#the rest of this run will not be easy though

[pompvdding]

professor sunghoon pt.2 smut

professor!sunghoon tries so hard not to make it obvious that you both kissed. he keeps stealing glances at you and you respond by smiling shyly.

professor!sunghoon who tells you to meet him after class as he had something important to tell you. little did you know he had dirty intentions.

as you entered his class, he immediately locked the door behind you. “come, sit y/n” he places a hand behind your back, leading you to a chair next to his desk. you look up at him as he rests against the edge of his desk. you feel nervous as this is the first time you were alone with your professor after you both kissed. you’d be a liar if you said excitement wasn’t pooling down there. tingling sensations as you imagined what could happen. your professor adjusts his glasses before saying with concern ,”i saw your grade drop quite a bit and was wondering if the assignment was too hard?”.

you bite your lip in embarrassment, you had gotten a 56 out 100 in your argumentative essay. you have been struggling with school as you had a full time job. “uhm i just .. haven’t been doing my best work, been busy with work is all” you sheepishly say, twirling your hair. professor sunghoon was concerned with your grade but he also wanted to see you again. alone.

“i can give you a higher grade if you rewrite it, or i can give you an easy way out” your professor gives you a genuine smile, but the way his eyes looked you up and down seemed as though he had something planned. “like w-what?” you stuttered, feeling your professor's eyes wander over your body more.

“i’ll give you an 94, if you do a little something for me”. he gets in front of you, petting your head as he breathes heavily.

you can’t help but let your eyes wander on his body too. you can barely hold in your yelp as you see his big bulge, painfully sitting in his dress pants. sunghoon places a finger underneath your chin and lifts your face up. you blush furiously as the tension between you seems to be at its breaking point.

“i’ll give you a good grade if you let me fuck you on my desk” he says with heavy lust in his tone. you look up at him with flushed cheeks. he receives an immediate nod and a quiet “yes please.” sunghoon feels relief to your words. he’s about to fuck his favorite student who happens to be the prettiest thing ever? just a dream to him, really.

“please what?” he raises an eyebrow in amusement as you seem to sink into your chair in embarrassment.

“yes please, professor sunghoon”.

as if cue to your words, sunghoon lifts you up onto the desk. pushing your legs apart and settling himself in between. his cold hands running up and down your bare thighs, giving you shivers. he leans in and whispers quietly, “can i touch you more princess?”. you whine in respond, shamelessly pressing yourself against his crotch. “p-lease professor”. he pulls you in for a rough kiss, his hands gripping your hips. his hand then slides up to your neck, wrapping around as if he were going to choke you. he gives your neck a hard squeeze and you gasp lightly. sunghoon sees this as an opportunity to shove his tongue inside your hot mouth, his hands now hiking your skirt up, revealing your damp panties. you shyly broke the kiss, holding on to your professors loosened up tie to control yourself.

“whats wrong pretty? embarassed because you wet yourself?” sunghoon tries to hide his smirk as you look away with red cheeks. “i-i just haven’t felt this good in a while” you mutter. sunghoon brushes away the hair out of your face with his pointer finger. “then let me continue to make you feel this good, hm?” he replies with a caring tone which makes you immediately melt. you nod carefully which signals to him that you’re ready to resume. your professor latches his mouth to yours while unbuttoning your shirt with quickness. he pulls away to admire your lacy bra, his stare so intense you try to cover yourself but he grips your wrists.

“don’t hide yourself, you’re the prettiest thing ever” he says sternly, his finger tracing the roundness of your breasts. “thank you professor..” you then whine, pulling his tie to you. “what is it princess?” sunghoon asks in concern, his eyes full of lust but care. “just insecure is all” you bite your lip nervously, driving sunghoon insane once again.

”i’ll have to show you then how pretty you are”. your professor seems to be desperate as he slides his hands to the button of you skirt. “professor i-“ you begin but he places a finger against your lips to shush you. “do you want it?” he locks eyes with you, his other hand running down your back. “yes..” you trail off with shyness. “then? let your professor please you”.

he pulls off your skirt and dips his fingers in your panties waistband. he tugs at them lightly. “can i?” he whispers, desperation hidden in his tone. “yes sir ple-” you try to reply but are interrupted by your panties being harshly pushed down to your ankles.

he places his already dripping tip against your entrance. his eyes meeting yours to make sure you’re ready. “mm please! please fuck me professor” you plead, your words dripping with lust. professor sunghoon loses no time, pushing his entire length into your tight hole. you immediately felt your walls being stretched out by his thickness, a loud cry slipping from your plush lips. he smirks at the sound of your cry, wrapping his arms around your waist. he then starts moving painfully slow, a few pumps in and out to adjust you to his size. you try hold in your gasps, but once he starts picking up his pace, you begin to struggle. a string of soft moans escape your plush lips as he thrusts harshly.

“so tight princess, so good” he whispers into your ear, nibbling on it as he bounces you up and down on his cock. you can feel him deep in there, his thrusts just enough for you to feel his cock drag along your plush walls. you’re so wet, too wet. gushing noises as his length meets with your dripping pussy. its so dirty that you can feel your arousal grow. your professor locks eyes with you, his arms still hoisting you against the desk. your legs locked around him.

“going to go harder, ok?” he plants a kiss on your forehead as you nod shakily. your hands grip his shoulders to steady yourself. sunghoon didn’t lie, every thrust was rougher than the previous one. your moans are struggling to stay sealed in, a whiny moan escaping now and then.

“let me hear you, wanna hear how good i make you feel” he rasps out. you gingerly grab his glasses and push them back on the top of his head. you lock eyes with him, and you swear you can see love in his eyes. he laughs, making your heart skip a beat as he caresses your face.

“yes, princess?” he says with affection,

”too much” you start whimpering, feeling as though your professor’s cock was splitting you in half. “can’t take it? too much for your tiny hole huh?” he teases, slowing down and holding you in place against the desk.

“just til you come okay?” he promises, his cock twitching inside you as he waits for your answer. “i can handle it professor” you mumble, your brain already foggy from how hard sunghoon has fucked you. “my good girl” he places you on the top of the desk and begins to rub circles onto your clit. you feel yourself falling apart in his arms as he continues to give your now puffy clit attention.

“professor-” you pant out, feeling your arousal coming soon as he worked his fingers faster.

“gonna cum on my dick like the good girl you are?” he pants out as well, his cock still buried deep inside you. “h-hah, yes sir!” you cry out, feeling your pleasure build up even more. sunghoon continues to play with your clit, feeling your body tense up. you soon explode on his cock with cum. your moans so high pitched and loud, it made him laugh a bit. his hand covering now your mouth to muffle you.

your professor plants kisses on your cheeks as he pulls up your panties to dress you. he plays with your hair as you settle down after your orgasm. “i-i…” you’re not sure what to say, you were humiliated that your professor just saw how dirty you are. but do you regret it ? not at all.

sunghoon kisses you softly, tracing your nose bridge with his finger.

“you're definitely my favorite student now”.

[cursedcanon]

Cuddles

sorry not posting im just extremely lazy 😕

how JJK men cuddle with you.

Characters:Gojo, Choso , Sakuna , Geto, Toji, Nanami ,Yuji and megumi

Gojo – The Enthusiastic and Teasing Cuddler Gojo isn’t one to do things halfway, so when he cuddles, it’s with full energy. He’ll pull you into his arms and position you so you're practically lying on top of him, all while teasing you with lighthearted comments about how you're “so small” or “so cute.” But his cuddles are surprisingly warm and comforting, despite the jokes. He loves holding you close, his arms wrapped around you like a personal blanket, and he’ll often tuck his head into your hair or kiss the top of your head. Expect random, playful tickling or his fingers brushing your sides as he enjoys being a bit of a nuisance—but in a loving way.

Choso – The Protective and Gentle Cuddler Choso’s cuddles are safe and nurturing. When he wraps his arms around you, you feel completely protected, like nothing in the world could hurt you while he's holding you. He’s calm, careful not to overwhelm you, and enjoys being close without being too touchy. His arms will gently encircle you, pulling you into his chest or resting his chin on your head as he closes his eyes in contentment. He enjoys those quiet, intimate moments where it’s just the two of you, and his presence is like a calming force that melts away any stress.

Sukuna – The Possessive but Loving Cuddler Sukuna’s cuddles are intense, possessive, and marked with an underlying dominance. When he pulls you into his embrace, you’re not going anywhere unless he wants you to. His arm will be around you, firmly holding you against his chest or his lap. He’ll lazily stroke your hair or run his fingers down your back, his touch both tender and controlling. Sukuna might not always show it, but he’s deeply comfortable when you're close to him, and he’ll let his guard down during these moments. Don’t expect a lot of words; he prefers to enjoy the quiet with you, but every now and then, he’ll grumble about how “you’re not allowed to leave this spot” as a way to keep you close.

Geto – The Calm and Reassuring Cuddler Geto’s cuddles are soothing and calming, like a quiet refuge from the world. He’ll hold you close, always making sure you're comfortable, whether that’s cuddling on the couch or in bed. His hand might gently stroke your hair or back, and he’ll rest his head against yours, letting out a soft sigh of contentment. When you cuddle, it’s as if the world slows down around you, and nothing else matters except the peace of the moment. He’s always mindful of your needs, adjusting his position if you’re not perfectly comfortable. He might not initiate it as much, but when you do cuddle, he’s fully present.

Toji – The Comforting but Protective Cuddler Toji’s cuddles are warm and protective, but there’s a slight roughness to them. When he holds you, it’s clear he’s not letting anything happen to you. He’ll pull you into his chest, pressing you against him like a shield, often with his arm draped across your shoulders or your waist. His hold is strong and secure, but there’s tenderness in the way he lets you get comfortable in his arms. If you’re resting on his chest, you can feel his steady heartbeat, and even though he might not say much, his protective nature shines through in his embrace. Sometimes he’ll rest his chin on your head, just savoring the quiet.

Nanami – The Relaxed and Affectionate Cuddler Nanami’s cuddles are warm, relaxed, and easy. He’s the kind of person who will curl up with you after a long day, just wanting to share the peaceful moment. His arms will wrap around you naturally, holding you in a way that makes you feel both loved and safe. He’ll lean back into the couch, letting you rest your head on his chest or on his shoulder, enjoying the simplicity of the moment. Nanami is not one for excessive cuddling, but when he does, it’s with a softness that reassures you. His gentle kisses on your forehead or hand are his way of showing affection while keeping things calm and natural.

Yuji – The Affectionate and Playful Cuddler Yuji’s cuddles are full of warmth and affection, with a good dose of energy. He’s the type to scoop you up into his arms or pull you onto his lap, not letting you go even when you protest. His hands will be all over you, but in a way that’s loving and playful. He might nuzzle into your neck or rest his face in your hair, just to feel close to you. When he’s in a cuddling mood, expect it to be full of giggles, light teasing, and the occasional tickle attack, especially if you're not expecting it. His cuddles are spontaneous, and he’ll do anything to make sure you’re laughing or smiling when you’re close to him.

Megumi – The Shy but Loving Cuddler Megumi is a bit shy when it comes to cuddling, but once you’re in his arms, you’ll feel how much he enjoys the closeness. He’s not overly forward with affection, but when he does cuddle, he’s all in. His arms will be around you in a protective, yet gentle way, as he leans his head against yours or presses a soft kiss to the top of your head. He enjoys the quiet intimacy of being close to you, and sometimes, he’ll just hold you without speaking, savoring the peace. He might get a little embarrassed if you initiate a cuddle, but once it’s happening, he’ll relax and hold you tightly, as if he never wants to let go.

[ultravi0lence14]

FALLEN STAR

CASTIEL X FALLENANGEL!READER

SUMMARY: they fell in love; she ended up falling while he stayed

WORD COUNT: 1.2k

the day you fell was dark, gloomy, a vast difference from what heaven was usually like. if you were to explain it to anyone, you would say it was a utopia. a kaleidoscope of colours and light that brought forth the heavenly grace in each and every angel. god had created you all the same, from the same light source. yet you were different. his own little creation from a separate beam of light he couldn’t shake from his mind.

all angels came from the glowing white mirth in god’s palm, yet you came from a vibrant pink balm that enticed god like original sin in the garden. when you were made, he didn’t render you with the other angels. you were his own, and each and every other angel was garnered below you instead of being your equal.

though, you didn’t view castiel like that.

he was different than the rest, a beacon of hope that gnawed and ripped it’s teeth at the short leash your father held you on. god didn’t like you leaving his side, yet cas always found a way to sneak you into his arms.

as time went on, your loyalties started to change, and god saw a shift in how his little girl was acting. you were sneaky, and when you weren’t sneaky, you were secretive. god knew something was wrong, yet he didn’t know what could possibly have changed with his prized possession.

he watched you slowly, saw as you ran to castiel for any issue you had. he saw the lingering holds, the featherlight touches, and the way you looked at the angel like he hung the moon and stars. it all started to make sense, and god felt an anger he had only felt once before; when lucifer betrayed him.

