#vanilla shows too much leg for my personal taste

[whos-hotter-jjba]

Hottest JJBA Outfit Bracket - Round 2 Match 25

[lou-struck]

Snow-Covered Slippers

Katsuki Bakugo x reader

25 Days of Ficmas Day 3

W.C: 1.6k

~Bakugo's frosty winter morning with you is interrupted when you bring a guest into your home.

It’s one of those rare, cozy winter mornings with Katsuki. Your living room windows are covered in last night’s frost as you sit cross-legged on the couch watching some morning talk show. The host is learning how to make a delicious-looking maple glaze salmon dish.

You make a mental note to save that recipe for later by slipping it into your boyfriend’s recipe binder so he can make it for you.

“I know that look, you’re up to no good aren’t you?” Katsuki asks, pulling you from your thoughts with a steaming cup of coffee. It smells like cinnamon and vanilla. 

Like Home

Like Him

“thank you,” you hum, blowing on the west of steam before taking a tentative sip. You tiredly sigh into the drink. It tastes like heaven, and you look up at the Blond in thankful wonder. Coffee always tastes better to you when someone else makes it. And he knows it. It only takes him a few minutes to do, but it’s one of the easiest ways he can think of to remind you just how much he cares. Especially since he’s not too fond of the mushy stuff. 

“You should make me that.” You giggle, pointing out the recipe on the screen.

His eyes narrow as he reads the description. “I can make you something way better than that babe,” he scoffs. 

You raise a brow. “Can you really?”

“Hell yeah, I can,” he smirks. Knowing that he had fallen for your very obvious dinner-related plot.

You are interrupted by the knocking on your front door. A happy smile appears on your face as you set your coffee cup down and spring up from the sofa.

 “Huh, what’s Shitty Hair’s car doing out front?” Katsuki asks as your fuzzy socks pad across the hardwood floors.

“You’ll see.” Open the door to see the familiar-looking redhead. Little flakes of snow stand out against the brilliant red shade of his hair, and you notice he is wearing his winter Hero Costume and clutching a tiny black and gray pitbull puppy that wiggles in his gentle yet firm grip as it tries to get closer to you. 

You smile brilliantly as you see the puppy. “You brought my Godson!”

He greets you with a smile full of pointy teeth. “Hey y/n. Thank you guys so much for helping me out with Rocky.”

“Who the hell is Rocky?” Bakugou grumbles, rounding the corner. Stopping in his tracks when he sees the little dog in his friend’s arms. The last time the two of you had dog-sat, he was tormented by your neighbor’s teleporting puppy. So you know this is messing with him.

“Hey, Bakubro,” the redhead beams, looking at his bestie. “I got called in to work at the last minute and didn’t have time to drop Rocky off at his doggy daycare so y/n said you guys would watch him for a few hours.”

Upon hearing your name, Katsuki turns and looks at you with a look of betrayal on his face. “When the hell were you gonna tell me about this?” He asks. 

You go up on your tiptoes to kiss his cheek. Your version of an apology, even though your words say otherwise. “I wasn’t.”

“Why, you little-” he starts to growl, and you ignore him, turning your attention back to the poor Hero, who is still standing out in the cold. He’s too polite to say anything to you, but you can tell that he’s not just cold but also stressed about the time.

“Hey, don’t worry. Rocky is in good hands,” you say, holding out your arms to take the little guy. He squirms in Kiri’s grip, trying to get closer to this new, good-smelling person while letting out the most adorable little yips. 

The Hero looks relieved and, with a sigh, hands the little dog over to you. His paws press against your chest as his little pink tongue gives you a little lick on the cheek. You can’t help but notice that these little paws may seem little to you right now but are far too big for his tiny body. Rocky is going to be huge.

“I’m glad to see he’s in good hands.” Kirishima smiles, taking one less look at his smartwatch, frowning when he reads the time. “I really gotta go, but thank you guys so much. I’ll bring food over when I’m done.”

He turns and walks away, his clunky boots nearly slipping down your snowy driveway as your boyfriend calls after him. “We don’t want your food, Shitty Hair. And stay off my grass. I can see your footprints in the snow.”

“See you later, Grandpa.” The redhead laughs, climbing into his truck and pulling out of your driveway before the blonde can chase after him in his plaid bathrobe. 

You hold the puppy happily, using your nails to scratch behind his little ears. “Hi Rocky,” you murmur, turning away from the cold door and heading back to your couch and setting him down on your hardwood floor. Thoroughly entertained as he runs around, too short to actually jump onto any of the furniture. 

“He’s so cute.” you gush as Katsuki walks back into the room. Immediately, without fear, the puppy creeps up to your boyfriend’s slippered feet, trying to play with the slightly fuzzy decals.

“What are you lookin’ at?” he grumbles, pulling his slippers away from the dog. You think this is a great opportunity to bring out one of the puppy-safe chew toys you had purchased for your godson the day Kirishima had rescued the little guy.

You toss it on the floor and Rocky gives it a little sniff before pouncing on the little carrot dude. His little teeth are not strong enough to damage the guy but you watch in fascination as he drags his new friend around your living room proudly. 

“If that thing pees on anything, I’m blasting him into next year.” Bakugou tsks, narrowing his eyes at the puppy who hasn’t done anything to him at all except steal your attention away from the secretary-clingy Blond. 

“That’s my godson you’re threatening there Katsuki.” You say seriously trying to think what little ole you can do to threaten the Hero convincingly. “Do that, and you’ll be sleeping on the couch.”

“You’d miss me too much,” he smirks, stepping closer to you. 

You hear Rocky’s little footsteps pad past you, but when you turn to see where he has gone, Katsuki tilts your head back towards him to pettily steal your attention with a kiss. You kiss him back shamelessly, losing any backbone you had the second his lips meet your own. 

He pulls back, and you can tell that he is more than proud of his ability to distract you from the puppy.

Puppy?

Shit…

You look around the room but don’t see the little dude or his Plush Carrot buddy anywhere. “Katsuki?” you ask with wide eyes. “Where the HELL is Rocky?”

He looks around quickly, worry etched onto his model-like features. He may have been jealous, but he would truly hate if anything were to happen to his best friend’s dog. “He’s gotta be somewhere around here. He’s too short to climb upstairs.” 

Nodding at his words, you silently agree as you slowly walk through your home. Looking for any sign of your little house guest. Silently cursing at yourself for managing to lose the little guy less than fifteen minutes after he was dropped off. 

What kind of godparent are you?

“Shit.” you hear Katsuki yell. Your feet slide across the hardwood flooring as you rush over toward the sounds. Right away, you notice Three things.

First, your front door is wide open. Hinges creaking slightly in the wind as it opens wider and wider. 

The Second, Mr. Carrot laying outside on your little porch. 

And the Third. Rocky happily frolicking through your snow-covered lawn towards the road.

You start to move, but your boyfriend is quicker. In a flash, Katsuki, in his slippers and robe, sprints out the door with fighting speed. He stumbles on the slippery surface and his slippers furiously kick up snow as he barrels towards Rocky. The Pup is too focused on catching snowflakes on his tongue he doesn’t realize he is getting closer and closer to oncoming traffic. 

“Gotcha,” Katsuki huffs, grabbing the little guy surprisingly gently and holding him close to him. A few cars pass by. An ominous message as to what could’ve been. Katsuki sees this, too, and holds the puppy just a bit close to his chest as he makes his way back inside. His robe and slippers are completely soaked from the snow, as he shrugs them off. You try to shut the door, but there appears to be a loose fixture that requires a bit more of a push than normal. It must be how Rocky was able to get out in the first place. 

“Is he okay?” you ask worriedly, reaching out to gently pet the dog’s snow-speckled ears. He still looks just as happy as before, so you feel way less concerned as Katsuki hands him to you. And he goes back to snuggling up to you. 

“We gotta get that door fixed.” he mumbles, “That was close.”

“Too close, you say, setting him back on the ground. He continues on with his exploration of the house as if he wasn’t in danger minutes ago. “Rocky goes up to the snow-covered slippers and gives them a curious sniff. His little brown nose inhales a clump of snow, and he runs away from the sensation, sniffling adorably. 

You giggle and see the soft smile on Katsuki’s face. “At least you don’t have to worry about him chewing up your slippers today.”

Tagging: @enchantedforest-network

[princelylove]

My Prince,

I don’t know if you’ve already said this, but would you be willing to tell the court who you believe would be your best match? Or if there’s nobody, who you think would be the least annoying?

I hope everything is going well for you.

Thank you.

Good ask, anon. I looove asks like these, I can only encourage you to send more of them. Perhaps I’m a bit self-centered. 

My favorites aren't necessarily good for me, and those I would find to be the least annoying… don’t inherently actually like me. There's different types of favorites, too- those I find attractive, those I like to write for, those I just thoroughly enjoy the design and psychology of- and yet none of mine would necessarily be my best match.

Attractive qualities don't necessarily translate into work-with-my-personality qualities. Is someone that is protective attractive to me? Yes. Will I get mad at them eventually and turn my location off? Yes. It's inevitable that I'd push a protective's buttons, but I'm not exactly interested in changing my sense of style for a possessive, either.

I’m the type of darling that is obsessive-attractant. Big personalities tend to attract those types. 

I've been told I'm very difficult. I'm pampered. I expect the prince(ss) treatment in relationships. Allergic to paying for my own things. Not even getting into my spoiled (and awfully entitled) behavior, obsessives tend to go for a darling that is worth obsessing over. What’s better than someone who thinks highly of herself, and won’t become just anyone’s?

It’s the fact that they’re hard to obtain. They’re put on a pedestal, either by the yandere or those around them. In my case, I put myself on it and don’t accept any other treatment. It drives them wild when they get a small taste, they’re hooked for life at the smallest of actions.

Even if the small action is accidental, or nothing at all. 

You’d think someone who devotes themself entirely to me, who spends all day focused solely on my pleasure, would be my perfect match. Someone who worships me. Someone like Vanilla, or Santana. I’d prefer a relationship like that- I love them, I thrive off of them, I want it. 

But it’s hard to tease Vanilla, it can become frustrating at times. Stoics are attractive, but they don’t give much of a reaction, suppose that’s obvious, to the things I need a reaction to. It isn’t fun to tease someone that doesn’t choke up when I lightly touch them.

