the clean up on your own. The soft press of his digits against your back ignites your skin and pulls you back to the not so distant events in your mind. Your sharp breath intakes at each touch from his body further aids Hoseok in building back his confidence.

You definitely liked him, or at least your body did. He thinks and he would definitely not mind a repeat, preferably somewhere where he did not need to worry about time or intruders and where he could knead your ass to his heart’s content.

Once done, you step away, this time thoroughly cleaned and ready to leave. You turn back to follow your previous path, hand clenched around the key refusing to unlock the door as you await another interjection from his part. To unlock the door means this is finally over and as much as you might not believe this to be your best decision, you still want to bask in the awkward sweetness of the aftermath, just for a few more seconds. But Hoseok stays silent this time.

Your hand weights down on the handle, pushing it towards you. Sighing, you are brought back to reality as you stare at the bypassers outside of the toilet room. Your hand releases the handle, walking out and heading towards the changing rooms.

Your steps are slow, ready to halt upon his request. Yet, all your ears can hear is the shuffling of hurried feet and the sound of other classes taking place. Soon enough, you’re walking slow out of dejection rather than apprehension.

“Hey! Y/N!” Your skin shivers at the timbre of the familiar voice and you walk faster to stop a bit further away. You don’t want him to think that you were waiting for him.

Your body whips around, using the little resolve you have left to mask your delight at the sight of him.

“I’ll see you next week,” it comes out as a blend between a question and an affirmation and you can see in his eyes that he needs you to clarify the nature of his statement for him. To let him know there could in fact be more than today.

“I’ll see you next week, Hoseok.” You smile sheepishly as you turn around to scurry towards your intended destination, squealing into the palms of your hands. Hands that had touched him and had been caressed by him. Ultimately, hands that couldn’t wait to knead him the way he kneaded you.

Posted: July 16 2020

a/n: feel free to share any feedback, it’s always deeply appreciated 🥺

[sonicthehedgehoglover2]

For the rottmnt fics request: some angsty apritello??? Your choice of angst

Donnie stumbled into his laboratory, his hip nearly avoiding bumping into his metallic doorframe. The bright, fluorescent lighting within his lab beamed down on his sore and battered body, and it burned his tired eyes. He scrubbed at them with one filthy, bandaged hand and slumped against the wall, relishing in the cooling sensation that is presented to his overheated body. An overwhelming weight pressed against his back and, for the first time since he’d created his invention, his battle shell felt like it was suffocating him. His bruised fingers brushed the surface of his battle shell, scouring for the latches to release it from his back. Donnie’s digits slipped over and over again on the smooth metal, his usually calm temper igniting to life with each failed attempt.

“Here,” he jumped at the abrupt, soft voice that spoke up from behind him. Donnie craned his neck around, and he took note of April standing in the doorway of his lab. She smiled, weakly, at him; an expression that somehow seemed soft and sad at the same time. April strolled into the lab, and she extended her hands out to him. “Let me help you.”

For some reason he couldn't quite grasp, something hot and heavy built within his chest, pressing down on his very lungs at April's offer. It molded into a large ball and spread across his torso, making his skin crawl at the prospect of April touching him - of helping him. Donnie immediately pulled away from her searching hands before they could touch his suddenly sensitive skin.

“It’s fine, April,” Donnie stated, firmly, coldly. “I can at least do one thing on my own.”

April pulled her hands back at Donnie’s tone, and she stepped back a couple of steps, her smile slipping away from her lips. Donnie never noticed the change in her demeanor and, instead, he chose to refocus his attention upon trying to unlock his invention from his back. His clumsy fingers continued to fumble on the lock mechanisms precisely ten more times - he knew because he counted every infuriating try within his mind. Eventually, his invention must’ve pitied him, and the latches popped open with a loud hiss. His battle shell slid down from his back, and it fell to the unforgiving ground with a clatter.

Any other time, Donnie would’ve been absolutely mortified at the literal idea of his precious invention even brushing against the ground. Now, however, he staggered away from his machine and left it in a pile of dejected metal on the floor, the state of his machine the last thing in his mind. Gracelessly, Donnie plopped himself before one of his many, many computer screens - yet, they all say the same thing over and over - and he wirelessly hooked his digital gauntlet up to the monitors. He forced his strained eyes to scan through all the rushing info on the screens before him, soaking in all that he possibly could as he’s been doing over the past couple of days.

While he drowned himself in his never-ending work, April found herself drifting over to Donnie’s forgotten battle shell, and she stooped down towards it. Gingerly, she gathered the shell-like machine into her hands with ease, the invention light with minimal weight to it, and her dark eyes scoured its surface. Her brown fingertips lightly traced along the newly formed scratches etched into the bright purple-and-black paint, feeling small scars that hadn’t been there before.

The corners of her lips were pulled downwards at the sight. The original Donnie that she knew would’ve never have let his favorite and most relied upon invention get in this bad of shape; it was a known fact that he’d always kept it in perfect condition.

A very loud frustrated shout suddenly drew April back to reality, and she looked up in time to witness the softshell tear his digital gauntlet from his heavily bandaged wrist. With a literal growl, the gauntlet bouncing twice with a tiny shattering noise. April pursed her lips in concern at the surprisingly emotional display from the usually calm softshell, and she gently placed the battle shell onto the scratched gray table beside her.

“What happened?” April asked, gently, her voice loud in the unnatural silence that had settled over her second home. She slowly approached the softshell, her previous failed attempt still fresh within her mind. “Did you find something?”

Donnie twisted his head around, and he fixed her with a hard red-tinged stare. What bothered April the most about the expression was that it wasn’t the usual look he’d throw one of his brothers when he thought they were being too rowdy; it was a borderline heated glare. And, it was directed at her of all people.

“Yes, April,” Donnie said, flatly. There was a line of something dangerous - angry - hidden within his tone. “I definitely found something important, and that is why I threw my device on the ground.”

April furrowed her brow at the sarcastic remark, a faint flicker of anger igniting within her chest. Before she could even think of voicing her thoughts, Donnie continued talking, oblivious. “Of course, there’s nothing here! All that time I spent trying to track down the Purple Dragons, and I’ve got nothing but this-!”

Donnie smacked his bandaged fist against the wall beside the computer monitors, ignoring the sharp burst of pain that accompanied the action. The corners of April’s lips turned downwards at what was displayed upon the multiple bright screens, dread trickling into the pit of her stomach. Nearly every screen showed chibi versions of the Purple Dragons grinning madly with their leader, Kendra, out front chanting the word, “loser,” over and over, her voice loud and piercing.

Donnie sighed, and he staggered away from the monitors, clenching his newly aggravated hand around the wrist. “I… don’t know what to do next.”

April eyed the small splotches of crimson blooming across Donnie’s hand. “It’ll be okay, Donnie.”

The soft encouragement didn’t have the desired effect that April thought it would. In fact, Donnie seemed to stiffen, his expression hardening into stone. “How, April? Tell me how. It’s been approximately-” he paused, crunching some sort of invisible numbers within his mind. “Forty-nine hours and twenty-one minutes, and I have absolutely nothing to show for it!”

“Then, we’ll figure something out,” April shoved a shaky smile upon her face. “We always do.”

Donnie laughed, weakly, bitterly. “We included my brothers, and we - I still don’t know where they are! They’re depending on me - their tech guy - to save them, and all I’ve done is waste time!” He stumbled over to his chair, and he practically fell into it, hiding his face into one of his hands. In a low voice, he murmured, “I’m supposed to be smarter than this.”

April’s brown eyes widened behind her signature red glasses, and she didn’t hesitate to make her way over to the sullen softshell. Carefully, she lowered herself before him, taking note of the way Donnie’s shoulders trembled, and she placed a delicate hand on his knee. Donnie shivered - whether from her touch or his own roiling emotions, April wasn’t sure - but he didn’t pull away.

“Donatello,” April started, her voice firm. “You are literally the smartest and techiest guy I’ve ever met. But that isn’t all you are. Any time I, or anyone else, has ever been in trouble, you’ve always known what to do. And, you always care even if you don’t show it all the time. Wherever your brothers are, they know you’re trying your hardest.” She brushed her fingers against Donnie’s closed bloody hand, coaxing him to unfurl it. “I know you’re trying your hardest. But, you have to realize that you’re not going through this on your own.”

April pulled Donnie’s hand from his face, the softshell permitting her, and held it. She smiled at his watery eyes and the wet patches around the eye-holes in his mask. “I’m still here,” she said.

Donnie froze and, for the first time, he found himself getting a good look at April. She seemed just as tired as him, small bags lining the skin under her eyes. Her pigtails were lopsided atop her head, and her glasses sported a crack along the outside of one of the lenses. A large bruise bloomed from underneath a bandaid on her left cheek; she got it after they fell into one of the Purple Dragon’s traps.

She was right.

Burning tears welled up in Donnie’s eyes, and they trailed their way down his face. To both of their surprises, Donnie nearly leaped forward, and he embraced her as tight as he could. He buried his face within the green fabric of her torn jacket, inhaling smoke and flowery laundry detergent. April paused, momentarily taken off-guard, and she wrapped her arms around his jerking shoulders.

“Thank you, April,” he sobbed.

“No problem,” she hummed. “That’s what family’s for.”

[silverarmedassassin]

Home For the Holidays (1)

Bucky x Reader | Words: 8,608 | Warnings: None 

A/N: Happy holidays and happy December 16! This is my holiday submission for @wonderlandmind4 Fall/Winter challenge. My prompt was: B is very enthusiastic to introduce A to all their traditions, but tries to be sensitive when A seems like they’re struggling to fit in/enjoy themselves. 

I’ve been working on this guy for so long, so I decided to split this up into two parts. Part two will be posted this weekend! I’m so happy to finally be sharing this bad boy with you all! If you feel so inclined, I would love to hear what you think. Happy reading!🎄

From the time he was a young boy, Bucky has had an aversion towards the elderly. Which is ironic considering since, technically speaking, he is the elderly now. It’s not that he doesn’t like old people; it’s just that they make him uncomfortable. Which is why, on a balmy Sunday in October, when he walks into the Brooklyn Manor nursing home, he feels his skin crawl.

This trip has been a long time coming. Two years on the run, a voluntary deep freeze, a universal war, and the obliteration of half the earth’s population and its subsequent return, to be exact. But no amount of time would ever prepare Bucky for the visit he was about to make. But it was “essential to his healing,” as Sam so often liked to say. This, along with therapy and the establishment of a place of his own outside of the Tower, was meant to help him move past what had happened to him, help him see that he was a victim and that people still loved him despite what he was forced to do for all of those years.

"Good morning," a cheery redhead says from her spot behind the front desk. "Can I he-" She cuts herself off when she looks up from the computer screen and sees who is looming over her.

"Er, hi," Bucky says, suddenly convinced this is a terrible idea. He should expect nothing less, considering his line of work, both current and past. "I was told Rebecca Proctor lives here..."

It took a second for the woman to register what Bucky had said, but then she jumps into action and begins to type into her computer. "Of course! Are you a relative?"

"Brother."

Her eyes go wide for a second before it clicks. "Oh my goodness, of course." The woman grabs a sticky note from the pad next to her keyboard and scribbles down a series of numbers before handing it to him. "Her room number is 117. This is the code to get into the residence portion of the building. If you need help finding the room, there should be a nurse's station in every hall."

Bucky offers a tight smile and nod of appreciation as he takes the slip of paper from the woman. As he makes his way deeper into the facility, he can feel his nerves waxing and waning with each step. He shouldn't be nervous. It was just Becca, just his little sister, one of the last living ties to his life before all of this. But it had been so long, who knew if she would even recognize him?

When Bucky recruited Sam to help him find out where, or even if, his sister was living, he figured it would be a fruitless quest. He was surprised, however, when Sam came to him a week later with the address of the building he was currently attempting to navigate, shyly dipping his head every time he would pass an older woman in a wheelchair or a group of men concentrating on a board game. Sam had managed to hunt her down with a little help from his Avenger title. The nurse couldn't give him much information since he wasn't a relative or listed on her medical files, but what she could share broke Bucky's heart.

At 102 years old, technically a little less since she was a Snap victim, Becca's memory was less than stellar. Her children had made the tough decision to place her in a home after her mind had started to slip, and she was no longer able to care for herself. It makes Bucky feel guilty because he wasn't around to help.

But today, hopefully, that would change.

After a little wandering and a helpful point from a nurse, Bucky finds himself standing in front of the oversized, thick oak door with a golden plaque in the center proudly displaying "117." He waits a moment, listens for any sign that someone is in the room, but all he hears are the general noises of a nursing home just after lunchtime. He raises his hand to knock but stops short of making contact. Should he knock? What if she’s sleeping? He wouldn't want to wake her. He decides to slowly press the door open instead.

He enters the room slowly, unsure of what he will be greeted with when he reaches the end of the short hall blocking his view from his sister's bed. What he sees, however, thoroughly surprises him. Instead of finding a small, frail body lying in a too-sterile hospital-grade bed, he finds his sister sitting in one of the two armchairs in front of her window, quietly looking out into the garden just outside. After a moment of shifting back and forth on his feet, Bucky clears his throat in an attempt to catch Becca's attention.

The woman slowly turns her head to eye the intruder, and, to Bucky's amazement, a slight look of recognition flashes across her face. Despite her age and sunken appearance, her bright blue eyes still shine as brilliant as they did when she was a little girl. He focuses on those eyes as he slowly crosses the room to her.

"Hey, Becca. Do you," Bucky grimaces as the falter in his voice caused by the tears that are starting to form in his own blue eyes. "Do you know who I am?"

To save his sister from having to crane her frail neck to look up at him, he settles himself into the chair across from hers. The smooth velvet is cool on his overheated skin, and he could sink into the feeling of comfort it gives him. Another piece of home, he thinks as a picture of his family's home flashes across his mind, the two chairs nestled in a similar position to how Becca has them now.

Rebecca studies her brother for a moment before a thin but bright smile spreads across her aged features, and Bucky lets out the breath he didn't realize he was holding. "You're from the pictures. Just over there."

Bucky watches as a boney finger points to the dresser, the top neatly cluttered with picture frames and trinkets, a sign that his sister had lived a full and happy life after he'd gone. He gets up and makes his way to the piece of furniture to better look at the mixture of black and white and colored photos scattered together. It's strange, he thinks, seeing his sister's life play out across the years in the span of just a few short seconds. When he lands on a black and white photo in an aged frame, he freezes. Smiling back at him are his parents, Bucky himself sitting in front of them on their home's front steps, and Becca nestled snugly in their mother's arms. From when they first brought her home, Bucky thinks to himself as he reaches out and caresses the delicate glass. He moves on to another older photo, this one depicting the two Barnes children dressed in their Sunday best with a scrawny Steve Rogers thrown into the mix. Bucky shakes his head at the sight of his best friend, remembering all the trouble he used to get the two of them in.

The last photo he sees, though, causes a lump to rise and settle in his throat. Frozen in time in the cracked and fading film is the last time he ever saw his family. Bucky, Rebecca, and their parents stand on the dock just in front of the boat he was to ship off on. Becca and his mother have a tight grip on him, and his father only offers a tight smile to the camera. Looking at the image of his younger self, not too different from what he looks like now, is a heart-wrenching moment. The man in that photo has yet to see death first-hand, feel the visceral need to kill or be killed. That man was still innocent, naive to the world, and convinced he was invincible.

Bucky remembers that day and how, despite the nerves, excited he was to see someplace other than dinghy Brooklyn. Yeah, that war wasn't one he signed up to fight, but he'd made a promise to himself he would do what he needed to keep his ma and sister safe.

As he reaches for the frame, a soft knock on the door startles him from his thoughts. "Mrs. Proctor!" a sweet voice sing-songs as the door is pushed open once again. "I hope you didn't fill up at lunch. I brought-Oh!"

Standing in the doorway, both hands full of reusable bags filled to the brim with goodies of all sorts, is a young woman. Her smile, one of the prettiest Bucky's ever seen, he thinks, falters just a little when she sees his towering form taking up so much space in Becca's room. However, she recovers quickly and nudges the door shut behind her as she makes her way deeper into the room.

"I didn't know you were expecting company this afternoon," the woman says and deposits the bags onto the bed. "Who is this?"

Bucky studies the woman in an attempt to figure out who she is to his sister. She couldn't be a daughter or granddaughter, right? She looked nothing like them. Plus, she was calling her Mrs. Proctor. Bucky also felt confident in his ruling that she was not a nurse or staff member at the facility, considering she wasn't wearing scrubs or donning a facility badge.

The only indication that she even belongs in this facility is the sticker she wears proudly just above her heart, with "Y/N" scrawled in bright red letters.

"The pictures," Becca finally says with a smile, pointing towards Bucky. "He's from the pictures."

Their visitor looks between Bucky and Rebecca with a soft look somewhere between pity and a faint sense of joy. "Bucky," the frail old woman says, and Bucky instantly feels the lump that had settled into his throat not ten minutes earlier begin to grow again.

Y/N must sense the energy shift in the room because she quickly pulls out a few homemade goodies wrapped in cellophane and places them on the rolling table next to Becca's bed. "Well, I'll let you be with your visitor, Mrs. Proctor," she says as she shoulders her bags again. "I'll see you Tuesday evening, okay?"

Becca simply nods as she watches the younger woman make her exit, then shifts her attention to Bucky as he steps back towards her and crouches down.

"Bec, you remember me?"

She says nothing at first but brings her hand up to rest on Bucky's freshly shaved cheeks, a fresh set of tears gathering in their twin blue eyes. "You came back."

Bucky sits with his sister for two hours after they reacquaint themselves. The nurse that spoke with Sam was right; it was difficult to be around her, as she often slipped up with her memory. She couldn't remember the names of her grandchildren, nor her great-grandchildren, but when she saw their smiling faces looking back at her in the pictures, she knew they belonged to her. Her fragile mind, however, seemed to favor older faces and memories. She could recall events from when she was a teenager and even got some details right from when Bucky shipped off. The remembrance came with a repeat of the same stories two or three times, but Bucky didn’t mind. He was never around to bear witness to some of these stories, and it was just good to hear his sister’s voice again.

It's around 3 o'clock when Rebecca begins to grow tired, and so Bucky takes that as his cue to take his leave. He helps his sister into her bed for a pre-dinner nap, then quietly makes his exit when he is sure she is fast asleep. For a visit he was hesitant to make, he can't think of a better way to have spent his Sunday afternoon.

As Bucky makes his way back through the winding halls of the facility, a jaunty tune he recalls from his teenage days plays through his head, and he feels like he could face the world if needed, which is why he finds himself doing the unimaginable as he reaches the redhead at the front desk.

“Excuse me,” he says with a renewed sense of confidence that had been absent earlier in the day. “I don’t know if you can give me this information, but there was this woman...Y/N I think her name is. I don’t think she was a nurse, but maybe someone else that works here? Would you be able to tell me if she was still around?”

The woman smiles gently back at him but shakes her head. “We’re such a large facility, I’d need to see a face to know exactly who you’re talking about.”

There’s a momentary lapse in his confidence, realizing just how weird the question could come off. He’s suddenly very glad she had no idea who he was talking about and hopes she doesn’t mention it to anyone else.

“Uh, thanks anyway,” he mutters as he gives a small nod. “Have a good rest of your day.”

Oh well, he thinks to himself, at least I could make it out my door this morning.

The Snap impacted each and every person differently. While most think the Vanished had it the worst, people tend to forget about those left behind. Many lost their jobs due to closures and shortages, others were evicted due to insufficient funds for rent. The uncertainty of it all, the not knowing what happened to family and friends, not knowing when you’d find your next job, if you’d have money to buy groceries this week, took a harder toll on some than others.

You had been a relatively fortunate one. Since moving to the city, you hadn’t quite made a large group of friends yet, which meant there were fewer people for you to lose. Your family had somehow lucked out as well. Due to an abundance of workers suddenly gone without a trace, you’d been able to snag a corporate position that you managed to hold onto even after the Snap was reversed.

However, the one downside was the aftermath of families coming back to their homes only to find that someone new was living in their space. That, unfortunately, happened to you. Two days after everyone reappeared, you had a knock on your front door. When you opened it, you found a lovely couple who had just been married before the Snap and had just started renting the apartment you were living in. And, even though you’d called this building your home for the past five years, you did what any half-decent individual would do and moved out. Goodbye state-of-the-art gym and central location, hello paper-thin walls, and a forty-five-minute one-way commute.

At least you were able to take a few days off of work to get your belongings out of the old apartment and into the new one. Most of the larger furniture had been the couple’s, which meant you only had to carry a few pieces into your second story Brooklyn brownstone apartment. The problem, however, was that there was no elevator in this renovated building, which meant you had to find a way to carry your low-quality Ikea TV stand up the too-narrow stairs without busting a wall or your furniture. The only thing you were close to bursting was a nerve because it was turning out to be more of a two-person task, and you were the only one participating in this moving process.

“Fuck you,” you groan as one of the stand’s legs gets caught on the stairs again. Despite the chilly breeze that was blowing in from the building’s front door you had propped open, you were perspiring more than would be deemed ladylike. With the rate you were going, you would need to need to take another full day off just to get your stupid furniture into your apartment.

“Do you need some help?” a voice calls from above you. You peek over your shoulder to find a rather tall, rather bulky man standing at the second-floor landing. It hadn’t even occurred to you that people might actually need to use the stairs to, you know, go about their daily lives. What doesn’t go over your head, however, is the fact that the man standing at the top of the stairs was not a complete stranger like you originally thought, but someone you knew almost too well for not actually knowing him at all.

“That would actually be wonderful,” you huff out a laugh, attempting to be nonchalant about the fact that Bucky Barnes, the Winter Soldier - soldier turned assassin turned Avenger - was standing just feet away from you for the second time in twenty-four hours, this time in your new apartment building. Maybe this place wasn’t as safe as you had thought?

He makes his way halfway down the stairs, and you attempt to shimmy out of the way so that he can grab the corners you had been holding up. “If you could just get this thing back down the stairs, I could-” Your meager offering of help is cut short when Bucky manages to slot his arms into place and life the entire piece like it was nothing. A metal arm will do that to someone, you suppose.

You awkwardly direct him to your apartment, shoving open the door to 2B and waving your arm to give him a vague idea of where you want the stand. “Thank you. You’re a lifesaver. I thought for sure I was going to have to take the thing apart to get it up here.”