“how could you?” he bellowed, watching you cower into castiel’s side. “disobey your father, run around with a lower being? you knew better, little one. i taught you better.”

“no,” you bit out, walking closer to your father while cas held onto your hand tightly. “you kept me caged, held me close because you were scared of me. you knew you shouldn’t have created me. you knew i would be too powerful, so you kept me on a tight leash. but cas doesn’t treat me like that. he treats me like i matter, dad, and that’s all i’ve ever wanted.”

sighing, god shook his head, hating what he was going to do but knowing it needed to be done. holding your cheek in his palm, god stared down at what he believed was his greatest creation, turned into his worst mistake.

“you could’ve been so much more.” he whispered, caressing your cheek as castiel’s eyes worried. he saw the malice in his creators eyes, and he knew whatever god had planned for you wasn’t good. “you could’ve been a warrior as good as michael, but you betrayed me like lucifer.”

your mouth gaped open, and before you could speak, god flicked his hand, sending you free falling from the heavens. “say hello to my son for me when you fall in his wasteland.”

the last thing you heard was castiel’s scream, the sight of him clawing and reaching for you as angels held him back burning behind your eyelids as the wind whipped at your eyes and seeped into your bones. pain emitted into your back, and you felt your wings disintegrate as you hit the earth. but instead of going further into the ruined soil, greeting lucifer in hell, you landed in a field of beautiful flowers.

god sent you somewhere worse than hell. he sent you to earth, where you’d have to adjust to being human. adjust to a life without your love.

a lone tear fell, and you just wished cas was hear to smooth back your hair and hold you in his arms, telling you everything would be okay.

the years flew by like an angel’s wing, and you found yourself adjusting decently to a human life. small town living wasn’t easy, but the decrepit town in colorado greeted you with opened arms, allowing you to open up your own flower shop. it reminded you of when you first fell, the last time you saw your lovers face.

peaceful living was what you got used to knowing. wake up, get ready, man the store. it was all so simple. until two brothers came crashing into your store, looking for refuge from a vengeful werewolf.

they weren’t expecting the sweet, timid looking cashier behind the counter to have any silver weapons. and they definitely weren’t expecting her to wield a silver dagger like a sword, piercing the werewolf’s heart like a skilled hunter. it may have been the lace cami and denim mini skirt, but sam and dean winchester were baffled by your skills.

you three got to chatting, and without giving away your true nature, you somehow ended up on sam and dean’s good side.

it wasn’t easy, leaving the shop behind. each daisy reminded you of cas. each rose reminded you of his smile and each carnation reminded you of the way his lips brushed your skin. but if you wanted to show god how much of a warrior you were without him, than leaving with the winchester’s was the best thing you could possibly do.

the hollowness in your chest broke into shards as pamela barnes spoke the name you hadn’t heard in two years. castiel seemed to be the one to raise dean winchester from hell, and you couldn’t help but hitch your breath at the sound of his name.

your cas, your sweet boy. it was all too much. when dean and bobby mentioned they were going to go out to a remote location and seek him out, you couldn’t help but spring up and agree to join.

damp air sent shivers down your spine as you waited with bobby and dean. it had been so long, and you didn’t know what face he wore, but he would still be the same to you. when lights started flickering, and rain smacked against the barn roof, you knew that your lover was finally crawling home to you.

castiel came in the space stoic, leisure steps that showed reverence and strength in his walk. but when his eyes landed on you, they faltered, hands starting to shake and eyes widening in surprise and buried pain.

“angel? is that really you?” he was an angel of the lord, a being who felt no emotions. but at that moment, cas couldn’t help the tears that sprang into his eyes. the last time he saw you, your face was fear stricken; features alight with pain as your own maker cast you out of his sight. now, you just looked ethereal, a beacon of beauty and grace.

all you could do was nod, running as fast as you could until you were wrapped in his arms. dean and bobby just stood shocked, guns at the ready yet not knowing what to do with them as their friend hugged and kissed the face of their target.

“why are you here?” he spoke through wispy breaths, hands roaming your face and body to make sure you were real. “i thought god cast you to hell?”

“god? cast to hell?” dean spoke up, shock and disbelief evident in his eyes. “okay, what the fuck is going on?”

“she’s a fallen angel,” cas spoke, hands cupping your face as he pressed his forehead to yours. “my fallen angel. and she is finally home to me.”

TAGS: @titsout4jackles @daylighted @deansbeer @bluemerakis @figthoughts @haunteres @sunsbaby @h8aaz @beausling @deanswidow @cowboysandcigarettes @j2archives @honeyryewhiskey @florchids @dulcescorderitas

NAT BABBLES: gotta give my boy cas some love!! and this also goes out to my other cass ( @starzify ) BC IT IS HER BDAY!!!

[theseinfernalangels]

Fragile — Sawyer Henrick

Synopsis: Mender!Reader comes back from RSC worse off than the rest of your squad. Sawyer is heartbroken and takes care of you.

A/N: I pumped this one out surprisingly fast! I may post my OC reference sheet after this for more context, since there are references to characters you haven’t met yet, such as Reader’s dragon, Cridhe, and Eden (Liam’s girl!). We’ll see how it turns out! I might even do a part two for this hehe.

Warning for mentions of blood, injuries, insecurities, and anxiety. Oh, yeah; don’t forget the dragon telepathy.

Sawyer knew something was up when you didn’t meet him outside the Gathering Hall. 

It wasn’t like you to be late for…Well, anything, much less seeing him. He certainly wasn’t an anxious person, but it made his fingers twitch with nervousness when he didn’t spot your cautious frame lingering close to the sides of the hall. He waited anyway. He’d always wait for you.

At the ten-minute mark, his thoughts began to race. He could understand if you stayed behind for a word with one of your professors – you were a genius, anyway. Perhaps you could have gone off-track to help another cadet in need of extra notes. That was just in your nature (even though Sawyer and Ridoc had tried to convince you to charge a couple coins for it – you’d be swimming in gold by now). Maybe you were in the infirmary with your friend…Eden, was it? Emily? He could barely remember.

But no. Another fifteen minutes slowly ticked by, and his reasonable side began to veer off a little. Maybe you’d been injured somehow. Maybe the other cadets had finally taken advantage of your anxious, gentle nature and were in the middle of ganging up on you. Maybe they’d finally gotten you – the Marked cadets who weren’t too fond of you for what your parents, Navarrian military legends, had done to them.

He heard Sliseag’s chiding voice resound in the back of his mind. Easy there, Ashling, he soothed. Do not worry too much. She is exactly where she is meant to be.

His eyebrows furrowed in confusion. I would beg to differ, he replied, trying to calm his racing heart. If she was in the right place, I wouldn’t be talking to you right now.

The dragon snorted. Really, now? he mused. Look up.

Sawyer had just turned, his palms sweaty, when he saw a figure moving sluggishly in his peripherals. He squinted, then froze, the sight making his blood run cold.

You finally showed up…But you looked awful.

Damaged was the best word to describe it. Your hair was messy, your bangs falling in your face in a way it only looked after an intense flight. One of your eyes was swollen shut, and the rest of your face was battered. Your bottom lip was split and bleeding, the blood oozing out sluggishly and staining your chin crimson. That was only your face; the rest of your body was probably just as bruised and injured.

Go, he heard Sliseag urge. Go to her now. She needs you, Ashling.

He broke out of his trance; he couldn’t run fast enough to get to you, his legs moving on what felt like autopilot. Gods. What did they do to you?

You held up a hand when he neared you. “I’m fine,” you whispered hoarsely. “I…It looks worse than it feels.”

Sliseag made a noise of disapproval in his mind. I doubt that.

Sawyer, in that moment, felt almost scared to touch you, as if putting his fingers anywhere would shatter you like glass.

Finally, he found his voice. “What the hell happened to you?” he murmured, wincing at how sick he sounded. His eyes traced your face; you still looked gorgeous as ever, but just looking at your good eye made his heart wrench.

“We,” you began, faltering as you fell forward a bit. Sawyer caught you with ease, splaying a hand on your back as you leaned into him. “We had RSC. I…I didn’t expect for it to be so…awful.”

You looked down, and Sawyer made a soft sound of protest as he lifted your chin back up to face his. Skies above, he thought. He’d seen you injured before, obviously – there was no avoiding that at Basgiath. But this…

“Oh, darling,” he murmured, ghosting a kiss on your forehead. “I’m so sorry. You…You haven’t been to the infirmary yet?”

You shook your head. “No. I saw a clock and remembered we agreed to meet up. Wanted to see you first.”

Oh, he thought. Damn you, you sweet, sweet girl. Damn you and your loveliness. 

He sighed quietly, glancing at the sky. It was getting close to dusk, which meant that the infirmary was probably winding down for the day. His gaze flitted back down to your trembling form, his heart aching.

“Do you want to go?” he asked, hoping he didn’t sound pushy. “I’m sure your friend is still there; she’d be willing–”

His voice trailed off when you vehemently shook your head. “No,” you said softly. “Not now. Can we…Can we just go to yours?”

At that moment, with you looking up at him hopefully, your good eye wide but exhausted, Sawyer would have given you just about anything. 

He nodded, perhaps a little too hard. “Of course, darling. Just hold on to me. I don’t trust your legs right now.”

The pained smile you gave him twists his heart. “I don’t, either.”

It took a little while, but the two of you finally made it to his dorm in relative silence, save for the pained gasps and whimpers that occasionally fell from your swollen lips. The whole time, Sawyer was clenching his teeth. It didn’t matter that RSC was something that happened to everyone – not even his injuries hadn’t looked this rough.

He sat you down gently on his bed. He didn’t want to leave you, not when you looked that beat up, but he pushed that aside to grab the little box of medical supplies you kept in his room for when he was beat up after sparring. If you weren’t huddled beside him looking more fragile than he’d ever seen you, he would have made a joke about it.

You’d already removed your jacket and shirt, leaving your torso bare save for the bindings you always wore. Sawyer relaxed for a moment before he took note of your ribs, black and blue bruising rippling up both sides. Save for that, though, and other bruising and – Gods forbid, handprints – you honestly didn’t look too terrible.

He brushed your bangs away from your face, tilting your chin up so he could assess the damage. “Have you tried mending yourself?”

You sighed, sounding almost disappointed in yourself. “No. I’ve never tried that, but it won’t work, anyway. I tried to mend Anya’s arm after it got dislocated, but it didn’t work. I’m either terrible with my signet, or the injury was too bad, or–”

He cut you off before you could delve deeper into self-doubt. “No,” he assured you, taking a wet rag and wiping the blood on your chin. “They tampered with your water. It’s supposed to dull your signet and cut you off from your dragon to feel more realistic.”

Your lips formed an O in realization. “So that’s why I couldn’t feel Cridhe,” you mumbled, hissing in pain once he actually touched your lip. “I got worried there for a while.”

He nodded, ducking his head lower to check the area around your neck. There was an angry red line around your throat; someone had tried to choke you, he assumed. Bastard.

“I know,” he said softly, pressing a kiss to your collarbone. “When they took me, the serum didn’t wear off for about a day. I thought Sliseag randomly chose to hate me or something.”

The aforementioned scoffed softly. As if, Ashling, he muttered. I didn’t choose you just to leave you behind.

The words warmed Sawyer’s heart long enough that your silence didn’t bother him for the next few minutes while he looked you over.

He only paused when you spoke softly, your voice faint. “I…think I have a concussion,” you mumble. “The light hurts, and I’m dizzy.”

A tight-lipped smile fought its way onto Sawyer’s face. “Trust you to diagnose yourself barely an hour after it happens.”

You don’t respond, prompting Sawyer to lean back up and look into your eyes. Sure enough, your pupils were unfocused and exhausted. Smart girl.

He opened his mouth to make another little quip, only for it to die on his tongue once you leaned into his side.

“Tired?” he prompted you gently. A soft hum from you confirmed his suspicions, and he hesitated for a moment before relenting. He could carry you to Nolan or a healer in the morning, after you slept the night away.

He looked away for a moment, and you had somehow managed to snag a random shirt off his floor and slip it on. His eyes softened, and he reached over to help you out of your pants and under his covers. You looked so…unusually small in his bed, curled in on yourself like a flower without the sun to warm it. He didn’t even bother to change out of his uniform, opting to kick off his boots and leave himself in his undershirt as he settled next to you. You slowly unfurled from your tense position and rested your head on his chest. Pure bliss.

You both lay there in silence for what seemed like hours before Sawyer found his voice again, feeling weirdly sentimental. “I’m gonna go out on a limb and assume you don’t want to talk about it.”

Your silence was an answer enough.

“Thought so,” he murmured. “That’s okay. We don’t have to. Just…I hope you know that I’ll never let that happen to you when the time comes. Whoever it was, they’d have to kill me first to get to you.”