Drool over me! Start hyperventilating because I leaned forward! Tremble because I took something out of your hand!

I love it. It’s great. To put it nicely, perverts and creeps that freak out over such small things adore me. And I love them. ♡

So I think it’s Pannacotta Fugo. 

Funny, I know. Of course it’s the repressed guy. 

It’s only natural that he’d catch feelings. I’d put my legs up on his lap and he’d just sit there, tense. Sooo cute. Is it flirting? Is she just doing this because her shoes hurt? Oh, God. Don’t do this to him. Panacotta’s anxiety always makes him spiral- he goes from thinking I’m messing with him on purpose to thinking about how awful my choice in shoes are to if I need my nails redone to shooting himself in the head for thinking about that. 

Maybe develop a less embarrassing fetish next time? Poor guy. I hit a lot of niches for him, it’s actually kind of unfair. Only kind of. 

He’s a bit of a voyeur- stalkers tend to be, it makes sense. He feels too guilty to take any trophies, or to take any pictures, so he usually just… watches. Like a freak. It’d be sweet if he wasn’t breathing so heavily, or smiling to himself for seemingly no reason. 

But that’s not why he’d be my best match. Pannacotta isn’t my best match because I could tease him to my heart’s content, there’s plenty of yanderes like that, he hits a niche for me.

Pannacotta… is the type to give his darling a bath, entirely non-sexually. It’s just because he wants them to relax, wants their hair to be properly washed, wants to show he’s not going to let you suffer. Or, me, I suppose. 

He enjoys when I’m bossy, and when I don’t want to be. Honestly, he prefers me better when I’m in more docile moods, and puts the effort in to get me in them in the first place, but he couldn’t live without some balance. It isn’t fun if it isn’t deserved.

He's the type to give me a pedicure, but grab my ankle when I start sliding my foot up his thigh. Oooops. He never wants to play footsies, it's a shame.

He knows I'm happiest when my nails are done, so he checks them when I finally fall asleep for the night. If there's something wrong with them, he'll set up the nail polish and stickers for tomorrow.

[rosapexa]

WiP Whenever

Thank you for tagging me @chevvy-yates , @wanderingaldecaldo , @gloryride 🖤

I'm working... Ok, working is not the right word for that. I'm experimenting and losing my mind over this for weeks now. And honestly i've been depressed so many times over this, it really hasn't been fun in a while, unlike making the tattoos for V-Lexa. But also i can't let things go, when i start something, so taking a step back and just leave this for a while, was not really an option (and i tried). And i really wanted to make something for her.

And since yesterday, i think i'm finally on the right track. Maybe. Hopefully. We'll see. Sorry, i'm rambling.

Anyway...

I always wanted to give Lexa some tattoos. But there hasn't been anything so far, which i thought would fit her. And also tbh i didn't even really knew myself what i wanted for her. And tbh it was kinda difficult to find something, cause everything i tried, wasn't "good enough" for her and i was (and still am) constantly unsure, if i'm not ruining her.

It was a lot easier to find something for V-Lexa. Not because i care less about her, but because she's in comparison relatively new and i'm still figuring everything about her out.

But Maelstrom Lexa has been around for quite while now and allthough i want changes, i'm so scared (yeah, it doesn't make sense). Also it doesn't help, that her personal lore is about wanting (Maelstrom) perfection and making her body the perfect weapon -.-

Aaaand i'm rambling again. Ok... Changes:

New tattoos of course. Lexa LOVES skulls. On her clothes, as decorations... So that is also mostly the theme for her tattoos. A lot of skulls. But she also got two "let's get some ink while blackout drunk" tattoos (she's not always perfect xD). On her right hip you can get a glimpse of a "yelling" cat, which she got after Salem adopted her and she just wanted to show off, that she now has a fur baby. The other is a Maelstrom logo on her leg which she got shortly before her initiation, when she got extemely drunk with Royce and Dum Dum and decided it's time for a gang tattoo. And of course they thought it was an awesome idea 😂

There's a tattoo for Johnny as well. It's the heart on her right arm. Not a cute heart, since we're still talking about Lexa, so it's the... literal organ 🫀 I still have to add Johnny's name and their wedding date to it. Also i would like to give him the same tattoo, but i'm not sure about that yet. Mostly because i'm hesitant to change his tattoos and don't want to get yelled at for that 🥴.

I got rid of her vanilla body scars and trying right now to give her some custom ones. Because i always thought she doesn't have enough scars, since she's fighting a lot and she sees them as trophies. But that's just an idea for now and i have to see how this goes, cause i'm not really understanding what i'm doing (normal maps wtf!?). I would also like to work on her face scars, but that is even more confusing.

I also thought about making my own skin color for her, cause sometimes her skin looks too red for my taste. I would like to have her paler and with even less color. But i didn't have any succes now, cause nothing looked good enough.

Other stuff:

I'm tidiying up Johnny's NPC+, cause every time i gave him a new outfit i just threw the things into his mod folder without organizing anything. And now i have a ton of stuff and no idea, what is for what. Also there are a lot of appearances, which i will never use (again).

I'm very slowly working on a mod for the Aurore Outfit: Pants, bra, top and jacket. I like this outfit so much but as usual, i need COLORS 😂 Currently only the pants are more or less ready, so this will take a long while until i can share it, since priority are definitely things for the blorbos.

Also in between i make some poses, but these are mostly just for myself for now, cause i'm actually too lazy to make them good enough for the public (at least i know how to position the camera to hide the chaos) or to retarget them for other couples besides M/F.

I think, that was it for now. Which was already too much again 🥴

I'm tagging @togepies , @miss--river , @thelonestrider , @wraithsoutlaws and @dreamskug for a WiP sharing. As usual without any pressure of course 🖤

[mamamittens]

Hi! Sanji and I would like a vanilla milkshake with caramel syrup. Sprinkles and a cherry on top please. Strawberry, red bean and green tea mochi also seem really nice! I go by “Parker” and I’m short, but slightly built for my height (they/them pronouns please, AFAB) with short/half shaven blue hair that’s slightly wavy, very fair skin, and light grey/blue eyes. I’m naturally an introvert who gets anxious very easily, but when I’m comfortable I’m a lot more confident, and sometimes even flirty. I tend to hyperfocus on tasks, and ramble on when I feel extreme emotions. (I also tend to trust people too much due to a lack of true friends and ignore their red flags which doesn’t typically end well for me.)

I am SO SORRY about the delay! October really snuck up on me, ngl!

I went with a platonic/familial interpretation but it could easily be the start of something more, ya'll are both just young in this. It takes place two years before Luffy shows up, so there's time lol

Warnings: None except mild yandere vibes and possesive/protective behavior.

Word Count: 1,992

Sanji chopped the ingredients for a stew efficiently, the other staff of the Baratie working in unison to complete the orders for hungry customers. He was seventeen now, his ‘family’ years behind him. But Sanji couldn’t help the stab in his chest when he thought about them.

His poor mother, long since gone from this earth as a shell of herself. Having unintentionally instilled in him a love of cooking.

His asshole brothers and father.

His sister…

And then there was Parker. Poor Parker he had to leave behind in his desperate run for freedom. He thought about them sometimes. Wondered if they managed to survive that hellscape and if they were still so small. They worked in the kitchens and helped Sanji get ingredients—Sanji smiled remembering the dubious look Parker gave Sanji’s food but was too nervous to tell him it likely tasted like shit.

If Sanji could go back, he’d make two of the most wonderful dishes. One for his lovely mother. And one for Parker. His sweet friend that wasn’t mice in the dungeons.

But he can’t go back and Parker isn’t here, so Sanji has to just daydream about his closest friend instead. Maybe one day he’ll find a way to (safely) go back and find them. Or at least figure out where they are. Even though it would make things more difficult, Sanji hoped they got far away from his family.

Sanji blinked, startled to realize he was finished with the chopping and dicing, the ingredients neatly separated out into individual bowls.

Sighing, he got back to work. Daydreaming would only take him so far. One day, when he paid back the old man, he’d find Parker and take them to the All Blue.

One day…

A dream he’d built up in his heart for years now and would stay there for many years to come, he just knew it. After all, how could he ever repay Zeff for his sacrifice? Sanji’s eye flickered across the busy kitchen to where Zeff was working on a stew. Peg leg tapping along the floor as he shuffled to add a new ingredient.

How indeed…

Sanji’s resolution reaffirmed, he got back to work and—temporarily—put Parker and the All Blue, out of his mind.

Something he found difficult when he was ordered to take out dishes to a large traveling merchant party. The usual waitress having to go home early.

Sanji sighed in distain at the large party of men but dutifully delivered the dishes. A soup deposited in front of a small, familiar person.

“Parker?!”

“Sanji?!”

They both yelped in surprise, Sanji startled to find his arms suddenly full. Parker was different but not. That familiar floral scent mixed with herbs still present, blue waves like the sea half shaved. Parker felt strong but still so breathtakingly small in his arms. He didn’t want to let go, not ever. Suddenly halfway to his most precious dreams.

“Sanji, boy?! What the hell are you doing?!” Zeff bolted out of the kitchen. Sanji lifted his head from Parker’s hair and half turned, beaming as he lifted up Parker a little more. Parker hid their face in his chest and he let them, aware that the momentary bravery was likely followed by embarrassment.

“It’s Parker, Zeff!” Sanji grinned, resting his cheek on top of their head. The merchants Parker had apparently been traveling with laughing.

“Oh, poor thing, you’re red to your roots ain’cha?” One of them cried with a harsh laugh.

“Sweetest thang I’ve seen all my years a’ sailin’! Nevah gets old!” Another one cheered. Sanji felt a horrible twist in his chest. An impulse to drive his heel into their sternums and snap them in half, but found it died shortly as a small sniffle was muffled into his chest.

“…missed you.” Sanji felt in his heart more than he heard it.

“Well, that’s… That’s sweet and all, but are you going to let them eat or not? They look so small.” Zeff commented and Sanji acknowledged that he was right.

While nowhere near as small as they used to be, Sanji couldn’t help but worry a little. Life at sea was rough—Sanji knew from experience. They may not be skin and bones but who knew when their last filling meal was? Sanji glanced at the soup and deemed it… adequate. It was Zeff’s, he could tell, but Sanji would personally make the next one just to be sure.

Reluctantly, Sanji gave one last reassuring squeeze before letting them down.