“It’s no problem, really,” Bucky says as he stuffs his hands into his jacket’s pockets, the stiff leather shifting and rubbing as he does so. When he looks at you for the first time, his bright blue eyes light up even more with recognition. “Hey, you were visiting my sister’s place the other day.”

“I was,” you laugh as you extend your hand. “I’m Y/N.”

There’s a brief moment of hesitation before a warm, leathered hand slips into yours. “Bucky,” he says as if you wouldn’t already know who he is. "Do you, uh, need help bringing anything else up?"

You watch him as he slowly glances around your small apartment, void of much except for a few boxes and the stand he just carried up and your mattress you've yet to shimmy into the bedroom. “Oh! No,” you laugh, realizing how pathetic your new home looks at the moment. “I have movers bringing the rest of my things from storage tomorrow. But thank you, I really appreciate it.”

“It’s really no problem. If you, uh, ever need anything, I rent the unit above you. Not sure how often I’ll be home, but for whatever it’s worth,” he shrugs as you follow him back out your front door.

“I’ll keep it in mind. I guess I’ll be seeing you around?”

Despite his nod of agreement, you don’t see Bucky for another two weeks. You try not to let the unexplained but forewarned absence weigh on your thoughts. With the exception of listening for the creaks of his floorboards that never come and the brief visits with his sister, you find yourself doing everything you can to not fixate on the Grecian god of a man you have somehow come to call a neighbor.

It’s not until you receive a call from Rebecca’s daughter that you finally admit he was home.

“Oh, I’m...I’m so sorry…” you choke out when Mary informs you her mother had passed away in the early hours of the night. Despite having no real relation to the Proctor family, you’d known them for a handful of years due to your time spent at the nursing home. In that time, they’d come to be like family to you, so their loss affected you just as strongly as the passing of your own family member would. “Have you told her brother?”

“No. We have no way to contact him. I know he’d spent some time with Ma at the nursing home, so I left a message for them to pass the news and my number on if he came in or called. But I haven’t heard anything.”

“I actually have a way to reach him. I’ll tell him to give you a call, okay?”

When you get home the following day, you’re greeted by the sound of Bucky’s shower turning on. Five minutes later, it shuts off. You give him another ten before you make your way up to his apartment. The idea of telling this man, a practical stranger who you knew nothing about other than what you’ve read in books and seen on tv, that his sister passed away leaves you feeling nauseous. This isn't exactly what you pictured when you said you’d see him around.

He’s quick to answer his door. You’re taken off guard when his door is pulled open to reveal his broad chest covered in a blue Henley that is clinging to his still-damp skin. It takes you a moment to gather your thoughts and remember exactly why you were here.

“Is everything okay, Y/N?” he asks as you drag your eyes up to meet his own.

You clear your throat and shake your head in an attempt to gather your thoughts. “Uh, yeah. No? I’m sorry to bug you, but I, uh...You haven’t heard from Mrs. Pro-er, I mean Rebecca’s daughter, have you?” When he says no, you sigh. You knew that was the answer you were going to get, but a part of you still hoped you weren’t going to have to be the one to deliver this information. “Mary called me yesterday. She, uh...She wanted you to know...uh...Rebecca passed away...early yesterday morning…”

You can visibly see Bucky shift through several emotions - shock, grief, anger, to finally an almost expressionless mask. You unintentionally stiffen at the sound of metal shifting and grating together, which seems to break Bucky’s haze. You can tell he’s struggling to find words in that moment, so you continue on, hoping a coherent sentence will come out.

“I know I’m probably not the person you want to hear this news from, but I couldn’t really give her a way to contact you and...Here!” You shove your hand out towards him, the small piece of paper you wrote Mary’s number down on resting in your palm. “I told her I’d give you her number. So you could call her or whatever.”

Bucky just looks at the slip for a moment before you clear your throat. “Listen, I’m really sorry. I wi-”

“Thanks, Y/N,” he cuts you off and grabs for the paper. “If you don’t mind, I’m going to go call her.”

Before you can respond, Bucky is turning his back. “Yeah, okay,” you whisper to the dark oak of his door before making your way back down to your own apartment.

“The service was beautiful, Mary,” you say as you hug Rebecca’s daughter. “She would have loved it.”

“It’s all thanks to Bucky. He paid for everything.” Mary says as she sets her gaze over your shoulder. “Or, I guess Uncle Bucky is more appropriate to say…”

You turn and follow her gaze to where the man in question is, his great-great nieces and nephew using him as their personal jungle gym. You can tell, even from across the room, that his face is absolutely glowing, eyes crinkled in the outer-corners with delight as Bridget, the youngest of the bunch, wraps her tiny arms around his neck and demands a horsey ride.

“I’m glad they’re taking it so well,” Mary says as she watches her grandchildren. “It’s almost like he’s been a part of their life this entire time instead of just appearing out of nowhere.” There’s no hostility in her voice when she says this. Rather, she sounds remorseful. “I went my entire life hearing stories about my uncle. My dead uncle. Yet, after all these years, he shows up looking exactly like he does in the pictures I’ve been looking at since I was a little girl.”

You felt for Mary and the rest of the family. You couldn’t begin to comprehend how difficult and confusing it must be to find out that the man you’d come to know as just a ghost story was alive and real and more than willing to be a part of even the most difficult moments in life. It’s a testament, you think, to how good of a man Bucky really is. Despite the horrors of his past and the apprehension he’s likely still faced with every day, he’s still willing to put himself out into a world that has been less than kind to him.

As if your thoughts summon him, Bucky looks up and over to where you are standing. When he catches your eye, his smile grows. You’re sure there has never been anything as beautiful as Bucky Barnes flashing a megawatt smile at you. “At least you’re in good hands.”

You decide not to stick around for the luncheon after the service so, after snagging a few refreshments and a quick chat with a few of the family members you recognize, you begin to inch your way closer to the exit. You hadn’t seen Bucky since you’d spoken with Mary, and you were in the middle of trying to figure out why that left you with a hollow feeling in the pit of your stomach when you’re abruptly stopped on your way to the doors.

“You can’t leave before I get the chance to apologize for the other day,” Bucky says, a small smile gracing his face. He cleans up well, you decide as you get a better look at his lightly stubbled face. He has his hair tied back in a neat, low bun, which allowed his eyes to stand out more than they usually did, and a black-on-black suit is stretched just right over his broad chest. If you didn’t know better, you would think he was a model on loan to add some cheer to the rather dreary day.

Bucky quirks his head and shifts his body weight when it takes you a bit too long to answer, and it’s only then that you realize you’re ogling him. His sister just died, Y/N, you chastise yourself, this is not the time to be checking him out.

“I, uh,” you clear your throat, hoping he can’t feel the heat that is rapidly clawing up your neck radiating from you. “I don’t want to intrude on family time,” you say rather lamely. It was true, but for whatever reason, Bucky left you feeling almost guilty.

He lets out a humorless laugh and crosses his arms. “If anyone is intruding, I think it’s me,” he says as he looks over your shoulder back into the banquet room the rest of the family is in.

You turn to follow his line of sight and can’t help but smile when you see one of his great-nieces twirling around, showing off her dress. “Nah, don’t say that. The little ones seem to love you,” you laugh, hoping to lighten the mood just a little.

Bucky chuckles and then sighs. “Yea, but I just...don’t feel like I belong.”

Hearing Bucky, this man who had his entire life ripped from him multiple times, who, after spending just a few short hours in total with, you ardently believed deserved every good thing in the world and then some, say that he feels he doesn’t belong among those who are supposed to love him most broke your heart. You know that it’s likely untrue that Rebecca’s family was anything but unwelcoming, but that Bucky even felt that way caused a pit to open in your stomach.

“Oh, Bucky…” you say softly, trying to avoid sounding full of pity. “I’m so sorry this all has happened to you.” He averts his gaze and shrugs. “You know what? I could probably stay for a little while longer…”

At that, Bucky looks back at you, eyes as bright as when his own sister recognized him on that very first day. You knew then that, no matter what, you’d do anything to keep that look on his face.

“I promise it won’t be for nothing. They have a ton of food, and I guess there are some famous deviled eggs that, not to sound awful but...are to die for.”

You stifle a laugh and shake your head as Bucky leads you back into the banquet room, excitedly rambling on about the various food items his relatives have to offer. After piling your plates full and grabbing a coffee, you follow Bucky to a small table conveniently tucked away in the corner. Over the next hour, you watch Bucky’s perfectly constructed walls begin to crumble just a little. You quickly uncover which topics make him uncomfortable, particularly those revolving around his current line of work and those he can talk about endlessly. You learn the ins and outs of what it was like being friends with Captain America before he was the size of a brick house. You also discover that Bucky is someone you could listen to talk for hours on end.

“I don’t think it ever came up,” Bucky says as he takes a seat back at the table, two fresh cups of coffee in hand, “how did you know my sister?”

You hum your thanks and take a sip before answering. “Well, a few years ago, or I guess a few years before the Snap, I started volunteering at the nursing home. You’d be surprised how many families just shove their parents or grandparents in those homes and forget about them. They get lonely and just want someone to talk to that isn’t a nurse or whatever. It got worse during those five years. Rebecca never really needed me to sit with her; her family visited all the time. However, she was still one of my favorite residents.

“She talked about you all the time, you know. Even when she couldn’t remember her own children’s names, she always had a story to tell about you. She was immensely proud of you.” Bucky grunts, and you playfully roll your eyes at him. “She was a good storyteller. Sometimes it was hard to tell if she was trying to pull my leg or not. She...she was something else, but she’s going to be dearly missed.”

A somber sort of silence falls between the two of you then. It’s not uncomfortable, but it’s the kind charged with a unique sense of melancholy. It’s so strange, you think, to share a common heartbreak with someone you still barely know. Loss and grief have a curious way of bringing those once unknown together.

“Uncle Bucky,” a high-pitched squeal cuts through the moment and brings with it the excited, flushed face of an excited great-niece. “Uncle Bucky, I made you something!”

Bridget worms her way up onto Bucky’s lap, a piece of paper with her hand traced to look like a turkey in its center. “To Unkle Bucky, Luv Bridget” was written sloppily across the top.

You watch as Bucky’s expression goes from one of strain to that of absolute joy. “Thank you so much,” he smiles as he takes the paper and examines it as if it were a piece on display at the Louvre. “I know exactly where I’m going to hang this as soon as I find a frame.”

The little girl, who bears a striking resemblance to her long-lost great-uncle, beams as she wraps her arms around his neck and squeezes. You catch Bucky’s eye, causing him to break into an even wider smile. You hope he can see how truly and unconditionally he is loved.

You watch as she scrambles off back to where her brother and cousin are sitting, coloring away. You nod at the sweet drawing. “Planning on spending Thanksgiving with them?”

Bucky smooths his hand over the paper in front of him and thinks for a moment. “They invited me. I guess they, we, have family in Indiana that they usually visit for the holiday. I just...I don’t think so. I don’t want to be that far from where I’m needed most, and I think meeting a whole new set of family would be a bit much, ya know?”

You hum in response, fully understanding the dilemma. It’s unfortunate, though. “Well, I’m sure I could never compete with a real home-cooked meal, but I’m staying home because I don’t...really agree with the holiday and will be heating up a nice frozen turkey TV dinner if you would like to join. I might just throw in a pumpkin pie, too.”

Bucky looks up then, a soft, small smile turning up the corners of his lips. “Thanks, Y/N, really. But I’m not sure. Might not even be home,” he shrugs.

“Well,” you say as you look at the time on your phone, “the offer stands just in case you change your mind. But, hey, I think it’s time for me to leave for real now. I have some work to catch up on before I go back to the office tomorrow.”

You can tell he’s disappointed, but Bucky offers to walk you out anyway. He wants to stay and help his family clean up, or he would offer to walk you home. You make your rounds to say goodbye to the family you were familiar with and, when you reach the kiddie table to say goodbye, Bucky’s great-nephew Jackson refuses to let you go.

“Will I ever see you again even though we can’t come to visit Grammy no more?” he wails as he buries his little face into your stomach.

“Jackson, please,” his mother says as she comes to diffuse the situation. The little boy lets out one last sob into your dress before letting his mother pull him into her arms. “Y/N will still be around,” she smiles mischievously, directing her gaze over your shoulder to where Bucky waits at the front doors. “I’m almost sure of it.”

You can feel the heat of embarrassment as it claws up your neck, and you quickly give another round of hugs and goodbyes to the children before heading back to Bucky. “Is everything alright,” he asks as he hands you your coat.

“Fine. Jackson is just…” you slip on your coat and refuse to meet Bucky’s probing eyes, “dramatic sometimes.”

The weeks following Rebecca’s funeral saw Bucky locked away in his apartment. Calls from Sam and Wanda went unanswered, and the curtains were scarcely opened. He’d even ignored your attempts of delivering some semblance of comfort. The pasta dish you dropped off was left mostly untouched in his fridge, and he’d only managed to eat half a slice of a pumpkin pie you’d left for him on Thanksgiving. He knew that hiding away was doing nothing for his mental health, would do nothing to help him move past the loss and pain, but it was all he knew. How he reacted was all he could control, and Bucky liked to be in control.

His control, like most things in his life, came to an end far too quickly when Sam decided he’d finally had enough. Bucky knew that he couldn’t hide from his friends forever, but he would have liked to come out on his terms.

“Man, I know you’re in there,” Sam shouts as he knocks on the door of Bucky’s apartment. He’d been there for five minutes now, and, at this point, Bucky was testing to see how long he could keep the man waiting. “Seriously, Buck, open the door, or I’ll use Redwing to knock it down. And I won’t pay for repairs or reimburse your security deposit.”

Bucky sighs before hauling himself off of the couch. “What?” he deadpans as he opens the door. It takes everything in him not to slap the toothy grin off of Sam’s amused face.

“I was beginning to think I was going to have to call the Smithsonian - tell them to get your exhibit ready because, as far as any of us knew, you were dead,” Sam says as he pushes past Bucky into the apartment.

“What do you want?” Bucky asks again as Sam looks around the scarcely decorated apartment. From the discontent on his face, Bucky could tell Sam was less than thrilled with the state of his apartment. It was dark, the only furniture being a couch, a small coffee table, and an old TV he’d stolen from the Tower. Not exactly what one would consider a "space of their own."

“Listen,” Sam says as he moves to push open the curtains, “you’ve spent enough time locked up in here. You need to get out, see the sun, get some air. Plus, Wanda misses you, and that spider kid has been coming around asking for you.” Bucky grimaces at that. Peter Parker had asked his fair share of questions about his arm, and Bucky didn’t feel like entertaining the teenager anymore.

“Don’t give me that look,” Sam continues as he flops down on the couch. “Go get dressed. You can hang out with the crew for a few hours today. I promise if you have the worst time of your life, I’ll let you sit in your own filth and wallow for the foreseeable future, okay?”

After a moment of contemplation, Bucky agrees. Despite his dwindling interest in seeing anyone outside of his own reflection, he knew that seeing his friends - his chosen family of mix-matched misfits - would make him feel at least a little better. So, he allows Sam to tidy up the apartment, put away the dishes Bucky has been neglecting, and open the rest of the windows while he goes to get dressed. Bucky will never admit, however, just how much lighter he felt when he emerged from his room to the man he reluctantly called his best friend, smiling back at him.

December creeps up in a flurry of deadlines and personal obligations. The two-week break your company gave you every holiday season was a welcomed reprieve to the daily hustle and bustle of life, but it also meant long hours at the office in the weeks leading up to the holiday. Plus, the holidays were always a sour topic around the nursing home, as many of the residents were left to their own devices instead of being a part of family celebrations. That meant, in addition to staying until six or seven o’clock at work, you were spending hours afterward crafting decorations, cards, and personalized goodies for each of the residents you visited each week. This all, understandably, left you with little to no free time.

So, when the first of the month came rolling in, and you were yet to have played a single Christmas song or even thought about pulling your tiny table-top tree from storage, you felt deflated. You’d never been so thankful for online shopping and overnight shipping because, by Saturday afternoon, you had a brand new artificial Christmas tree waiting for you on your building’s front steps. In your excitement of getting into the holiday spirit, however, you completely overlooked just how you were going to get this tree up your narrow stairwell. It was like moving day all over again, except for this time you were sure a knight in shining vibranium armor was not going to show up to save the day.

To your dismay, you hadn’t seen Bucky since his sister’s funeral a month ago. It’s not like you hadn’t tried to make contact. You had prepared him a small meal the day after and had even left him half of the pumpkin pie you picked up from the market down the block. The only way you could tell he was even inside his apartment was the fact that, when you went back up to check, the items were gone. That or one of your other neighbors had taken them for themselves. Either way, you were missing Bucky. Even though you’d only had one proper conversation the entire time you’ve known him, you enjoyed just knowing Bucky was around. The thought of him suffering to any extent made your heart twist into unmanageable knots.

You sigh as you prop the building’s front door open, bringing your attention back to the task at hand. You were strong and independent, and you were more than capable of getting this hefty box up to your apartment. With that mindset in tow, you’re pleasantly surprised to turn around and find Bucky and another man making their way towards the building.

“He’s alive,” you exclaim, unable to hide the smile that blooms across your face. You’d feel embarrassed at the overexcitement that laced through your greeting, but you were genuinely happy to see that he had been out of his apartment and with a suspected friend.

“Uh, hey, Y/N,” Bucky says as he looks down to his boot-clad feet. Despite his quiet demeanor and tendency to be closed off, you’d never seen Bucky so...shy.

So you turn your attention to the second man standing in front of you. “I’m Y/N,” you smile as you bound down the stairs to the men, hand out and waiting for Bucky’s friend to shake, “Bucky’s neighbor!” You hope that whatever icy tension that had settled over Bucky would thaw if you directed the spotlight away from him.

“Sam,” the man says as a toothy grin breaks across his face. “Bucky didn’t mention he had neighbors.”

“It’s an apartment building, bird brain, of course I have neighbors,” Bucky mumbles as he buries his hands in his jacket pockets. He looks at you then or rather looks past you at the tall box leaning against the brick building. “What’re you up to?”

“Well, I just got a new Christmas tree delivered,” you say as you bite your lip and try to hide your desperation for help. “I was just getting ready to take it up.”

Bucky looks from you to the tree before settling his gaze on you. “Do you need some help,” he asks coyly.

You don’t even attempt to mask your smile as you guiltily nod your head. As Bucky turns to look at his friend, Sam puts his hands up. “Nah, man, I was getting ready to leave. Plus, heavy lifting is more your thing,” he says before looking at you. “Plus, Bucky is still learning how to play nice with others. And it’s my day off.”

You chuckle and playfully roll your eyes. “You better go relax, then. I’m sure a day off is rare for a superhero.”

As Sam starts backing up towards the way they came, he nods. “I like her, Buck. She really gets it. It was nice meeting you, Y/N!”

“Bye, Sam,” you wave as you watch him make his way down the sidewalk. “He seems really nice,” you say as Bucky hauls the tree box over his shoulder.

“He’s a pain in my ass,” he grumbles as he nods towards the front door.

All you can do is laugh and lead the way to your apartment.

“Thank you so much, Bucky,” you say as he finishes up pulling the faux tree from its too-small confines.

“It’s not a problem,” he shrugs and takes a step back to look at the tree. It’s in pretty rough shape, but once you’re done with it, no one will ever be able to tell it’s lived most of its life in a cardboard box. “You know, I haven’t had a Christmas tree since 1942.”

You stop shuffling around in the bin of ornaments and turn to look at him. “You’re joking,” you say, absolutely appalled. When Bucky shakes his head, you make a decision. “Stay and decorate with me, then.”

This obviously takes Bucky off guard, and before he can even attempt to come up with a reason to say no, you’re busting out your best pout, absolutely determined to share some holiday cheer with him this afternoon.

“Fine,” he sighs, but you can see the hint of a smile twitching on his lips.

You put Bucky to work immediately, pointing at boxes and bins full of ornaments, tinsel, and other holiday goodies. To your delight, he has quite the eye for placing ornaments, a skill he attributes to having a best friend who forced him into art classes and design lectures as teenagers. You’re almost certain he’s enjoying himself, a suspicion that is all but proven when he starts cheerfully humming along to the Christmas station you have playing on your phone.

“I’m really happy to see you out and about today,” you say as you hand him a sparkling orb to hang on one of the taller branches.

Bucky falters in his movements just a little before delivering the ornament onto its new home for the season. “I’m sorry I disappeared for a little bit…”

“Oh, Bucky,” you say as you place a hand on his metal forearm. You'd been surprised when he took his jacket off to reveal his metal arm with little more than the sleeve of his t-shirt covering it. You try not to think of the implications behind the small but seemingly intimate action. “Never apologize for how you grieve. We all process and deal with things differently.”

A moment passes in silence, though it’s not awkward. It’s simply a moment where both of you seem to process what was said. Surprisingly, it’s Bucky who breaks the silence. “That pasta thing you left me, that was really good,” he chuckles.

“Remind me, and I’ll write the recipe down for you. It’s one of my favorite comfort foods.”

Time passes easily with Bucky. Despite what Sam said early, Bucky is an excellent companion to decorate with. He cracks jokes every now and then and comments on your collection of antique ornaments. You even manage to get him to try some of that crockpot wine you had attempted to make earlier in the day. By dinner time, your tree is fully dressed and situated in its corner, and you’re tipsy on holiday cheer and alcohol. As you make your way towards the couch with a fresh glass in your hand, Bucky begins to hum along to Bing Crosby’s “I’ll Be Home for Christmas” as the beginning notes start to float through your apartment.

“God, I remember when this song came out,” he says quietly as you take your seat. “They played it nonstop at camp. Dunno what they were trying to do, raise our spirits, maybe? It just made me think about how Ma and Becca were going to be all alone that Christmas.” He pauses then, likely lost in the memory. You’re about to say something to pull him back from wherever he drifted off to when he adds, “I couldn’t help thinkin’ that this was a song I’d ask a girl to dance to, too.”

“I didn’t know you could dance,” you laugh as you set your wine glass down.

“Oh sweetheart, I had girls lining up outta the hall to dance with me back in the day. I wasn’t always so…” he turns to look at you and gesticulates with both arms to make his point, whatever that may be.