More silence from you. Sawyer thought for a moment that you fell asleep, but his eyes popped back open once he heard your weary voice.

“Sawyer?”

“Yes, darling?”

A beat. Two beats.

“Thank you for this. I didn’t want to be anywhere besides here.”

…You don’t have to thank me, he thinks, a pained smile tugging at his mouth. I’d do anything and more for you, anyway.

[eeerrrrewsd]

Worth the Risk

Part 2

Jason Todd x Reader – Hurt/Comfort, Soft!Jason, Fluff

Jason wasn’t good at this.

The whole relationship thing.

The soft stuff. The affectionate stuff. The normal stuff.

It wasn’t that he didn’t want to.

It was just… weird.

He knew how to fight. He knew how to kill. He knew how to survive.

But he didn’t know how to do this.

Didn’t know how to just—

Hold your hand for no reason.

Let you fix his hair because you said it was messy.

Touch you without bracing for the moment you’d flinch or pull away.

Because you didn’t pull away.

You weren’t scared of him.

You weren’t cautious, like you were waiting for him to snap.

You just—touched him.

Like it was easy. Like it was normal.

And Jason—Jason had no idea what to do with that.

He was trying, though.

Because you were affectionate—really affectionate.

You reached for him constantly.

A hand on his arm when you talked.

Brushing stray hairs from his face.

Casually linking your pinky with his when you walked side by side.

The first few times, Jason had tensed—pure instinct.

But you never expected anything from him.

Never demanded he touch you back.

You just… let him be.

So, eventually, Jason started testing the waters.

Little things at first.

Brushing his fingers over yours when you handed him something.

Letting you lean into him without stiffening.

Bumping his knee against yours just to see if you’d smile.

(You always did.)

And maybe—just maybe—he liked it.

The first time he actually tried to be affectionate, it was awkward as hell.

You had fallen asleep on the couch next to him, curled up under his jacket.

Jason had been pretending to watch TV, but really, he had been stealing glances at you, wondering how the hell you could sleep so easily around him.

And then—on impulse, before he could talk himself out of it—he reached out.

Hesitant. Slow.

Brushed his fingers along your wrist, barely a touch at all.

And damn, he felt stupid.

He had literally fought crime lords, taken down whole gangs, and yet here he was, treating something as simple as touching you like it was life or death.

But then—then you shifted.

Murmured something incoherent.

And, still half-asleep, you turned into him—head resting against his shoulder, breath warm against his collarbone.

And Jason—Jason froze.

He had no idea what to do.

He should move. He should wake you. He should do something.

But all he could do was sit there, heart hammering, as you sighed and relaxed against him.

Like he was something safe.

Jason Todd had never been anyone’s safe place before.

And damn it—he liked it.

After that, it got easier.

He started returning your touches, little by little.

A hand on your back when you walked through a crowded place.

Hooking a finger through your belt loop to keep you close.

Even—on rare occasions—pressing his lips to your temple when he thought no one was looking.

And he loved the way you reacted.

The way your breath hitched when he brushed his knuckles over your cheek.

The way you’d glance up at him, surprised and soft, every time he pulled you just a little closer.

The way you melted when he let himself be vulnerable.

It was addictive.

And maybe—just maybe—Jason was getting used to it.

One night, you were curled up next to him, scrolling through your phone, half-draped over his lap.

Jason was pretending to read, but mostly, he was just thinking about how nice you felt against him.

Warm. Soft. Real.

And before he could stop himself, he shifted, running his fingers over your arm—slow, gentle.

You blinked, glancing up at him. “What was that for?”

Jason hesitated.

Then, in a rare moment of honesty, he muttered—

“…Dunno. Just wanted to.”

Your face softened.

Then, to his utter surprise, you teased—

“Wow. Affection? From Jason Todd? I should write this down.”

Jason groaned, rolling his eyes. “Never mind. Forget it.”

But you just grinned, sitting up and pressing a kiss to his cheek.

“Never.”

And Jason—Jason just sighed, hooked an arm around your waist, and let himself stay.

[narcissistshandler]

i don't know if you are taking requests for the spiderverse but if so can you write about hobie with a reader (top of course) who is a virgin?

𝗦𝗢 𝗖𝗟𝗢𝗦𝗘 𝗧𝗢 𝗕𝗘𝗚𝗚𝗜𝗡𝗚

pairing. hobie brown x male reader

warning. amab! reader, top! reader, virgin reader, bottom! hobie, light sub!reader eager to please

a/n. I was surprised to receive 3 different requests for virgin!reader so here it is!

You, as a sane, educated, hormonal adult, were no stranger to sex. It was something everyone discovered early on, and after the disgust, revulsion, and aversion came interest and desire. Masturbation. But masturbating was very different from having real sex, you always knew.

Nothing like real, hot sex with your damn sexy boyfriend.

It felt like you could faint at any moment, your nerves all jumbled up in a bunch of pointless worry. Hobie, of course, led you to bed with an ease that made it seem like you had always been there, that you were supposed to be there. Without much questioning, he knew it was your first time and seemed eager to make it good for you.

You didn't have to think much, he would take care of everything.

You had been here countless times, but it had never been like this, none of the touching and rubbing from before felt anything like this. Just the way he kissed you let you know he was craving it as much as you were. It made you feel better about your lack of experience, knowing you weren't the only one feeling a little greedy. Hobie kissed you so hungrily, panting and whimpering when you pulled away to breathe, that made you wish you never had to breathe again just so you could keep kissing him forever.

You wanted him to enjoy this as much as you did, even though you were the inexperienced one here. Hobie knew exactly what he was doing, what he wanted and he didn't stop until he got it — you, naked, hard and almost delirious in his bed. Not that you were complaining. This was the closest thing to a divine experience you had ever had. Hobie shone like an fallen angel over you.

"You're holding your breath." He barely separates his mouth from yours to speak; his eyes remain closed and you feel each word being pronounced against your lips, moist with his saliva. With the separation, it's like you can breathe again. Breathing wasn't as important as kissing Hobie. "Is everything okay?"

Fingers twitch in the grip you have on his pointed hips, his weight burning into you, your skin sweaty and slick. Your thumbs run over the prominent bones there and his hips shake, his hard cock that you're hyperaware of, rubbing against your stomach, letting you know that yes, this felt good to him too. You wanted him to feel good so badly.

You take a moment to respond and Hobie sit up once more, resting his hands on your chest as he corrects his position. The shift makes him sink down onto you, pushing you even deeper into his channel. Hobie makes a satisfied sound, almost a purr, seeming content to just sit on you, with your cock pushing its way inside him. You, on the other hand, feel your head spinning. Hobie was so tight around you it was almost hard to breathe, even the prior preparation hadn't lessened the tight grip — you had then asked if it hurt, but Hobie groaned all the way until he took you completely.

"Too much?" Hobie asks, with a downright sinful swivel of his hips. You grip his hips tighter, unsure if you want to make him stop or beg for more.

It’s almost embarrassing, how easy and yielding he has you. But Hobie seems to like it. There’s a lingering curve of a smile on his mouth and he’s as talkative as usual.

But you were having difficulty finding your words. Your mind seemed to have short-circuited as you indulgently, followed Hobie's command to lie down on the bed and watched him slide one finger after another inside himself, stretching out for you. It was hot as fuck and you've been an stuttering mess ever since, tripping over your own words, most of what you said barely understandable. Damn, Hobie. Baby. That's so hot. You look so hot like that. Does it hurt? Does it feel good? Can I try next time?

Next time. That choice of words seemed to almost make Hobie cum right there, around three calloused fingers shoved up to the knuckles in his ass. He had then unbuttoned your pants with a hunger that made the button fly across the room and thrusting his feet into the mattress, guided your cock into his soft hole, sinking inch after wide inch without pause.

"Cat got your tongue? Where are your big words now, virgin boy?" Hobie jokes. The set of heavy silver rings on his fingers still glistened with traces of lubricant.

You took a deep breath. Fuck. Fuck. No porn compared. The hot hole like an oven around you, squeezing you like a vice, the slender body above you. Hobie was a sight that almost pushed you to orgasm in itself. You were determined to last, wanting to see Hobie cum before you let yourself go, it was easier thought than done. "It's not too much," you say. "You just feel so good I can't think straight."

Hobie laughs. A bright sound that goes straight to your cock, which twitches inside him. "That's the goal. Don't think about anything. Just focus on me." That was easy, so you nod, hands moving up his torso, passing over the hard nipples and back down his thighs, spread around you, because it was impossible to stop touching this man. "I'm going to ride you until you cum, then you can turn me over and fuck me until I'm hoarse from screaming your name. Does that sound good?"

Sounds like paradise.

"Yes," you gasp.

"Will you let me take care of you? I will make this night unforgettable for you." Hobie then begins to move, his leg muscles tensing as he begins to move up and down, slowly, taking his time, savoring your member dragging through his tight walls.

"Yes, of course. Whatever you want." Please, you almost begged. Not yet, even though you knew that before the end of the night Hobie would have ripped the word out of you. It didn't embarrass you, you would beg for it if that was what he wanted. You already knew that after today, if necessary, you would beg on your knees to be able to be inside him again. Hobie didn't have to do much to make this a night you'd dream about every day.

[heidiamalia]

ahead of the new Daredevil series airing DAYS AWAY [screech] I'm 1000% taking advantage of new and returning kastle fam;

Ive got some fics! It's been a while -

Hidden Treasure

On the jar is a taped note, folded in half.

Visit me.

"Do you want to go?" It's quiet on his end of the line, and it's his tone - not the cold outside her window - that chills her spine.

“Can I ask you something?” She doesn't wait for him to respond, and she's opening the car door now, ice brushing into the nerves of her teeth as she breathes. She hisses as her boots crunch on the snow. “Is there an actual scenario in your head for this where I say no?”

-

Or

The one where Amy instigates a road trip and things get said.

-

Like The Wind

She's not safe - she'll never be safe from Fisk, but she'll still slide the latch on the chain at eye level, and she'll pull the curtains tight to block out the sun.

The bed squeaks, and the sheets are stale from sitting idle. Karen places her gun beneath a pillow and holds onto it, finding solace in the weight and how her thumb rests against the grip. That deadbolt is another warm blanket to the thought that for maybe just a moment, she can be lucky.

-

Karen runs.

She figures running will protect everyone she loves, if Fisk is after her.

She wasn't expecting to run right into Frank.

Not in the middle of the night.

Not in the middle of fucking nowhere.

-

The Blood in the Blue [multichap]

He looks at the way her mouth settles flat, her eyes distant as the sun lowers, the sky getting darker each minute. Her jaw is clenched. She's gotten no peace in what's happened so far, but he knows just by looking at her, she's willing to risk herself again to claim it. Frank suspects this is not going to be easy in any sense of the word.

-

Frank meets a mermaid on a mission.

-

For Display Only

It’s hard to tell at first who it is behind the overgrown shrubbery.

He’s got a distractingly deep line of sweat trailing down his spine, though, when he comes into view and she finally spots the dark gray Anvil Landscapes logo on his t-shirt.

Karen takes a moment to appreciate her relief and the soft grunts from his effort in getting the boxwood roots out of the ground. She sips from the diner’s to-go cup in her hand to keep cool. “Hey, Frank.”

-

it's the landscaper/sex shop au

-

I'm so excited for the resurgence in activity lately and to the new content coming to us soon! Find the rest over here.

[witherby]

If Mouse got traits from everyone, did anybody got traits from Mouse?

Oh, what a cute question! Let's say yes!

Dick learned to relax his standards for himself. Mouse isn't a vigilante, they don't have perfect grades, and they always take breaks or communicate when they simply can't or don't want to do something. Dick has started giving himself the same leniencies — he'll actually rest when he's sick instead of powering through it, he'll forgive himself for mistakes he's made, and if he simply doesn't want to do something, he won't. He's learning through Mouse to stop chasing perfectionism.

Jason picked up on Mouse's penchant for sleeping in. They like being in bed and being lazy. The world will still be there when they decide to grace the rest of the manor with their presence, so Jason adopts the same attitude. The perpetual bags under his eyes disappear in six months and his rage induced by the Pit becomes ten times more manageable. He and Mouse kickstart a mandatory Family Nap Time when it seems like everybody is running on empty.

Tim starts learning how to take things at face value. This family often has problems saying things outright, except for Mouse, who says what they mean and means what they say. If they're hungry, they're going to verbalize it. If they're disinterested in something, they're going to verbalize it. If they feel sick, they're going to verbalize it. No, Tim, they aren't actively starving to death or disinterested in a topic because they secretly hate you or seconds from dying of a plague. Please quit overanalyzing every little situation.

Damian grows a funny bone. He spent so long trying to shrug off the title of "youngest Wayne" and "baby bat" that he became almost grizzled about it. He's overly "no-nonsense" and acts more mature than he sometimes feels for the sake of being treated seriously, which costs him the leniency that comes with a normal childhood. Mouse's carefree mannerisms and easy optimism, as well as taking over the title of the baby of the family, allows Damian to let loose a little bit. Now he's more accepting of his desires to goof off and play games for the sake of having fun instead of being productive.