“It’s so good to see you, Parker. How’ve you been?” Sanji asked softly, barely aware that he was cradling their face to run his thumbs over their cheeks. Checking for more subtle signs of malnourishment. Parker was blushing hard, not quite looking at him. It was an endearing as it was frustrating. He wanted those sweet, stormy blue eyes to look at him. Not somewhere over his shoulder.

“Good… left a few years after you when I got fired. Been traveling since. Hoped I’d run into you again.” Parker commented, hedging around his family. Ever mindful that he’d certainly not want it public knowledge who exactly he was related to. Sweet as always.

“We’ll catch up later. Enjoy your meal, Parker.” Sanji reluctantly conceded before Zeff started teasing him. The merchants grumbled but welcomed Parker back at the table.

“Tha’s Sanji? Who knew he’d be such a handsome fellah, huh?” One whispered to Parker, causing them to almost choke on their soup. Sanji nearly kicked him through the wall but held back, not wanting to ruin the meal or frighten Parker.

He was different from the little boy with a cage on his head, after all. Young Sanji never would have fought back or struck someone. Too timid and sweet—it was almost nostalgic to see how little the years apart had changed Parker. Meanwhile Sanji had grown.

It felt like fate that Sanji had changed so much from a little boy needing protection to someone capable of protecting others.

Sanji went back to the kitchens with a resolution in his bones.

He’d protect Parker like they protected his heart. And the first step was ensuring they stayed with him.

Sanji looked round the kitchen for his next task and could already imagine Parker at work beside Zeff as the old man personally made sure they were up to snuff. Which they would be. It’s Parker, after all. If Parker lacked skill anywhere it would be defending themselves. But that was alright. Sanji had that covered just fine.

Gladly, in fact.

The rest of the day was a bit of a blur. Sanji taking every opportunity to check up on Parker’s table or just look out into the restaurant. Just to make sure nothing was wrong. Parker seemed reasonably close with the merchants, which… was nice. Sanji would be pissed if they abused Parker or otherwise mistreated them. But if Parker was too close to them… would they even want to leave?

What would Sanji do if they were happy as they were? He didn’t think he could handle it if Parker left him even if it was fair play since Sanji left first. He had to leave, he knew that. It didn’t make it hurt any less but the thought of Parker leaving Sanji behind by choice made him want to cry.

At closing, Sanji made a beeline for the merchant ship. Desperate to know if his fears were real or unfounded.

The first thing that greeted him was laughter and the clear sound of booze being passed around. The merchants cheering around Parker who was blushing furiously with a bag in their arms.

Hopeful and elated, Sanji nevertheless waited.

“Sad to see you go, kiddo! You’re a great helper round the kitchens!”

“Can’t believe your old friend works here, that’s no small feat!”

“You’re going to be an amazing chef—assuming they take you on!”

“Ya kiddin’?! Did ya see tha look on tha owner’s face? And the boyo, Sanji? Ah’m surprised Pah’ker was allowed ta leave af’tah the bill was settled! Boyo looked fit to bundle ah’p Pah’ker and keep em!” Another refuted with a laugh. “Learn well, wee thang, and write ta us! Ah wanna hear it all~!” The crew cheered and Sanji nearly screamed.

He was such an idiot! Of course Parker wouldn’t leave him!

Sanji let his steps fall heavy on the boardwalk and several inebriated crewmembers looked back. He didn’t even mind—much—the pats on his shoulders as he passed by. He’d prefer not to be touched by men at all, but in the spirit of the occasion, he’d allow it. For Parker.

Clearly, they’d cared for Parker when Sanji couldn’t. And he wouldn’t—couldn’t—hate them for that. At least Parker was cared for.

Now it was Sanji’s turn.

Sanji stopped in front of Parker, a dopey smile on his face that Zeff and the others would have teased him mercilessly for.

“Does this mean what I think it does?” Sanji asked. Parker, still flushed, nodded.

“It’s hard work, but Zeff won’t say no to a little extra help around the kitchens. You’ve said goodbye, right?” Sanji asked, fingers twitching to pull them into an embrace. Just to see if this was real.

“Y-Yeah. They’ve been teasing me for hours now. I’m ready to leave.” Parker whined, triggering a round of laughter from the crew.

“Only outta love, kiddo! Now scram, get settled in—and you take care of them, Sanji! I don’t care who Zeff is or was, I hear little Parker’s gotten hurt I’ll take it out of your hide, ya hear!” The captain declared. Sanji paused, considering the old man for a moment.

Maybe he was jealous that they’d been caring for Parker for some time. At how close they were with them. But this? This he could respect.

“No need, old man. If Parker get’s hurt—I’m cold and dead with nothing left.” Sanji swore. An agreement was reached between them as Parker looked on, utterly baffled.

It was a gentleman’s agreement. One that Parker didn’t need to worry about.

“Uh… alright. What kind of trouble are you expecting all the way out here, Sanji?” Parker asked nervously. Sanji laughed, curling his arm around their shoulders and leading them back to the Baratie to get settled. Zeff would agree, he knew, so it was scarcely worth bothering to ask.

“Nothing I can’t handle. Anything happens, you call for me, alright? We get some rough pirates out here every so often.” Sanji complained, scowling as he could already hear Zeff whining about a new hole in the wall. Sanji paused in the doorway with a smile, squeezing Parker closer. “It’s good to have you back, Parker. This time, I’ll keep you safe. I promise.” Sanji swore.

Parker smiled back with wide, confused eyes that softened. Their arm reaching around his chest to return the gesture.

“…I never stopped hoping you made it out alive. I just thought I’d n-never know, you know?” Parker admitted.

“I did. And it’s all thanks to you. Your memory kept me going… and I guess Zeff helped too.” Sanji teased as the old man poked his head out of the kitchen with a sly grin.

“Hey, greenie! Parker, was it? Welcome to the Baratie! Any friend of my s—Sanji is welcome!” Zeff declared and Sanji blinked in surprise, his chest tightening as Zeff quickly corrected himself. Parker looked between them for a moment, gaze intense as they considered something before smiling.

“Well, the bar was on the floor frankly, but I’m glad you’ve got a nice dad now.” Sanji and Zeff choked on air, the two gasping and grasping at denials.

Despite that, Sanji couldn’t help but grin to himself. It was true. And now his family was whole. All that was left was to find the All Blue once he repaid Zeff for his sacrifice and kindness.

[braveclementine]

Chapter 19/20

Warnings: None (anyone can read this story)

Copyright: I do not own any Marvel characters or locations. I do not condone any copying of this.

𝓣𝓗𝓔 men called Loki and Thor were coming today.

I was curled up in the corner with a stuffed animal, cuddling it. It was white like me, with several different black spots on it. Bucky called it a panda bear. I thought it just looked like an oreo with eyes.

It didn't taste like an oreo though.

Not that I was supposed to know what oreos tasted like anyways.

But it was Sams fault for leaving them out.

Even though half of them freaked and took me down to Bruce to see if I was going to die from chocolate poisoning.

But I didn't.

So I think I should be allowed to eat more.

Bruce wasn't here at the moment, not wanting to greet Loki when he came in. Apparently Loki had done bad things to Bruce, so they weren't on good terms.

Actually, none of them seemed to be on good terms with this Loki person. Wanda and Vision had taken Billy and Tommy away too, far across the country and once Pepper found out, she said she wasn't coming back to Stark Tower with Morgan until Loki was gone.

So I assumed that Loki was a bad person.

Bucky and Steve sat together at the table while they waited. They were in a heated discussion about cake. I liked cake, especially with vanilla icing.

I wasn't allowed to eat it though.

Tony on the other hand was sitting next to me, petting me. He seemed extremely stressed about the whole Loki situation so I gave him lots of kisses to try and cheer him up. It seemed to work for the most part.

Nat on the other hand, looked utterly bored. She was sitting up on the table, cleaning the dirt from under her nails with a blade.

Road was standing near Tony, arms crossed over his chest. He wasn't talking to anyone, just staring out the window.

Meanwhile, Fury was on the far other side of the room with a woman named Maria. I hissed at him whenever he came within ten feet of me.

He never came within ten feet of me.

Sam and Clint were having a loud conversation about pop tarts, and whether we had enough in the Tower for Thor. I wondered what a pop tart was and if I could eat it.

I was hungry.

"Can I have food?" I asked Tony, rolling over onto my back.

Tony smiled, rubbing my belly. "You're adorable Blizzard."

"No, I'm hungry." I whined, rolling back onto my stomach to bat at his legs. "Give me food!"

Suddenly, there was a loud crash of loud noise and I looked up just in time to see a roaring rainbow rushing down from the sky.

Interesting.

But the loud noise also made me run under the table and slink down.

"Aww, come here Blizz." Tony said softly, reaching under the table to pull me out. "It's just thunder." He looked up at Road, "Did he do it on the lawn again?"

"Nope, he used the helipad like you asked him to." Road replied, turning away from the window.

It didn't take long for two men to walk through the doors. Everyone straightened up, standing if they had been sitting- including Tony who left me on the floor by his feet.

I pounced back on the oreo, rolling around with it, before I settled down to get a good look at the men.

One had brown, spiky hair, looking like he was trying to copy that one vampires hairdo from that one TV show. . . Elijah, I think? He was very buff, with large arms and two different coloured eyes. He had a larger axe hammer thing in one hand and was wearing silver armor with a red cape.

He grinned widely, and said, "Hello again my friends!"

"Hello Thor." Nat said sweetly. "Welcome back."

I turned my attention to the second man, who looked extremely uncomfortable. He had long black hair that was curly. His eyes were blue and shimmery. His face was pale and smooth, much unlike his brothers, which had the trimmings of a beard. He was tall and thin, and any muscles he might have were hidden under his green clothing.

It was as though I had been hit with a lightning bolt.

I got to my feet, slowly padding over to where the man in green- Loki- was standing.

"Blizzard come here." Tony called quickly, but I didn't listen.

I padded straight up to the God of Mischief, and batted his shoes.

"Pick me up." I demanded.

Loki bent down, picking me up in his hands.

We stared at each other curiously before his eyes shifted down to my paws. Specifically the back paw where my only black mark was. His eyes widened, staring back at me.

"Y/N. . . " He whispered so softly I could barely hear him so I knew the others could not.

"Daddy." I cried.