You squint your eyes in a challenging glare and stand. “You have to show me these moves, Bucky Barnes.” He opens his mouth to protest, but you quickly cut him off. “I’ll sing along if you don’t. I know you can hear the concerts I put on for my shampoo bottles in the shower. Save you and the neighbors the show, come on.”

Bucky gives you a mock grimace before giving in. You’re not sure if it’s the wine that’s causing time to feel so slow or if it’s the fact you want to savor the image of Bucky standing over you, flesh hand outstretched for you to take. You don’t question it, though, and simply step into his warm, welcoming embrace. It’s all too easy to melt into Bucky’s arms and allow him to guide you around your tiny living room.

A few moments pass with little more than Crosby’s melodic crooning drifting around the two of you. You hope that, despite how close you are, Bucky can’t hear how rapidly your heart is beating. When you finally muster the courage to look at him, you find that he was already looking at you. He squeezes your hand a little and gives you possibly one of the most tender smiles you’ve ever seen.

“Nice to know I still have it,” he exclaims as he winks, and you smile and shake your head before resting it on his shoulder.

When the song ends, Bucky ends his effortless glide across the antiqued hardwood floors, and you pull back from his chest enough so that you can look into his eyes. If your gaze lingers a little too long on his plump, pink lips, you’ll never admit. Despite the impossibly low lighting of the room, you can see the way Bucky’s crystal blue eyes sparkle and dance when they catch the lights from your tree.

“Thank you for helping me today,” you say, barely above a whisper.

“‘Course,” Bucky replies and, as the seconds pass, you’re pretty sure that he begins to lean towards you, eyes flicking between yours and your lips.

Just as you’re about to close the small distance, a disorienting ringing begins from somewhere. Bucky pulls away, irritation quickly taking over his expression. “Goddammit,” he practically growls as he pulls his phone from his pocket. “What, Sam?”

You watch as a range of emotions flash across Bucky’s face before a seriousness shadows his features. He barks out a gruff, “See you in a few,” before quickly ending the call. “We’re, uh, needed. Immediately.”

“O-oh,” you mummer, disappointed that he has to leave so quickly. You watch from where Bucky had stopped the two of you as he gathers his jacket and scrambles to put his boots on. He’s almost to your door when your brain finally catches up to what is going on, and, in that moment, you’re appreciative for how small your apartment is because you’re able to get to him before he is fully out of the apartment.

“Wait, Bucky,” you call as you grab for his arm. When he turns to look at you, you almost back out of what you’re about to say, but you persevere, knowing that the world will continue to turn if he rejects you. “Come to Christmas with me. My parents only live two hours away. We’re pretty low-key, no big party or anything. Please?”

Bucky considers you for a moment before he visibly softens and nods. “You know what, sure. That...that sounds great.”

You smile so wide when you hear him accept the invitation, something you thought for sure would be for not. Before you can even consider your actions, you’re leaning up to place a chaste kiss on his rough and prickly cheek. “Stay safe out there,” you say gently. Bucky simply nods, a blush begins to work it’s way up his neck.

You stand in your doorway until you hear the front door of your building click shut behind him. You’ll never confess to it, but when your own apartment door is securely shut behind you, you do an excited, happy dance.

[slutsfordoves]

i would give you my first-born for some valdo/jaskier!! maybe a/b/o, omega jaskier and his alpha boyfriend valdo are using the pull-out method so that jaskier doesn't get pregnant. but valdo is starting to get tired of knotting his fist, so he decides that enough is enough and finally comes inside jaskier even despite the other man's protests. jaskier is absolutely horrified and heart-broken afterwards, because how could the love of his life do this to him?

S U R E HERE YOU GOOOOOOOO

-----

“Oh, I couldn't imagine caring for a child. They're an awful mess.”

Jaskier rolled to his side. Valdo shifted to catch him in his arms, their bodies filling the space of Valdo’s narrow daybed. They had only just woken from a midday nap, tangled together; and after many long, languid touches and kisses exchanged in the liquid afternoon sunlight, Valdo had said, “Have you thought about it, Jaskier? As you said you would?”

Jaskier went on.

“And anyway, what kind of a mother would I be? You know I'm made of unsturdy stuff. I'd faint the first time it came to change a diaper. No, better to live life unfettered. Don’t you think so, Valdo?”

Valdo made a soft humming sound. Jaskier could feel the press of Valdo’s nose, then his mouth, to the back of his neck. This hum did not sound disappointed, exactly. But it also did not sound as though Valdo were willing to drop the matter entirely.

“I think you'd make a fine mother,” Valdo said, after some time. “I’ve read stories of mothers who don’t really come around to it ‘til the child’s already nursing. They don’t regret it. Not once they’ve seen the babe.”

Fine and good for them, Jaskier wished to say; but Valdo had sounded unnaturally plaintive. Jaskier suspected this was a desire Valdo had long held secret for fear of his reaction, and Jaskier didn’t want to hurt him.

“It isn’t really the time for children, either way,” he demurred. “There’s years left to decide. I’ve got my studies and you’ve got your apprenticeship. We don’t need to worry about it so soon.” A thought struck him, and he turned his head to purr against Valdo’s mouth. “And we can always play-act while we’re waiting. Won’t you breed me, Alpha? I feel so empty without you.”

Valdo didn’t answer. Rather, he bit him, gently, and rolled on top of him, and slipped his half hard cock inside of him. Jaskier was still wet from their earlier fucking. It was easy to take. He pressed himself into the daybed and immersed himself in being soundly buggered. When once again Valdo had drained himself and had drifted off into a shallow slumber atop him, Jaskier similarly allowed himself to fall to sleep, thinking the matter settled.

-----

Jaskier woke with a start. He was no longer on the day bed, but instead in the bedroom; the curtains were corded tight, and the windows shut. The whole room felt humid, the air swampy and stale. The sheets beneath him were drenched with sweat.

“It’s so hot,” he gasped. ”Valdo, what’s going on? I’m so. Oh.”

He shifted the smallest bit and what felt like a deluge of slick slipped out of him, wetting his thighs, further wetting the sheets and the mattress. His cocklet, trapped between himself and the mattress, was aching. Indeed, the whole of him ached. A thick wave of disgust washed over him, and with it came nausea and dizziness. He clamped his eyes shut and he pressed his overheated face into the bed.

“Oh, gods, what’s wrong with me?”

“Nothing’s wrong, darling,” Valdo said.

Jaskier raised his head. Valdo was beside the bed, holding a cold cloth and a bucket. He wiped Jaskier’s brow. Jaskier reached for him, blindly; wrapped his hands around Valdo’s wrists and held onto them. Against Jaskier’s boiling skin, Valdo felt blessedly cool.

“It’s your heat,” Valdo said.

“It isn’t time for my heat,” he said blearily, blinking his eyes. There was a fog surrounding his vision that wouldn’t lift. This wasn’t usual at all for his heats; they did not come so forcefully, and they did not make him feel so wretched. “It isn’t time. And my - my suppressants - “

“You must have missed a dose.”

“I don’t miss doses,” he said, even as he caught Valdo’s scent, the scent of an alpha, and his whole body thrummed with a need that nearly had him lifting off the bed sheets. “I’m certain I took it. I’m.”

Valdo pulled out of his grasp. He tossed the cloth into the bucket and put the bucket onto the floor. These few moments seemed to last an eternity. Valdo was not touching him, not even looking at him, and he was, yes, in heat. Ready and aching to be mounted. Why wasn’t Valdo looking? Wasn’t Jaskier pleasing enough?

“Nothing for it now, of course. We’ll have to sort you out the old fashioned way.”

Valdo flipped Jaskier to his front, and Jaskier, desperate and grateful to be handled so roughly, tucked his knees beneath him and rested on his elbows. He had been naked on the daybed and he was naked now. A sight any Alpha would kill for: his rim pink and dribbling slick, still well-fucked from their earlier coupling, his own cocklet full and bobbing, and the small of his back and the backs of his thighs still smelling like Valdo’s come.

He could feel the slippery head of Valdo’s cock slide across his hole, catching the rim but not penetrating. An awful tease that ratcheted his desire higher, made the awful heat in the core of him flare that much hotter. He could just scream with the frustration of it. Jaskier fisted the sheets and slammed his head down into the mattress, and he rolled his hips and widened his knees. If he were to present better, make a prettier picture, Valdo wouldn’t be so inclined to tease him. Would stuff him as full as he wished.

“Please, Valdo, please,” he said.

“Needy bitch.”

Jaskier squealed, his toes spreading and then curling. Valdo had breached him in one long thrust, burying himself fully up Jaskier’s sodden backside. Valdo wasn’t the largest Alpha Jaskier had ever taken, but still he filled him up sweetly; there was a phantom pain, a near-uncomfortable stretch. He had a bulbous, firm cockhead that struck Jaskier just right that stars burst behind his eyelids; and once he got round to fucking him, it eased the awful, cramping pain he had been in since he’d woken up in heat.

“I hate fucking you when you’re like this,” Valdo panted, after a few long minutes. “Your cunt feels so loose.”

Jaskier stiffened, and then gave an embarrassed squeak. Valdo fucked up into him, and there was an answering squelch, a fount of slick pouring out of him; enough to mat the hair on Valdo’s stomach and thighs, enough to run in riverlets over his own swollen balls and prick. Some of the passion in him flagged a little, and he felt hot with shame in its stead.

“Not my fault,'' he mumbled, between Valdo’s bone-rattling thrusts, “s’not my fault,” but Valdo only sighed and said, “Of course it’s not.”

He was feeling quite useless. He’d gotten himself into this state in the first place (how? how? he didn’t miss doses, never had, not once in 12 years, something wasn’t right but he couldn’t think, couldn’t focus on a thing past Valdo’s cock up his arse), and now couldn’t even please his Alpha. His overheated body, the thrust of Valdo’s stiff cock against his sensitive insides, the rejection, it was too much; he felt the miserable bite of tears at his eyes and could do nothing to stop them from falling. Valdo fucked him and Jaskier sniffled and whined, and he wanted it to end and he also wanted it to never end.

After what felt like ages, Valdo pulled free from the clutch of his arse.

“Are you going to come?” Jaskier asked, sluggishly. He threw his arm back to try to stuff two fingers into himself, the sense of emptiness and the longing overwhelming him. The heat wouldn’t subside for hours yet, not without Jaskier being knotted. While Valdo rallied, he would need a plug.

“Move,” Valdo said. He knocked Jaskier’s hand away. Jaskier felt Valdo spread him open. Felt his thumbs toy with and pull at his abused rim.

“Listen, Jaskier. I'm going to knot you.”

What?

“What? Wait, Valdo, no - “

He struggled to right himself, to get up onto his arms, but Valdo knocked him flat. When Jaskier did not stop, Valdo threw himself fully on top of him, using his weight to bear Jaskier down into the mattress. Jaskier tried to drag the both of them to the floor, and Valdo hit him. The room spun.

“Stop, Valdo,” Jaskier said, squirming, crying again. He wanted it. His heat-ravaged body wanted it; he thought of the fine way it would stretch him, keep him full. Valdo could come a prodigious amount if sufficiently motivated; all of that seed, tucked inside of him, a claim laid to a barren field. He would swell with it. He would be bred.

No. It would ruin him. Valdo would ruin him.

He didn’t want it.

“Valdo, don't, don't,” Jaskier cried, fat tears rolling down his reddened face. Valdo had his arm braced between Jaskier’s shoulders, holding him down. Slowly, he slid his cock back inside of Jaskier’s arse, deep, until Jaskier could feel the swell of his knot, hot and hard, pressed tight against him.

“Please, don’t - “

“Shh, Julek - “

“Wait - “

“Quiet. You'll like it, or you'll learn to. You've made me wait long enough.”

He couldn’t fight it. His body gave in. The knot popped past his overburdened rim, and the pain of the stretch and the relief of not having torn and the awful, swollen fullness of the knot's bloated heat pressing his insides apart all at once made his vision go spotty and black. Once inside, Valdo rocked against him, and the knot swelled further. Jaskier moaned and sobbed and shook, and once the knot locked and a flood of come began to pour into him, Valdo sank his teeth into Jaskier’s shoulder.

-----

They lay together in the aftermath. Valdo had rolled Jaskier carefully, on his stomach, to the center of the bed, and lay over him, pinning him, while they waited out the tie. The room stank of sweat and slick and Valdo’s seed. Jaskier’s shoulder was bleeding, but he otherwise felt nothing. Did nothing. The heatsickness had faded; what had been left behind was a body, cored out, burned out, and most likely pregnant.

Valdo stroked him down his sides and kissed his head, his back, with the unhurried satisfaction of a well-fed cat.

“I've gotten an appointment at a court in Cidaris,” he said. “The stipend is generous, enough to support a family. We could be happy there. I've wanted this for a long time, Julek. I know you’ll - you’ll get used to it. You’ll make a fine mother.”

Jaskier blinked his swollen eyes.

“Once you’ve seen our child, I know you’ll come around.”

[aizawaskittenwhore]

internal affairs

pairing: shota aizawa x poc!reader

words: 5.6k (LMFAOOOO I GOT CARRIED AWAY ENJOY) lowercase vv intentional

warnings/kinks: alcohol, swearing, degradation, praise, spit if you squint, breeding kink???ish sorta kinda yeah, begging, use of the pet name kitten, bondage, caught while masturbating

synopsis: aizawa thinks sex is generally a waste of time and energy. after finding you, (his close friend and coworker) in a...compromising position one night when he’s returning something to your dorm, he learns some information that has him wanting to waste some time with you..and energy. ;)

a/n: it’s been forever since i’ve written smut let alone with a poc reader so go easy on me LMFAOOOO

nsfw below the cut, let’s get it!

shota aizawa could, honestly, live without sex.

he just didn’t see the necessity of it, all the exhaustion and sweat just for a sudden rush of dopamine that lasts all of a minute before the stickiness sets in. before exhaustion settles over every muscle and renders you immobile, confined to the infamous postcoital wet spot while you make plans to wash your sheets—

as soon as you can regain control of the burn in your lungs, that is.

in between teaching during the day, patrolling in the evenings while still managing to grade papers, establishing lesson plans, taking care of his cat yuki and occasionally having to watch over his more “at-risk” students (cough midoriya cough) sex just didn’t take enough priority in his life for him to be interested in it. his right hand did the job just fine most nights, and he didn’t see the need to involve another person when it came to something he was more than proficient at handling by himself. he had no shame in the way he chose to live his life, it was practical and didn’t interfere with any of his responsibilities; a perfect setup.

at least, until he told you this same information over drinks one friday.

“please say you’re joking.” you chuckle, brows aloft in amusement. your fingertips dance along the rim of your shot glass before you raise it to your lips, the bitter and potent sake you ordered beginning to blossom warmly across your cheeks. “i’m serious. the hell would i gain from having some complete stranger try to learn how to please me when i can just do it myself?” aizawa queries, index finger and thumb taking residence along the upper neck of his beer bottle, grimacing harshly as he takes another swig. “i always get this shit every time we come here, and every time it’s always terrible.” he sets the bottle to his left, reaching for a shot glass instead to wash down the acrid taste. the bar is moderately populated today, with other pros scattered among tables and booths while engrossed in their own conversations; the background noise serving as the perfect buffer for the x-rated nature of your conversation.

you normally hate drinking after work, it always made you sluggish for the rest of the night, but aizawa owed you a favor after you took on the grading process of 1-a’s exams while he went out on patrol a few nights ago. he hadn’t wanted to ask so much of you as you were already training class 1-b and doing presentations for general studies that week, but after seeing the state of exhaustion the man was in you’d insisted, suggesting he get the bill next time the two of you hung out to make up for it. “but don’t you get tired of it? you know....masturbating?” you pry, right hand coming up to make a crude jerking motion to emphasize your point. “ i mean...you already know what you like, and the quickest way to get yourself there. there’s no exploration, no variety, you don’t get to really try anything new.” a teasing smile already settled across your lips.

aizawa falters for a moment, mouth pulled into a tight stance that signals his contemplation. head low, shoulders hunched, appearing to deeply ponder your question and how to answer it. you worry, for a moment, that you may have overstepped in your attempt to get a rise out of your quiet friend. however, worry soon liquifies into a fierce heat as a low chuckle rattles through him; shota glancing up at you through rebellious strands of hair that, regardless of his quirk, never seem to stay in place. “and what, y/n , would you happen to know about sexual exploration?” he shoots back, two slender fingers and a calloused thumb sending another shot down his throat with ease.

you flush, all your nerves on high alert as his rich, onyx irises seem to detect the growing arousal settling between your thighs, pleased at the reaction his question emitted. “i-i’m just saying that it’s got to get boring sometimes...just doing the same old routine whenever you’re in the mood!” you stutter, clearing your throat after you choke on the last syllable of your sentence. “that wasn’t my question.” he remarks, eyes slicing through any attempt at keeping your composure, yet you don’t budge.

“well, if you just have to know aizawa -“ you drag out the final consonant to mock his inquisitive nature, before continuing your tangent, “-sex doesn’t always have to be about the orgasm. i mean sure, it’s a pretty fucking fun part of it, don’t get me wrong, but it’s the foreplay, the newness of being with someone you haven’t been with before that really just...ties it all together. figuring out what they like, having them explore what you like, letting them take you in new and different ways...” you trail off, a blush now having settled across your cheeks, albeit impossible to clock thanks to the deep brown reach of your skin complexion.

“it’s worth the effort, is what i’m sayin’. you never know, you might like things that you didn’t think you would...like getting tied up or spit on or something..” you finish, now feeling his gaze settle over you like a blanket fresh out of the dryer. you quickly busy yourself with thanking your bartender as she slides you the tab, trying checking out the damage so you wouldn’t have to make eye contact with aizawa after that very honest admission. he quickly swipes the little book from your reach, depositing the black card inside with minimal resistance and returning the tab to its original position with a “don’t. i owe you, remember?”

damned cat-like reflexes.

fuck pro-hero training.

fuck the growing amount of slick saturating (and ruining) the simple maroon panties you’d chosen when getting ready for work today.

and most of all, fuck shota aizawa for being able to make your blood run hot by paying a fucking tab and giving you a look or two.

“right. thanks, by the way. but if i can’t get up for that meeting nezu’s holding tomorrow, i’m blaming you.” you’re hoping a bit of humor will distract you from the way your body is overheating from being within such close proximity to him, and the way your core is pulsing around nothing as if it were fiending for his presence. “not my fault you’re a lightweight, so blame me all you want sweetheart.” shota dryly rebounds, a mirthful smile on his face in response to the way you roll your eyes and suck your teeth, flipping him off.

“if you wanted to fuck me, you could’ve just asked.”

you’d pale, if you could.

your jaw collapses, eyelashes batting double time while you struggle to process what the fuck just came out of his mouth. six seconds go by before you begin babbling, voicing your opposition to his prior statement with phrases such as “wait wait wait, what did you sayyyy?” and ”bye because that didn’t even come out my mouth i-“

while he just...laughs. he finds your attempts to clarify your alleged non-existent sexual attraction to him hilarious, and even mentions that he finds it adorable as the two of you begin to make your way back to the teachers’ dorms. he holds the door open for you as you head inside, chuckling to himself as you continue to playfully curse him out while you walk to the women’s side of the building.

that was seven hours ago.

it’s currently 12:47am, and you’re struggling to catch even a wink of shuteye. you’re starting to regret having that sake earlier, since alcohol always fucks with your sleep schedule, but that isn’t what’s keeping you up tonight.

no, no, that would happen to be the unprofessional and honestly straight up shameful thoughts you’re having about your friend and coworker, shota. vivid images of those slender fingers sliding into you one by one, each one filling you more than the last, float past your lids every time you close your eyes. daydreams of his tongue on your clit, tracing patterns into the sensitive nerves while he calls you his good girl, his kitten, his slut, hands forcing your thighs apart as they shake from each and every time you cum around those devilish lips of his. fantasies of his capture weapon binding your hands behind you, fingers dangling helplessly while his hand rests on the small of your back to serve as leverage for each and every time he slides in. face pressed into the mattress as he fucks into you slowly, not wanting to give you the satisfaction of having him so deep so quickly. voice hoarse, tone pleading when you beg him to take you deeper, harder, promising to take it like a good girl would if he would just keep hitting that spot that makes your toes curl, yes right there, fuck-

you flip your pillow over in an attempt to cool the sweltering heat below the waistband of your panties, but it’s no luck. you should've been asleep two hours ago. staring hopelessly at the ceiling, lost in your mind as you watch the streetlights’ beams flicker through your window, streams of light disturbed by nearby tree branches. right hand slowly sliding down your body, from your breasts to the curves of your waist before settling right on the top of your panties. your fingers begin to flutter above your dripping core.

‘this is wrong. i shouldn’t do this.’ you chide yourself, but your body has already made up it’s mind.

and soon a cord wound so tightly within your body it could suffocate you...snaps.

the tip of your middle finger dips down to your pussy to collect the slick gathered there, and you groan at the sheer amount of it.

he really got you fucked up.

thinking of how he would tease, you circle your throbbing clit, touch feather light to the point where it feels like borderline torture. middle finger and ring finger conjoined to shallowly dip inside you once, twice, then three times before filling you completely.

but it’s not enough.

it’s not him.

you sigh at the way the tips brush against your g-spot, beckoning them forward until you physically arch into your hand as though it were connected to the subject of your little self love session.

“fuck...”

shota’s pov

he’d taken a short break from his current grading session to stretch, and grab a small snack when he noticed it.

you’d left your id tag with him when you’d turned in for the evening, as the two of you had used his id to get on to school grounds since your hands were full with your work bag, your purse, and takeout from the bar. he must have forgotten to give it back to you after you asked him to hold it, he was too busy admiring how cute you looked while trying to prove you didn’t want to fuck him.

not that he would mind if you did, of course.

he’d developed something of a crush on you over the past few weeks since you’d been working more closely together as hero course teachers, and he got to know you outside of a strictly work environment.

you’re funny, intelligent, clever (which is a turn on for him since he needs someone he can bounce off of), and it doesn’t hurt that you’re easy on the eyes.

really, really easy on the eyes. fuck.

he scratched the back of his neck as he felt the familiar flush begin to creep up his face, hoping the pain would will away the consistent hard-on he got whenever he focused too much on your smile, or the way your shoulders shake when you laugh, or the curve of your hips and how they look like they would be a perfect fit for his vice grip as he eased you onto his dick, looking you right in the eyes before drilling up into you. eyes shimmering with such pretty tears from how sensitive she was, neck littered with marks from his earlier ministrations, voice shaky as she begged him to fill her, pump her full of every last drop cause she’s been so so good-

‘damn it shota. just go give her the fucking tag, she’ll need it tomorrow morning.’ he snapped internally, looking at his tented black sweats with dismay. it took everything within him not to make a sly comment on how getting himself off is never boring when it’s to a different fantasy of you each time, but if there’s nothing else he prided himself upon, it was his self discipline.

forcing himself to remember the time he caught hizashi shaving his left testacle and only the left one to make his erection less obvious, he grabbed her id and his own, and made his way to the women’s wing of the hero course dorms. it was old school, men weren’t allowed on the women’s side and vice versa on campus, however with this being the hero course some were granted special admin privileges should there ever be an emergency.

he happened to be one of them.

making quick work of finding your room, he leaned against the threshold, left arm poised to knock when he heard a soft hiss. a little rustling, and another sound, indiscernible thanks to your door.