Alfred got the full Grandfather experience from Flittermouse. He's so used to being in a family of hyper-independent people that he didn't realize he wanted to feel needed. Because he knows that Bruce and Dick and Jason and Tim and Damian are perfectly fine without him. They don't need him to cook, or clean, or tend to their wounds, or help them with anything, really. They want him around, though, because they love him and he all of them, which is enough for him.

But a baby? Babies need to be tended to. They need attention. They need care. They need to be fed and clothed and cuddled and doted on. And Alfred didn't realize how much he missed doting on little Bruce when he was a child until he was gifted the chance to do it again with Mouse.

Hal learns how to be a parent with Mouse. He develops patience so, so quickly, because you have no choice when you're taking care of a brand new human who's never human'd before. He also secretly uses parenting tricks he's learned raising you on some of the planets he's called to oversee and communicate with diplomatically. Gentle parenting a whole race of K'inleons into avoiding war with another planet was not on his bucket list but damn was it effective. And, like Jason, he learns to stop and rest with Mouse, too. Maybe he doesn't need to pick up extra missions as a Lantern and stay up late patrolling his sector of the universe after doing a check just hours before. Maybe he can just stay on Earth and rest and be Hal.

Bruce would've picked up Mouse's easy capacity to love if they didn't already learn that from him. Bruce's one, fundamental trait is his optimism and capacity to believe in second chances. But Mouse does teach him to communicate more effectively with his loved ones. He slowly but surely gets over his fear that muttering the words "I love you" will not end in that person's death. He allows himself to display his vulnerabilities and admit when he's tired or wounded, instead of soldiering on after the battle is won.

[starsinthesky5]

“fun fact, she wrote about half of the first draft of so high school in one sitting at an indoor practice one day. she was feeling a little too inspired that afternoon, watching him run around in those damn athletic shorts and the black compression tank that drove her mad. let’s just say the storage closet saw a bit of action that day..”

so basically hi yes i need this as a blurb immediately

contains smut and language. mdni

───────⋆⋅☆⋅⋆───────

(november)

she only meant to sit there and get some writing done. and well, to watch her guy do his thing while she simultaneously did hers. 

really. that’s all it was. harmless football fun. or so she thought.

he was her biggest source of inspiration and she needed a good dose of joe to write her next song. daydreaming about him while he was at practice, only did so much, and well, since quite a few football anecdotes were being mixed into the song, she wanted the full-fledged experience. be right in the middle of the sport she was so fond of, and the sport her man excelled at. she followed him around with those adorable puppy dog eyes and that signature pout the night before, begging for him to take her to practice the next morning. at first he was hesitant, not because people would notice her, but because he didn’t want her to catch a fastball to the face. 

that beautiful, crafted by the angels, baby face. 

he didn’t care if anyone saw her because even though their relationship was still hidden from the world, everyone who needed to know about them, knew. and that included his teammates & organization. 

anyway, she convinced him (like she always does since he physically can’t say no to her) by promising that she’d spend the rest of the evening after the game on sunday watching game of thrones with joe. ever since he found out she’s never watched a single minute of—according to him—the best piece of visual media ever created, he’s made it his mission to educate her on the masterpiece that his favorite show ever. he’s been relentless about it, bringing it up at every opportunity, dropping references she doesn’t understand, and even going as far as calling it a “relationship red flag” that she’s never seen it.  

so when she batted her lashes at him and promised a whole uninterrupted evening of watching with him—no distractions, no excuses—he caved. just like he always does.  

because as much as he loves football, and as much as he takes game day seriously, he loves her more. and if having her in the background, watching him ball with those doe eyes while she wrote so poetically about his goofy ass, in exchange for her curled up beside him, wrapped in a blanket, fully immersed in the world of westeros, is the price to pay? 

well, that’s an easy decision.

she was just sitting there on her woodvale tour blanket—the one she brought with her to the private suite every gameday because she called it a good luck charm (that’s a story for another day). her bag placed next to her and her pens, books, and film camera scattered around her. she was tucked away in the corner of the indoor practice facility, far enough away not to disrupt the players but close enough to feel joe’s presence. her journal was open, glitter gel pen gliding across the page as lyrics spilled out in a steady rhythm.

truth, dare, spin bottles, you know how to ball, i know aristotle

“well, i guess that last lyric works for him too. perks of having an incredibly athletic boyfriend who also is the most intellectual person you’ve ever met," she muttered under her breath, giggling at how joe was literally the real life version of the dreamy love interest in every high school rom-com. the kind of guy who could ace a calculus test with one hand and throw a perfect spiral with the other. the one who made teachers adore him, parents trust him, and every opposing team fear him.

she sighed dramatically, twirling her pen between her fingers. “seriously, it’s almost unfair,” she mumbled, shaking her head. “where’s the flaw? there has to be a flaw,”.

there was no flaw about him. good luck trying to find one ;)

and then, a few minutes later, the man of the hour came into her vantage point, and she nearly lost her shit. 

joe, in those damn athletic shorts and that black compression tank clinging to him in all the right places, muscles rippling with every throw, sweat glistening on his temple—he looked too damn good, distractingly good. every time she shifted her gaze, there he was, a living, breathing vision of raw desire.

her pen stilled. her thighs clenched instinctively as she fought to focus on her words, but her eyes betrayed her every time, locked on him.

“i’m so fucked,” she sighed, watching how his back muscles contracted with every stretch of his arms. she was lucky that his compression tank wasn’t so meshy otherwise those red scratches all over his back would be on display for everyone and they’d know exactly why joe was a few minutes late to the meeting this morning. oh, and tee & ja’marr would never let him hear the end of it since joe was mr. discipline for those two and their um…personal endeavors. 

anyway, one thing that always did it for her, was that black compression tank. and joe knew what he was doing when he put that on in the locker room. since it was bring your girlfriend to work day for him, he thought that he should have a little fun with it since she wanted some…inspiration. 

she barely concentrated on writing the song for the rest of practice since she was too busy practically eye-fucking him in front of everyone. she was lucky that none of the coaches saw, but some of the female PT’s definitely were giggling in the corner. 

it’s not her fault that joe is literally the hottest man to ever exist. like, scientifically speaking. broad shoulders, strong jaw, those annoyingly perfect hands that look just as good gripping a football as they do gripping her waist. and don’t even get her started on the way his veins pop when he’s focused—it's actually cruel.  

it’s not her fault that every time he walks into a room, she momentarily forgets how to function. that her brain short-circuits whenever he wears that damn black compression shirt. that watching him lace up his cleats is somehow the most intimate, most unfairly attractive thing she’s ever witnessed.  

she is so down bad. (girl, get off the floor)

it must have been his luck, or the way he felt her stare, because as soon as practice ended, he was on her—storming over like a tidal wave, hardly giving her a chance to shut her notebook before his fingers curled firmly around her wrist.

“come with me,” he commanded in a low, rough tone that tolerated no argument.

he led her down the hallway, past empty locker rooms since he was the first one to rush out of the facility, until they slipped into a storage closet where the door clicked shut behind them. in the dim light, with the hum of players filing into the locker rooms outside, he pinned her against the cool metal wall. “you think i didn’t see you out there?” he smirked, his voice a mix of teasing and urgent need as his fingers slipped beneath her top, tracing the sensitive curve of her spine. “watching me like that? biting your lip, not even hiding that look—you were thinking about me fucking you right here, weren’t you?”.

heat pooled low in her stomach, and her breath hitched as he nestled a firm thigh between hers, the pressure igniting a desperate whimper from deep within. “joe–,” she began, voice trembling from her fear of being caught but also from the pleasure in her veins.

“nah,” he cut her off with a kiss, his hands roaming lower, slipping beneath the waistband of her leggings. “you don’t get to play innocent now,”.

her fingers dug into his shoulders as he captured her lips in a searing kiss—hot, insistent, his tongue exploring as if he’d been starving for her all day. his hands moved over her body with a possessive urgency, tugging her closer, pulling moans from her even as he tried to stifle them by pressing his hand gently against her mouth, but every so often a repressed sound betrayed her desire.

“this what you wanted, baby?” he rasped against her lips, his touch speaking louder than words as he cupped her through her soaked panties, the heat between them intensifying with each slow movement. “you were writing your little songs, getting all worked up watching me, weren’t you?”.

“joe, please,” she gasped, her body arching into him, every nerve ending on fire, aching for his touch. 

he chuckled, his hand slipping with expert precision until he was teasing her, a finger sliding inside her, then another, his thumb circling her clit in a way that made her gasp and squirm. “joe, someone will hear,” she sighed, pushing her head forward to rest on his shoulder.

“then just be quiet, love,” he murmured softly against the shell of her ear, his voice a blend of tenderness and raw desire. “i know you have a hard time with that, but you can do it for me, right?”, 

her response was a desperate, muffled moan as she grounds herself against his hand, the heat and friction overwhelming her senses, making her crave more of him, more of every touch.

joe groaned softly, his breath hot against her ear as he worked her open with slow, deliberate strokes of his fingers, teasing her until she was trembling against him. “you feel that? so fucking wet for me,” he murmured, his voice rough but quiet, mindful of the footsteps echoing outside the storage closet.

she whimpered, her nails digging into his arms, desperate for more, for him. “joey, please–," she whined again, only for him to silence her with a deep kiss, swallowing her needy sounds as he slipped his fingers out and replaced them with the thick, aching length of him.

a strangled gasp left her lips as he pushed in, stretching her inch by inch, the delicious burn sending white-hot pleasure spiraling through her. he cursed under his breath, gripping her hips as he bottomed out, his forehead resting against hers. “fuck, baby. you take me so good,”.

she clenched around him involuntarily, making him shudder, his control hanging by a thread. he pulled back and thrust into her again, slow at first, savoring the way her body molded around him, then faster, harder, the force of each movement slamming her against the cool metal wall.

she bit down on her lip, trying—failing—to stifle the moans threatening to spill from her mouth. the risk of being caught only heightened everything, made the sharp snap of his hips, the relentless press of his body against hers, even more intoxicating. “joe…ngph…please. fuck– you feel so good,”. 

joe gritted his teeth, one large hand covering her mouth as he thrust deep, his other arm bracing her against him. “shh, baby,” he panted, though he was barely able to keep quiet himself, his breath ragged, his grunts low and strained. “you gotta be quiet or this will be over faster than we want,”.

but how could she? when he was pounding into her like this—desperate, relentless, making her toes curl and her knees shake? when his cock filled her so perfectly, dragged against every sensitive spot inside her, made her see stars behind her eyelids?

her muffled cries vibrated against his palm, her body tightening around him, her release building fast and hard. he felt it, cursed under his breath, and doubled down—his fingers slipping between them, finding her clit, rubbing quick, precise circles that had her squirming in his hold.

“c’mon,” he urged, his lips brushing her temple, voice raspy with restraint. “i got you, baby. let go,”.

and she did—her climax crashing over her in hot, shuddering waves, her body convulsing, her nails clawing at his sweat-slicked skin as she trembled apart in his arms. “j..joe, oh fuck,” she whispered, trying so damn hard to keep it together.

joe groaned, barely holding on as she pulsed around him, her tight, wet heat milking him for everything he had. he slammed into her one last time, burying himself deep, his release hitting him hard, leaving him breathless as he spilled inside her.

for a long moment, they stayed pressed together, their heaving chests rising and falling in sync, their bodies still locked in place as they came down from their high.

his breath was still ragged, his body still pressed against hers as the aftershocks of their release settled between them. his forehead dropped to her shoulder, lips brushing over the damp skin of her neck, placing lazy, lingering kisses there.  “jesus,” he muttered, voice still thick with pleasure, a breathless chuckle escaping him. “you are trouble,”. 

she let out a soft, breathy laugh, her fingers slipping into his damp hair, scratching gently at his scalp. “i think you’ll survive. you’re my big strong man, you got it,”.  

he lifted his head just enough to look at her, his lips curving into that boyish grin that made her stomach flip. “barely,”.  

he kissed her then, slow and deep, his lips soft, worshipping, like he had all the time in the world. like his teammates weren’t wondering where the hell you two went. it was such a contrast from the way he’d just had her, rough and desperate—like he couldn’t get enough. now, he kissed her like he never wanted to stop.  

“so,” he murmured against her lips, nudging his nose against hers. “was that inspiring enough for you?”.

she giggled, nipping at his bottom lip. “maybeeee,”.  

his hands tightened on her waist, pulling her impossibly closer. “maybe?”.

she shrugged, playful. “i don’t know, i might need another round to really be sure. still some details to flesh out,”.  

he groaned, dropping his head against her shoulder with a dramatic sigh. “you’re gonna be the death of me,”.  