He set me back down on the floor, squatting down with me. I put my paws on his knee. "Help me!"

"Blizzard, come here girl." Bucky pleaded. He sounded nervous and I wondered why. Why were they so scared of him?

I remembered everything now. My entire life. Every moment.

Loki stood back up and turned to Thor, "Give me your cloak."

Thor raised an eyebrow- I remembered him too now- but swung the red cloak over to Loki.

Loki put a hand over me and I could feel the magic tingling in my bones. I could feel it changing me, helping me grow, until I was no longer a kitten, but a human.

"What the fuck?" Bucky, Steve, and Tony all asked together.

I sat there with my E/C eyes still on my father. My long H/C hair flowed down my shoulders, covering my entire back and my father bent down, wrapping my naked body in my Uncle's cloak.

I could feel the strange tattoos on my arms tingling and everything now made sense. If I looked down, I could see the crown shaped birthmark on my hip. The one that had looked almost like a black tattoo on my paw.

"Holy shit." Bucky cursed again.

I turned to face them, keeping close to my father, afraid of their reactions.

Bucky's face was the one I saw first. His blue eyes were wide, his face slack with shock. He had taken a few steps towards me from when I had padded over to my father as a kitten. Steve was next, still frozen where he had been before, his blue eyes full of suspicion and uncertainty.

Tony looked completely taken aback, having sat down in a chair, a hand covering his mouth as he rested his elbow on his leg.

"Can someone just explain what happened?" Sam finally asked.

Loki glared at all of them, wrapping an arm around my shoulder. "This is Y/N Lokidottir. And if the name doesn't give it away, she is my daughter."

"I didn't know you had a daughter." Nat said. "Thor never told us-"

"She went missing a long time ago." Thor interrupted. He gave me a loving glance. "Before New York, before all of that. Before you even knew of us."

"Then. . . how. . . what. . ." Tony seemed absolutely shocked.

"I was kidnapped during one of the invasions." I whispered. Bucky and Steve both jerked upon hearing my voice, their hands flying to where the last soulmate tattoo was. "There was a witch with them, who turned me into a cat and hid me in her pocket. When Odin banished her to Midgard, I was taken with her. I stayed with her for many years but then there was a problem. She erased my memories and the next thing I remember is ending up in Mr. Peters house."

"Which Witch?" Thor asked.

"I think her name was Agatha." I said softly.

"Well." Fury drawled from the back of the room. "I would hate to say I told you so. . . who am I kidding? I told you so."

"I'm not a spy." I said, but I couldn't even be angry about it.

"Maybe not." Fury said while Loki's arms tightened around me, "But I did say that any cat with supernatural powers was not really a cat."

I gave a nod of assent. Perhaps that was true.

"Well!" My father sounded more cheerful than before. "I suppose my er- visit will have to be cut short then." He looked at my Uncle Thor. "Mother will want to see her especially."

"Yes, of course!" Thor said boisterously. He was just as loud as I remembered, but I was only glad that I was back with my family again."

"Wait!" Bucky said hurriedly. "She can't leave yet!"

My heart twisted painfully.

"Why not?" Loki asked angrily.

"She's our soulmate, you can't just take her away from us." Steve said.

"Ah." Loki said with distaste. "She will not be joining your soulmate stuff. In-"

"You can't make that decision for her."

"He's not." Thor said with obvious regret. "It is our law. Gods cannot be soulmates with humans. Our lifespans far out live yours and it would only lead to pain and suffering on Y/Ns part when you die in twenty or thirty or forty years and she lives for a thousand or two more."

"It is against our law to do so." Loki added. "Doing so would banish her from Asgard for life."

"We have waited for her for forever." Bucky said. I think he was trying to sound angry, but all he did was sound hurt and that hurt me too.

"It will be fine." Loki spat. "You do not need her. You already have two mewling quim on the side already."

Bucky's mouth dropped like he had been slapped, while Steve sat down in his chair, looking mortified. Both of them realizing a lot of things at that moment. Tony glared furiously at the two of them, and then glared at Nat who was blushing just slightly.

"Father." I whispered. That wasn't fair. Now that I had my memories, I had taken a fair share of lovers into my bed as well. It was technically against the law in Asgard to shag outside of marriage, but no one listened to it. It had become a useless law.

"No Y/N. I cannot see you get hurt like that."

I took a deep breath and said, "Steve and Bucky are also immortal Father. It is different with them."

Thor and Loki looked at each other.

"We will have to speak to our father." Thor said, sounding troubled. "Perhaps it would be safer for you to stay here at the moment."

Loki looked disappointed, but nodded as well.

"Someone get her some clothes." He snapped at the others, before he and Thor drew me away into a corner.

"Are you sure this is what you want sweetheart?" Loki asked softly.

"Yes dad." I whispered. "I have found that I already love them. I think it would hurt more to not be with them. And they really are immortal so that should make a difference in the law."

"I will speak to Odin about it." Loki said, sounding troubled as well by this idea. "Hopefully mother will help persuade as well. I love you."

"I love you too." I mumbled, hugging him tightly. He kissed the top of my head.

"Here Blizz- Y/N." Sam said, holding out some clothes.

"Thanks birdbrain." I said softly.

He grinned, "You've been hanging around Tony to much."

Loki put up screens to block the others out while he and Thor turned so that I could get dressed. It did take me a moment to figure out how to wear clothes, and when I was done, I recognized one of Tony's AC/DC shirts and Bucky's Slytherin detailed sweatpants.

Loki pursed his lips when he saw the clothing. "I will bring you proper Asgardian clothing when Thor and I return."

I hugged Thor too and it took a while for the both of them to actually leave, as we did not want to part, so soon after finding each other again.

I suddenly felt rather self conscious when I was left with them by myself.

"Can we talk alone?" Bucky asked awkwardly.

I nodded and the three of us left the room. 

⬅️➡️

[tendous-whore]

Ur naoya fic had me shook tho, I literally had to make a new account to send this request bc my mutuals on my main have no idea I’m into smut fics lmao (Dw tho I’m not a minor, age is in my blog desc.).

If you’re accepting requests…nanami and breeding kink pls. I love how the fandom has like decided that he has one lol, I see him as the type to *seem* vanilla buuuuuut he can actually be rough (everything is consensual tho). But that dom side of him only comes out when he’s sleeping with someone he makes a commitment to. Sorry for rambling. I’m looking forward to whatever you have to share next!!

you are the first person to send me an ask so far (which are ALWAYS open btw) so you have no idea how much I smiled when reading your message 🥺

when i woke up to read some jjk fics today, I was so shocked at how many people liked my naoya x reader!!!? it’s so weird that people enjoy my work, especially since it’s my very 1st explicit fic!

ANWAYS nanami is one of my fav characters, aside from naoya, for reasons other than both of them being goDAMN SNACKs😤 so definitely will dedicate a more in depth story for nanami later on. but! your request gives me the perfect opportunity to share a little bit of my own take on him hehhehhehe

so enjoy!! <3

nanami + breeding

the embodiment of “gentleman in the streets, freak. in. the. sheets.”

with his job, he hardly has the time to indulge in relationships, so he’s pretty lax in the bedroom at first. just goes with the flow, ya know

but the longer you stay, the more comfortable he gets when he realizes you’re not going anywhere anytime soon.

but nanami doesn’t rush to pull out the whips and chains, he’s gradual when it comes to sharing his interests with you in the bedroom.

until he isn’t.

so when the two of you are alone, and the doors are locked, the nanami in the day contrasts the man he is at night.

nanami is already dominant in all aspects of your relationship, to some degree. but it doesn’t compare when he has you crumpled, completely submitting beneath him, or bent over his knee after a long day of dealing with your shit

he’s more cutthroat than the first time you two had sex. yea, he has a soft side too but when the mood is right, he knows which to bring out

so when your spread for him, accepting everything he gives, how can he not indulge in all he wanted with his pretty little thing?

the act of pumping you full drives him wild, and at times in need, it keeps him going, until the next time

and on top of that, nanami definitely gets off on the size difference between you and him, and shows

when he purposefully pushes on your stomach, feeling the outline of his bulge, when you fold underneath him without resistance

don’t even get me started on how he loves to take you ugh

when he has you locked in a mating press, unable to move and just take. take. take.

probably likes it even more when he’s done his research, knowing how much more likely you could get get pregnant with his cum when he’s plowing into you

the thought alone is so dangerous. but that’s why he likes it. hehe.

Nanami is diligent with the way he works your body, he’s mesmerized every detail down to the bone like the back of his hand. He knows when he pushes you further into the bed, forcing himself deeper than before, how full he makes you feel. Your body is so honest when he does, how the way your legs tense and shake and your tummy bulges when he thrusts at that one angle.

It is a sight that has him breathing faster, and his tongue dipping out to lick his lips. He’s hungry, a thirsty and dying man before you. Feeling the way your walls squeeze him, coating his lower half in a layer of slick feeds him bit by bit, but the urging desire to already fill you up has his hips stuttering.

But right now, he wants to savor this. Savor the way your body lays beneath him, your mouth slightly ajar, hair tangled between his fingers as you cried with pleasure. You looked so pathetic with the way you choked on air, your hands pressed against his chest as you took everything he threw your way.

That’s why Nanami loved you. It wasn’t easy to submit yourself to someone, but you did, allowing him to give you all that he wanted. You were good for him, so good and so pretty. And prettier when his thrusts would finally come to a stop, when his body would pull away from your battered figure, his face pulled down and his eyes focused and just watch.

Watch the way your ass trembled, your body wracked with an uncontrollable shake as you came down from your high, better than the one before. And he’d groan, the deep guttural hiss audible in the quiet room that smelled of sex when finally, his cum slowly leaked from your twitching whole.

And Nanami smiled, his eyes brighter then before when his fingers pushed it all back into your cunt, carefully gathering every drop and slowly fucking his seed into you again and again. And he’d tell you in that sweet voice of his so quietly.

“what a waste.”

“it’s not enough.”

“one more time.”

as he takes you in bed, promising that the next wave of euphoria will be it for tonight. That your walls will finally taste nothing but of Nanami, his scent etched into your skin. But you know better. Once Nanami has had a taste, he can’t bring himself to stop, not when you’re crying for him, begging for his cock to stuff you full and breed you stupid.

so when you’re nearing you end and Nanami grows sloppy, his thrusts more frantic then before, he palms your stomach. His fingers trace the outline of his cock, dragging in and out at a delicious pace, his hand digging deeper and deeper until your writhing under his grip. It stings, but when his fingers press harder and harder, it forces him to hit that one spot that has your breath stuck in the back of your throat and thighs aching.