“fuck...”

body stiffening at the swear, he paused, wondering if maybe you had been hurt or perhaps injured. it was in his nature to, despite his sarcastic and faux-apathetic disposition, be a hero no matter what. using what little force he could in an attempt to not frighten a possible intruder or make a bad situation worse, shota silently swung your door open and scanned the room for any possible threats.

he didn’t find any.

instead he found you, lacy black panties around your left ankle as you curled your middle and ring finger inside of you, moans bubbling out of your throat with a hand twisting and pinching your pretty brown nipples as you went. still completely unaware of his presence you sigh before letting out the prettiest and neediest little whine that went straight to his dick.

“mm...shota..please baby~“ you keen, fingers quickening their pace inside of your pussy, the streetlights from the nearby sidewalk casting a copper toned glean on the strings of slick connecting your fingers to the soaked paradise that was between your thighs. he freezes, thinking you’ve noticed his presence when it hits him-

you were fucking your fingers as if they were his own.

you’d said his name.

you wanted to fuck him just as badly as he wanted to fuck you.

and despite being a pro and having been in life threatening situations, instances where he’s had to make split second decisions without worrying whether they were right or not....here he has absolutely no idea what to do. he feels dirty, watching you in such a...compromising situation. even though you just said his name with about two-

now three-

-soaked fingers sliding in and out of your cunt, he knows he shouldn’t be here. out of respect for you, he takes about two steps backwards and tries to leave the room as silently as he came in, willing the universe to just let him have this as a pleasant memory for when he gets into bed tonight. but, like most times in his 31 years of existence, he can never get a moment of peace.

so he manages to trip over your shoes from earlier right as he was about to hit the hallway.

oh, and drops the id tags, of course.

y/n’s pov

the noise sends a chill through each and every nerve of your body, eyes firing open only to be greeted with the sight of a very flustered aizawa vehemently cursing out a pair of your boots, two id tags pooled at his feet. “what the fuck?!” digits wrenched from your body and hands clawing for your duvet in a last ditch attempt to preserve what little modesty you had left. “i- i just came to give you your id, and i heard you swear so i thought you might’ve been hurt or something, i didn’t see anything!” aizawa spat apprehensively, while simultaneously cursing his dick for choosing this particular moment to get incredibly aroused, and thanking himself for tucking his erection into his waistband earlier before he’d walked over in case he ended up talking to you. “oh my god. oh..my god i am so fucking sorry i-i know it was wrong and i totally understand if you don’t wanna be friends anymore just please don’t tell nezu i really really love this job-“ you begin to wail, teardrops nestling into your waterline before finally pooling over and breaking you, causing you to cry even more.

“i’m not mad at you y/n.” aizawa coos softly.

“-and i know i crossed so many lines and it’s selfish for me to ask that of you but i don’t know what i would do without UA-“

“y/n.” he calls, sitting beside you on the pillow soft mattress, his capture weapon pooling to the floor and briefly reminding him he’d brought it with him to begin with.

“-and if i’m being honest i’ve had a crush on you for forever and i was just too much of a coward to come and tell you myself so instead of being a woman about it i kept having these fantasies and i’m so fucking sorry aizawa-“

“shota. call me shota.” he tilts your chin up with his right hand so he can see your pretty brown orbs swimming in tears, before taking his left hand and thumbing away the still-wet tear tracks. you blink away your tears, brows furrowing in confusion at why he’s not angry, why you’re not packing up your dorm and turning in your letter of resignation right now. “it sounded so pretty when you’d said it earlier, why stop now?” he murmurs, those powerful ebony eyes taking you in by the gallon, half lidded as he looks you up and down.

so he did see everything.

and he wasn’t mad.

and you swear on everything you love that you just saw his length twitch through those black sweats, so he definitely shared the same sentiment.

“s-so you’re sure you’re not mad?” you sniffle, hands reaching to cover his as you lean into his lithe form, needing to feel his warm and comforting embrace. “positive.” he looks down at the way you’re nuzzled into his chest, arms shifting so that they’re wrapped around your back as you let out a sigh of relief. he softly taps you after a few minutes, needing to shift to a more comfortable position as his dick is pressing into his stomach this way, and it’s only making him firmer.

“can...can i kiss you?” he asks gingerly, heart fluttering at the way your eyes meet his and your head slowly nods, fingers fumbling to find his hand so you can hold it. his lips slot against yours, moving tenderly at first before the kiss begins to increase in intensity, your tongue moving fluidly with his, pulling away only to breathe before diving back into one another.

“those pretty lips taste so sweet...makes me wonder if you’re sweet all over, hm?”

you preen at the compliment, body craving his touch, his energy, his undulations, everything about him.

“tell me you don’t want this, and we’ll stop.” he mutters against your neck, soft kisses quickly turning to him sucking marks into your collarbone. it drove him insane, watching the reddish purple hues blossom across your skin mingling with the mocha of the rest of your body.

you didn’t have any intention on stopping though.

not for a fucking second.

“please...need you so bad.” you sigh close to his ear, taking his earlobe between your teeth and dipping a hand between the two of you to paw at his throbbing length. that seemed to do the trick just fine, his pulse spiking before he flipped the two of you with a quickness you’d only seen him use in battle. hands reaching for the nape of his neck as he tugged his shirt over his head, you watched in awe; you’d known sho was fit as he patrolled nightly, along with the consistent training he’d engaged in with his students. you just didn’t expect a simple long sleeve sweater to give way to toned abdominals, slender yet powerful arms in addition to a thick black happy trail that dipped below his waistband.

it wasn’t until he’d tugged down the lace covering your slit, (so hard it ripped), that you realized just how much he craved you. gazing at your core intently he spread you apart with his middle and forefinger, eyes nearly rolling out of his head with how you were dripping so much for him. you tried to shift your hips in an effort to get him to do something, anything, but that was shut down with a hand forcing your right thigh outwards and spreading you even wider.

“no no. keep them spread. let me watch you try to keep them open while you’re shaking...let me watch you fall apart..” he demands, head diving between your thighs to lap at your aching clit like a man starved. your legs rise only to settle on his shoulders, ankles crossed behind his head while your toes curl in euphoria. there were men before him, but none of them ever took care of you like this, never looked you in the eyes as their fingers started to curl in just the right places, never sighed in content at your taste as their eyes rolled back. never pried themselves away from your cunt just to add a pornographic amount of spit to your southernmost lips, strings of saliva connecting your twitching hole to his deliciously long tongue.

shota was unlike any man you had ever met before.

and that was what made him so intoxicating.

“ah..s-shota, please-” you whine, sensing your climax within reach. “please what, kitty? i won’t know if you don’t tell me.” he remarks, dipping back down to suck harshly at your swollen bud as he adds a third finger, length throbbing at the way you arch into his tongue. “m-make me-ah-make me...feel good...please sho” you stutter, face burning. “mm. i thought i was already making you feel good love? unless...there’s something else you want..” he trails off, smirking. your thighs are quivering now, muscles burning as you strain to keep them from crushing shota’s head, although with the way he’s devouring your pussy whole right now he doesn’t seem to mind one bit.

“i need you..to make me cum..” you whimper, winding a few fingers into his unruly mane of hair while your other hand settles above your mouth, trying to hide the obvious embarrassment on your face from being so exposed.

“well why didn’t you say so baby? after all, you did exactly what i told you to, and good girls get whatever they ask for.” he grins before working double time to bring you to the edge, hero stamina and strength coming out in full force with the way his fingers never cease in their abuse on your g-spot, refusing to quit until your thighs finally tighten around his head and your breath catches. his tongue replaces his fingers and you briefly pout at the slight change in fullness, but it doesn’t matter the second he coils his tongue upwards and rubs into your sensitive bud at a steady pace. you cum all over his face, and you never thought you’d see such a typically serious and stoic man look so...elated, a permanent beam stuck to him with superglue as he swallows as much of your essence as he can. chest heaving, body weightless, you sit up.

you gently coax him back up your body, shota’s arms caging you to your bed as you kiss him deeply, fingers fumbling to palm him through his sweats. “s’ my turn...wanna show you how much i like you..”

he nods, opting to trade places with you whilst helping you slide his sweats and boxers down his thighs, length springing up in anticipation. you’d had a inkling of how big he was from small glances on occasion, but you didn’t account for a solid eight and a half inches down your esophagus. his dick was pretty, a few veins running up and down the length of it, and tip just as pink as his kiss-swollen lips. the only thing that intimidated you was how thick it was. but you’d cross that bridge when it came to it.

saliva floods your mouth and you grasp his dick at the base, eyes wide as you track a bead of precum rolling it’s way down his tip before licking it up in one long hot stripe. “hm. tastes good.” you giggle, eyes locking with his before you relax your jaw and swallow as much of him as you can comfortably fit in your mouth, a shot of electricity running through you when shota lets out a deep throaty groan. “fuck...such a good fucking girl. you look so pretty like this.” shota sighs, left hand working it’s way through your coils and tightening its grip, but never pushing. he lets you work at your own pace, his own cheeks flushing when you interrupt the bobbing motion you had set to coyly circle your slick tongue around his tip. your mouth is hot and slick, encapsulating his dick in a velvety vacuum seal while you work him over and over; you haven’t had an insane amount of experience, but you’re observant of what motions garner positive reactions. it’s a combination so dangerous that it has shota’s right hand grappling your comforter for stability, breath quickening as he wonders how the hell he’s managed to last this long.

“you’re gonna suck me dry kitty...” he moans.

at least until you take not one, but both hands, add an amount of spit so copious it’s obscene, and begin to stroke his length slowly and effortlessly whilst maintaining eye contact.

with that little stunt, you’ve officially opened pandora’s box. and there’s no closing it now.

“come here.” aizawa commands, sitting up straighter to pull your hips into his, and before you know it you’re on your stomach, wrists pinned to your black sheets by agile hands. “if you wanna stop here tell me now baby.” he croons in your ear, feather light kisses pressed into your shoulder. “we can watch a movie, cuddle, whatever you’re comfortable with. but if we keep going like this-”

his length presses into your ass and a shiver shoots down your spine.

“-i can’t promise you i won’t ruin you y/n. fuck you full of my cum, pounding into you until i leave you drooling and sloppy just for me, have you scream my name so loud even the League knows who you belong to. you’d be all mine. my pretty kitty. is that what you want?” shota asks, one of his calloused hands sliding down the curves of your body to grip at the soft, tender skin of your ass.

“shota.....please. it’s all i want, just take me already-“ you sob, voice gathering in your throat. a sensual chuckle, and then you feel it: inch after inch slipping into your tight warm walls, the stretch causing your eyes to brim with tears born from more pleasure than actual pain.

“ah! you’re stretching me out so much...” you keen, eyelashes fluttering in ecstasy. “aw kitty...i haven’t even started yet.” shota teases, stretching to his right to grab his capture weapon, and bringing both your wrists behind you. “now..you’ve been so good for me tonight, i think you deserve a reward. earlier, i believe you mentioned something about being tied up?” he binds your arms, leaving your digits to flail helplessly right above the small of your back, where his hand has now come to rest.

“f-fuck me! please...i’m tired of waiting- i just wanna be yours!” you beg, hips jolting back in impatience and need, your pussy throbbing at the sensation of his tip nudging the deepest parts of you. “so fucking needy. i’ll give you exactly what you’re craving sweetheart.” he smirks, before dragging his hips as far back as he can, length retreating from your warm walls before slamming right back in. one hand on your shoulders to keep your face pressed into your pillows, the other taking reign on your hips as a guide to rut against you. your back arches so deliciously for him, ass jiggling on every thrust as he watches your body impale itself on his length. he’s so deep, his tip consistently ramming into your cervix over and over and over; your body is so overwhelmed and so needy, so full but not full enough. it’s too much, but you want more. “fill me up sho! i want it— i need it so bad” you cry, tears spilling over and staining your pillowcase. “wouldn’t you love that, having me fill this pretty pussy up with all my cum hm?” “no wonder you’re moaning for me like a whore, you want everyone to know who’s doing this to you.” shota pants, quickening his pace. “yes! i’m yours all yours!” you moan, pussy throbbing at his fierce pace, you can feel the sweat gathering between your body and the sheets but you don’t care. you use the leverage from your shoulders to push back onto him, chasing your high.

“that’s it, come on, fuck me back. come on kitty it’s your dick after all~” he breathes, grinning at the way you’re drooling and how your eyes are rolling at the way he’s fucking you.

“fuck, you must really wanna cum again hm? such a greedy, slutty girl” you nod, head spinning as he tightens your restraints and strokes into you as deep as he can. you feel the familiar quivering of your legs, a tell tale sign you’re close to cumming. “sho—ah!-sho please! i wanna cum please i’m so close-“ you plead, voice unsteady. “well since you asked so nicely...of course kitty” he acquiesces, a hand slithering between your folds to softly rub your clit while he drills into you, and your body nearly self destructs. “f-fuck! ah—thank you shota, oh god, mmm you’re so good to me” you babble, body floating through space as he rubs you through your orgasm.

and once again, the ball is in his court. you shudder, head leaning over your shoulder with lidded eyes to try and look at aizawa. his hair is down now, and a deep blush has taken residence across his cheeks, chest heaving as sweat glistens on his chest and slowly drips down his toned stomach. he hasn’t stopped fucking you, but this time his rhythm’s gotten sloppy, and his teeth have sunken into his bottom lip so hard you think he’ll pierce through it.

he’s close, and you want every last drop.

“make me take it shota—show me what you do to good girls~” you purr, eyes widening when he loosens your restraints and turns you over, and practically folds you in half. your ankles are by your ears now as he pounds into you, and everything is so much deeper than before. your pussy tightens at the new angle, and you feel another orgasm beneath the surface, though you don’t know if you can take it. “it’s too much! i can’t take it—“ you whine, tits jiggling as he swoops down and paws at one, making you cry out. “yes you can baby, just one more, come on make me proud just give me one fucking more” he growls, the heat of his order hot against your ear. “god i’m gonna paint these slutty little walls white—gonna fill you up so good” he moans, shota’s dirty confession egging you on as your fingers toy with your achingly sensitive bundle of nerves. “that’s it. play with it, show me how you do it when i’m not there-“ and that slick fucking comment is what sends you tumbling off the edge for your third time tonight. “fuck! i’m gonna cum—i’m gonna make you all mine, all for me” you grin before raking your nails up and down his back to encourage him. “give it to me, i don’t wanna have anyone else kiss me without knowing what you taste like~” and soon hot spurts of cum paint your insides and flood you with a warm, thick feeling. shota immediately crashes his lips onto yours, holding you tightly. you can’t really explain the current state of your emotions, but you feel full, and content. meanwhile the current object of your affection is nuzzled into your neck, peppering kisses over all the love bites he’d inflicted earlier as a means of apology, though you didn’t mind.

it would be a pain in the ass to cover up tomorrow, but you could always just wear a scarf or a turtleneck to compensate due to the colder weather. it wasn’t until the two of you had cleaned up and rehydrated that he spoke: “by the way, i like you too. and have. for a while now. just in case that wasn’t clear.” he stated, arms wrapped around your middle as he began to doze off.

“you know you probably should’ve led with that-“

“shut up.”

so yeah, shota aizawa could live without sex.

question is: why the hell would he want to, when you’re here?

[stuckonstarker]

the promotion

| Dub-Con/Coerced Sex |

“Mr. Stark,” Peter says, “I don’t know if we should do this.”

Tony looks at him for a moment - face unreadable - then he says, “You do want this promotion, don’t you, Mr. Parker?”

“Yes, of course, but this seems unprofessional,” Peter says, taking a step back. He lets out a small gasp as his butt bumps into the mahogany desk. 

“Mr. Parker,” Tony says, “there are plenty of other candidates willing to go even farther than this.”

Peter takes a moment. He looks down at the floor. He needs this promotion, but is he really willing to go to such lengths to get it?

Peter sighs and slowly nods, “Yes, sir.”

Tony’s smile turns sinister. There’s a thunderous look in his eye that makes Peter shiver.

Peter swallows around his nervousness while his stomach does flips. He can feel small trembles going through his body, it only gets worse the more Peter tries to stop it.

Tony walks up to where Peter’s against the desk. He’s invading Peter’s space, but Peter keeps quiet about it. 

Tony places a gentle hand on Peter’s face: “I’ll take care of you.”

For some reason, Peter doubts that sentiment, but he only nods.

Tony leans in and presses a kiss against Peter’s soft lips. The kiss is deep and explorative, like Tony’s trying to claim Peter from the inside out.

Peter feels like he’s on fire.

He pulls away from the kiss breathless. He’s warm all over and there’s a distinct spark of arousal low in his abdomen. It sparks shame with it as well. 

Tony begins kissing and biting at the long expanse of Peter’s neck. He sucks a hickey on Peter’s jaw and whispers, “I know you want this.”

Those words make Peter’s mind melt. The spark of arousal quickly grows into a wildfire. His entire lower body is aflame with want. He feels flushed all over and his cock begins to grow tight in his pants.

Tony begins unbuttoning Peter’s blouse. His fingers are so skilled and quick, it’s obvious he’s done this many times before. The fabric falls to the floor in an instant, revealing Peter’s pale, flushed body. 

Tony admires Peter’s smooth, clear skin. Peter’s completely unmarked. A deep and primal urge in Tony insists that he mark the boy up and Tony - never one to deny himself - gives in. He starts sucking and nipping at Peter’s neck, shoulders and collarbone. He has full intent to leave bruises and hickies.

Each kiss and lovebite sends a small spark of pleasure through Peter. It’s beginning to make his judgment hazy, he’s unsure if he ever doubted his decision at all.

Peter’s skin is unbelievably sensitive. There’s tremors of pleasure on Peter’s body wherever Tony’s fingers land and drag themselves. Even the softest touch sends shivers of pleasure exploding through Peter.

Tony growls, pulling Peter into another kiss. It’s rough and Peter struggles to keep up with Tony’s gnashing teeth. While kissing Peter, Tony hoists him up so that his legs are wrapped around Tony’s waist. There’s a brief spark of panic in Peter, but he quickly adapts and wraps his arms around Tony’s shoulders. 

When they pull from each other, Peter’s lips are bruised and raw from the kiss. He feels a bit dizzy already and his body is flushed with a shameful want.

Tony sets Peter on the desk. Peter looks up at him with wide, doe eyes.

The trust and naivety in those eyes almost make Tony feel bad. Almost.

But, then, Tony begins taking off Peter’s pants.

Soon, the only thing covering Peter from Tony’s prying eyes are his blue briefs. There’s a dark patch of wetness where Peter’s precum is leaking through and Tony eyes Peter’s erection straining through the thin material. 

Tony’s fingers dance over the band of Peter’s briefs, teasing the young man. Peter’s body is on fire with humiliated lust.

“Mr. Stark…” Peter says softly.

Tony ignores him and presses a soft kiss against Peter’s stomach, just above the waistband of his briefs. Then, he drags his warm, wet mouth over the cotton fabric hiding Peter’s hard on. Peter moans and his hips buck up, only for Tony to roughly hold him down.

“Ah,” Peter moans, “Mr. Stark.”

He tries to restrain his hips from jerking, but Tony’s mouth feels quite good over his aching cock.

Tony doesn’t let him enjoy it for long, though, as he begins tugging off Peter’s underwear. The young man’s dick is quickly revealed and it twitches against the cold air.

Tony admires the sight of Peter on his desk looking so desperate and confused. A dark possessiveness shadows his heart. 

“Are you sure we should be doing this?” Peter asks. He puts a halting hand on Tony’s forearm, but he knows that won’t stop the older man.

Tony nods, as he pulls something from from his desk, “Like I said, this is all about trust. There are countless other people who would jump at an opportunity like this. I just need to know you’re in it for the long haul.”

“I am,” Peter says, “but I don’t see why I have to do this.”

Tony presses a kiss to Peter’s neck - a kiss the younger man doesn’t fight.

“Mr. Stark?”

Tony sighs, “You don’t have to do this. I can give the promotion to someone else, Mr. Parker.”

Peter’s lips form a tight line, but he nods anyway. Tony’s beginning to sound exasperated and Peter isn’t keen on finding out where the man’s patience ends. He just sighs and swallows down the bubbling nausea.

“Good boy,” Tony praises, “I knew you’d make the right choice.”

Those words go straight to Peter’s dick. It provokes an embarrassingly warm lust in Peter’s stomach.

Tony disappears between Peter’s legs and says, “I’ll make sure you’re good and ready for me. You’ll love it, I promise, sweet thing.”

Peter’s head falls against the desk as a choked noise escapes his throat. Tony’s groping his ass, spreading it and squeezing it. He doesn’t protest, despite his instinct to do so.

Then, there’s a cold, lube-slick finger prodding at his entrance. Peter swears he’s overheating as he spreads his legs wider. The first finger slowly breaches him, it’s odd and vaguely uncomfortable. But he doesn’t complain.

Tony takes a couple of minutes to prep Peter. But, by the time he’s three fingers in Peter, the boy is rolling his hips in a pitiful attempt to get more of Tony inside  him. 

Tony removes his fingers, deciding that Peter is sufficiently stretched.

Peter’s mind is hazy with lust. When he looks to see what Tony’s doing, the sight makes his mouth water. Tony’s dick stands proud at seven inches, with a bush of black pubic hair that sends shivers through Peter’s spine. Its tip is flushed red with arousal and Peter buries an overwhelming urge to take it in his mouth.