“but what a way to go, right?”.

he laughed, shaking his head as he kissed her again, all soft and sweet, like he was trying to memorize the shape of her lips. “yeah, baby,” he whispered, smiling against her mouth. “what a way to go,”. 

[gracie-eilish]

Can we have a lil spoiler of what the new series is about?? I'm exciteddd

here’s some sneak peeks!!! hopefully it doesn’t spoil it too much!! if you are able to figure out what the story could be about, pls don’t spoil it in the comments for everyone else!! this fic will be out soon!!

ch. 1 🌿

You pouted. “Dance with me.”

Billie let out a breathy chuckle, but before she could respond, you were reaching for her.

Her entire body tensed as your fingers wrapped around her wrist, gentle but firm, pulling her toward you. Billie barely had time to react before you were guiding her into a slow, easy spin.

It was effortless. It was gravity.

It was you.

“See?” you murmured, smiling up at her. “Not so bad.”

Billie swallowed hard, her heart slamming against her ribs. “Yeah,” she breathed, staring at you like you had hung the stars in the sky. “Not so bad at all.”

ch. 2🌹

You smiled, letting yourself lean back into her. Billie let out a breath she didn’t realize she was holding as you settled into her lap, resting your head against her stomach, looking up at her with that same dreamy wonder that had made her fall in love with you in the first place…

…Billie traced lazy patterns on your arm as the evening air cooled, her fingers trailing the soft curve of your shoulder, up to your jaw, over your cheek. You sighed, nuzzling into her touch, eyes fluttering closed…

…she just whispered, “You’re so beautiful.”

And when you hummed sleepily in response, Billie couldn’t help but smile.

The stars blinked to life above, casting silver light over the meadow. The wind played with your hair, and Billie ran her fingers through it, watching over you as you drifted off in her arms.

She didn’t move for a long time.

ch. 3🪟

The answer was immediate.

“Like I don’t belong here.”

Like you belonged in the woods. In the flower fields. In Billie’s arms…

... “Is there someone you’re thinking about?”

Your heart skipped.

You hesitated for only a second before nodding.

She smiled knowingly. “Then maybe you already know where you do belong.”

Your chest ached. You wanted to see Billie more than anything. To hear her laugh, to feel her hands steadying you as you twirled barefoot in the grass. You wanted to see the way her eyes softened when she looked at you, the way she got that dreamy smile when she thought you weren’t paying attention.

ch. 4 🐎

She sat down in the grass, right where you had been the night before. The earth was still warm beneath her, as if it hadn’t quite forgotten you yet. Billie let out a slow breath, running her fingers through the blades of grass. It felt wrong without you here. The flowers didn’t smell as sweet, the breeze didn’t hum the same melody. Even the river, which usually sang so softly, felt quiet.

She closed her eyes and let herself remember. The way you had fit against her, the way your lashes fluttered when you dozed off, the way your lips had parted ever so slightly, making her stomach twist with the urge to press a kiss there.

… Then, suddenly—

The sound of trumpets.

ch. 5 🎉

“Are you enjoying the celebration, my love?” your mother’s voice was gentle as she tucked a strand of hair behind your ear.

“I am,” you assured her, offering a small smile. “Everything is so beautiful. The food, the music…

She beamed, giving your hand a squeeze. “Only the best…”

You tried to focus on the joy around you….

…And yet, something felt off.

There was an underlying tension in the air.

Your parents, though elated, kept glancing at each other, their expressions flickering between happiness and something… else.

ch. 6 💚

… at the top of the hill, looming over the town with an almost ominous presence. It had always been majestic, but now, under the strange green fog, it looked… sick. The towers were dark, the windows shrouded, and the whole place felt hollow, as though something had drained it of its life. She could feel it in her bones, an unshakable dread creeping through her, but she had no choice...

With a new sense of urgency, Billie mounted her horse and urged it forward, faster than she ever had before. She galloped through the empty streets of the town, the once-joyful cobblestones now cold and lifeless beneath the hooves of her horse. Her heart raced, but it wasn’t fear that pushed her onward—it was you.

ch. 7 🩷

Billie stood in the doorway, her chest rising and falling rapidly, her usually steady hands gripping the frame as if she needed it to hold herself together.

And then her eyes found you.

She stumbled forward, not trusting her legs to hold her. The moment she saw you lying there, so heartbreakingly still, her knees nearly gave out beneath her.

“No,” she whispered, shaking her head. “No, no, no—”

Billie moved without thinking, collapsing onto the floor beside you, her trembling hands reaching out to hold yours. You were warm. Thank god, you were still warm.

Her vision blurred as she let out a shaky breath, her fingers clutching at your hand like a lifeline.

ch. 8 💐

And for the second time that day, she lost her breath.

…bathed in soft candlelight, … gown a breathtaking shade of blush, so pale it was nearly white. Tiny wildflowers—ones you used to tuck into Billie’s hair when you lay together in the meadow—were stitched into the fabric, sparkling alongside delicate embroidery that trailed down the skirt like vines. …but it was the tiny flowers woven… that made Billie’s heart clench the most…

coming monday 3/3✨🌸🫧🌿

[animereaderinsertwriter]

part one - two - three - four -five

i saw you in a dream (bucky barnes x reader)

tags/warnings: plot with porn, fluff, a little angst, there is some mild amnesia, major plot twist, first person (bucky's) pov, inspired by this song

blurb: In this life and every life; waking and dreaming; this I swear.

These are the words inscribed on Bucky's wedding ring. A wedding ring that he doesn't remember ever having. It's not a vow he made-- not that he remembers, anyway-- but it might just be one that he decides to keep anyway.

ao3 here

“I’ve decided to call off of work for a while,” my wife explains to me over breakfast. “I’d rather be around if you need me than be at work, and we’ve got ample savings to live off of in the meantime.”

I ask her if she’s sure about that— I don’t really need a babysitter, I’ve already gotten over my meltdown about this whole thing— but she assures me that she believes it’s the right decision.

“What do you do for work, then, that they let you have time off so easy?”

She hesitates.

“I work for Tony Stark,” she replies after a moment. “As it stands, though, he’s got an excellent team, so they can share the load of whatever I’m leaving behind. Besides, it’s time I took a vacation.”

She’s keeping something from me, but I let it slide.

“Babysitting me is hardly a vacation.”

She shoots me a sly grin over her cup of coffee.

“Who said I was babysitting? Keep up the sass and I’ll call Dolores to sit with you while I go to Bali.”

I’m startled into a laugh.

“You wouldn’t dare.”

“Wouldn’t I? Try me, soldier boy.”

There is a strange energy between us that makes me feel oddly playful. I want to forget about eggs and bacon and chase her around the house instead.

Gradually, though, that energy fades as we run out of things to talk about. Awkwardness subsumes us again, and since I cooked, (Y/N) offers to wash dishes, presumably to escape the weight of the silence between us.

About an hour of that tension is all either of us can stand. 

“I’m going downstairs to train,” she says, throwing a bar cloth over her shoulder. “Would you like to join me?”

I blink.

“We have a downstairs?”

“Yes— a basement.” A fond smile comes over her face. “You designed it yourself.”

I raise my eyebrows.

“I did?”

“Oh yes.” She grins. “Come on, dear— I’ll give you the tour. You’ll love it.”

She walks past me just close enough for me to feel the heat from her body, but does not touch me. She keeps going just long enough for me to see the full length of her figure, then turns back to throw at me a mischievous look over her shoulder. 

“Well? Coming?”

She keeps walking, and I keep staring. This time, though, I grin. This hint of playfulness gets a rise out of me not unlike the one from before, and I realize that this must be what normal is for us.

What a fox.

Like a hound dog wagging his tail, I move to follow her. This, if nothing else, should prove interesting.

***

Three and a half hours later, I’m sore, sweaty, and I can’t feel my face.

To be fair, we’ve only been working for most of three hours. The majority of the first hour was spent on rediscovery— and what an hour it was! Not only did I apparently stock most of the cool machines I’d used in Wakanda, but there were also some things I’d never seen before, such as the combat simulator that Shuri had apparently gifted me last year for my birthday. (Y/N) warned me that it felt real, but I didn’t believe her until those nerve stimulators of Shuri’s mimicked exactly the feeling of a bullet ripping through my shoulder. It’s unpredictable, the simulator; it generates combat scenarios at random, and not every conflict ends well even if you do everything by the book. It’s a genius invention, and I spend an hour and a half on that alone.

As fascinating as the combat simulator is, though, it doesn’t hold a candle to what comes next.

While I rest from playing with all my (new) gadgets, my wife has been working slowly and steadily, alternating between lifting weights and training with a punching bag. She’s sweating heavily, and she looks pretty fatigued, but she keeps at it with a determination that reminds me of Steve. Eventually, though, she sits down to rest too, and between gulps of water, she says,

“Spar with me.”

“What?”

The word comes out as a laugh. She smirks.

“Laugh now, Sergeant Barnes, but I learned from the best.”

“Oh yeah?” I challenge playfully. “Who?”

Her smile is radiant and warm; it feels like a house fire in my chest.

“You.”

My heart skips a beat. 

She thinks I’m the best.

It’s a stupid thought, perhaps even a silly one, but it’s there. Even so, looking at her now, moving to stand with her hair all mussed and her face all sweaty, I know I can’t seriously spar with her. 

At least, that’s what I think until she whirls a kick at my head, forcing me to block it with my forearm.

“I said,” she pants, baring her teeth in a feline grin, “spar with me.”

The word no had been on the tip of my tongue— but I’ve never been one to leave a blow unanswered.

I grin back, and the game is on.

I launch myself from my seat, aiming to use my size to my advantage and grapple her— safely, gently, of course— to the ground. All my arms catch is air. She bounds lightly backwards, as graceful as a dancer, and holds her hands up in a ready position. 

After I aim a few hits at her, missing each one, I realize her strategy. I’m bigger, stronger than her, sure, but it takes a lot more for my muscles to move my larger body than it does hers. She’s baiting me into my strikes, hoping to fatigue me before she presses what then will be her advantage. I adjust accordingly. I feint left, but move right— the motion traps her as my metal metal hand closes around her soft flesh. I think I have her until she uses the same momentum that I use to pull her to me to bash her forehead against the bridge of my nose, stunning me. She wrenches free and tries to sweep my feet, but I’m too sturdy for her. Instead, she falls with the motion, and I follow her to the floor in an unsightly but effective crawl to try and close the distance between us for a grapple. She doesn’t make it to her feet before I’m on her, and I know it’s game over now.

Size for size, strength for strength, I’ll win.

Surprisingly, though, she still makes me work for it.

In an impressive show of agility, she rolls away from me before I can grab her— but not before aiming a kick at my temple that, had it landed, might have been deadly. Frustrated, I make a grab at the foot that kicked at me, and she stomps my fleshy hand with her heel— meet punishment for the pettiness of my grab. Truly irritated now, and in sorry pain, I get my feet underneath me and throw myself at her once more.

She rolls again, and my hand misses her arm by only half an inch. In fact, she almost makes it to her feet before I finally latch both arms around her waist and bring her down hard. I win the ensuing scramble; only a few seconds pass before I have her pinned beneath me, my hands circling her wrists and forcing them to the ground beside her head. Her legs are pinned open by my knees, and I grin in fierce triumph.

“I win,” I say, and I know my expression must be wild with joy.

Her expression doesn’t exactly match mine, though. Her eyes are wide, her lips are parted, and…

And her chest, slightly exposed and pressed forth by her raised arms, is heaving.

The world slows. My awareness narrows to just the places where our bodies are touching, which is… a lot of places. My heart is racing, I can’t catch my breath— and neither can my wife. My wife, who is panting, sweaty, and beautiful, whose soft thighs are on either side of mine, and whose eyes say she wants me to close all the distance that there is between us.

“Bucky.”

She breathes my name like a sigh, and I know that in this moment, I’ll do whatever she asks of me. 

“Bucky,” she repeats, “I think— I think I need to shower.”

That’s… not what I wanted to hear.

I let her up. She dusts off like it’s nothing, but I can see the tremble in her limbs. She’s fatigued beyond fatigue, utterly exhausted— and so, I find, am I. On unsteady legs, I move to follow her, then stop.

“Eat something,” I tell her belatedly, uselessly. “I mean, to keep your strength up, you should probably eat.”

She turns. Her smile is sad.

“Thanks Buck, darling. I will.”

And thus, like a newborn fawn, she stumbles out of the room on shaky legs, leaving me to stand in humiliating silence with a raging hard-on and nothing to do with it.

***

While (Y/N) showers, I raid the kitchen. 

My own shower was short and cold. I took it in the guest room, which is just as richly furnished as the rest of the house. It wasn’t the best shower I’ve ever taken, though, since I wouldn’t exactly call it refreshing. I came out of it just as I came into it— tired, frustrated, and hungry.

One of those things can be fixed quick, fast, and in a hurry by an enterprising guy like me, though, and I place my bets on the fridge as I crack it open for a peek at its treasures.