“gonna breed this pretty little pussy.” He breathes.

“til’ it’s full and heavy.”

He’s rational, logical and very decisive. But when he is high off of the adrenaline and pleasure that’s pumping through his veins, Nanami silently hopes that his cum will bleed into your womb, that your pill won’t repel his seed. That somehow, by some miracle, you miss your period.

And if you don’t?

Then the next time, he’ll look forward to doing it all over again.

[whirlybirbs]

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

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

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

pairing: bucky barnes / f!reader

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

word count: 6.8k, mother of pearl

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

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MOSCOW, 1975.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He was the disease that devoured all.

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

The spoils of war.

His smile is stained red.

There is no deal to be made.

The Winter Soldier pulls the trigger.

NOW.

His eyes are open.

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

Then:

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Thank you.”

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

“Don’t.”

“You want it?”

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

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

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

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

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

Your eyes find his and he clears his throat.

“Earth to Sergeant Barnes?”

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

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

His face falls.

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

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

That hasn’t happened in a while.

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

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

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

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

“Looking?”

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

“So, what? We’re shit out of luck?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

Bucky stands. His voice is gentle.

“You alright?”

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

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

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

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

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

“You’re not the sidekick—”

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

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

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

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

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

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

His tone is stern. “I mean it.”

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

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

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

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

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

“Thursday.”

You nod.

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

“Today is Sunday.”

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

“Shit.”

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

He’s got keys in his hand.

“C’mon.”

He shoves the jacket into your arms and you frown.

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

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

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

“Why?”

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

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

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

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

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

Sitting in the spot is a motorcycle.

It’s a jet black Harley.

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

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

“We’re going upstate.”

                                        ◦   ◦   ◦   ◦   

It takes two hours to get to Elmwood Senior Living.

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

You trust Bucky. You trust him with your life.

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

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

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

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

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

“Shit.”

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

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

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

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

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

“Want help?”

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

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

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

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

It unsettles Bucky every time.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You’re shrugging his jacket off when he speaks.

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

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

“I’ve sort of pieced that together.”

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

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

His eyes soften. Bucky nods.

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

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

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

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

Bucky snorts. “I’m here, aren’t I?”

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

“How’d you do on that test?”

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

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

Bucky nudges you with his hand.

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

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

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

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

“What was that?”

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

Your face softens. “Sister?”

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

You hum. Bucky sighs.

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

This side of Elmwood is quieter.

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

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

One of them immediately jumps when she sees Bucky.

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

“Everything alright?”

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

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

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

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

“Exactly.”

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

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

She looks expectantly at you. You bawk.

“Friend.”

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

It’s like a little slice of home.

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

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

In it is Steve Rogers.

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

“Bucky.”

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

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

“Hi, punk.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

That earns him a wave of the hand.

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

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

“M’fine, Buck,” a sigh, “Really.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

When he finally speaks, his voice is sad.

“That’s right. I forgot.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Sam?” you ask slowly.

“Wilson,” Bucky finishes, “Bird man.”

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

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

You roll your eyes. Steve saw. He smiles.

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

Your face is smacked with a look of pure joy.

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

“M’ not flirting—”

“I know that look, Steve—”

Steve is laughing.

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

“I’m not doin’ a damn thing—”

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

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

Steve laughs loudly at that.

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

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

It makes your heart ache.

And if a super soldier is bed-ridden…

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

The walk back to the bike is quiet.

Bucky speaks first.

“He’s dying.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

                                       ◦   ◦   ◦   ◦   

You don’t see Bucky until Tuesday.

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

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

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

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

No use in thinking about it though.

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

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

“...I’ve got a date.”

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

“Oh. Oh!”

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

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

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

Bucky groans. “Shut up.”

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

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

“Thursday,” he says, “I’ll stop by.”

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

But, that doesn’t end up happening.

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

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

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

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

“Get laid?”

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

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

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

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

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

Then Bucky settles, letting you clean off the mess.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Bucky laughs.

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

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

You lean against the counter and watch Bucky kneel.

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

He lights up at that.

You laugh.

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

By your knees, Poke chirps.

“He’s cute.”

“I never took you for a cat guy.”

Bucky snorts.

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

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

You laugh out loud. It shocks you.

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

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

“I can be funny.”

“Funny lookin’.”

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

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

“Thanks.”

“Yeah,” he says slowly, “No problem.”

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

“You got a plan for Thursday?”

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

[rynwritesstuff]

any chance of some rey x fem smut??????

Um, hell fucking yeah! I went pretty vanilla with this, mostly because Rey strikes me as a vanilla-type person, but if you'd like something more spicy and less romantic (maybe with some dark!Rey?) I'd be happy to write it!

Rey x Female!Reader

Warnings: NSFW, oral sex (Rey receiving)

It’s a warm evening on Jakku. The sun is setting, and you and Rey are watching the sky turn beautiful colors. It’s orange and pink, and it only makes Rey look even more beautiful. She’s leaning her head on your shoulder, now, and you press a kiss to her sweaty forehead.

“It’s too hot for clothes,” you say gently, smiling at her when she looks up at you. Rey glances at your lips, then moves a bit closer so that her smile is nearly touching yours.

“Is that so?” Rey asks. You nod.

“Mhm.”

Rey gets to her feet, then pulls you inside of her broken down AT-AT. She kisses you firmly, her eyes fluttering shut as she does so.

You touch her, her hips, her ass, her thighs.

“I love you,” you breathe. Rey smiles. She likes it when you say that.

She’s never had someone like you, someone patient and kind and compassionate. Rey lived a lonely life until she met you, but now? Now, everything is alright. She’s happy.

“I love you too, darling,” she says in that pretty accent of hers. Rey begins to unwrap your top, and when it’s unraveled and removed, leaving your chest bare, she tosses it to the ground. Rey cups your breasts and massages them gently, knowing how much you love it.

You undo her top moments later as you kiss her again. You sigh into her mouth, humming softly. She’s so gorgeous, all gentle curves and edges. Her skin is soft and smooth, and you run your hands down her bare sides.

“I want you,” you tell her as arousal pulses between your legs. Rey slips off her boots, then her pants, then her undergarments. She’s suddenly nude in front of you, and your breath catches in your throat even though you’ve seen her like this a million times before.

“You have me,” Rey tells you, pulling you close again. You smile as you gently push your hand between her thighs. She’s wet.

“Lie down,” you tell her. She does, and you kneel down before her. You spread her legs, and her glistening pussy is revealed to you. You lean forward and collect her arousal on your tongue. You hum at the taste.

“So good for me, my love,” you tell her before lying down between her legs and sucking her clit into your mouth.

“Mm, darling!” Rey sighs, reaching down to grip your hair as you move your tongue and mouth steadily.

You smile.

“There we go, sweetheart,” you say, gripping her thighs before reaching up to finger her while sucking her clit. Rey moans beautifully, her eyes shut.

“O-Oh! Mm!”

Sweat beads at your hairline as you eat your lover out. She’s getting close after only a few minutes, you can tell, and Rey closes her thighs around your head gently. You hum, rolling your hips pointlessly against the cushions on the ground.

Her noises, her taste, her expressions, it’s all getting you wetter and wetter.

“Darling, I-I’m–”

“Do it,” you tell her, nodding as you suck her clit harder. Rey reaches her orgasm, and she cries out as she does so. She cums on your fingers, on your tongue, and you hum at the feeling.

Rey’s chest heaves as she comes down. She sits up and pulls you in for a deep kiss. You cup her cheek.

“My darling,” Rey says between kisses, “let me show you how grateful I am for you.”

You smile, and as the sun casts a warm glow over the walls, you decide that this is the woman you’d like to spend the rest of your life with.

[misschifuyu]

Can I get boyfriend headcanons (with nsfw) of Sanzu and Kokonoi? Also, I wanted to say I’m loving your blog and your writing! Thank you!

- hi there babe !! tysm im so so glad to hear that you like my blog omg ;; here are the hcs you asked for of the best boys ♡ 

Sanzu and Koko boyfriend headcanons + n/sfw

characters: sanzu haruchiyo + kokonoi hajime

genre: fluff + n/sfw

warnings: explicit content, orgasm denial, oral (both)

Sanzu

so ive already done some relationship hcs for him, but there can never be too much sanzu content so we will continue from those already written

going on a date with sanzu won't be something particularly regular, however when circumstances come together to allow you to spend time with your boyfriend, he will definitely try and make up for the lack of outings

he's not someone who would enjoy a simple date in a café. sure, if you wanted to sit for a while in Starbucks, he will reluctantly tag along behind you

though he hasn't a clue what any of the ridiculous names on the menu mean

but you will find him growing bored quite quickly. so make sure to get him out of the coffee shop and find something else to do. shopping is a prime example, but other times sanzu likes to actually do something fun

that is, if you happen to pass by an arcade, prepare to be dragged into it

doesn't matter if you didn't have any change on you, this was a date after all, so sanzu will be more than happy to pay for the games

he's surprisingly - and, honestly, concerningly - good at those shooting games where you have a prop of a gun

you don't know where he got those skills from, but you figured it was probably best not to ask

he's shit at racing games though. he won't admit to a loss against you, ever

instead, it would always be because of a distraction or because the game itself was rigged

he can be quite the stubborn one at times

but if you took him out to get a snack, he'll completely forget about getting overlapped by you, several times, in the race.

he's got a sweet tooth, so anything of the sugary sort will bring his mood up

when you brought him a bundle of sweets for his birthday he practically proposed to you on the spot he was so happy

and he pays extra attention to whatever you show a liking towards. he stores away these pieces of information and will make use of them in moments you would least expect it

now...onto the spicy content

okay so I don't see sanzu being vanilla

he probably isn't as freaky as some would presume, but he definitely isn't just going to make love to you and call it a day

the thing about him is that he's impatient

if you start to tease him, be it with subtle kisses on his neck or passing your hand over a certain spot of his trousers, he won't only get riled up in a matter of seconds

he'll also just straight up pounce on you or drag you off to somewhere a little more secluded if you were in public

it drives him absolutely crazy if you happen to have long nails and leave scratches on his back

it lets him know that he is, indeed, making you feel like a million dollars just by using his body

and it just...he loves it

foreplay will very rarely involved receiving oral on his behalf; he likes to leave that for later

when your hair is a mess and you've got a fucked-out expression before even going down on him

it would be like a half-time, though you didn't really get to rest much during said time

he won't hold back by that point, so you'd always have to stabilise yourself with your hands on his thighs unless you wanted to choke on him

he will, however, go down on you before getting into the main act, as he liked to call it. he'd always praise you on how good you taste

looking down to see his piercing eyes staring back up at you, the scars beside his mouth showing ever so slightly..