Tony rubs his dick against Peter’s ass, teasing the young man. Peter lets out a quiet whine as he spreads his legs even wider.

Tony teases the tip of his thick cock into Peter’s tight hole. It’s only the tip but it feels so good. Tony has an impressive girth and - even with the prep - it has a slight burn, but it feels humiliatingly blissful. Peter closes his eyes, but Tony doesn’t start moving.

He’s teasing Peter. The bastard.

Peter pouts, “Mr. Stark.”

“How badly do you want it, baby?” Tony asks, voice rough with arousal.

“Please, I want it so bad, Mr. Stark. I need it, please, I need it so bad. I need it, please,” Peter blabbers, the last of his dignity crashing to the office floor.

Peter lets out a choked cry, Tony’s cock entering him slowly. It’s impossibly big inside of him and it stretches him out wonderfully. The dull pain of the stretch only adds to the pleasure. It’s rubbing against Peter’s sensitive insides, slowly filling him to the breaking point.  

“God,” Peter chokes out, “it’s so… good.”

“Yeah?” Tony laughs, “You like it, baby?”

Peter moans, the cock fully sheathed inside of him. His entire body feels encased in an overwhelming heat. He can’t find his voice to respond to Tony’s taunting words.

Tony pulls out slowly, before thrusting back into Peter’s tight body. Peter’s eyes screw shut as he cries out, a sudden spark of pleasure going through his body.

Tony fucks into Peter slowly at first, but his patience runs thin quick. The pace picks up soon after, Tony thrusting into Peter hard.

Tony’s cock hits Peter’s sensitive prostate, making him dizzy. He’s letting out loud and desperate cries. He’s sure nothing could ever feel this good, there’s no way. He feels at a loss.

Peter’s head falls back and his eyes screw shut. A deep, fiery desire grows wild inside of Peter’s abdomen. Tony fucks into Peter harder, making his mind spin.

There’s a distant voice, the moral part of him that he can never shut off, telling him that there’s a big problem with fucking his boss, but he can’t hear it past the white noise of lust.

Tony’s ruthless with his thrusts, sending Peter reeling with each brutal snap of his hips. Peter can’t help the desperate cries that leave his lips. His hands above him cling to the desk, trying to ground himself because it’s just too fucking good. 

Peter feels a bit like he’s falling through the sky, his heart fluttering with uncertainty about the situation he’s found himself in. But the lustful fires of hell keep clawing at Peter, dragging him further and further into his licentious desires. 

Peter’s half-convinced it’s a dream. That he’s zoned-out in his boss’s office, daydreaming about being plowed by the man. But those worries are quelled with a particularly hard thrust against his prostate.

Peter lets out a deep and guttural as he’s thrown back into the moment. His hips are working on their own, desperately rolling back to meet Tony’s thick cock.

He can hardly breathe, let alone think about anything. He’s mindlessly murmuring something, but it’s incoherent at best. Peter’s sure he’s losing his mind from the blissful ecstasy. He’s never felt this hot before, flushed and sweating while being fucked by his boss.

It feels so fucking good Peter thinks he might actually die.

He can’t see through the hazy fog of want, he can’t think past the impenetrable wall of lust. He’s saying something, begging for something, but he’d be hard-pressed to tell you what. Every movement of Tony’s body against his, sends electric pleasure through Peter. It feels impossibly good, making his eyes cross from the intensity.

His hands cling to Tony like he’s a liferaft, he’s desperately trying to ground his overwhelmed mind. It feels so fiercely wonderful. His nails dig into Tony’s shoulders, but that only seems to provoke the man further as his thrusts become more fervent.

Peter isn’t quite sure what’s happening, only that it feels like heaven. He’s filled to the brim with Tony’s dick, it feels like the older man is fucking Peter’s brain too. Everything is too much all at once and Peter can hardly catch up. His breath comes out in short pants, his hips continue desperately trying to meet Tony’s cock, it’s all too much for Peter. 

“Mr. Stark,” Peter moans, and doesn’t stop. He keeps saying it like it’s the only word he’s ever known. It falls off his mouth like a prayer and he can’t tell whether he’s begging for it to end or for it to never stop.

“Oh, God,” Peter moans, getting louder, more desperate with his pleas, “Mr. Stark.”

He’s getting hotter and hotter. It’s becoming too much. He can’t take it-

Everything goes blank. Every muscle in his body tenses and his eyes roll back into his head. His orgasm scalds him like an iron branding, burning him from the inside out. He doesn’t know if he screamed or not, but he’d be willing to bet he did. 

Tony continues fucking into Peter. 

Peter lets out small, overstimulated mewls and moans as Tony’s cock continues to drag along his sensitive insides, making him dizzy and breathless. He’s panting aloud desperately as Tony cums deep inside of him.  

They both lay there for a moment, breathless and panting.

Regret slowly washes over Peter. He looks up at Tony towering over him with a mix of betrayal and sadness in his doe eyes.

As Tony comes down from his high, he says, “Congratulations, kid, you’re promoted.”

Peter stares at him blankly for a moment before nodding and picking up his blouse. He can’t bring himself to say anything; he isn’t sure what he’d say if he could.  

[cake-writes]

Fever (Part One)

Pairings: Steve x Reader, Bucky x Reader (mentioned)

Story Warnings: Cheating, Dubious Consent, Sex Pollen, Smut, Breeding Kink (if you squint), Angst, 18+

Word Count: 3.4k

Summary: Steve couldn’t. No, he wouldn’t. Not to his best friend’s girl.

Master List / Spotify Playlist

Two years today – your anniversary.

Not that it mattered, because the mission ran long. Even Steve didn’t get away from it unscathed, if the blood staining the shoulder of his uniform was any indication. You’d seen him hurt too many times over the years, but this time you felt guilty.

He’d gotten hurt keeping you safe. 

His best friend’s girl.

Bucky must have returned to the compound by now, you were sure of it. He’d been radio silent for the last three weeks on an assignment god knows where, but what you did know was that he’d be getting back today; said he wouldn’t miss your anniversary for the world, the hopeless romantic that he was. Your hopeless romantic.

You might have gone a little stir crazy as the days dragged on, missed him a little too much – so you passed the time by going on quick in-and-out missions in hopes that you’d get home and find him there waiting for you.

He wasn’t.

Each mission wound up being no more than a couple of hours, tops, except this one. You and Steve had been trapped here for the last day and a half. Too many Hydra agents to count. Too many fights for survival. Pinned down by the enemy, the two of you barricaded yourselves inside a too-large server room where the walls were thick enough to offer a modest layer of protection: two feet of metal and concrete, meant to safeguard Hydra’s most sensitive data.

The worst part wasn’t even that you were missing your anniversary. No, it was that you’d yanked an empty syringe from Steve’s back about twenty minutes ago and there was no way of knowing what mystery substance it contained. He hadn’t even noticed it, either, which made you wonder what the hell kind of pain tolerance he had. The stupid thing was just sticking out of him, needle about three inches long and yet he’d been completely fucking oblivious.

How?

Thankfully, Steve seemed to be doing okay, all things considered. His wounds would heal, of course. They always did. They always would. You tried not to worry, but you still felt guilty, so much you asked for the umpteenth time, “How are you feeling?”

“I’m fine, doll,” he said in exasperation, holding his cell phone and yours up toward the ceiling in hopes that one of them would pick up a signal. “I’ll let you know if anything changes, you know, like I said the last ten times you asked.”

You huffed a little as you attempted to access one of the computers, having already tried five of them with no success. “I just don’t like seeing you hurt. Especially when it’s my fault.”

He laughed at that, somehow, despite the fact that you were both trapped in here with no hope of rescue. No signal, no reception, no dice. Things looked pretty dismal, but he was ever the optimist. “I can already feel myself healing. Stop worrying, okay?”

Computer number six was also a failure.

Another twenty minutes passed, but nothing changed.

Well, at least, not that you noticed. Steve was burning up, but he didn’t say a thing – didn’t want to make you worry. He cared too much about you for that, cared more than he should have for his best friend’s girl. 

Always had. Always would.

Sweat dotted his brow as he watched you try computer after computer to no avail. He just couldn’t tear his eyes away; even in the harsh fluorescent lighting, you were illicitly gorgeous, far more attractive than you should have been to him. Hair tousled, eyeliner smudged, tight black catsuit on your body ripped in too many places to count, cuts and scrapes and bruises peeking through – all superficial. 

He didn’t like seeing you hurt, either, so when the heat creeped up his neck, he wasn’t sure if it was from concern, claustrophobia, or carnal attraction.

“Anything?”

Steve’s question was simple, but he barely even recognized the sound of his own voice. Strained. Rough. Maybe because his throat was so dry.

When you glanced up from the screen and over at him, he forgot how to breathe. Bright eyes and a beautiful smile, despite the less-than-ideal circumstances. 

All for him.

Only for him, here, and sweet as sin.

“Nope,” you said cheerfully, popping the ‘p.’ 

That drew his attention to your mouth at the worst possible moment. As you focused back on the screen in front of you, you pulled your lower lip in between your teeth in thought, almost like you were trying to tease him, like you were trying to drive him out of his fucking mind. The sight shot straight to his groin; brought attention to the fact that his pants were starting to get just a little too tight. 

Then you looked up again at the silence and caught him staring. Tilting your head to the side, you asked slowly, “Still feeling okay?”

“Yeah,” he rasped, and then he cleared his throat – tried to clear his mind, too, but it didn’t work. “Yeah, I’m fine.”

Steve didn’t like to lie, but he didn’t have a choice. Not here. Not when he felt like this.

Your fingertips stilled over the keyboard as you studied his face a little more closely, and then you took a few steps toward him. “Are you sure? You look a little flushed.”

Your keen scrutiny only made him even hotter – made him want to escape before he did something he’d regret. He was already toeing the line.

But he couldn’t. No, he wouldn’t.

Not to his best friend’s girl.

With your approach came the heady scent of your perfume, and his resolve weakened even more – particularly when you pressed the underside of your wrist to his sweaty forehead. Your skin was far cooler to the touch than it should have been, and the physical contact sent a pleasurable chill through him.

“Something’s wrong,” you said with a frown, swapping your wrist for your palm, and then you brought both hands to either side of his flushed face. “You’re way too hot, Stevie.”

You spoke his name so softly, so gently – like a lover, like a balm. 

Stevie.

On your lips, it sounded sweet as honey.

Steve’s temperature already ran hotter than yours because of the serum, but you were long used to it because Bucky was the same. Ironic, really, that the only person on the face of the earth who’d be able to tell the difference without a thermometer was who stoked the fire to begin with.

Well, you, and whatever the hell it was he’d been injected with.

“I’m fine,” he repeated, but the words felt foreign on his tongue. Wrong. He wasn’t fine. The way he leaned into your touch was evidence of that.

“Here,” your hand trailed down his back to help guide him to a nearby chair, leaving a trail of goosebumps in its wake, “Sit down, okay? Tell me how you’re feeling.”

Ravenous. Touch-starved. Not fine at all.

Steve sank into the worn leather desk chair, but that proved even worse. Now he had to look up at you – look up at your pretty little face and try not to imagine how you’d look straddling him, taking every inch of his cock.

Yeah, like that was possible.

He’d break you. How Bucky managed not to was beyond him. You weren’t enhanced like either of them.

“I’m hot,” Steve finally admitted. “It’s hot in here.”

A flimsy excuse. Even he knew it wasn’t. Something was wrong.

“Really? I’m actually kind of cold.” With a smile, you made a show of briskly rubbing your arms, probably to make him feel better – and then you teased, “Maybe you can warm me up, huh?”

Don’t tempt me, sweetheart.

Your brows rose in surprise, but you laughed soon after.

Oh. Had he said that out loud?

He didn’t know. He didn’t care.

And it didn’t seem to bother you, either, because the concerned look in your eyes was still there and your jokes and laughter were a front. “Are you nauseous? Sick? Come on, talk to me. Please?”

Oh, he liked the sound of that. 

Steve quickly found himself wondering if that was how you sounded when you begged for more, begged for release, begged for something only Bucky was lucky enough to give you.

Imaginary pleas of please, Stevie, please echoed in his ears.

His eyes closed as your fingers threaded through his hair – an attempt to soothe the ache settling into his bones, perhaps. You quickly stopped, however, and he only realized why when he looked back up at you.

When had he taken hold of your wrist?

“What is it, Stevie?”

Shit, honey, if only I knew.

But the words didn’t come. His tongue felt like lead in his mouth.

Steve noticed, then, how easily his fingers and thumb overlapped – how small and delicate you really were, not to mention how absolutely defenseless. Your eyes were impossibly soft as you gazed down at him with such concern, such care, that he somehow wrenched his hand away.

“I… I don’t feel right,” was what he finally settled on.

“Can you describe it?”

You were worried about him, he knew, but you should have been worried about yourself for entirely different reasons. With you so close, he had no choice but to breathe in the irresistible scent of you. It drove him crazy.

You drove him crazy.

Through gritted teeth, Steve managed a rough, “Just find a way to get us out of here.”

“But you’re—”

“Now,” he barked, and you immediately jumped into action at his harsh tone.

Thirteen computers and counting.

Another ten minutes, and you were on computer number seventeen. Still no dice.

In between hurried keystrokes, you snuck glances over at Steve only to find him watching you like a predator might watch its prey. It unnerved you a little. Eyes dark and breathing laboured, he seemed much worse than before – overheating, but you didn’t dare check his temperature again. Your stomach had been in knots since he raised his voice with you, or maybe it started when he grabbed your wrist – a firm grip, one that might have left bruises beneath your shredded sleeve.

Why were you so anxious?

This was Steve. Captain America. Your boyfriend’s best friend. He’d never hurt you, at least not intentionally and you had a feeling that all of this had something to do with the mystery substance running through his veins. He’d be fine. 

That was when the computer dinged with a signal. At last. You might be able to get a message out, even if the reception was so poor. It was a short one, a quick and dirty ‘SOS’ along with your location. Command would send an extraction team for the two of you.

After you hit ‘send,’ you let out an audible sigh of relief. “Finally got a message through. Don’t worry, they’ll get us out.”

Something about that phrase snapped Steve’s resolve. He didn’t want to get out.

No, he wanted to get in.

That was when your back slammed against the wall, so hard that the impact left you gasping for air. “What—”

But you couldn’t finish that sentiment because Steve’s lips were on yours, hot and wanting and unfamiliar – not at all like how Bucky kissed you, how Bucky loved you more than anything.

For a moment, you froze up, absolutely stunned by what he’d done. You came to your senses quickly, though, and shoved him hard in the chest to get him to stop – but only after a few frenzied tries did he finally break away.

Breaths coming out in short bursts, you croaked, “What the hell?”

Steve swallowed the lump in his throat and squeezed his eyes shut, bracing himself against the wall with one arm above your head. His free hand came up to massage his temple, a distraction from the tightness of his pants. He’d caged you in – trapped you against him so deliciously and when he finally spoke, he sounded just as wrecked as he looked. “I don’t… I don’t know.”

“I’m with Bucky,” you hissed, voice wavering. “What the hell is wrong with you?”

Angry words laced with fear. He didn’t blame you.

But he couldn’t stop himself when his eyes dropped back to your mouth, and in an instant, he found himself wanting another taste, another touch. The fever burning hot fire through his body made it impossible to ignore, let alone resist any longer. What little self-control he had was gone.

“I’m—I’m sorry,” he choked out, and then his hand was in your hair, too-tight grip allowing him to pull you in for another kiss. This time he was much less forgiving, almost bruising your lips in his need for you – lips so soft and pliable and his. 

Steve overpowered you with such ease, especially when he swept his tongue into your mouth to sample your sweetness straight from the source. Scalp stinging painfully, you put up a fight, at least until he gathered both your wrists in one large hand and pinned them none-too-gently to the wall. Pain – not a lot of it, but enough to sting, to smart, to leave more bruises. 

No matter how hard you struggled, you couldn’t break free.

Of course you couldn’t. You weren’t strong enough. Not against him.

You attempted to knee him in the groin anyway, a last resort, but he easily deflected it by shoving one of his thighs in between yours. Thick, corded muscle pressed hard against your clothed core, wrenching a strangled gasp from your throat.

“Steve,” you whimpered against his lips, still trying to break free from his hold: an exercise in futility. “Damn it, stop, let me go—”

But he didn’t. No, instead he kissed you again, muffling any other protests, any other objections – and moans, too, he soon discovered when you mistakenly ground against his thigh in another failed attempt of escaping.

Peppering your jaw with open-mouthed kisses, he murmured, “How am I supposed to stop when you sound so pretty?”

Pretty for him. 

All for him.

A shudder wracked your body at the feeling of his breath against your ear, at the low timbre of his voice – rough and full of desire.

You stopped fighting after that.

And then you started to feel the heat, too. You felt the burn on your tongue, first, felt it prickle against your lips – uncomfortable, stifling heat, a fever that quickly made its way through your extremities, made your knees go weak, made you melt against him like butter. 

If Steve hadn’t been holding you up, you would have hit the floor.

“It’s too hot,” you whined, leaning back against the wall, revealing more of your throat for him to mark, to claim. The sharp, sudden ache between your legs was unbearable. “God, it hurts—”

“I know, baby,” he breathed against the saliva-slickened skin of your neck. “I know it does. I’ll make it better.”

Your arms were thrown carelessly around his neck, now; when had he even let you go? You didn’t know. You didn’t care. You just needed him, needed what he was going to give you like you needed air. 

An insistent tug around his collar – an unspoken plea, but the words soon followed, spilling from your mouth like a broken record. “Make it better, Steve, please make it better, Stevie, please—”

“Jesus, doll,” came his groaned reply as he all but yanked the zipper to your catsuit down, down, down between your breasts, and then the sleeves followed, fabric ripping along the seams. The moment you pulled your sports bra over your head, he palmed your breasts – left hot kisses and even hotter touches against your hypersensitive skin, and when he took a nipple into his mouth, you shivered.

“Not enough,” you gasped, fingers curling in his hair.

The taste of your skin was intoxicating – salty sweet with sweat and something he couldn’t quite place.

Longing, perhaps. Or dread.

Teeth raked against the pert bud and again your knees gave out, but Steve held you steady – a welcome reminder of his thigh between yours. This time, you ground down against him purposely, far too impatient and needy to wait for more.

You just couldn’t stop. Not that you even wanted to anymore.

With your free hand, you blindly fumbled with his belt and, somehow, it loosened. His fly was next, frantically unzipped until you had enough leeway to slide your hand into his boxers. As soon your fingers wrapped around him, Steve let out a shaky breath and met your eyes with a shared, albeit fleeting thought—

This was wrong.

But neither of you could stop.

You shoved his pants down below his ass, freeing him from the constraining fabric. His cock was hot and heavy in your palm, and you smoothed your thumb over the leaking slit.

“Fuck, sweetheart,” he swore, sending a surge of heat straight to your core.

You wanted this – wanted him.

Steve stripped the rest of your catsuit off in about two seconds flat – half tore it from your body in order to reveal your soft skin and perfect curves. Not that he had a chance to really appreciate them, however, because with a flick of his wrist your panties were in shreds on the floor and you’d slung one leg around his waist.

So fucking eager. He loved it.

He hiked your thigh up higher – allowed you better access to line him up, and when the head of his cock glided through your slick folds, you breathed, “Make it better, Stevie.”

So he did.

Steve slid all the way inside of you in one fluid motion, to which your eyelids fluttered shut, head lulling back against the wall with a dull thunk. The pleasant burn of him stretching you out so beautifully had your fingernails digging into his shoulders, leaving angry red marks behind.

“That’s it,” Steve coaxed, his large hand cradling the side of your face. “There you go.”

The tight, velvety drag of your walls as he slowly withdrew drove you both absolutely insane – and then he slammed all the way back inside, punching the breath from your lungs.

“You— god, you feel so good, Steve, give it to me, I need you, fuck me, Stevie—”

You didn’t even know what you were saying anymore, so blissed out of your mind already and he’d barely even started. With the his cock so deep inside you, the tip snug against your cervix, Steve couldn’t think straight either – and hearing you beg for him like this was better than he ever could have imagined.

He kissed you, then, all teeth and tongues, swallowing every single one of your pleas. Your arms slowly came to rest around his neck, and with unsteady yet practiced flair, you jumped up the tiniest bit – jumped up into his arms, and sure enough, he caught you.

It wasn’t hard to figure out why you knew he would.

Bucky.

A train of thought quickly forgotten as both your legs wrapped around his waist. Hands palming your ass, now, Steve fucked up into you – fucked you to pieces, and then he kissed you back together.

“Fill me up,” you gasped against his lips.

Jesus.

You didn’t have to ask him twice, especially when he felt the tell-tale flutter of your walls around his cock. You were close, and your soft, breathy whimpers only confirmed it.

“Gonna come for me, baby?”

“Yeah,” you moaned. “God, I’m so fucking close—”

Steve’s thrusts started to falter, then, and his fingertips dug into your hips. He left more bruises, but the mix of sensations was too much for you to handle and with a strangled cry, you fell apart, walls clenching down around him – desperately trying to milk him dry.

Even your body wanted him to come inside.

It pushed him over the edge, the knowledge that even on the most primal level you wanted him to fill you up – a conscious decision, but an instinctive one, too. With a soft groan, he pushed in as deep as he could go and spilled hot inside of you, marking your insides like a brand.

As he came down, exhaustion hit him like a wave. He set you down gently, but then he held one of his hands to the wall to keep himself from falling.

He felt weak, and so did you.

Chest heaving, you slid to the floor in post-coital bliss, cum dripping down the insides of your thighs. Steve wasn’t nearly as winded, and of course he wasn’t. He had the serum coursing through his veins, just like Bucky.

Bucky.

Bucky.

“Oh god, Steve,” you choked out, staring up at him in horror. “What— What did we do?”

Steve’s eyes widened in shock, feverish haze finally starting to clear.

Two years today – your anniversary.

Not that it mattered.

Part Two / Cold Sweats (fan-written sequel)

(If you like my work, please consider donating to my Patreon or my Ko-Fi!)