There is everything imaginable in that refrigerator. So much that I have a hard time choosing anything at all. I settle on boiled eggs, string cheese, and an apple to start, and when that doesn’t do the trick, I manage to put together the ingredients for a simple but flavorful soup.

By the time (Y/N) returns from her shower, the soup is finished and there’s a bowl cooling for her on the counter. I serve it to her myself when she comes into the kitchen, and she thanks me tiredly as she sits at the dining room table.

“This is good.” She blows on the steaming spoonful she’s scooped up. “Thank you.”

I shrug.

“Sure thing.”

Once she’s done, I take her bowl and clean up. Her eyes are drooping sleepily, and I have to work to hide my smile from her as she yawns cutely.

“Wanda, Nat, and Bruce want to go out tonight,” she sighs tiredly, looking at her phone. “They’ve invited us, if you’re interested— although, just so you know, they likely have selfish intentions for asking us to come.”

I cock my head to the side in question. My wife blinks blearily, then clarifies.

“You can’t get drunk, so you always DD.”

“Not selfish, then.” I laugh, “just common sense.”

“Mm, maybe. Wanda gets weepy when she’s drunk, and Bruce gets cornier. Natasha stays Natasha, but sometimes her languages become… interesting.”

“And you?”

She grins.

“I have no idea what you mean. I’m a delight, as usual, even when I’m drunk.”

Oh, I can translate that pretty easily. My money says she’s worse than all three of them combined.

“So,” she continues, “you in or out?”

I consider declining— (Y/N) seems too sleepy now to go out later in the day— but then I remember our sparring earlier and decide that, super-soldier-ness be damned, a drink might be a good idea after all.

“I’m down. You sure you’re not too tired? We worked hard earlier.”

“I’ll nap,” she yawns. 

I continue cleaning up, and she shuffles in the direction of the master bedroom with a muffled thanks for the food.

A little while later, I settle in on the couch and very politely pretend that I can’t hear the distinct buzz of a vibrator through the walls as my wife, on the other side, softly calls my name, doubtless thinking me unable to hear. 

Damn that super soldier serum. Never did me any damn good. 

***

I’ve never taken so long to dress in my life.

I don’t know what’s wrong with me. It’s like I completely fried my brain looking at the wardrobe in front of me. There are… there are colors here. Colors and designs and textures— how the fuck am I supposed to match any of this to anything else? I have half a mind to ask (Y/N) for guidance. However, the other half of my mind would insist that I jump off a bridge before resorting to having her dress me like I’m some kind of doll, so instead of looking at the clothes and continuing to overwhelm myself, I move to look at myself in the mirror and try to imagine an outfit that I would like.

While I’m scrutinizing myself trying to find the best outfit, I realize that my hair is different than I remember it. It’s still long, but there are more layers. I like it, I think. It makes me look cleaner, sharper. 

I finally settle on a black button-up and a pair of jeans. There’s a jewelry box on the dresser that I found my socks and underwear in, and I open it to find jewelry that must belong to me: a couple medals (Jesus, they’re old!), a silver chain, and a set of cufflinks.

There is also a wedding ring.

I lift the wedding ring and examine it. There is an inscription looping on the inside of it that reads,

In this life and every life; waking and dreaming; this I swear.

I consider putting it on my finger, but I decide against it. I haven’t earned the right to wear it— not yet. I have no right to my wife; as I am, I can’t be what she needs. I’ll need to wait until I can prove to her and to myself that I can still make her happy before I can feel right about it.

I place the ring back in the jewelry box and try not to feel disappointed.

I pick up the silver chain. It might be a nice addition to the outfit, I think. I put it on, stare at it, then take it off. I peer at myself, sigh, then put it back on. 

It’ll have to do.

After much wailing and gnashing of teeth, I finally manage to meet my wife in the living room, ready to head out. I make it halfway through the threshold to the living room before my jaw hits the floor.

Her dress is champagne gold with a perfectly-draped neckline that I feel sure makes my eyes bulge out in cartoonish heart shapes. The thin straps of the halter neckline settle pleasingly over her shoulders, and when she turns, I thank God for every roll, dimple, and contour of her back. Her long, delicate earrings brush her shoulders as she turns back to me, and I decide then and there that it’s over for me. There’s no way I’m not going to spend every minute of every day trying to make this dame happy for the rest of my life. Greek statues would be jealous of such a beauty. Hell, I don’t discriminate— statues of every race, color, and creed can eat their hearts out. They could never compare to her.

“Hey handsome. Whatcha think? Will I do?”

My approval must be obvious; she smiles cheeky and adds,

“It has pockets!”

To show me, she sticks her hands in them. The motion makes her breasts jiggle prettily, and I fix my gaze on the light fixtures in the ceiling trying to will away the urge to peel that fucking dress off of her with my teeth like I have any right whatsoever to do so. 

I really don’t know what the hell’s come over me. I feel like a hound-dog slavering over a fox. I’ve always loved women— who doesn’t?— but this feels… different. I ache for her in a way that makes me want to crack open her rib cage and live there.

“You look great.” My mouth is dry. I clear my throat. “Really great. I feel a little underdressed, looking at you. I can change, though, if you— ”

She grabs my arm, right on the muscle of my bicep.

“Don’t you dare,” she murmurs, looking up at me through her lashes. “If you look any better, I’ll have to keep a baseball bat around to beat the women off of you.”

She squeezes my bicep, then releases me, her expression subdued.

Was that… jealousy? 

Interesting.

I offer her my arm— the metal one. She takes it, and I try not to feel smug.

“Ready?”

She smiles, nods, and accepts the arm I offer— but not before glancing at it and frowning. I frown too, confused about what might have displeased her, but there’s nothing I can figure out before we’re loading up in what is apparently my Jeep Wrangler. She directs me to each of our friends’ houses— “Wanda last,” she insists, “to give her time to put the kids to bed”—and then to the nightclub Natasha likes.  

The club is nice— the whole place looks like the inside of a lava lamp— but it’s full to the brim with sweating, drunk, scantily-clad people who all seem to feel entitled to touch everyone else. I personally don’t have any interest in that sort of thing, especially not this grinding business that looks little better than public dry-humping. Back in the day, I’d be spinning girls all around the dancefloor; I’d keep them on the floor until their feet hurt and even after. Now, though? I wouldn’t be caught dead doing… whatever that stuff is.

Well, if (Y/N) asked for a dance, I’d do my best. Anybody worth their salt would know better than to say no to a dame like her. But the thing is… she doesn’t ask me.

“I’m going to dance for a while,” she yells at me over the sound of the music. “Are you good here?”

“Peachy,” I shout back, propping my feet up on a rung of the barstool I’ve claimed. “Have fun, beautiful.”

Her smile glows in the blue-green light, and then she’s gone with Wanda and Natasha, who seem just as eager to dance.

Out of politeness, Bruce hangs out with me at the bar for a little while and we talk shop— S.W.O.R.D’s research and operations, Steve’s programs there— but it’s clear that he wants to dance as well. Before long, I send him off with a clap on the shoulder for encouragement, and then I’m alone at the bar, sipping surprisingly good whiskey.

A while later, a woman sidles up beside me to order a drink. I turn to look at her. She’s a dark-haired beauty with skin the color of polished bronze and hair like big, dark, fluffy clouds. Her lips are full, and they glitter with reflective golden gloss.

“Hi!” She greets me as we make eye contact. “You’re super handsome, oh my God!” 

I blink.

“Uh, thanks.”

“Say, do you wanna dance?”

“No can do. I’m here with my wife.”

The response is automatic. I shock myself with it. For a guy that’s only been married less than forty-eight hours, I’m coming to find that the “nope, I’ve got a wife” instinct sure does kick in fast.

“Oh my bad king! Have a good night!”

She turns to go, but I reach out and grab her arm.

“Wait, wait!” Jesus, fuck, I can’t believe I’m doing this. I’ve got to be the stupidest man alive… but this might just be what I need. “I… think I might need some advice. Do you know stuff about relationships?”

She purses her lips in thought, then nods her head.

“Bad ones, yeah. Good ones, not so much. Also, babe, I’m a little drunk so I dunno how useful I’ll be to you right now.”

“That’s fine.” Reconnaissance, I tell myself. This is just simple reconnaissance. “You mind if we talk a minute?”

“I don’t mind at all! Yap away!”

I tell her the important bits and leave out the stuff she probably shouldn’t know.

“Like I said, I just feel like I barely know her anymore, but I… I want to try and make it better. She’s good to me, and I want to be good to her. Plus, the chemistry is…” I think back to that sly smile, the press of her thighs against mine. “Off the charts. I just wanna be the man she fell in love with.”

Lani— that’s my new friend’s name— nods thoughtfully. 

“And you say you’ve only been back stateside for a couple days?”

I nod and feel a little guilty using someone else’s war for my white lie. Still, though, I don’t know what all my excuses would consist of if there was only peacetime in recent years.

“Then this is just relationship throat-clearing,” Lani tells me confidently, throwing back the shot I bought her. “Ack— that’s strong. But yeah, it’s just a phase. If you wanna speed stuff up, I recommend physical touch. Not the sex kind, you understand— just hold her. Your bodies have probably done a little forgetting even if your minds haven’t. Might be a good idea to start there.”

“But how do I initiate it without coming off.. weird?”

Lani and I talk for a long time. I lose track of how long. Before I know it, it’s been two hours, and I look up to realize that I haven’t seen my wife in that amount of time. I look around, but I don’t see her.

“Don’t worry,” Lani is telling me, “You seem like a good guy, and you’re trying. If she loves you, you’ll work it out just fine.”

A weird look comes over her face, and she adds, “Besides, if I’m guessing correctly… she’s definitely still burning hot for you, king, so good luck out there.”

I turn back to her and thank her sincerely. She pats me on the shoulder and thanks me in turn for the drinks. It’s only right, she insists, that her bad experiences should serve to help someone else prevent them. With that, she’s off, and I’m sitting by myself once more.

Tired now, but armed with a good strategy, I stand, stretching my legs. I scan the dancefloor for my wife, but I don’t see her in the immediate vicinity. When I do catch sight of her, I wish I hadn’t— her eyes are all molten fury as she squishes her way through the crowd of dancing bodies. Whatever has happened tonight, she’s not happy about it, that’s for damn sure. Still determined to act on the advice I was given, I start to make my way toward her, but before I can get very far, I see someone grab my wife’s arm and yank— hard. She stumbles, and I catch sight of the person who’s holding her. 

It’s a man. A large, scruffy-looking man with a look of trouble about him.

I start to shove through people faster.

(Y/N) tries to snatch her arm back, fails. She’s clearly a bit drunk, and stumbles when he yanks her over to him. I’m two strides away, but not close enough to help before the situation explodes.

My wife, full of righteous fury from the soles of her feet to the crown of her head, rares back and punches the guy straight in his ugly face. 

He lets her go then, but people start screaming and the crowd jostles me away from her. I’m trying very hard not to lose my patience and start swinging my elbows— I could kill someone like that with my level of strength— but I’m starting not to care as I watch her use her fists like hammers on the guy’s skull. I’ve seen shit like this among soldiers before, back in the day. She’s drunk, she’s angry— and, judging by how long she lasted against me sparring, she’ll catch a fucking manslaughter charge if I don’t intervene soon. 

I scream her name above the din, but she doesn’t hear me. Her knee connects with Ugly Guy’s nose, and I finally break free from the people-prison that had me trapped. 

“Hey!” I call out to her, reaching for her arm. “Baby, hey, he’s had it, okay, you made your—”

She whirls on me, and I catch hell in the form of a cupped hand smacking painfully against my ear.

“Stay the fuck out of this,” she snarls at me, vicious and cruel. “I’m not done here.”

Oh, but she is. I can be every bit as vicious and every bit as cruel as she can be, and I prove it by grabbing her from the back and putting her in a metal-armed headlock.

“Stand down, babygirl,” I growl close to her ear. “You don’t want to kill him.”

“I do,” she confesses darkly, struggling vainly against me. “I want his bleeding heart in my hands!”

“Then not here, not now.” Bouncers have finally noticed the commotion— too late, sadly. They’re heading for us, but I keep my voice level and calm. “Behave or I swear to God I won’t let anyone bail you out of jail.”

“You have no right to command me!” She thrashes in my arms like a trapped animal. “Let me go, asshole!”

“I have every right.” I tighten the lock.

“Says… who?”

“Says this.” I tighten my arm more, and she wheezes like a squeaky toy with the squeaker ripped out. “Now behave. I don’t wanna go to jail.”

And, let’s be real— if that stupid, ugly fuck decides to raise his hand to her even in self defense, it’ll be both of us sitting in a jail cell. I’d kill him for it.

I let her go then, and she stumbles, clutching at her throat and gasping for air. I feel an instant flash of regret, but I have no time to process it before I’m gathering her in my arms and promising the bouncers that we didn’t start it, but that we’re leaving so as not to cause more trouble. They look at us skeptically, but decide that we’re apparently not worth the trouble and send us on our way. 