it was a sight you couldn't keep up for very long as your strength would falter at movements of his tongue

when it comes to positions, sanzu usually likes to be in one that will allow you to hang onto him for dear life as he pounds into you

he also loves taking you from behind, but only because it allows him to pull you back by your hair and whisper the filthiest words you have ever heard his mouth speak

"you like that? huh?...I figured as much from a slut such as yourself, now keep those noises coming before I make you scream even louder, babe"

bruises on your knees would always show up if he decided to keep you on all fours for the whole time

and he wouldn't always let you have the privilege of being on the softness of a bed

no, he'd do you anywhere

so be sure your wearing some easy fitting clothes

just so you don't have to struggle whilst putting them back on after making his car windows steam up in the middle of a parking lot

just before a meeting with bonten, no less

Koko

same as sanzu, ive written a few hcs for him too, but we shall do a few more bc koko supremacy

right so...hair

so we all know that koko styles his hair and it looks quite pleasing to the eye, what with the half of his hair flowing down at the side of his face

now, what you didn't know is that koko gets up pretty early to be able to sport this look for the whole day. we're not talking 8am, no. 5:30am, the reason completely unknown to even you, his partner

he would wake you up once, having slept over at his place, as much as he tried to slip his arm from under you as carefully as he could

wondering what on earth he was doing, you would get up at trace his footsteps to his bathroom, seeing him with a comb in his hand at an abnormally large pot of hair cream on the sink

he hadn't expected you to wake up, but he would quickly invite you to sit on the toilet seat upon hearing you ask what he was doing

from that moment on, you would always ask to try and style his hair whenever you stayed over, or even just play with it

admittedly, he loves the feeling of your fingers run through his hair as you'd try your best to make it look just as perfect as it always did

it would fail, the first few times, which would result in you just putting it up into a side ponytail cue jojo siwa reference

all in all, though, he quite enjoyed it whenever you'd play with his hair, so you were more than welcome to do so

as a result, he would ask about your hair routine or, if you didn't really have one, your skincare routine

he'd always be amazed at your smooth skin whenever he held your face to give you a kiss

so you'd best drop him the tips and tricks

some weekends, the two of you would do a sort of spa day, where you'd both shower - or bathe, depending on how motivated you felt - and run through haircare and skincare together

koko really liked the facemasks you'd bring over whenever you did this, especially when you would struggle to put in on your face because they could sometimes be a little tricky

think of it as a cute, couple's day off, which he would always look forward to at the end of the week

but he'd never admit this to anyone, not a chance

onto the n/sfw side of this man...

much like sanzu, he's not a vanilla person. but he does have his fair share of kinks

orgasm play is right at the top of said list. he absolutely loves to be fully in control, and watching you writhe around each time he'd bring you close to your high, he'd take his hand, or anything else, away from where you'd most need him

his stare would always turn slightly darker when he'd see you before him, at his mercy and covered in sweat, and he wished he could capture the moment forever

he's give you a good three to four failed orgasms until he would let up his teasing act, but not before he'd get you to beg for him

it would always send shivers down his spine when he'd watch your almost tear ridden eyes look up at him, pleading for him to just give in already

"I don't know...you just look so pathetic each time I do it, I almost want to just leave you here and let you get off by yourself"

his sly smile would always stick with you as he'd utter out any words to you, right before giving you one last swipe of his hand between your legs and bringing you towards him

as much as he would usually be the one in charge, loving how you'd feel around him and making the bed creak with every thrust, if you tried hard enough you could turn the tables

he'd be a bratty sub, mind you, but watching him come undone beneath you will be worth the struggling to actually get him in that position

whenever you'd ride him, his hands would always be roaming the curves of your body, trying to get ahold of as much of you as he could

it would be a way to try and get back into control, but as soon as you'd squeeze around him, he'd fall back into his almost helpless state

but, back to him being the one pounding into you, expect him to bring you as close to him as possible

one of his favourites is bringing you up from being on all fours up to his chest, watching you struggle as you try to stay upright as he'd suck the skin on the back of your neck

"so much for being in control, you pathetic whore"

you never got out of there with functioning legs, that much was true

[songbirdstyles]

hangin’ on the telephone

summary: you decide to tease harry on a zoom for his class. he’s less than thrilled.

warnings: smut (18+), masturbation, phone/facetime sex, voyeurism/exhibitionism, some fluff?

word count: 5k

song inspo.: hanging on the telephone - blondie; sometimes on a fantasy - billy joel; love on the telephone - foreigner

author’s note: this doesn’t quite fit with the events of when i’m sixty-four and lola - this is if reader was in harry’s class during quarantine. don’t think about it too hard

Harry’s camera is shaky when the class first begins - his screen seems to quiver in itself as he adjusts it, large hand nearly completely blocking him from view before he adjusts himself properly. His camera quality is higher than yours and anyone else’s in the class, for that matter - courtesy of the expensive computers the university had provided to all of its teachers so they wouldn’t complain about how many Zooms they had to have.

That’s what his theory is, anyway. The university says they think its of utmost importance that all of our staff are treated to the highest levels of technology available - but the Macbooks they gave out were from 2015. Certainly not the highest levels.

In every other one of your classes, teachers hold their class as the only colorful block amongst a sea of turned off cameras, white letters reflecting the name of the student to make up for the lack of facial recognition. In Harry’s class, though, there are at least two pages of turned on cameras, and you don’t pretend to not know why. Surely everyone in this class - girls and guys alike - holds some similar fantasy that your professor will somehow fall in love with them through their grainy video on Zoom -

Well, unbeknownst to them, you’re the only one that gets to live that fantasy. In fact, it’s hardly a minute after the Zoom has begun that Harry murmurs jus’ wait a minute f’everyone t’get here - and the apex of your thighs is already heating up.

It’s been so long. Nearly three months since you’d last seen him in person - since you’d last felt his palms pressed to your cheeks, his hips tight against yours, his lips trailing a path up and down the soft column of your throat. And your relationship had never been entirely about sex but it’s a large part of it, feeling each other, and even if you’ve been calling each other for hours nearly every single night, it isn’t enough. You miss him so much it twists at your heart, most days, though it does, admittedly, feel nice to see him in class Zooms.

He’s donning a pink button up, the top button mercifully undone, curls messy and unstyled, and every so often he brings his hand up to run his fingers through it. You’re sure if you could see his full body you’d be able to see the blue checkered pajama pants he wears during all of your lazy days together - he’d never liked wearing dress pants when he didn’t have to. He’s in his bedroom, sitting at his desk, and you can recognize the curtains behind him from the many days (and nights) you’d spent in that exact room together before the entire world had went to shit, and now you miss those stupid curtains so much you can practically taste the desire on your tongue.

You shift in your seat, desire burning in between your legs. You’re not sure if the quirk in Harry’s eyebrow is due to recognition of the simple movement - he’d teased you enough times to recognize every single one of your mannerisms, even ones you didn’t know existed - or if he’s simply acknowledging that all of his students have finally entered the Zoom, but the movement still brings a small smile to your lips.

“Alrigh’, then - looks like we’re all here, now. May as well get started, hmm?” Harry begins, voice booming over everyone’s muted cameras, and the girls on your screen look like they’re practically swooning at the raspiness in his voice. You would judge them if you were a different type of person, but, God, his voice would bring an angel to her knees. You’re sure you look just as needy for him as they do. “Gave y’some questions from last class, right?” The class collectively nods. “Pull those out, then. We can go over them an’ have some discussions an’ analysis, all tha’ - easy class f’today.”

You minimize your Zoom screen and tap into your Google Docs, searching through your most recent documents until you find the questions he’d pushed out to all of you last class - you click on it and watch as your answers fill your screen before looking back to the Zoom, nibbling on your lower lip as you glance at Harry’s screen again.

He’s so composed in the most casual way possible - you can’t possibly know how he manages it. He looks almost like another student, leaning forward to rest his chin against his palm as he waits for everyone to get to their questions, and your breath hitches in your throat as you stare at him, suddenly feeling entirely too hot in your hoodie (his hoodie, actually) as your skin heats.

Simple fix. You grab the bottom of your hoodie and tug it off in one smooth motion, littering it on the side of your desk with a nonchalance that came naturally to you - the cool air of your parent’s basement does little to relieve the heat you feel, the burn seeming to come from the inside out, but you still relish in the coolness that washes over you like a wave. You’re simply wearing a tank top, the straps spaghetti thin and light blue, and you lean back in your seat with a soft sigh.

Harry coughs. It draws numerous eyes back to the screen at the sudden noise, and you furrow your eyebrows as you glance over towards him -

Realistically, there’s no way to know if he’s looking at you. You know that. And yet, somehow you know that he’s staring at you, his eyes darkening in a way that would be unnoticeable to anybody else but you know him. You know how he gets when he’s horny - like when you bent over in front of him to pick up your pencil, knowing it would make his pants feel just a bit tighter, and when you turned back to look at him you could fucking see the green hue of his eyes deepening in shade.

You hadn’t even meant to make him horny by taking off your hoodie, and that’s the truth. Maybe you’re both a bit touch starved from your months apart - but, no matter. You like watching him get like this, examining the way he shifts in his seat like you had moments before, and a smirk tinges your lips as you discreetly reach for the bottom of your tank top, tugging it down just a little bit further down your chest until your cleavage and the top of your bra peeks through. Then you lean forward, narrowing your eyes as though you’re searching through your computer for the questions, and you swear you can hear Harry’s breath catch.

He clears his throat, then. It’s a casual noise and it brings everyone’s attention back to him. “Let’s start wit’ number one - anyone want t’share their answer? Jus’ need a starting point f’our discussion - Sophie, good girl, go ahead.”