[kth1]

Dream [KTH]

Dream [Taehyung x Reader] ⟶ Credits: @kimtaehyunq​ ⟶ Genre: Soft Smut | 21+ | Boyfriend AU | First-person Oneshot ⟶ Warnings: use of vulgar language, adult content, foreplay, creampie, fingering, soft, strong/mature theme, unprotected sex, bed sex, etc ⟶ WC: 3.3k+ ⟶ Summary: Your subconscious was messing with you a little too much, leaving you restless, nervous, and weary. Taehyung is here to reassure you though. ⟶ Teaser: My mouth parted once he put strong pressure against my spot, holding it there while intensely focusing on rolling my bud around his fingers. My toes curled up the same time my back arched, gasping “D-Don’t stop!” ⟶ Author’s note: One morning I woke up really early and got pretty upset by a dream of mine, causing me to not be able to fall back asleep. Since I couldn’t sleep, I decided that in the hours of the wee morning; I jotted down some drabbles/wips and somehow… I made a really soft oneshot. Ta-da! These stories are just pure imagination, nothing to do with actual life of whom it may concern. Hope you like it! 😊

I was tossing and turning in bed all night, not being able to comfortably fall asleep. My boyfriend, Taehyung, knocked out relatively fast after watching a movie with me. I just couldn’t get tired, I was restless. I was going back and forth with shutting my eyes closed for what seemed to be hours, only to find out it’s been a few minutes. Checking my phone out of boredom multiple times and placing it back on the bedside table.

It had to of been after 3 AM when I finally had some shut eye. But it didn’t last long.

I woke up overheated, panicked. My dream woke me up and gave my body full adrenaline, heart racing and everything. A dream that upset me and I was glad I woke up before I encountered anymore saddening thoughts.

Lazily, I threw some of the covers off my legs to expose my skin to the cool air outside of the comforter. Sweat accumulated behind my neck causing my hair to damp up and making me toss to the side with a huff. What was causing my sleeplessness? I checked my phone once more and noticed the time, 5:30 AM on the dot.

I rolled my eyes and sighed. “Why?” I said in a low whisper.

It was mid-November and it was way too early for a sunrise at this hour. I stared blankly at the curtains hanging in front of the window, trying to peer through the sheer fabric of it and watch the tree’s leaves move with the wind. I can hear the light drizzling of rain hitting the clear glass.

A weight shifted on the bed, indicating that Taehyung was moving around in his sleep. I turned my head to face my handsome boyfriend who was clutching to a pillow and laying on his stomach, face turned towards me with his lips parted. His eyes closed shut; I listened to his light breathing.

He looked so peaceful and calm. His facial features were relaxed and looked soft to the touch. I smiled to myself, thinking that I was so lucky to have someone like him in my life. So happy I can see him in this state.

My hand slowly made its way to gently cup his cheek. Taking my thumb and caressing his soft tanned skin as I continued to gaze at his features. My touch caused him to grumble in his sleep, wincing a little bit and moving his mouth around to re-comfort himself. My lips curved into a smirk, because he looked so cute. So soft.

It was when I pulled my hand away from his face where I unexpectedly heard, “Why’d you stop?” In a deep raspy tone.

Eyebrows raised in surprise and feeling a little guilty, “I didn’t mean to wake you,” I said.

His eyes remained closed as he communicated back to me. Exhaling deeply as he was slowly waking up out of his sleep. “You ok?” He reached out slothful-like to find my arm and rub up it in a comforting way.

I hummed, assuring him I was content. “I just couldn’t really sleep,” I mumbled.

Heavy-eyed Tae swiftly move the pillow that was under him away and latched onto me, moving my body facing away and spooning me from the back. He dug his face into the back of my head and softly placed a few sluggish kisses.

Tae’s body radiated with heat, causing me to shift the covers down a bit more. He smelt so nice though. His groggy behavior was super adorable, and he was definitely making me feel more at ease with his arms around me.

“Did you have a bad dream, Jagi?”

How did he know? I closed my eyes after nodding my head yes, trying to stop any type of tears from forming. I didn’t particularly want to talk about my dream at this very moment because it still seemed so fresh. I sighed heavily and pulled Tae’s hand up to my face to give a peck to the back of his mitt.

“Tell me about it.” His breath hit the back of my neck as his chest vibrated along with his baritone voice. He nuzzled his nose into my shoulder, I could feel the air exit his nostrils on my skin.

I felt my body get heavy all of a sudden, a weight I wasn’t aware of but now it made its visit and I had to deal with it before I bottle it up. “I-I lost you,” I hesitantly spoke, nearly choking back on my tongue as the words left my mouth.

A few moments of silence enveloped the room, allowing the trickling of the raindrops against that damn window becoming boomingly loud. I could feel my own heartbeat quicken at the anticipation and stillness.

“What do you mean?”

“You left me.” My stomach churned as a reviled the plot of my nightmare. My grip tightened around Tae’s palm, not wanting to let him go.

Peppered kisses contacted my shoulder briskly as Tae let out a displeased grunt. “No. No.” He spoke in between. “Don’t dream about things like that. I’m here, I don’t want to leave.”

That’s what got me. That last sentence got me to break. My emotions got the best of me and trails of tears escaped my ducts and flowed down my face. It would have been fine because I had my back towards Tae and he couldn’t see my face, but it’s my sniffling that blew my cover.

I knew Tae was on full alert now, probably with eyes wide open and trying to calm down his sobbing girlfriend. I just buried my face into the pillow and reassured him I was ok, before he could even ask again.

“I’m sorry. I swear I’m okay, Tae.”

“Don’t apologize. There’s nothing to be sorry for. You’re allowed to feel the way you’re feeling.” His soothing voice caused my heart to ache even more. This man was so kind, so nurturing, empathetic and it made me vulnerable against him. He knew exactly how to handle me, how to make me feel good about myself. I really couldn’t have asked for a better partner.

“I just really, really, really love you, Tae.”

“I love you too, Jagi. You make me so happy; you have no idea.”

Taehyung squeezed me against his chest, smushing us together in the act of being cute and trying to lighten up the mood. I heard of soft chuckle behind my back, causing me to smile at him.

“Let me show you how much I love you.” He whispered into my ear.

“Tae—”

His actions interrupted my sentence when he leaned up and kissed in the crook of my neck. His contact was abrupt but soft. Scattering his lips along the column of my neck. His hand that I had clutched released from my grasp and made its way down my side and onto my hip, stroking the area slowly.

I inhaled sharply when Tae found my sweet spot under my ear. He began sucking on the skin and grazing his teeth, making me heat up more under his touches.

My hand instinctively made its way in his hair as I lightly pet him, slightly tugging at some strands that got intertwined between my fingers. He was making me feel in bliss. My negative mind was being transported over the moon with his arousing behavior.

The hand that laid on my hip slowly dipped into the elastic of my shorts, slithering through my undies and making contact with my folds. I could feel my face blush the second he started humming into my ear and nipping at my lobe.

My slickness was present, there was no denying that. I felt completely comfortable with Tae, I was willing to be as defenseless as possible with the man I fell in love with. His finger pushed into my slit, collecting my self-lubricated sap and slipping his finger up and down my wetness.

I jutted my butt back into him out of pure reaction due to the flick over my sensitive bud he did with the pad of his finger. My breathing hitched, while Tae’s was still steady and in control. When my ass pushed back into his hips, I could feel the slight erection he had going on under his briefs. He used his positioning to his advantage and put pressure back against me, while he toyed around with my clit.

Tae’s fingers expertly fiddled around my core, making my eyes flutter shut and my head rest back against him as he inserted a digit into my center. My teeth took in my bottom lip. Slowly fingering up into me, he added another finger. My hand reached down to his wrist and gripped onto it, not trying to stop the sensual pleasure, but to help guide him in the way I wanted to feel it. “Tae—” I breathlessly spoke out to him.

In a low husky voice Tae responds to me, “Yes, Jagi? Do you like this?”

My face flushed quickly, making me feel embarrassed that I was so engulfed by this sensation. But I didn’t feel shy at letting him know, “Yes.”

He removed his fingers from me, allowing me to take a breath that I didn’t realize I needed. Tae’s hands made their way to the band of my shorts and started tugging them down pass my knees along with my panties. He slightly pushed my lower back, giving me the hint to arch my tailbone towards him. He shuffled around, lowering his briefs to set free his member.

His dick made contact between my thighs, making me grin with excitement. He teasingly trailed his hard-on up and down my legs, tapping at my folds and then removing it just to repeat the process. Eagerly I tried pushing myself back onto him when he contacted me at my core again, causing the head dip in my slit and instantly getting polished with my juices.

Tae smirked as he leaned back to my neck with his dick positioned at my entrance. With his hand he drew circles with his stick, guiding it up, down, and all around.

“You’re so beautiful, Y/n.” He slowly entered me from behind.

Inch by inch Tae took his time easing into my walls. Allowing me to feel everything and adjust to him at a comfortable pace. Pulling back just to shove a bit more forward, until he finally sank his girthy dick all the way inside me. His lips made contact with my neck once again as I let out small moans.

Like music to his ears, my moans encouraged Tae to continue his work. He pumped into me at a slow pace, filling me up and pulling away. Making my body ache for him just to fill me up again. Small grunts escaped his throat, notifying me that this also feels good for him.

His fingers found my exposed bud again, this time without fabric constricting him. The double sensation shot a surge of pleasure up my body and my face glowed red. He was taking his time, loving me slowly and fully, showing me what it feels like to be together.

The tip of his member constantly skimmed against my g-shot, my pressure point. Not only his fingers were flicking around my swollen bean, but his dick was squishing up into my wall causing me to feel a strong coil build up deep within me.

My mouth parted once he put strong pressure against my spot, holding it there while intensely focusing on rolling my bud around his fingers. My toes curled up the same time my back arched, gasping “D-Don’t stop!”

The power was so much that a wave of electrifying sensations rippled through my lower abdomen and my body started twitching around Tae’s sunken cock. He kept a firm hold on me, making sure my hips didn’t pull away from him as I rode my orgasm.

Tae continued sliding his dick deep inside of me, pushing as deep as possible and holding me there. “I love you,” he repeated.

Coming down from my quick high, I tried twisting my body to meet his face. Locking our lips together straight away. “I want to look at you,” I stated sheepishly.

I felt his gaze on me, an endearing look. I looked back into his dark eyes that had a tint of seriousness to them, “You can always look at me,” he said smiling. I was completely captivated by him.

Tae pulled out without hurry, pulling my body to lay on my back and pushed my legs aside so he can fit back in place. Now I was able to see my boyfriend, watch him just like how I was when he was asleep. This time I get to see his features, his mannerisms, everything. Tae reached at the hem of my shirt and gently pulled it up and over my head, uncovering my bare torso to him. He leaned down to meet my face with a smile, giving me a warm kiss.

Both of my hands had made it into his hair, keeping him there to deepen the kiss. I moved my legs alongside his body, giving him friction against our skins. When we disconnected, we both stared back into another’s eyes, getting lost into our own world. We were both sleepy, tired, but still very much in love.

“God, I love you so much.” I blurted out.

He chuckled lightly, biting on his bottom lip. Placing one more peck on my mouth, and proceeded to my cheek, my jawline, down my neck, to my clavicles. His hands massaged at my breasts when his lips continued making light purple marks across my surface.

When he finally reached down to my boobs, his mouth hovered my right puffy nipple. Poking it with his wet tongue, forcing the area to harden. My hands ran up and down his arms, tracing his biceps and deltoids as I hummed in response.

I lifted my legs up and over his waist, wanting him closer to me. Leaning back down, he slid his dick back in, with my wetness giving him an easier time to enter. My hands gripped his arms for more support, while he thrusted deep into my cunt. Using his lower back, he bucked his hips up into me, forcing me back into another haze of what felt like heaven. He didn’t go slow this time, but he also wasn’t going fast. It was an immersed speed that made the both of us satisfied, enough to show how much he cares to make love to me.

Our moans together were a symphony. Trying to make this session last as long as possible, but also trying to make another feel as pleased as possible. We were determined for both.

“Ah Jagi, I’m close!” Tae panted. I can see a bead of sweat drip down the side of his forehead. I was in shock with how well he was holding himself back. How calm he was. But his orgasm was creeping up on him, and it looked like he really wanted to show me everything he’s got.

“Babe,” I whispered. I pulled him close by the back of his neck, linking my arms behind him and secured our lips together in a very passionate, sloppy kiss. I tightened my legs around him, limiting his space from pulling out all the way.

I believe Tae realized what I was doing, he caught on pretty quick to most things anyways. He furrowed his eyebrows in concentration, trying to last as long as possible. But I knew he was caving in to the feeling of his dick being hugged by my warm, damp walls.

“Show me how much.” I whispered into his ear, letting out a whimper once he fastened his pace into quick sporadic strokes. Forcing himself deep inside me before releasing his warm load, letting out an exhausting throat grunt. Holding me close to him.

We both were panting, catching air as quick as it left our bodies. Tae laid on top of me, dick still submerged into my cunt. I could feel his member twitching ever so slightly, probably rocking down from his climax.

We held another during this time, until Tae was ready to roll off. He leaned up with a grin and glossy eyes. About to detach from me, I quickly gripped onto him and rolled the both of us over, so I was straddling his crotch as his member was practically glued in me.

“Y/n…” his croaky voice sent a heart welching feeling to me.

I kissed at the tears that broke free from the brims of his eyes. Wiping them clean from his now rosy cheeks. “Please don’t cry!” I said worriedly. Making him lightly laugh.

“It’s ok, Y/n.” He smiled with his eyes as his teeth beamed at me. “They’re happy tears.”

Even though these were tears of joy, it still hurt my heart. Not in a negative way, in a warming sensitive way. It ached; my heart was swelling up for Taehyung. And I would not have it any other way.

All my passion amped up in the spur of the moment and I leaned down kissing all over Tae’s face, leaving no section un-kissed. His hands made their way to my waist with his thumbs rubbing circles into my skin. He made an attempt to lift me up off of his sensitive member, but I refused. Instead I forced myself locked down on him, rolling my hips in circles. Using his shaft for my personal pleasure and his pelvis as an optimal place to stimulate my clit.

Tae’s head cocked to the side as his face skewed with hypersensitivity running through his strong figure, parting his lips and knitting his brows together. Both of our breathes picked up fast, our chests heaving as I helped get us to our next high, together.

We were more vocal now as we chased our climaxes, “Ah-ah Jagi! Fuc-,“ Tae moaned out loud. He groaned out in awe, watching me rocking around on top of him, riding him. The puddle of mixed liquids pooled between us, seaming through the connection we had and drenching everything in its path.  

I rapidly grabbed Tae’s hands in mine, lacing our fingers together as my body got shot with a rapture of pleasure, tightening my walls around Tae’s swollen dick. He choked back on his moan; the feeling so intense to him causing an orgasm to pop up out of nowhere. We both let out a high-pitched moan as we hit our peaks; him shooting more seeds up into me as I leaked all over his thighs.

This orgasm felt like I was swept from my feet, goosebumps all over my body, my body on an all-time high and trembling on him. Causing me to lose balance on top of Tae. He was quick to catch hold on me and lay me on my side by him.

We laid there, in our mess. A messy pile full of love. We embraced another, caressing whatever body part that was available to us.

“I hope you don’t have any more dreams or worries about losing me,” he placed a sweet and tender kiss to my forehead. “I love you too much to leave.”

I wrapped my arms tighter around Tae’s torso, cuddling up close into his chest. Shaking my head, “I won’t. I want to stay like this.”

“We need to clean ourselves and the bed up though.” Tae admitted, giggling.

“Another 5 minutes then?”

He smirked, reaching over to my phone on the bedside table and checking the time. “Ah, it’s 6:13 AM.”

I looked up at him, feeling a bit guilty on how early it was. Knowing we will probably have a very lazy day ahead of us. But I smiled when he spoke up.

“I’ll set a timer. 5 minutes. Then we’ll shower, grab some food and hot cocoa, throw these sheets in the washer, and watch the sun rise through this rainy weather. Deal?”

“Deal.”

© All rights reserved under @kimtaehyunq​ - do not copy, repost, modify, edit, or translate any of my work without my direct consent. This tumblr is the ONLY place my fics are posted.

[jawritter]

Burn

**Warnings** SMUUTTTT!! LOL. Unprotected Sex. Oral Sex, male and female receiving. Language. Daddy Kink. I think that’s it. 

A/N: All mistakes are mine! Please don’t copy my stuff!! Cross-posted on Wattpad! This is just a little Jensen Ackles one shot for you guys! Hope you enjoy it! As always feedback is appreciated!! 

Word Count: 2398

Pairing: Jensen Ackles X Reader

Want more? Check out my Masterlist!

***********MASTERLIST*************

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Even from across the room, his piercing green eyes could penetrate through impenetrable steel. 

You watched with battered breath as his gaze slowly moved over you, from your heels, all the way to your eyes. A fire burning just under the surface that you knew all too well. A low smolder, like hot coal glowing as the wind brushes by it, sparking higher and higher with each passing breeze. 

This kind of burning was more effective than a roaring fire because it lasts longer, burns slower, devouring its way from the inside out; licking at it until there isn’t anything left. Until everything was permanently shifted and altered to its every whim. 

His tongue rolled across his plump bottom lip as he tilted his head ever so slightly to the right, drawing his teeth across the pink flesh in the wake of his tongue. 

A visible shiver went ripped through your body before you could hide it. You bit the inside of your check hard to stifle the moan that threatened to make its way past your lips in the crowded room you were standing in. 

Jensen’s eyes never left yours as he brought his scotch he’d been sipping on up to his lips. The perfect crystal resting smoothly against the soft pillows you so badly wanted to drag your teeth over as he poured the remainder of the amber liquid down his throat in one smooth pull.

You shifted on your feet, eyes locked with his as he placed his glass on the table next to him, and started to stalk toward you in almost a predatory strut. His solid black ensemble hugged his thick body in all the right places and seemed to make the man literally drip sex. A smirk on his lips, his sinful tongue resting at the edge of his perfectly white teeth, teasing you, giving you just enough of a peak to drive you crazy.

By the time he made it across the room to you, you were putty in his hands and he knew it. He knew the effect he had on you, and he loved it.

His strong calloused hand reached out and took the wine glass from your hand, placing it on the table next to you before he reached around you he places a hand on your lower back. Your tight, black cocktail dress did very little to stop the heat radiating off of your body at his close proximity, and the pantie melting smirk he gave you told you he could see right through your attempt at a cool exterior.  

“You look gorgeous tonight, sweetheart,” he leaned down to whisper in your ear. His hot breath left a trail of fire under the surface of your rapidly overheating skin, stoking the deep burn that was low in your belly.

“But I think it’s about time to see what that dress looks like on the floor,” his voice growled with the promise of what was to come when you got home, and you couldn’t almost taste your desire on your own tongue as his eyes roamed your body like a predator, eyeing his prey.

Your heart was pounding so hard in your ears you were almost sure he could hear it, even over the chatter of the crowded room.

“Yes, sir,” you breathe out in a whisper that was so damn close to a moan you were surprised people didn’t turn around and stare at you. 

Jensen smirked down at you, eye crinkles becoming more prominent in his deep gaze. 

“Good girl,” he husked in your ear again, making you shiver in his hold. 

His smell was intoxicating, wrapping around you, and making your sense blur, all rationality and morals quickly flying right out of the window, and fuck you loved it.

Jensen led you out of the room and down to the lobby where the valet brought his car around, his strong hand never left the small of your back as he guided your way down the steps to the passenger side of the car, waiting until you were seated before closing the door, and strutting around the car to the driver’s side. 

This was not the first encounter between Jensen and yourself, it had happened many times before, and you were powerless to resist him. Not that you ever wanted to. 

He was your drug. You were addicted to him. No matter how much you tried to justify it, no matter how much you tried to deny it, you were hooked, he had you, and you didn’t even want to get away or get clean. 

You liked the disease.

You were no sooner through the door of your apartment before Jensen was on you, shoving your back against the wall, his large, thick, muscular, yet lean frame towering over you and caging you in. Hands were on your hips as his lips attacked yours, claiming your mouth with his own. His tongue glided over yours with ease, dancing together like they’d done so many times before. 

You could still taste the scotch on his breath, mingled with the spearmint gum he was chewing as he pulled your lower lips between his teeth, nibbling at you lightly as he pulled away and sending shock waves through your body like only he could. 

By the time you parted you both were panting. 

Jensen grabbed your hand in his, leading you through the dark apartment, not bothering to turn any lights on. He didn’t need them, he had been here enough he knew where his destination was.

He pulled you harshly through the bedroom door, and you didn’t even have time to close it properly before he was on you again, strong, calloused hands roaming your body, his warm lips leaving little wet kisses all the way down from the shell of your ear to your pulse points where your shoulder meets your throat.

Slick quickly began to cover the thin black thong you had adorned for tonight’s occasion. Every time he was with you this way, it was like he was brand new. You never got tired of exploring his skin, tracing every little freckle with the tip of your tongue, his bare chest on display for you, his bowtie, suit, and shirt long forgotten on the floor... 

Sliding your way down his body you get on your knees in front of him, running your hands up his thick bowed legs you make your way up to his belts, finally freeing him from the confines of those damn slacks that drive you crazy, revealing those tight boxers that are nothing to hide the prominent bulge tenting the thin fabric there. 

You run your flat palm up his thick erection, and he shutters against the door he was leaning on. You never get tired of hearing his sharp intake of breath when you tease him. True to his form Jensen is impatient, and you knew he wouldn’t let you tease him for very long. 

Reaching down himself he slides his boxers down, kicking them away as they reach his ankles. 

“Don’t tease me, baby, you know Daddy doesn’t like a tease.” he husked down at you, pumping his thick length a few times before lining the swollen, red, leaking tip up with your lips. 

You took him all in one swift swallow of your lips, nose to his hilt, surprising even him, hollowing your checks out to give him a little more room, and flattening your tongue against the thick vein that ran under his throbbing shaft. 

Jensen’s hand slids its way through your hair, wrapping it around his large hand, guiding your mouth over him as he rocked his hips into you, the tangy taste of precum tart on your tongue, but fuck you love it. 

Slick coats your thighs more as you watched his face as he uses you to pleasure himself. His head was thrown back against the door, his strong jaw clenched tight, eyes slammed shut, those adorable eye crinkles you loved so much showing to you even in a dark room, his chest heaving heavily as he fucked himself into your waiting mouth, pulling almost all the way out before shoving his way back in; making you gage a little around the tip of him every time he hit the back of your throat. 