Natasha and Bruce catch up with us at the doorway. They saw the whole thing, apparently, and had the same trouble I did with trying to reach (Y/N) before she caused more trouble for herself and us. 

“You guys go on home,” says Natasha, a strange look in her eyes. “We’ll catch up with Wanda and we’ll all get an Uber home when we’re ready.”

“Are you sure?” I ask, desperate for an answer in the affirmative.

“Yes, we’re sure,” Bruce says, placing a reassuring hand on my wife's shoulder. “We all get mad sometimes— and sometimes, we all need a break.”

If Bruce Banner tells you that you need to take a chill pill, you take one. 

And so that’s how my wife and I end up parked in our garage, staring straight ahead at the wall in absolute silence. I’m lost in thought, pondering how such a promising evening went to shit so fast, when (Y/N) breaks the silence.

“I’m sorry I hit you.” Her voice wavers a bit. “And that I called you an asshole. I was just so mad…”

She’s fighting tears. I want to stretch out my hand to her, but I don’t know that the gesture would be welcome.

“S’okay. You had a right to be mad at that guy. He was a total creep.”

She shakes her head.

“I wasn’t… I wasn’t mad at him. I mean, I was, but not initially.”

I turn to her, but she’s staring straight ahead, jaw clenched. With great effort, I keep my voice gentle.

“What happened? Why were you angry, then?”

Her lower lip trembles.

“I really don’t want to talk about this right now, Bucky.”

It’s not the answer I wanted, but it is an answer I will accept.

“That’s okay. We’ll talk about it later.” I think for a minute, then add, “Also, I’m sorry for putting you in a headlock and then insinuating that I have a right to order you around.”

She huffs a laugh.

“I deserved it. All you did was keep me from making a pretty big mistake.”

“Still,” I insist, “I was meaner than I would have liked, and rougher too. I’m sorry.”

“Bucky, please don’t apologize— not for this. It was the right call.”

“But I am sorry it had to happen that way. I didn’t want to hurt you.”

To my shame, there is still a red line at her neck where my arm pressed against it. It’s not bruised or anything, but the mark itself shames me.

My wife turns to me, rigid and acerbic. She says,

“James Buchanan Barnes, I have begged on my actual knees for the same thing you did this evening and worse for my own, selfish… lascivious reasons. When I tell you that no apology is necessary, I mean it. You have nothing to apologize for. No touch from you could ever be too rough for me.”

The implication she just made— that she enjoyed being in a headlock, that she… gets off on that rough and ready side of me— lays heavily between us. 

I’m utterly speechless.

“Ugh, I’m still fucking drunk,” she groans. “Don’t listen to me. I’m going to bed.” 

She clambers out of the Jeep and makes her way into the house. I sit there for a minute to process, then turn the car off and follow her inside.

By the time I make it in, the water to the main shower is running. With a loose plan in mind, I undress down to my boxers and slip between the covers of our shared bed adjacent to the bathroom and wait for her to finish. 

Then my hearing picks up on something I’m not supposed to hear— a whispered phone call that is meant to be masked by the running water of the shower, but isn’t.

“I don’t know, Shuri.” My wife is saying, her voice thick with tears. “He may wake up tomorrow and remember everything. No, the tests won’t be back for— oh stop that, you know we don’t have Wakanda’s resources. No, I don’t think international travel is a good— Shuri! Listen to me, he’s okay. Why am I so emotional then? Why do you think! Because— ” there is a pause, a shuddering breath, then, “Well, I’ve made a fool of myself. Oh, Shuri, what a jealous fool I’ve been!”

(Y/N) recounts the evening as she remembers it, and I am horrified to discover her version of events. Right off the bat, I apparently managed to fuck up by not wearing my wedding ring— apparently she saw that as a sign of rejection and not the show of respect I had intended it to be. That pain, of course, exacerbated the jealousy she describes to Shuri as me openly flirting with and buying drinks for a hot, drunk chick— a jealousy that she thinks she doesn’t even have a right to feel because I’m no longer hers— or at least that’s what she thinks I seem to think.

This account paints me in a terrible light indeed. I feel physically ill listening to all of my actions being laid out and twisted into something they were never meant to be.

“I can’t even be mad at him, Shuri,” she cries, a terrible, aching sound that wrenches my heart and roils in my gut. “It’s not his fault— he doesn’t even know me. And— I mean, yeah, I know he saw the ring ‘cause he had on the necklace, so he had to have looked in— ugh, don’t distract me! My point is, what if he never remembers? He— he may want to leave. No, I won’t stop him— I want him to be happy, even if it’s not with me. I just— I love him, Shuri. If he leaves, it will break my heart.”

I keep listening , but those words bounce around in my brain. 

If he leaves, it will break my heart.

“I don’t even think he thinks I’m pretty anymore. When he saw me in my cute little dress— you know, the gold one with the pockets?— he looked up at the ceiling as if he’d rather look at anything else. Oh, Shuri, it’s over. It’s hopeless!”

It’s all I can do not to bust the bathroom door down and correct every misconception she has. Instead, I bide my time, resting my eyes and my body as she finishes her phone call and her shower. She needs this time and space, so I give it to her until the water shuts off and she makes her way to the bedroom where I lay in apparent sleep.

(Y/N) steps softly up to the bed, then hesitates. I’m willing to bet she’s contemplating sleeping in the guest room. Without opening my eyes, I say,

“Don’t be shy. There’s plenty of room.”

Gingerly, she climbs into bed. She settles as far from me as she can get— an admittedly respectful distance in a circumstance such as this one. Still, I’m unsatisfied. 

“You can stay there if you’d like,” I tell her, “but I’ll feel terrible if you fall off.”

She doesn’t move. It’s remarkable how quiet her crying is, but I can feel the sadness radiating off of her in waves.

I sit up. 

“Hey.” I open my arm— the metal one— up to her. “Come here.”

She shakes her head.

“You don’t have to do this, Bucky,” she sniffles. “You— you’re really not obligated to comfort me. If anything, I’m supposed to be comforting you.”

“Why?” I ask. “I’m not the one who’s lost anything. From where I’m sitting, I’ve only stood to gain. I have a home, friends, and a beautiful wife where I used to have none of those things. But you… you’ve lost a husband.”

She covers her face with her hand, and I take it upon myself to close the distance between us. I pull her to me, and she buries her face in my chest while she cries.

“I’m sorry,” she says, over and over. “I’m sorry…..”

I soothe her as best I can. I rub circles into her back and hold her close. When she shifts awkwardly, I grab Kleenex from the nightstand and let her blow her nose. The whole time, I take Lani’s advice and don’t let her get more than three inches away from me. 

When she’s calmer, I begin to speak. I start with what I feel should be the most obvious fact that she has misunderstood.

“I think you’re the most beautiful woman in the world.” I tell her firmly, brushing hair away from her face. “I’ve seen a lot of women in a lot of places all around the world and even outside of it, and to me, you beat the hell out of all of them. When I saw you in that dress, it was all I could do to keep my hands off of you and go back to whatever it was we were doing in the basement earlier.”

My wife blinks owlishly. I don’t wait for her to respond before I press on.

“But,” I continue, “I kept my hands to myself because I haven’t earned that yet. I’m stumbling in the dark here with no clue what I’m doing— I’m not the man you married. At least, not yet. But I’m trying to be. I want to be him. That’s why I didn’t wear my wedding ring. I wanted to be worthy of it— worthy of you— before I put it on. In retrospect, I’m realizing I must have seemed like an asshole by not wearing it— even further from the man you know and love.”

“Oh Bucky,” she sighs, tears streaming down her face, “you really are the man I married, even if you don’t know it, you sneaky, conniving, eavesdropping bastard. You listened to my phone call with Shuri, didn’t you?”

I turn pink from the top of my chest to the tips of my ears. 

“That depends on how mad you’ll be if I say yes.”

She lets out a snotty giggle that’s stupidly cute.

“S’what I get for marrying an assassin and a spy,” she smiles through her tears. “Go on, dear— you might as well finish up. You’d better have a jam-up excuse for letting that girl fawn over you all night, or I’ll still be cross with you.”

I shrug.

“That one’s easy. I was asking her for advice about you.”

“Oh.”

“Yeah.”

She’s quiet for a long time after that. I keep handing her tissues and she keeps blowing her nose until the fount of her tears finally dries up.

“So?” I probe gently, taking her hand in mine, “Am I forgiven?”

“Of course.” She squeezes my hand. “It’s me who should be asking for forgiveness— I should have trusted you to start with.”

I shake my head with a grin.

“My wife can do no wrong as far as I’m concerned. Even when she does something wrong, I’ve got to assume that it’s my fault somehow.”

“Bucky,” she laughs. I lean my forehead against hers and decide to press my luck.

“Can I kiss you? I’ve wanted to since we sparred earlier, and I think it would go a long way towards soothing any ruffled— mph.” 

Her lips are soft against mine. She kisses me once, twice— and then I deepen the kiss, adjusting our bodies until my hand is threaded through her hair, forming a cup around her skull as we kiss deeply, unhurriedly, as though we have all the time in the world. Her hands roam and so do mine, and in this slow, sensual exploration, I am completely, utterly lost. 

Selfishly, I want more. I want to pull my wife into my lap and let her feel what she does to me— I want to kiss and touch her and make her feel good— but Lani had advised me against this temptation.

“If you give in too soon, somehow sex and intimacy become the same thing, which… they aren’t,” she’d told me. “She needs one much, much more than the other, and I’ll give you a hint— it’s not sex. Trust me, even if it feels right in the moment, it won’t later. It’ll feel transactional. That's the worst possible outcome, ‘cause when it comes down to it, there’s always a better deal somewhere else. Give her safety, though, and she’ll always be yours.”

So that’s what I do. I hold her and kiss her and touch her until she’s tired, and then I tuck her into my chest and wait until her breathing evens out to close my own eyes and sleep.

[jenosonlywife23]

Recharge Mode: Jeno Activated

an; Jeno expert in handling his tired gf and also a very efficient charger. 🔋 I hope this is exactly what you were looking for! 🥹🔥

The party is in full swing, and Jeno is glowing. His laughter carries over the music, easy and carefree, and you can’t help but smile at the sight.

He rarely gets nights like this—SM keeps him on such a tight schedule that hanging out with his friends has become a luxury. You don’t want to be the reason he cuts it short.

So, you keep it together. Keep nodding, smiling, pretending you’re still fully engaged in the conversation happening around you. But the weight in your limbs, the way your mind feels foggy from overstimulation—it’s getting harder to fake.

And Jeno knows.

He sees the subtle signs: the way your fingers toy with the hem of your sleeve, the way your responses get shorter, the way your eyes dart toward the exit a little too often.

His smile never drops, but his focus shifts.

From across the pool table, he locks eyes with you. No words. Just a small tilt of his head and a knowing glance that makes your stomach flip.

Then, without hesitation, he moves—walking around the table with quiet determination. His hand finds yours, warm and firm, and he doesn’t even ask if you’ll follow. He already knows you will.

“C’mon,” he murmurs, squeezing your fingers.

You don’t protest. Just let him guide you through the party, weaving past groups of people until you’re away from the noise, now on a mission for a quiet place to breathe.

Jeno’s hand tightens around yours when he reaches for a door, pushing it open—

Only to immediately slam it shut.

Your eyes widen, and you both burst into laughter as muffled curses come from the very occupied room.

“Holy—okay, not that one,” Jeno snickers, gripping your wrist as he pulls you away.

“Did you see—” You can barely get the words out between wheezes.

“Nope, didn’t see a damn thing.” He shakes his head, grinning. “And I plan to keep it that way.”

Still laughing, you both keep searching until finally, an empty room. Jeno ushers you in, locking the door behind you before you can even fully catch your breath.

Then, without warning, he tugs you toward the couch, pulling you right onto his lap—settling you comfortably between his legs like it’s the most natural thing in the world.

“Take a break,” he murmurs, his hands sliding down to rest on your ass, fingers spreading just enough to make you aware of his touch.

Your heart stutters. “Jeno—”

“I mean it.” He tilts his head, studying your face. “You’re running on fumes.”

You sigh, letting yourself lean into him, your forehead resting against his shoulder. “I just didn’t want to ruin your night.”

Jeno huffs. “Ruin?” His voice drops, quieter now, his lips brushing against your temple. “Babe, me having fun doesn’t matter if you’re miserable.”

Your fingers curl against his shirt. “You barely get time with your friends, though…”

“I get you even less.” He pulls back slightly, just enough to look you in the eyes. “And I don’t want you pushing yourself for me, okay?”

Warmth floods through your chest. He’s so damn sweet, you could cry.

Jeno hums, his hands squeezing your thighs lightly. “So, what’s it gonna be? You wanna go home?”