Sophie unmutes herself and begins reading her answer for the first question on your sheet, her voice just a bit higher than it usually is and you don’t pretend not to know why - but you’re not focused on it. Harry is smirking, lips tilted slightly upward as he nods along to Sophie’s answer even if you can tell he isn’t listening, and your heartbeat thumps harder against your chest.

Good girl? That bastard - and you can tell Sophie’s eating it up, too, skin flushed in a deep pink, and you narrow your eyes at Harry, already reaching for your phone to text him and tell him off - he knows how much you’d hate to hear anyone else being called good girl because that’s for you, dammit - but before you can, a small box pops up in the corner of your screen.

You lean in, squinting to read the small, granulated chat box -

Professor Styles: What’s got you looking so sour all of a sudden?

You roll your eyes. Cheeky asshole. He knows exactly what’s got you all sour, as Sophie’s voice drones on and on, further explaining her answer that hasn’t made too much sense to you, truly, and your fingers fly across your keyboard to furiously type your response.

You: you’re such a dick

His lips turn up into a larger smile, but before you can reach in to type a different response, Sophie has finished her answer and he nods. “Good answer, Sophie - what d’you guys think? Jacob, tha’s good.”

And Jacob begins to speak - his so called addition is just a poorly worded restatement of exactly what Sophie had said - and then you get another notification from your private chat with your professor. You click on the box and your stomach flips -

Professor Styles: Serves you right, practically flashing your tits to everyone in the class.

Professor Styles: If you were here, I’d put you over my knee.

You could moan at that. Holy shit, you really could. You cough into your first as someone else unmutes themselves to add onto Jacob, and you take just a moment to think of your response before you gnaw on your lower lip, fingers loud as you formulate your reply.

You: you would never. way too vanilla for that

It’s a damn lie and you know it. He’s fucking obsessed with spanking you, even if he’d never truly put you over his knee like a punishment but you know he wouldn’t hesitate if you showed the slightest bit of interest in the act - and you most certainly are interested.

But you like pissing him off. Like watching the way a vein jumps in his neck as he nods along to what somebody with their camera off is jabbering about and when they’re finished, his voice sounds just a bit deeper when he says, “Good, good. How ‘bout number two - Elizabeth?”

You tug your tank top down a bit further, smiling sweetly into the camera and to anyone else it may just look like you’re wholeheartedly agreeing with whatever your classmate is saying but you watch Harry’s eyes scan his screen before they surely land on you, and they widen slightly.

Another message pops up in record time - and you’d expected it - but it doesn’t make you any less desperate to lean in and read it.

Professor Styles: Or maybe I’d force you to kneel on the ground with my cock in your mouth for hours.

You: i think you know i’d love that

Professor Styles: Can’t move, can’t touch yourself, can’t do anything.

You swallow thickly, feeling your face heat up desperately. Your cunt is fucking dripping, now, surely desperate for your touch and every time you shift in your seat your clit rubs against the lace of your panties, sending jolts of pleasure rolling through your body as shaky fingers type a response.

You: you wouldn’t be able to last

Professor Styles: I’d last all day just to make you stay there.

Well - you have no shame in resting your hand on your lower stomach, just out of view of your camera. Eyes on Harry’s little box on your screen your fingertips slight down into your sweatpants, digits running over the moist fabric of your thong before pressing to your clit, and a wave of pleasure rolls through your body at the initial touch until you’re practically preening into your grasp, still caressing your cunt over your panties.

The class moves on to the next question - you’ve stopped paying attention ages ago, since the words good girl first slipped out of Harry’s mouth and he messaged you for the first time. You hook a finger into the crotch part of your panties, tugging them to the side and you can feel your wetness, strings connecting your dripping folds to the lace, and your breath picks up as you slip your hand into your panties.

The message comes fast. You’d been expecting it, pressing it open with the hand not shoved into your pants.

Professor Styles: You’re fucking touching yourself, aren’t you

It’s not a question. He can read you like a book - knows every one of your reactions because he was the only one who could pull them from you - and the way you tug at your bottom lip with your teeth, glancing into the camera with an air of faux-innocence, is something he’s come to recognize.

You type your response slowly. Take your time, don’t rush, because you love to make him wait as your fingers slowly move in circles against your clit - too gentle to truly make you feel anything, touch feather soft as you spread moisture around the sensitive nub.

You: of course i am, professor. if you’re not here to do it for me…

You lean back in your office chair - to anyone else you look nonchalant and casual, if a bit bored of the proceedings in class - and your hand slides further into your panties, fingers smoothing up and down your folds until your breathing picks up, chest rising and falling as you finally push your pointer finger into yourself, immediately curling it upwards to brush against the sweet spot inside of your velvety walls that has you pushing your hips against your hands. You’re quivering for your own touch - for Harry’s, more so - as you push your own essence in and out of your cunt, heel of your palm brushing against your clit, before you glance back up at the screen.

And Harry is - God, he’s a sight, is what he is. He’s leaning back in his seat, like you, and you watch for a moment at the way his chest rises and falls against the fabric of his billowy dress shirt. The top button is still undone and as you watch, he reaches up and undoes the second one - 

It’s like a collective moan rolls through the fucking class at the action. You can see every girl’s eyes widen on your screen as the overhead lights in Harry’s apartment illuminates the thin shine of sweat on his chest, and if you didn’t know better you’d simply assume that the AC in his apartment must be broken because he merely looks hot as he nods along to the current speaker - but you do know better.

If the camera was angled just a millimeter down, you’re sure you’d see the bulge through his pajama pants, thick and hard and desperate for your attention. For your mouth or your hands or your cunt, squeezing him so good, milking him for everything he’s worth until you’re both sobbing -

You add another finger into your pussy, sliding them in and out with a slow pace that gradually picks up until your ears are filled with the sound of your wetness, sloshing in your panties as you suck your teeth, trying to prevent your mouth from opening in a moan. You may look inconspicuous now but if your lips part in a desperate cry you know people will get suspicious -

Caught in your own pleasure, you’d missed Harry’s messages until the third one pops on your screen, and you scramble to click on the notification before it disappears.

Professor Styles: You’re a brat

Professor Styles: Trying to work me up like this

Professor Styles: Don’t you dare stop touching yourself.

The third one has your eyebrows furrowing - God, of course you’d never stop. You don’t think you could even physically drag your hands away from the pearl between your thighs until you’ve finally come over the edge and you didn’t need Harry to say it. You raise your eyebrows and begin typing your response with your free hand, fingers pumping in and out of your cunt desperately, but you’ve barely finished the text when you hear your name in his fucking voice and -

“What d’you think?” Harry inquires, voice even lower than it had been before, and you resist the urge to drop your mouth open in an appalled gasp as he practically stares into your fucking soul even through Zoom. Your heart drops into your ass and now you know why he’d wanted to confirm that you wouldn’t stop - “Why d’you think Steinbeck structured the book like he did?”

What? You don’t fucking know - you click to unmute yourself, fingers slowing down as you take a breath, tapping until you get to the answer written on your Google Doc. “Um - they’re plot chapters followed by intercalary chapters - they invoke an emotional response from readers.”

It’s a textbook answer, short and shitty and anyone with half a brain could tell that you simply said it so you would get the participation points, and you watch Harry’s eyebrows raised with a poorly-concealed smile. 

“How d’they invoke an emotional response, though?”

And he’s such a tease - he loves this, watching you teeter near the edge of your orgasm with shaky breaths as you seemingly contemplate your answer for a moment - fingers circle your clit slowly as you say, “They - they show us the historical and societal background - which - which broadens the scope of the novel.”

You, truthfully, think you did a fairly decent job keeping your composure - sure, your voice was a bit airy, a bit breathy, and you’re sure you tripped a bit over your words, but you at least didn’t moan out wildly in front of your entire class - celebrate the little things. And, yeah, it may not have been the best answer, but Jacob is already unmuting himself to elaborate and restate your entire answer, which feels like a win in your book, at least.

Professor Styles: Good girl. Kept your cool.

You’re practically trembling, resuming your thrusting of your fingers deep within your cunt, as you shakily type your response, fingers quivering on the keyboard.

You: wish you were here

And - when you realize that sounds a bit too sentimental to fit the situation at hand, fingering yourself in front of the entire class - you hurry to type something else.

You: to eat me out

You bring your eyes up to the screen again, fast enough to watch the quick smile spread across his face - his eyes dart around the screen for a moment before landing on a spot that you assume to be your box, and you exhale softly, curling your finger upward to that spot that has your back arching forward, tits pushing closer to the camera before you drop back against your seat.

Professor Styles: I’d do anything to have my face in your cunt right now.

You inhale sharply, nearly coughing as you pick up your speed, lips parting the slightest bit in a soft whine that erupts from your throat before you can try to fight it back - your eyes shut, head falling back against your chair, and you’re so close you can feel your impending release on the tip of your tongue like your favorite meal.

It’s the sound of the chat notification on Zoom that makes your eyes open, and you click on it. It’s hard to read, vision going fuzzy as your orgasm comes closer and closer, but you can make it out -

Professor Styles: Eyes open.

Professor Styles: And keep your camera on when you cum.

You practically whimper at the request but you oblige - eyes opened and staring directly at his box, at the way his face is practically bright red, sitting up straighter in his seat. He’s moved his camera angle up more, concealing his abdomen until only his chest and head is visible, showcasing the two undone buttons at the top of his pink shirt.

He sure doesn’t look composed now. Not a total disaster - but not the cool, calm professor who had first opened Zoom nearly 45 minutes ago.

Your eyes are moving towards the camera when you notice something in his box that has your eyebrows raising, eyes wide and alert as you squint, fingers briefly paused in their mission to get you to orgasm -

Your free hand flies across the keyboard as you type the message, mind spinning with the image you’d seen - the way his fabric creased near his shoulder, like his arm had been moving up and down with an unbridled, jerky pace -

You: are you jerking off, professor?

And you can see the exact moment he reads the message, his eyes widening, before he unmutes himself and loudly proclaims, “Question 4, then? W - Who wants t’start us off? Jamie, good, tell us wha’ you’ve got.”

And Jamie goes off in some tangent about their answer, words sounding like mud in your brain, as Harry mutes himself once more, and it’s only another moment until you get the next message.

Professor Styles: How could you expect me not to?