Tears were streaming down your face, but you didn’t mind, not even a little. 

Soon his hips started to falter, and he jumped away from you with a hiss falling from his perfect lips. He smirks down at you, shaking his head as he helps you to your feet before backing you to the bed behind you, not stopping until the back of your legs hit the bed frame, and you fall to your back. 

“You’re a little too damn good at that, baby girl. Almost ended this before it even got started.” 

His eyes raked over you like you were his last damn meal, his hands slipping down your side, pulling the zipper of your dress with him, ripping it from your body as soon as he had the zipper free. Your uncovered breast springing free, and a  primal growl left Jensen’s lips, one you had heard so many times but it still seems to ruin you every time. 

Backing your way up against the headboard, Jensen crawls his way above you as you move, his leaking tip grazing your thighs as your back meets the cold wood of the headboard of the bed, his mouth sealing around your overly sensitive nipples; it was almost enough to send you over the edge right there. 

Little moans falling from your lips as his tongue swirled around each nipple before sucking at them slightly, pulling them between his teeth, and letting them go with a pop. Your back arched into him, your head was spinning, your core throbbing and clenching around nothing as he slid your thong down your legs with his teeth. 

His green eyes, full of mischief, never leaving yours as he dropped the thong on the side of the bed. 

You couldn’t take any more of his teasing, you had been wound up for too long, he’d been away for too long, and you wanted more than anything just to feel him inside of you.

You were squirming underneath him as he ran his hands up the back of your thighs, moving your legs apart, exposing you to him. He smirked that damn smirk that was enough to kill you, watching your destress. 

“Please Daddy,” you finally beg him, the smirk turning into a full-on grin.

His tongue reaches out and licks a small, rough circle over your swollen clit before he answers you.

“Please what sweetheart?” 

He was enjoying himself, and you knew you were in for it. 

“What is it you want Daddy to do?”

Your sentence was cut off with a breathy moan as his mouth sealed around your throbbing clit, sucking and eating at you like a man starved, growling against your sensitive skin, creating a whole new sensation altogether. 

Your orgasm took you by surprise as your body arched off of the bed on its own, pure hot bliss spreading through your body from your aching center outward, taking your breath away from you and blurring your vision around the edges. 

Jensen slowed his ministrations only enough so that he wouldn’t hurt you, working you through your high, not stopping until you went limp underneath him. Aftershocks were still rocking through your body as he crawled his way up you, licking his lips like he’d won a prize, a proud smirk gracing his handsome face. 

Brushing your hair out of your face, giving you a moment to recover, he kissed your lips softly, the taste of you still lingering on his tongue as he deepened the kiss. Your head is still spinning a little, but he doesn’t stop until you’re a panting mess underneath him again. 

“You were saying?” he asked with a smirk, his lips are only inches above yours, his hot breath fanning over your skin.

“Daddy, please! I need you,” you whimper at him, squirming under him, feeling his red, swollen length now nudging at your dripping entrance. 

Without warning he slammed his hips into yours, sliding home in one smooth thrust, and knocking the wind clean out of your lungs as your pussy violently convulsed around him. 

He only gave you a moment to adjust before he was pounding into you at a punishing pace. His thick length dragging deliciously against your pulsing walls. His tip hitting that secret spot way down inside of you that only he seemed to be able to reach. The coil in your stomach began to tighten again at a rapid rate, and you were almost delirious with pleasure.

His hands roamed your skin as he pounded you into the mattress, leaving a trail of fire in their wake. 

There it was again. 

That wind that ignited the embers inside of you, taking them from a deem glow, to a steadily eating, purging, burning fire. 

Eating away at your soul. 

Maring you, making sure you knew you were his, and only his. 

Taking away all the pain and the imperfections. 

Scorching heat pooling where your bodies were connected, the coil winding tighter and tighter until it was almost unbearable, your end was close and he knew it.

“That’s it, sweetheart, I want to see you come undone around me,” his voice was strained, and deep, sending a fresh wave of fire under your skin, burning you alive.

“Come on baby, cum for Daddy one more time,” he said, his words just a whisper in your ear, his pace never faltering. 

That’s all it took. 

The coil deep down inside of you snapped, leaving a string of his name mixed with a mess of incoherent sounds as the earth-shattering orgasm consumed you. 

Fire fell over your whole body, that little ember hat started at the party turned into a roar of passion now dieing down slightly as you came down from high, turning into a slow, perfect burn. 

Jensen worked you through it the best that he could, his own pace faltering as your body put a vise grip around his, pounding deep into you two more times before burning himself deep inside of you, spilling all he had to give you, his body quaking as he emptied himself to you.

This was it. 

This was as close as you were sure you’d ever get to heaven.

No words were spoken when it was all over. Jensen cleaned you both off with a warm cloth he’d retrieved from the bathroom before crawling back into bed, wrapping his arms around you and pulling you tight to his chest. 

That ember burning low in your belly, the one that started in his eyes all those years ago, that sparked in you, and still hasn’t gone out, it probably never will. It was an eternal flame, burning brighter even after it all goes dark. Your light when you think you have none. Your peace, your warmth, burning into your very soul. 

“Love is like a friendship caught on fire. In the beginning a flame, very pretty, often hot and fierce, but still only light and flickering. As love grows older, our hearts mature and our love becomes as coals, deep-burning, and unquenchable.”

— Bruce Lee

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Tag List:

@deanwanddamons​ @imabitch4jensen​  @rvgrsbrns​ @bi-danvers0​

[stahlop]

Honeymoon in Paris (CSRR) 1/1

Ao3

Look at this amazing artwork @kmomof4 did for this! That picture in the top right corner was the real inspiration for this piece. I knew it had to be really steamy and sexy. So this is basically a CS honeymoon and it’s pretty much a PWP. There’s a little plot, but not a ton. Just lots of smutty fun. So I really hope you like this Krystal!!

This piece is based off canon and in the same universe as my other CSRR piece, Not All Treasure is Silver and Gold (sometimes it's chocolate). While that one was pure fluff, this one is just sex.

Thank you to my betas, @profdanglaisstuff​ and @thisonesatellite​. Honestly, Saira, I don’t know if this piece would’ve been written if it wasn’t for all your help. 

Rated E

Summary: Emma and Killian are on their honeymoon and Emma wants to take things really slow and just enjoy each other.

He’s on her before she can even get the keycard in the slot, nuzzling against her ear, hitting that spot right behind her earlobe that he knows drives her crazy.

 “We are in the hallway of the hotel,” she admonishes him in protest, but he knows she loves it all the same.

 “Then get that door open so I can ravish you, darling,” he says, smiling into her hair. 

 She’s trying to get the keycard to work, she really is, but she can’t concentrate when he’s busy kissing his way down her neck.

 “Killian!” she hisses as he starts moving the neckline of her top aside to kiss her collarbone.

 Finally, after what seems like forever, Emma finally gets the damn keycard to click and opens the door.

 Killian shoves her inside, kicking the door shut behind them, swinging Emma around, and pushing her up against the inside of the door; not even taking the time to see the view of the Eiffel Tower that is supposed to be visible from their hotel suite window. Her breath is coming out in short puffs with the way he’s all over her. He captures her lips with his own in a searing hot kiss, only pulling away to start giving hot, frantic kisses down her neck. The salty taste of her skin on his tongue. He uses his hook to skim down the buttons on her blouse.

 “Do you like this shirt, love?” Killian asks as he bites the junction between her neck and shoulder, quickly soothing it with his tongue. Emma braces her hands on his chest and pushes him back.

 “Whoa, Killian, slow down.” He pouts at this, not happy that she interrupted his ministrations. “I didn’t say stop,” Emma gives him her best seductive smile, “just slow down.” She runs her finger down his still buttoned up shirt, “We’re on our honeymoon.” She unbuttons one button on his waistcoat.  “We’ve spent so much time rushing things because of larger-than-life villains.” There goes another button. “We can actually enjoy the quiet moments.” She says echoing what he used to tell her when they first started dating. He looks down and now all his waistcoat buttons are undone.

 Killian shucks it off, letting the black waistcoat Emma loves drop to the plush carpeted floor. He resumes kissing her and slowly backs her up toward the huge, four-poster, king-sized bed, adorned with rose petals, that is waiting for them. Emma’s knees hit the mattress and she sits. 

 Killian expects her to either start unbuttoning his shirt and play with his chest hair, which she loves to do so much, or unhook her bra so he can play with her, but she does neither. Instead, she starts unbuttoning his pants. 

 “Emma…” Killian whines.  He normally likes to pleasure her first, but she shushes him. She gets the button through the hole and slowly pulls his zipper down.

He’s commando, as usual, so his cock springs out when she lets his pants drop. She cups his asscheeks (like peach fuzz she tells him) as she pulls him forward closer to her face, her breath making his dick twitch in anticipation. Killian can see Emma is practically salivating at his velvety, smooth penis that stands at attention before her. She grasps his erection with both hands making him gasp and gives him a few good pumps before she engulfs him in her hot, wet mouth.

 Killian’s hand goes immediately to her hair, twisting in her golden locks as she slowly bobs up and down his shaft. Emma is alternating using her whole mouth to suck him down and licking him from root to tip. She stops to swirl her tongue just around the tip, sucking it like a lollipop, before taking him in all the way again, deeper than before.

 “Emma…” he groans, the sensations of her wet mouth making that feeling coil in his balls. Emma lets him go with a pop. Killian looks down at her, wondering why in heaven she stopped.

 Emma’s green eyes stare right into his when she says, “Fuck my mouth, Killian.” He didn’t think he could love her any more. And also, when did his wife start to play so dirty in the bedroom? Not that their sex life is boring by any means, but she’s never straight up asked him to do this before. And Emma Swan (Jones) is never shy about what she wants in the bedroom.

 She’s still looking at him expectantly. He puts the tip of his cock right to her lips, smearing the mix of pre-cum and saliva over her lips. “Open up, love.” 

 Emma opens up for him. Killian’s hand is still in her hair and pushes her head forward as she follows his directions. He can feel her throat opening up as pushes back as far as he can, her throat contracting around him. Usually her blow jobs are quick, a means to get him hard fast (not that he needs that much help), because who knows when they’ll get interrupted by a dwarf  or her parents (or, god, that one time Henry almost caught them in her bug). But here, they can just enjoy each other, and maybe that’s why Emma is relinquishing some of her control to him right now.

 The first time she did this for him he was embarrassed. He only ever had women he’d bought suck him off. Even Milah never went down there. It wasn’t considered ladylike. He tried to pull Emma up, claiming she didn’t have to do this, but she wouldn’t have it. Turns out fellatio wasn’t a dirty thing in this realm, and Emma enjoyed it. She enjoyed it a lot. And who was he to deny the woman he loved?

 Killian keeps pushing her head back and forth, relishing the feel of his cock in the tightness of her throat. She takes one of her hands from his ass and brings it down between his legs as she starts slowly massaging his balls and his breath stutters. 

 “Emma...I…” he grunts. He really doesn’t want to spend himself in her mouth, but he can see that is exactly what his minx of a wife wants. Emma starts sucking faster and faster until he cries her name, and his cum explodes down her throat. He continues to fuck her mouth until he is spent, his grip on her hair loosening as he finishes his orgasm. Emma makes sure to lick all the cum off his cock thoroughly before she releases him, giving one final kiss on the tip. 

 Emma looks up at him earnestly, waiting for his reaction. Killian takes his hook and puts it under her chin, tipping her face up even more to him before he comes down in a heat-searing kiss.

 “You are a naughty wife.” Killian says into her ear, and she shivers. “Making me come in your mouth before I’ve barely gotten to touch you.” He takes his hook and starts plucking the buttons off her blouse. “You didn’t answer my question before.” He says kissing his way down her neck, making sure to pay special attention to the hollow of her neck, one of her most sensitive spots.

 “What...I...question?” she sputters rubbing her thighs together. 

 “Do...” pluck 

 “you…” pluck 

 “like…” pluck

  “this…” pluck 

 “shirt…” pluck 

 “love?” 

 He doesn’t wait for an answer though. His hook comes down and rips off the last two buttons.

 “Up on the bed, love” he says as he toes off his socks and shoes, and kicks off his pants which had pooled around his ankles. She throws the ruined shirt off somewhere into the room, now clad in only a lace bra, black leggings, and black flats. She quickly kicks off her shoes before she lays herself back on the outrageous amount of pillows gracing the bed.

 “Now, what to do with you.” Killian smirks as he starts unbuttoning his own shirt and walking towards the side of the bed. “You say you want to take things slow.” He sits down on the edge of the bed, sees Emma’s stomach dip in anticipation, and gets right next to her ear and practically growls, “Well, love, I always did love a challenge.”

 Killian takes his thumb and brings it to her face, tracing the outline of her perfect, pink lips. Emma takes it into her mouth and starts sucking on it and he closes his eyes at the feelings it stirs up in his belly, but he pulls it away, much to Emma’s dismay. “Ah, ah, ah, darling.” He warns and taps her nose, “You already had your fun, it’s my turn now.” He slowly caresses down her cheek, then moves to her neck, feeling her pulse rush as he presses down slightly. Emma gasps at the slight squeeze, her thighs pressing together due to the lack of friction. Killian understands that want, that need, but she insisted on slow, so slow he will go.

Killian’s hand wanders down Emma’s neck into the valley between her breasts which are encased in a black, lace bra. He lowers his head down and starts licking the tops of her breasts visible above the bra. He sees Emma’s nipples straining against the fabric. Well, something needs to be done about that. He continues to lick and suck, leaving the occasional mark while his hand grazes the bare skin right underneath, making its way towards her back. Killian loves this realm’s corsetry. It doesn’t require so much work to get it off, just a simple flick of the fingers, something even he can do easily. 

 He pulls down the cups now that the bra has been undone and starts to suck on a rosy, pert nipple. Emma takes in another breath, her hands now scratching his shoulders. He’s sure there will be little half-moon marks from her fingernails, a cross he’s willing to bear. 

 His hook now joins in, skimming around the other breast and encircling the nipple. Emma breaks out in goosebumps, most likely from her overheated skin and the coolness of his hook. Killian releases her nipple and kisses his way over to the other one. His hook lightly scrapes down her stomach.

 “Killian!” she moans. He knows how much she loves the feel of his hook. He was surprised that his lovely Swan loved the hook play so much. Having used it as a weapon for so many centuries, the idea of using it on Emma, regardless of how much she got off on it, took awhile for him to be comfortable with. But after seeing Emma fall apart on his hook the first time, he couldn’t imagine never using it like that again.

 “Yes, love?” He asks with an air of innocence. His hook now dipping into the waist of her leggings. 

 “I...oh god!” Emma pants as his hook barely brushes her panty-covered clit.

 “Killian will do.” He teases into her breast as he brushes her clit again. 

 He gives her a few more rubs through the fabric before he gets impatient and uses his hook to (slowly) slide her her undergarments down her long, pale legs.

 They are now both completely naked (took long enough, he thinks, usually they’re naked immediately; Emma has even poufed their clothes off before in her rush to get to the good stuff). Killian looks up into his beautiful wife’s face. Her head thrown back, exposing her long, graceful neck. Her bottom lip between her teeth mostly likely stifling a moan. Her eyes squeezed tight in anticipation of what she knows is coming next.

 Killian scoots down toward the edge of the bed, gliding his fingers down her body as he moves. Emma is taking in shallow breaths and he hasn’t even got to the good part yet. He stops slightly to tangle his fingers through the small thatch of hair between her legs. She had been bare the first time they came together, after she returned his heart. A frenzied, rushed encounter that had them both coming in no time at all; not how he’d imagined their first time in any of his musings. He hardly noticed until after they were done and he was pulling out. Emma explained the custom of women shaving down there, but that it was easy enough to grow some back if that’s what he preferred. It was. The bareness down there made him think of the first girl he coupled with, the one he lost his virginity to at the tender age of 16. It had been with a new girl to the house of ill-repute that the sailors on the ship bought for him, telling him that even though he was a slave he needed to ‘become a man’. He knew that she was young, probably too young, and he was pleasantly surprised when the first woman he took to bed once he and Liam joined the King’s Royal Navy had hair down there. It made her seem more experienced and mature; more of a woman than a girl. And Emma is definitely a woman.

 Killian trails his fingers down to her inner thighs and coats his fingers in the slickness between her folds that is soaking the bed. Emma sighs in contentment. He takes his fingers away for just a moment to kneel on the bed, much to Emma’s consternation. Killian grabs her legs and throws them over his shoulders, and then starts kissing his way down them. He is unhurried as he makes his way down. He wants to make her squirm, make her beg, make her cry his name out like a prayer on her lips. 

 She is right. They never get the time to just enjoy each other. Even over the past six months since their defeat of the Black Fairy and winning the Final Battle, she’s been so on edge waiting for that next villain to pop up that it’s still been that rapid race to the finish line without all the other fun stuff. Killian is disheartened that he has rarely gotten to bring Emma over the edge more than once during their couplings. 

 He finally reaches the treasure between Emma’s legs, but he does not use his mouth on her right away. He can hear her frustration from above as she grabs his hair and practically forces his face near the place she wants him most. He laughs as he turns his head and gives a wet kiss right at the intersection between her thighs and her most private of parts.

 “Killian…” Emma moans, tugging his hair in annoyance.

 “Patience, my love.” He says moving his face upward to see hers. “You’re the one that wanted us to... go slow,” he teases, throwing her words back at her. “Now, be a good girl and let me hear what I do to you. Don’t be afraid to really get into it.” He chuckles. He swears he hears Emma whisper “Smug bastard” from above, but then he tongues up her slit, tasting the tangy flavor that is all his wife, and all he gets from her is an illicit moan that goes straight to his groin.

 He continues to lick her, his tongue savoring her essence. Emma is making the most wonderful noises from above him. Killian is torturing her by lazily caressing his hand and hook down her stomach, just barely touching her on the way down. He grazes her sides at the same time he takes the flat of his tongue and presses it against her clit, making her arch off the bed.

 “Killian!” Emma practically screams. He knows this is the moment. Without any of his usual savvy, Killian takes two fingers and enters her sweet cunt while bringing his hook back to her clit for a few swipes. The cool metal against Emma’s heated and swollen flesh is almost too much for her to bear, Killian knows. He also knows that it’s the easiest way to get her off before the main event.

 He continues to alternate between his mouth and his hook on her clit, driving Emma wild. She is making incoherent noises now, and Killian thanks his lucky stars that he’s the only one who can make her feel like this. Killian absolutely loves the way Emma looks when she’s coming undone. And she’s almost there.

 He takes one final turn with his mouth, drawing her clit into his mouth and grazing it with his teeth, while also adding one more finger into her cunt and curving them to massage her sweet spot inside. Emma falls apart with a long moan, legs shaking, hands nearly pulling out his hair, walls clenching around his fingers.

 “Fuck, Killian!” She screams. “Fuck, fuck, fuck!”

 He brings her down, slowly massaging her inner walls until her breath starts to even out. His erection is back in full force and he feels like he’s never been this hard in his life. He wants to gather Emma in his arms and just fuck with no grace whatsoever. But as much as she may be protesting it now with how keyed up she is, he knows that’s not what he needs to do.

 He trails kisses up her stomach, making sure to dip his tongue into her belly button, a sensitive spot for her, then goes back up to her breasts, making sure to lave attention on the straining nipples,before moving in between her legs, his cock barely brushing against her still sensitive clit.

 Emma lies beneath him, looking every bit the princess that she is. A very naked and flushed princess, but still a princess. Her blonde hair is fanned out on the pillows, giving her an ethereal quality as well. Her eyes are still closed and her head is still slightly thrown back.

 “Killian…” she moans, “Killian, please!” Ahhh, the begging portion has finally begun.

 “Please what, darling?” he asks, kissing his way up her neck.

 “Please!” Emma moans again as she rocks her hips up trying to catch his cock on her clit again. Killian moves slightly up, even though it’s killing him. Emma has been lightly raking her fingernails down his back while he nipped and licked up her body, but now she tries to pull him closer by digging her nails into his back.

 “Patience.” Killian repeats.

 Emma snaps open her eyes and pulls his head up to hers by his hair so that they are now eye level. “Fuck patience!” she says, her emerald eyes practically black. “I swear to God or any of your gods, Killian, if you don’t stop teasing me and get your fucking dick inside my cunt, I will finish up myself and I will not allow you the luxury of getting to watch me do it or letting you relieve yourself!”

 Normally, Killian would laugh at such a declaration, because he knows his wife. He knows she won’t get off quite as hard by her own hand. And he knows it turns her on too much when he watches her pleasure herself. But she is in such a state right now, he really doesn’t want to test her.

 “As you wish.” And that’s all the warning he gives her before quickly taking himself in hand and quickly guiding himself into her warm, tight cunt.

 He’d had plans when she insisted on going slow. He was going to tease her, just put in the tip, shallow thrusts until she couldn’t stand it. Instead, he takes her in one stroke, going all the way to the hilt. He pulls out and thrusts all the way in again. Emma’s breath changes erratically from normal breathing to shallow breaths almost immediately.

 “Is this what you wanted, love?” he growls into her ear. “Fast,” he pulls out again, “and hard?” and slams back into her. Emma does nothing but nod her head and moan again into his ear.

 He could just keep fucking her with no finesse, but it’s their honeymoon. It’s their first time together in any sense without possibility of danger or distraction. He wants to savor this. He wants Emma to savor this. It was her idea to go slow after all. 

 “Open your eyes, love,” he demands; Emma does. She looks at him with questioning eyes before he hits the right spot inside of her and she keens up toward him and closes them again. “Keep them open!” Killian all but commands, “And give me your hands.” He adds as almost an afterthought.

 Emma unclenches her hands from his shoulders and slides them over to his on either side of her head. Killian pulls them out straight on either side of her. Emma quickly adjusts, pulling her legs up higher on his waist and drawing him in closer. The new angle is fantastic for both of them. His balls and cock are so tight he feels as if he’ll explode any moment. Emma is rocking her hips into him, now doing most of the work as Killian can’t thrust as much in this position. But being so close her clit rubs against him easily, and as they are practically eye to eye, Killian can see she is getting close. 

 “Let go, Emma,” he breathes, and that’s all she needs. Her hands tighten around his and her body arches up as Killian feels her heat tighten around him.

 “Killian,” she sobs and it sounds like a prayer on her lips. It’s enough to trigger his own orgasm, his cock pulsing and bathing her inner walls with his come.