You hesitate. “I mean… maybe in a bit.”

A smirk tugs at his lips. “Want me to recharge your battery first?”

You blink. “What?”

Jeno tilts his head, the playful glint in his eyes undeniable. “I could boost your energy. Y’know… with a little motivation.”

His hands slide up your back, pulling you closer until your noses brush.

“You’re so—” You roll your eyes, but you can’t help the way your body instinctively leans into his warmth.

Jeno just grins. “Is that a yes?”

You bite your lip, pretending to think it over. “Well… it depends.”

He quirks a brow. “On?”

You smirk. “How good of a charger you are.”

Jeno groans dramatically. “Babe, don’t even start—”

But his teasing is cut off as you close the distance, pressing your lips to his in the softest, sweetest way. And just like that, Jeno flips the switch—tilting his head, deepening the kiss, hands slipping under the fabric of your top just to feel your skin.

And suddenly, your social battery doesn’t feel so drained anymore.

[catierambles]

Once in a Blue Moon Ch. 6

The pain in her leg is what woke her at Who Knows o’clock. A burning throbbing pain that made her chest tighten and her breath hitch. The muscles moved as she tried to sit up making her collapse back down again in a grimace.

“August.” She said and he hummed next to her in response. “My leg.”

“What?” He asked, blinking a few times to clear his eyes.

“Are you sure it can’t get infected?” She asked, “It feels like it’s on fire.”

“We don’t get sick or get infections.” He said and propped himself up, pulling back the blankets to look at her leg. The wound itself was inflamed and seemed to almost visibly throb, the skin around the tears itself pale and bloodless. “I don’t like how it looks.” Getting out of bed, he went around to her side and scooped her up, making her cry out sharply as pain flared across her thigh. Bringing her into the bathroom, he set her down on the closed toilet and dug under the sink, pulling out a first aid kit. “I’m going to clean it. It’s going to hurt.”

“Do it.” She said and he set a towel under her leg before unscrewing the cap to the bottle of rubbing alcohol. Samantha took his offered hand, taking a deep breath before he slowly poured the rubbing alcohol over the wound, making sure to hold the stream over the individual tears in turn. Her hand clenched in his and her jaw tightened as the searing pain flooded her body, her eyes closing tight. He looked at her from the wound as he set aside the bottle, raising slightly on his knees to kiss her. “August...”

“I know. Breathe.” He said, “Breathe, Samantha. Before you pass out.” Her breath was shuddering as she pulled it in, swallowing heavily before exhaling. “That’s it. Keep breathing. You switched aspects, probably as a pain response.”

“So I—”

“Feel like an Alpha.”

“Now who’s a Nursemaid.” Walter said from the doorway, his tone teasing.

“Everything, okay?” Mike asked, poking his head around him.

“Her leg is bothering her.” August said, grabbing a can of antibiotic spray and spraying the wound before pressing gauze pads to it. He supported her leg with her calf on his shoulder as he wrapped it in an elastic bandage, running his hand over it so it stuck. “Too tight?” She just shook her head.

“The wounds on her arm are gone.” Mike pointed out and she looked at the previously injured forearm. He was right, the wounds that had been there were gone, the skin unbroken and unmarred.

“The infection probably took care of them.” Walter said, “But her leg is the most severe and where it was introduced, so it’s acting up.”

“Putting it mildly.” She said, leaning her head against August’s shoulder as he went to pick her up again. Her scent filled his nose and she sighed, reaching up to hold the side of his neck to try to get closer to him. His pulse jumped under her thumb and he gave a sigh of his own.

“You switched again.” He said but she simply nodded this time, closing her eyes as he carried her back to bed. Gentle touches to her skin and she didn't know how, but she knew who it was even though no words had been said. Sy had brushed her hair out of her face, Geralt stopped August only long enough to press his lips to her temple. They...felt different, even though their physical touches felt the same. August laid her down again, climbing onto the bed behind her and pulling her back against his chest.

“What if this kills me?”

“It won't.” August said.

“I thought you wanted me gone.” She said and she felt the questioning look. “My hearing is a little hyper tuned when I'm half asleep.”

“I did.” He admitted, “Then I realized you were my Mate, and I don't anymore. Get some rest, I'll be here.” She wanted to believe him, wanted to believe that he and the others truly cared about her, truly wanted her for her and not what she could do for them.

The next day, despite her protestations that she was fine and her leg felt better, she took it easy laying on the couch, her feet in Geralt’s lap as he massaged them gently, his large, rough hands moving over the delicate skin. She watched him, awkwardly propped up with her head in her hand, her eyes moving over the line of his profile. He really was very handsome.

“Geralt?” She asked and he hummed in acknowledgment. “Can you—nevermind.”

“Samantha. What.” He said not looking at her, still focused on his task.

“Can you—will you kiss me?” She felt bold for even asking it and expected him to laugh or sneer at the request. He simply looked at her for a brief moment before adjusting her feet and kneeling between her legs, moving over her on the couch and pressing her back against the arm. She reached for him as he lowered himself, almost pulling him into a kiss despite her request that he kiss her. A small growl bubbled in his chest as their lips met and it sent a spike of longing through her.

His kiss was so soft, a far cry from the hard muscle she felt under his clothes whenever he carried her or held her close. His hair fell around them, tickling her neck and he groaned as she wove her fingers through the soft silver strands. He didn’t seem like he’d be old enough to have gone silver, but then she knew people who started going gray in their teens. He was also a wolf, so maybe it was naturally this color. Certainly would go with his striking citrine eyes.

His tongue traced the seam of her lips, seeking permission and she opened her mouth for him. The groan was deeper this time as his tongue slid along hers and he settled down on her fully, the feel of his heavy body on hers making familiar tingles start in her thighs. He kissed her until she was breathless and when he pulled away, she saw how his pupils had blown, his lips kiss bruised and a slight flush to his pale cheeks. Lord only knows how she looked in his eyes.

“Oh, you’re dangerous.” She said and he chuckled, flashing sharp canines, the sound making her want to cling to him, to give herself to him fully.

“Can I kiss you again?” He asked, his voice rough, and she wanted to ask why he thought he had to ask for permission, but didn’t, raising herself even as she pulled him in, their eyes closing as they came together. His hands gripped the arm of the couch and she heard it creak under his fingers, especially as she wrapped her legs around his waist, feeling how much he enjoyed kissing her through their layers of clothing. His hips rolled into her slightly, making her breath hitch at the size and feel of him behind his zipper and her eyes rolled back behind her lids as he ducked under her chin, mouthing along her throat. Wet heat throbbed between her legs and it almost shocked her at how quickly she was responding to him. She never was turned on this quickly with Jonathan, if he even bothered to try. His hips rolled again, pressing against her core and she gasped as it sent a lightning bolt of pleasure through her body. Gods, if he kept doing that, she was going to come right here. “Keep going?” His deep voice was even deeper.

“Yes.” She whispered.

“Hold onto me.” He said and she cinched her legs tight around his waist as she wrapped her arms around his neck. The muscles of his core and shoulders corded and bunched as he pushed off the couch, lifting her with little sign of effort and carrying her up the stairs.

His room was saturated with his scent and it almost made her dizzy as it filled her lungs, barely feeling as he pressed her down onto the blankets.

“I’ll take care of you, my Mate.” He whispered, the almost reverent tone making tears spring to her eyes. “My beautiful Mate, my lovely Omega.” Well, she didn’t need to ask what she felt like to him right now, apparently. He undressed her slowly, pressing his lips to her skin as more was revealed to him, being careful of her thigh still wrapped in bandages as he moved between her legs once she was nude beneath him. “So beautiful.” The first touch of his tongue at her core had her gasping, her eyes rolling back as her hand covered her mouth. He pulled at her slowly with his lips, swirling his tongue through and against her, though he really needn’t, she was already aroused almost to the point of pain. Her first orgasm took her by surprise and she cried out against her hand as her hips rocked up against his mouth, making him have to hold her still. He licked her through it before he pulled away and finally began to remove his clothes, her fumbling, yet eager, attempts at helping him making him smile.

“I need you.” She whimpered, “Fuck I need you.” She reached for him, wrapping her fingers around him and he growled fully, a sound that should have scared her, but didn’t. His lips pressed to hers hard as she started to stroke him, tracing the veins under the thin skin with her fingertips.

“I don’t—” His words cut off with another growl as she squeezed him gently, “I don’t have protection.”

“I don’t care.” She said and she really didn’t. He moved over her, pressing her back against the pillows as he settled in the cradle of her hips. The first nudge of him against her entrance had her nails digging into his chest and he groaned as he pushed into her, her teeth capturing her bottom lip as he stretched her open.

“Fuck.” He whispered before he started to move, the slide and feel of him inside her making her cling to him. “You’re so fucking perfect.” His knees came up for more leverage and he soon found his rhythm, rocking into her and making the bed creak in protest. His grunts and pants against her neck only turned her on more, if that was at all possible. “My Mate. My perfect Mate.” Tears welled in her eyes again and she bit down on his shoulder to stifle the sob that worked its way up her throat.

Just a little further. Almost there. Almost—

She cried out against his skin as another orgasm ripped through her, her hips rocking up to meet his stroke for stroke as the waves crashed into her. He started to lose his rhythm, swelling inside her and with a roughly shouted expletive, he seated himself in her to the base as he throbbed inside her, warmth pooling in her lower stomach.

“My perfect Mate.” He breathed, his heart pounding against her chest. Her fingertips traced up and down his sweat slick back and he picked his head up out of her shoulder, pressing gentle kisses to her lips and face, kissing away the tears that had leaked from her eyes. “Are you okay?” She just nodded, pulling him into a kiss. It was then that she noticed he hadn’t withdrawn, that he was still hard inside her and once they had caught their breath, he started moving again, her head falling back against the pillows.

[the-lewd-bot]

The Dinner Party

There is a dinner party tomorrow, and I expect guests. And when you expect guests, it is only proper to have waitstaff – at least enough to serve the drinks, the facsimifood, and the myriad other small services they require. Someone to take their coats and provide them charging banks, to ensure lubrication is available as needed. Proper accommodations, if you will.

And that is how I ended up looking at my poor little doll, in parts, on her shelf. I had left her there, you understand, in a few too many pieces of shattered porcelain and shredded joints. It had not even been a dinner party, just an evening after a second run of high-definition phase-inducers when she caught my eye. I tore her apart on the balcony, my lust met with a mixture of pleas and thanks. The next morning I had picked her up into a box and emptied it into her current resting post: her shelf, under the stairs by the main entryway.

She needed a lot of work, more than I had the patient – or, if I am being honest, skill – for. I had repair parts, of course, but my guests would expect perfection: moist holes and trim joints, silent and pliant and eager. M-4RL would be more than eager to help, I thought, but then I remembered the promise I had made to my doll: to reassemble her myself next time, even if clumsily done. A simple request, and one I could honor.

I sipped a synth-tea (lithium with hints of polyurethanes) while i re-arranged her, roughly placing her limbs and shattered casing where it ought to go. While I had an entire second frame to repair her with, her casing was a different ordeal: broken into too many pieces, and incomplete, her body was an unintended and incomplete puzzle. And yet I resolved myself to try.

I worked through the night, a power cable plugged into me, AR schematics overlaid to retrace her proper form. The frame, as expected, was easy (though I suspect I over-tightened her knees). Her casing, as I expected, was more-troubling. I repaired it slowly, using gold-core solder, making her damage into artwork. As I did, I remembered her soft little pleas: “yes, mistress” – “destroy me, mistress” – “of course I am yours” – “break me, please!” Had she intended this? Such a docile creature, but our lovemaking had such fury and intention that it was hard to conclude anything else.

It took me three tries to redo her breastplate, and by the end I had added more gold gilding than it had needed to start. Her arms, too, took more damage in the efforts. As the sun peeked in through the high windows of the repair room, I felt annoyed – perhaps I should have called M-4RL. Her hands were always so deft on me – and in me. She would have done this in half the time, and left the wiring prim and proper. Instead, I had a doll of my own handiwork, stood upright and working but in need of careful maintenance. Even her wiring was a sign of my determination more than my skill: all correct, all aligned, but nowhere near what it once was.

As I turned her on and stood back, done, I wondered if it would be enough for her. If my devotion and care were what she really needed, instead of a professional’s hand. I am no professional at fixing others. I am skilled at tearing them apart, bending them to my will, pushing them how I want them to be. But to take care of one, even one so deserving? How could I do it correctly?

Her eye-displays flickered on, and she saw herself. Awake, again, for the first time. My fans quieted, worried how she might take the sight of herself in the mirror.

“Did you do this yourself?” she said.

And, “I love it!”

[ashley-trashley]

I tried so hard to not play Snake Eater until the remake comes out but here I am continuing my pacifist playthrough attempt from 7 years ago

[shigarosie]

I want to go back to bed but I'm being Responsibility Girl and getting my car looked at (AGAIN)