 “Emma, Emma, Emma,” he repeats over and over again thrusting in and out of her until he is completely spent. 

 Emma’s legs are no longer around him when he comes back to himself, they lie on either side of him. Her eyes are gazing up at him adoringly and he lets go of her hands, now bracing himself on his elbows and gives her a sweet chaste kiss on the lips before pulling out and rolling onto his back.

 They are both breathing heavily, trying to get their heartbeats to slow down. Emma scooches over from where she is on the bed to snuggle up on his chest, her hand automatically going to his chest hair. She loves to play with his chest hair. The first time she saw him with his bare chest, not just tufts peeking out from his shirts, she pinned him to the bed and rode him like a stallion just so she could keep her hands on his chest the entire time. 

 “Darling,” Killian says, playing with the strands of golden hair that are falling down her back. “As much as I would love to fall asleep with you right here, we should get ourselves cleaned up.” Emma gives a slight grunt in protest, but eventually sits up slightly to look at him. Killian notices that the look on her face is not one of disapproval though, but one of mischievousness. Killian raises an eyebrow in question to her look. She gives a slight laugh, using the hand she had just been rubbing his chest with to graze her thumb against his lips. Then she moves her hand down tracing the scruff on his chin.

 “One of the reasons I booked this room, besides the spectacular view of Paris from our window,” she begins as her hand now moves up to card through his hair, “is because of the large whirlpool tub.” Killian isn’t quite sure what a ‘whirlpool tub is, and Emma must notice the look of non-comprehension on his face. She smiles. God he loves that smile. He still remembers the first genuine smile he ever got from her after he was hit by Greg Mendell’s infernal car. Even though he’d just done the most atrocious thing that Emma had ever personally witnessed (or at least seen the aftermath of) up to that point, the smile she gave him in the hospital gave him hope for something more than flirtation with her. Even if it took him a while to act on it.

 “It’s like a hot spring in a bathtub,” she explains. 

 Emma sits up all the way and extends her hand for him to take. They walk naked over to the bathroom where Killian does indeed see a large tub with little holes all around the inside of it, he assumes for the bubbles to come out to mimic a hot spring. Emma leaves him briefly to turn on the water, testing it to get the right temperature before flicking the lever to plug the bath. He notices the plenty of bubble solutions, fragrance oils, candles, a bottle of champagne (in a half melted ice bucket) with glasses, and even a bowl of rose petals sitting on the edge of the tub.

 “They go all out, don’t they?” Killian asks impressed. 

 “It’s Paris, the City of Love.” Emma shrugs. She turns toward him and presses kisses under his chin. It goes straight to his cock, which starts stirring again.

 “You can’t possibly be ready to go again already, Swan?” He groans as she starts nibbling on his earlobe. Killian feels her laugh against his neck sending chills down his spine.

 “Let’s just relax in the tub and see where it takes us,” she says climbing into the tub, which is now half filled.

 Killian follows her, relishing the feel of the steaming water on his muscles. Emma grabs the champagne, pops the cork, and fills the two glasses.  Once the tub is filled, she turns off the water, throws some of the petals into it, lights the candles, and hands Killian a glass of the champagne. She holds her own out in front of her and he follows.

 “To our honeymoon,” she says, looking straight into his eyes.

 “Aye love, to our honeymoon.” They clink glasses and then both practically chug the sweet carbonated liquid before quickly placing them back on the edge and attacking each others lips.

 Seems like their next coupling won’t be nearly as slow as the first.

Please leave comments and reblog! Also, let me know if you want to be tagged in future stories

@profdanglaisstuff @thisonesatellite @mariakov81 @hollyethecurious @winterbaby89 @jennjenn615 @kmomof4​ @superchocovian​ @lfh1226-linda​ @ilovemesomekillianjones​ @csrolereversal​

[elopez7228]

Scenic Route 26/47

Read on AO3 : https://archiveofourown.org/works/18268208/chapters/43229774 

Start over : https://elopez7228.tumblr.com/post/620919089893933056/scenic-route-0147

***

Rey was ready.

She was dressed in jeans, high-heeled boots, and a flowing top that exposed most of her back. It was sexy  enough for a concert, comfortable enough to wear all night, and most importantly, perfect for her inevitable confrontation with Ben Solo. Her hair was swept up in a half-ponytail and she had picked out a pair of silver pendant earrings for the occasion.

Her makeup was minimal in that it consisted mostly of nude tones, but she had taken more care than usual in applying it—she looked much better than she did during her daily bouts of tourism. A small bag completed her ensemble, containing the essentials: her wallet, phone, and car keys.

The concert venue was on the outskirts of the city, nestled between a massive parking garage, a few fast food restaurants, the rear end of a warehouse, and a few motels. A mediocre scene at best. Bozeman was not a city known for its animated nightlife: it was frequented by the tourists going or coming from Yellowstone and its inhabitants lived almost exclusively off of this influx of temporary visitors. This wasn’t the kind of place where tourists stayed for more than a night, not that many tourists would attend a rock concert in the first place.

Yet the parking was already full of  vehicles, their plates registered in Wyoming, Montana and Idaho. Tonight was going to be packed—a congregation of neighbors, friends, and visitors from the surrounding towns and ranches.

The entrance was a free-for-all, alcohol flowed freely as empty bottles of beer and stray cigarettes littered already the cluttered ground.

Rey took BB8 out for one more walk before locking her in the car with the window rolled down, making sure she had plenty of water and dog treats. She didn’t want to attract any more attention to her already infamous eyesore from 1977, so she had parked a little further away, near a McDonald's, where she had also spotted a familiar pickup truck. It featured a “Kylo REN” bumper sticker, the logo not unlike one of the posters near the entrance of the concert hall.

She hesitated. Should it go through the main entrance? He had mentioned an all-access backstage once; could she possibly come in through the back?

When in doubt, text him.

I’m here. Should I buy a ticket or do you have the backstage pass  you offered?

No response.

Shit.

He was probably busy.

She made her way behind the building and finally recognized one of the musicians (Skylar?) who was leaning against a wall, cigarette in hand. She approached him with her best smile.

“Hi, I 'm Rey, you know, a friend of Ben...uh...Kylo Ren’s. he told me something about a backstage pass, can I come in?”

Upon closer inspection, she noticed his broad shoulders, immaculately shaved head, and intricately tattooed neck and forearms. He deigned not to respond immediately. He lowered the eyes and practically leered at Rey from top to bottom, pausing to take a long drag of his cigarette before blowing the smoke in her face.

“He didn't say anything to me. Nice try. Go through the front and pay the price.”

Rey winced. Something about this guy made her skin crawl, she could see in his eyes that this was all an act.

“Is Syed Ren is there? Can I talk to her?”

“What Syed is up to is none of your business.”

Okay...why was he acting like such a guard dog?

“Well,” she insisted, “in that case, maybe you can inform Kylo or Syed, wherever they are, that Rey is out here waiting for them?”

The musician took a step forward and bent slightly to reach Rey’s height, forcing her to reflexively take a step back. He was much taller than her. Classic intimidation technique; it discouraged escalation without attracting attention.

“Listen up, kid, I dunno who you think you are, but nobody’s gonna bother Kylo Ren. Wait your turn and pay your dues or get the hell out.”

Rey gritted her teeth. Her smile was acerbic. “Perfect. Let's do that, then.”

Idiot! She would’ve appreciated if Kylo and Syed had told her about Skylar’s garbage personality when she was still going back and forth about the whole maybe-I-should-follow-you-on-tour-and -drop-by-now-and-then idea. She was hoping she could be more forgiving to Kylo, but of course that proved to be useless. Now she only hoped he would break a leg tonight—literally. Fuck him and his rockstar life. Maybe he would draw the short straw one day and end up cleaning other people’s messes for a change. Maybe that would take him off of his grand fucking pedestal.

Eventually, with no other option (as evidenced by her very silent phone) Rey skirted back around the edge of the building to the entrance. She paid for a ticket—a paltry 19 dollars—and stepped inside.

The room was overheated, and already well full. Rey elbowed her way to the front as much as possible, getting as close as she could to the stage. Suddenly, she felt a hand press against her buttocks as she navigated through the crowd.

Hell, someone was going to pay very dearly for this.

She was spun around, swiftly grabbing a wrist while her fingers formed a vice-like grip around it. At the end of said wrist was a bearded man in a ridiculous hat, with an equally ridiculous expression on his face. He had expected, no doubt, to find her embarrassed and intimidated.

“Whose hand is this?” She yelled as loudly as she could, “because it just happened to grab my buttocks out of nowhere,”  she spat acidly.

The bearded man pulled his hand and tried to flee, but Rey held firmly. She looked him right in the eyes.

“Say, haven't you misplaced something?”

“Uh...hey...” mumbled the guy, visibly panicking now. Another girl jumped in to help her, grabbing the man’s shoulders to shove him off to the side.

“Get lost, there’s no room for pervs here!”

Soon, a group formed around them to collectively push the man out of the door. Rey’s heartbeat soared and suddenly she felt like her confidence was limitless. Yes, by the end of the concert, she would get ahold of Kylo and Syed—Skylar or no Skylar—to hell with waiting outside all night!

In a matter of minutes the lights went out. Amid the whistles and the cheers of the audience, Rey felt her heart skip a beat in recognizing the unmistakable silhouette of Ben Solo on the stage. He was all black again: black Doc Martens, black jeans, and a plain black crew neck t-shirt. Although his shirt was simple, it was very fitted, revealing the shape of his muscular  chest and broad shoulders. She remembered touching that chest, tracing the outline of those hard planes with one hand while using the other to dip below the waistband of those jeans.

Suddenly she felt unbearably hot.

But that was just because of how crowded it was. Right?

Somehow, there were only five people on stage. She looked for Syed in vain, her eyes widening with realization that the guitarist wasn’t there at all. What did that imply? Truth be told, she was a little disappointed; she’d had the every intention to deal with Syed too. It was strange how Rey felt like a target in what seemed to be a folie à deux between Syed and Kylo. There was no use in confronting one of them if the other got away.

She was surprised to find herself swaying to the rhythm of the music, whistling and clapping along with the audience. It must have been the music itself, a paradoxically beautiful cacophony that resonated with the rage she had buried inside and fit perfectly with the mood of the evening.

Kylo Ren felt it too. His voice was hoarser from the screaming, his breath more uneven, his stage presence even wilder than the last concert in Denver. Rey could see in the urgency of his body language a fury that seemed to spill out of him and into the microphone. It was almost a display of violence. Her own anger paled in comparison to his, the vast tidal wave of emotion that emanated from his being.

The atmosphere was electric, the crowd  unhinged. Rey knew the lyrics by heart, after a thousand kilometers worth of repetition, but she was still shocked to find herself belting the chorus at the top of her lungs with the rest. She admittedly knew nothing of the history of Kylo Ren, she didn’t know where she would find the story of his life (on the walls of some gallery?) or where they would end this unexpected journey. But at least she had found a new favorite band, and their familiar melodies had become her anthem—the anthem of her own journey. She would never forget this vintage car, or these desert roads which wound past rugged mountains, or the mesmerizing way Kylo’s hair fell to his shoulders. The dense, silken ebony  that framed his face in wild strands that stuck against his forehead when he was on stage.

The music stopped, the room became dark. Kylo Ren's voice rose in silence:

“This next song is about how we deal with the unexpected, inspired by someone who turned my life upside down. This is my song for her, "First Rain".

Rey felt herself blush to the roots of the hair. Was it a song for her?

Maybe it was for Syed? He hadn't specified anything, was it just her imagination? Did he know? Was she being watched?

Suddenly she found herself unable to move a muscle, frozen alone amidst a sea of nameless faces. Their eyes watched Kylo Ren intently, but him—he was looking directly at her. His gaze pierced through the crowd, unmistakable. He had written it for her. She immediately felt the urge to run, far, far away. But looking into his eyes, she found herself incapable of it.

His gaze held her captive. Dark and hypnotically odd, like his hair, like his clothes—like everything that was ever made in his image. His face was too long and his earlobes too detached, a round sliver of flesh peeking out from underneath of a curtain of black on each side of his face. She bet they were sensitive enough that if she pulled on them he would—

What on earth was happening to her? Was she really going to melt like a lovesick teenager for the first guy with a guitar who bothered to write a song for her? He didn’t even have a guitar.

But he sang words of love.

Better yet, he sang of other things: of a meeting that was more of a collision, of confrontation, of misunderstandings, of sharing secrets, of lies, so many lies...it was all there.

It was all written for her.

She wanted to put her own feelings into words, but her mouth was dry. Her lower half betrayed her desires as her heart hammered even harder. What was he trying to tell her, and, more importantly, what was she going to say in response?

When the music stopped the audience broke out in cheers, but Rey was struggling to breathe. He had sung the entire song while looking right into the eyes, so much so that the crowd around her had receded somewhat, providing them the semblance of privacy.

It was there that she found herself at the center of a circle of people, in the middle of Bozeman, Montana, and in some sense, at the center of the universe.

Then Kylo Ren broke the silence once more as the deafening roar of rock resumed, jolting the audience awake, and Rey was suddenly anonymous again, drowned by a sea of people once more.

She could barely hear the rest of the concert. She was furious with herself for falling into a trap as sickeningly cliche as a song in her name. It was unbearably romantic and...and irresistible.

She couldn't go on.

She left the room, feeling feverish, taking longer and longer strides until she made it to her car, where she collapsed onto the front seat with heaving breaths.

BB8 pawed at her and Rey let the dog bounce excitedly around the car.

She would wait here until the end of the concert, until Kylo and Syed were available. From where she was sitting she could see Kylo Ren’s truck, and she could just make out the entrance to the concert hall. They would be impossible to miss.

Rey was shaken, emotionally drained, even. That song had almost certainly lasted a few minutes, but it had seemed as though he had sung for hours.

Something had happened then, while his eyes held hers as his voice wrapped around her whole being. The room had suddenly felt deserted, like they were alone in the world. It had been so unexpectedly and deeply erotic that she had lost the notion of time.

She didn't know if she wanted to laugh or sob. Her skin felt tingly, crying out to be touched. She had never smoked in her life but she wanted a cigarette.

She grabbed the sweater she had left on the passenger seat, and buried her face in it before unleashing a scream that emptied out her entire lungs—a visceral cry  of anger, of frustration and of relief, simultaneously primal and liberating.

Finally she felt better, leaning her head back again before dozing off.

It was the movement around her that drew her out of drowsiness. The chaotic din of the audience leaving the venue, the roar of engines and bursts of random conversation.

How long had she slept? The concert was over, the people were leaving the premises. Soon she was surrounded only by the vehicles of the tech crew, and those of the Knights of Ren. She recognized the group, two women and two men, walking across the lot.

Rey got out of her car and leaned against the door, ankles crossed, as she scrutinized the darkness. Where was Kylo Ren? He better be out here.

A car approached. A dark grey SUV, which parked near the  pickup.

Rey’s heart began to pound in her chest when she recognized the silhouette in the driver’s seat—a leather-clad woman with a mohawk.

She shuddered. If Syed was there, Kylo would show up soon. Rey was going to call out to her when something stopped her in her tracks.

Syed was holding a knife.

Rey held both hands over her mouth to stifle the cry that threaten to escape her throat and give away her location as she slid down into a crouched position, praying she could just disappear. Syed slipped past the SUV and stopped in front of the black pickup. With one fluid motion, she slashed the rear-left tire, her fist clenching tightly around the hilt of the blade.

Then she directed her attention to the rear-right tire, until she had methodically slashed all of them. BB8 began baring her teeth and growling, but Rey coaxed her to be quiet.

This was highly unusual. Weren't Syed and Kylo supposed to be accomplices in some crazy scheme? Guided by intuition, Rey bent as far as she could in the direction of the Falcon’s boot, taking only a few moments to find what she needed.

Then she hushed BB8 again, who lay unhappily on the back seat, and silent as a shadow, she crossed the road in the direction of the concert hall.

[billehrman]

Light at the End of the Tunnel

Light at the End of the Tunnel

Pfizer's announcement that its vaccine was over 90% effective was quite a welcome relief!  It gives us confidence that we will get our arms around the virus soon. Quite an accomplishment!

Unfortunately, we will first experience a massive increase in cases/deaths as we move through the winter, which will force additional shutdowns slowing the economy down. Notwithstanding, we see enough momentum and enough liquidity along with additional stimulus that will carry us to the other side (springtime) when we expect a sharp acceleration in growth both here and abroad that will last several years. We need to deal with the surge over the next few months, acknowledging, as investors, the difference between Main Street and Wall Street. We would take advantage of any market weakness over the winter to add more economic sensitivity to our portfolios as we see growth and earnings well above consensus in 2021 and 2022 supported by a Fed that will keep rates low for years, permitting the economy to run hot.

As Dr. Fauci said yesterday, "COVID won't be a pandemic for a lot longer," thanks to rapid progress in vaccine development. He also expects to hear that Moderna's vaccine is as efficacious as Pfizer's vaccine within a week. Vaccines are the key to getting our arms around the virus. In contrast, better therapeutics such as Lilly's antibody monoclonal cocktail significantly reduce hospital time and the death rates meaningfully.  We expect to see several one dose vaccines viable at room temperature, available for all by next summer. There is light at the end of the tunnel.

While our economy has recovered significantly since troughing late last spring, we are still running wildly below past levels. We expect that gap to be filled and exceeded over the next eighteen months. Unfortunately, we are not as optimistic about fully recovering jobs lost due to the pandemic as corporations have learned to do more with less. On the positive side, we expect large productivity gains, which will feed into much higher operating margins and profits. Goldman Sachs seems to concur with our view raising their forecast last Thursday for economic growth, profits, and levels of stock prices well above consensus for 2021 and 2022. Their objective for the market is 4300 by 2021 and 4600 by 2022 vs. 3564 today. GS expects the Fed to remain on hold for five years. Really!  We are not there as we see a meaningful pickup in inflation in 2022, which may cause a shift in Fed policy sometimes in 2023. But there is a lot of room to run before that.

The market pundits continue to focus on day to day rather than looking out over the next 6, 12, and 18 months as investors. It will be a tough winter for sure. There will be a surge in cases and deaths. There will be partial shutdowns but nothing like last spring. But we can now see the light at the end of the tunnel. Biden has won the election, and we fully expect his first act as President will be a huge stimulus bill to help individuals, small/mid-sized businesses, and states make it to the other side. Also, he may introduce a bill mandating masks and social distancing rather than leaving it to states. He will work on a plan to distribute vaccines.  Finally, we expect him to mend fences with our major trading partners going so far as to suggest a coalition to moderate China's ambitions. We will not know until the runoff in Georgia is completed in January whether the Republicans have a majority in the Senate. We hope to prevent ill-conceived tax changes that would hurt growth, employment, and investment. We are not against higher income taxes and closing loopholes on the wealthy if all given to the lower/middle classes as that shift would boost growth due to differences in propensity to spend.

Investment Conclusions

You have to ask yourself, are you a trader, or are you an investor? Are you focused on the next few days and months or 6, 12, even 18 months ahead?  We are investors.

Our economy has a lot of momentum today, as evidenced by strength in retail sales, housing, automobiles, and manufacturing. Initial unemployment trends have continued to move down, too, with claims falling to six-month lows of 709,000 and continuing claims declining to 6.79 million. If there is any real economic weakness, we would expect it in the first quarter. However, we would also expect a massive stimulus plan to offset it, which investors will focus on rather than the weakness.

Powell commented at an ECB panel that displaced workers will need not only extended benefits but also our future economy will be different more leveraged to technology, making it even more difficult for many workers. Hence, future unemployment may be higher than previously assumed during a recovery; therefore, policymakers will have to stay more accommodative than normal. We agree, which is positive for risk assets.

There is light at the end of the tunnel. The pandemic has caused economic weakness here and abroad, and we are getting our arms around it sooner than most ever believed possible. Again, ask yourself a few simple questions. Do you expect cases to subside as the weather warms? Do you expect the opening to accelerate?  Do you expect additional stimulus bills?  Do you believe that there is enormous pent-up demand? Do you expect vaccines to be distributed for all by the summer? Do you expect the Fed to stay overly accommodative? An acceleration in economic growth here and abroad is in the cards beginning in the spring. We expect positive operating leverage, large productivity gains, and significant margin expansion leading to surprisingly strong earnings and cash flow.

Our base case is that S & P earnings will increase to $160/share in 2021 and $185/share in 2022 vs. $125/share in 2020 as revenues and margins improve sequentially over the next two years.  The market is selling at 22 and 19 times expected annual earnings, which we find attractive with rates so low. Goldman agrees.

Proper stock selection is always the key to outperformance.  Over the last six weeks, we have been shifting our portfolio allocation favoring companies with significant operating leverage that will benefit from a global economic recovery that we expect beginning as the weather warms and the number of cases ebbs. Each company has excellent management, winning short/long term strategies, dominant market positions, and strong financials. Areas of emphasis include global industrials, commodities(x-oil), transportation(x-airlines), and several unique situations.  We reduced our exposure to technology to a market weighting emphasizing software, digitalization, the cloud, 5G, and new normal beneficiaries.

An investor must look beyond the near-term risk of an acceleration in cases/deaths, knowing we have at least one effective vaccine which will be distributed throughout the United States by the summer. Take advantage of any weakness over the winter as traders focus on the near term rather than the long game. There is an incredible $4.8 trillion in money market funds; over $40 trillion in bond funds vs. $30 trillion in stock funds; a savings rate over 14.2%; $16 trillion in bank deposits; home prices/wealth at all-time highs; and an accommodative Fed for years to come. There is an immense amount of excess liquidity in the system that supports the economy and will find its way into equities as the economy improves and individuals/institutions gain more confidence. And trillions of added stimuli are on the horizon.

We see the potential of an overheating economy and a blow-off in the equity markets as we get to the other side as investors are still over-weighted bonds and underweighted equities.

Our investment webinar will be held on Monday, November 16th, at 8:30, am EST. You can join the webinar by entering https://zoom.us/j/9179217852 into your browser by calling +646 558 8656 and entering the password 9179217852.

Remember to review all the facts; pause, reflect, and consider mindset shifts; look at your asset mix with risk controls; turn off CNBC, do independent research, and …

Invest Accordingly!

Bill Ehrman

Paix et Prospérité LLC

917-951-4139