Good answer. You know that if you’d caught him jerking off before you had the chance to stick your hands down your panties, you wouldn’t be able to stop yourself - but it’s still surprising, watching the fabric of his shirt rustle. It’s not obvious in a way anyone else could tell but you can, and that’s all that matters.

You pull your fingers out of your cunt, bringing your sodden fingers up to your clit. You’resoclosesoclosesoclose - your trembling fingers rub hard circles into your clit, pussy fluttering around the emptiness after you’ve pulled your fingers out, and you clench your muscles taut as you pinch the sensitive nub -

Fuck. There it is - a burning sensation throughout your body as flames lick up your body, rocking through every inch of your skin - it’s all you can do to sit there, legs spread, practically biting back the urge to sob out with the force of it all, and keeping a poker face feels like some sort of torture form. Your cunt jolts beneath your fingers as you try and ride yourself through it, sticky wetness coating your fingers with proof of your release until it’s all over your sweatpants, soaking the gray fabric darker.

Harry’s the only person who’s ever made you squirt - twice, it happened, once into his mouth and the other around his cock as he overstimulated you until you were practically sobbing. And he’d loved it, too, pulling out even though he hadn’t cum yet and sinking to his knees to lap the moisture from between your thighs, eyes rolling back into his head as though it brought him such pleasure to sit there and eat you while you grabbed at his hair.

You’ve never done it yourself. Not with just your fingers.

The next message comes before the aftershocks have finished rolling through your body, and you need to take a few seconds to compose yourself before reaching to read it.

Professor Styles: I love watching you cum.

You resist the urge to smile, resting your palm against your swollen cunt as you use the other hand to type your response.

You: squirted all over my hand.. wish you could’ve seen it

You can practically hear the way he chokes when he reads it, even through his muted mic, and your response comes in seconds.

Professor Styles: I’m wrapping up the class early. Stay after.

It’s a demand and one that you’re more than willing to oblige, giving one unceremonious jerk of your head upwards as you lean back into your seat. And, true to his word, he unmutes himself, declaring loudly that since he wanted an easy day you could all leave early - not too early, mind you, a mere seven minutes before the class would officially be over - but he could let the class out twenty seconds early and they’d act like he canceled an exam. 

People unmute themselves to say goodbye before boxes quickly begin disappearing, the number of participants dropping down until it’s just the two of you, squares side by side next to each other, and you reach to unmute yourself the second the last person has left.

“Harry - Harry, fuck,” you breathe, pushing your computer back and angling it down more so he can see your body. He unmutes himself and you can hear his gasped breathing as he pushes his own laptop back until you can see him fully and - “Fuck.”

His pajama pants are pushed past his cock, curling towards his stomach and an angry shade of red. His fist wraps tight around it, pumping himself up and down with his chest rising and falling desperately, and the thought of him doing this during your Zoom call has another pang of pleasure rolling through your body from your clit.

“Unbutton your shirt,” you beg him, propping your foot on your desk as you shimmy your sweatpants down your thighs, kicking them off into a pile on the floor. Your cunt is exposed to him, covered only by a sopping scrap of lace that you call underwear, and you’re quick to pull it away from your pussy to show him as you dip your fingers back down to your clit, circling it freely. You’re still entirely too sensitive, and the simple motion has your chest arching vehemently, but you can’t watch him do this without feeling the overwhelming urge to cum again and again -

He obliges, practically tearing the shirt away from his chest until the two halves have split open and you get an eyeful of his chest, littered in tattoos that only you get the pleasure of seeing - the butterfly you love to press your palms against when you ride his face - the ship you always grasp when you’re rolling against his thigh -

“Finger y’self,” Harry grunts, breathing desperate and heavy as you lean back in your seat, exposing yourself further to him, your chest heaving. “An’ take off tha’ tank top.”

You grab the end of the shirt, tugging it up and over your head and littering it on the side of your office chair, pulling the straps of your bra down your arms so you can peel the cups away from your tits, displaying your peaked nipples to him, and he moans at the sight, the noise low and guttural. You slide two fingers into your cunt easily, the dripping essence of your release still lubricating your digits to push in and out of yourself.

It isn’t going to take long for either of you - you can tell. He plants his free palm on the edge of his desk, leaning forward and baring his chest to you, and you push yourself to sit up more, resting your free hand on your tits. Fingers pinch at your nipple, the peaked bud sending rays of euphoria through your body, and you drop your head back with a desperate whine.

“Y’close?” Harry asks through gritted teeth, words interrupted with needy breaths and gasps as you nod, and you can tell that anything he’d said about punishing you is gone - he won’t stop you now, not when you’re so close, not when all either of you want is to touch each other. You want to reach through the camera, to press your lips to his, feel his palms smooth up and down your back before traveling downwards until he can slide his fingers into your cunt - one of his is bigger than both of yours, and he’d fill you up so good you wouldn’t be able to do anything else but cry out.

And you - you’d rest your knees on either side of his thighs, lowering yourself into his lap as his length slides against your stomach. Scraping your nails through his hair always makes him cry out and your fingers tense around your breasts as you imagine it, thinking of the way he’d moan and beg for you to pull it harder, lowering his lips to your nipple as you obey him.

You’ll always obey him. (In bed, at least.) God, you really would sit on your knees for hours, holding his cock in your mouth like it’s your fucking job, and you’d love it, too.

“Look at me, baby,” Harry moans, voice crackling through the speaker of your shitty computer and you oblige, hazy eyes rolling upwards to the camera, and you swallow thickly, pumping your fingers faster in and out of your cunt. “Look at me when y’cum … c’mon, baby.”

You don’t need much more encouragement than that. With one curl of your fingers upwards to hit the sweet spot deep within your velvet core you cum, eyes rolling back into your head with a piercing cry that makes you entirely too grateful that it’s your parents’ date night - your cunt clenches and unclenches around your fingers as you finally hit your peak, breath coming out in needy groans as you release over your fingers.

You’ve barely finished when Harry’s tell-tale groan sounds through the basement and you snap your eyes back to his figure, glancing at him just in time to see him cum, white ribbons spurting out of his cock and coating his hand and the sleeve of his pink dress shirt. He drops his head forward with a grunt, fist still jerking up and down his dick as though he’s trying to milk every last drop all over his abdomen, and your breathing turns more jagged as you watch like he’s a fucking piece of art and you’re nothing but a spectactor.

And then - for a moment - there’s silence. Not silence, in its literal definition, as desperate, heaving breaths pierce the air even screens apart, and you’re not sure which of you will be the first to speak. You can hardly breathe right, let alone say any coherent sentence, and Harry takes the lead.

“Did good, baby,” he breathes, voice so soft you can barely hear it, and you nod, wiping your moist hand on your outer thigh. “I miss you.”

“I miss you, too,” you tell him, pushing yourself to sit up more. “And your dick.”

He exhales a shaky laugh, raising his hand to examine the cum that coats his palm and fingers as though he’s never seen anything like it. “Yeah - I miss y’pussy. Not used t’not cumming in you.”

“Yeah,” you begin. “Feel empty without -”

You’re cut off before you can finish as Harry raises his fingers to his mouth, pink tongue darting out to lick at the bits of cum that decorate his skin. Your lips part needily as you watch him, eyes wide as saucers until he’s fully lapped up every ribbon of cum, and he smacks his lips as though he’d enjoyed a great meal.

“Don’t get how y’swallow so often,” Harry says, and even through his faux-casual demeanor you can see the corners of his lips turning up at your state. “Really doesn’t taste good -”

“Harry?”

“Yeah?”

“M’horny again.”

[pink-bear]

NSFW Alphabet: Gonta Gokuhara

Oh...oh how I adore Gonta. You know that here comes the boy Tiktok? Yeah, that’s how I feel whenever I see his precious lil face...

HE IS THE LOVE OF MY LIFE...

Stuff under the cut. Character is depicted as 18+

THIS IS 18+ ONLY! MINORS DNI!

A = Aftercare (what they’re like after sex)

A true gentleman always makes sure his partner is feeling happy, satisfied and safe! You’ll be hard pressed to find someone as serious about aftercare as Gonta!

B = Body part (their favourite body part of theirs and also their partner’s)

He likes his muscles! They are good for protecting and lifting up his partner! His strength is one of the things he’s most proud of, because it means he can look after the ones that matter most to him.

For his partner, he honestly couldn’t pick just one thing! He loves everything about them, as long as they are a good person and respect others (and nature)! No matter what a person looks like on the outside, he cares most on what’s on the inside.

C = Cum (anything to do with cum, basically)

He cums a LOT. Like, a lot a lot. He cums like a horse, it’s wild.

It is very thick in consistency and has a bit of an “earthy” taste that isn’t what you’d normally expect cum to taste like.

D = Dirty secret (pretty self explanatory, a dirty secret of theirs)

He will sometimes go “feral” when his horny levels are really high. This makes him extremely horny, rough and insatiable. He’s got that need to breed...

Afterwards he’ll feel absolutely terrible and will cry and bed his partner for forgiveness. Give him lots of gentle reassurance, and he’ll clam down and make it up to you :’)

E = Experience (how experienced are they? do they know what they’re doing?)

He’s seen plenty of animals mate, so he technically knows what goes on. He isn’t naive in a way that he’d be surprised that GASP...PEOPLE HAVE SEX???

He is however not very familiar with aspects of how to pleasure both others and himself. It will take a patient partner to show him the ropes, but he’s a natural deep down. Once it unlocks in his brain, he’s amazing in bed 💦

F = Favourite position (this goes without saying)

Missionary…that perhaps turns into a mating press :3c

Really, anything where he can feel close to his partner.

G = Goofy (are they more serious in the moment? are they humorous? etc.)

He might not understand why his partner may be laughing or being goofy during sex, since he always assumed it was a serious act. But when he gets used to it, he’ll often join his partner in giggling and playful boops.

Don’t do it too much, though, or he might feel like you’re not enjoying it enough :/

H = Hair (how well groomed are they? does the carpet match the drapes? etc.)

One of the hairier boys in DR, he’s got a healthy amount on his chest, arms, armpits, legs and of course his downstairs area.

He doesn’t do any grooming if his partner doesn’t mind but is open to the idea of doing some trimming if they ask nicely and demonstrate how to go about it. He would never completely shave himself, that just isn’t how he is. He keeps himself very clean and fresh, so there’s no need to go that far.

And yes, the carpet matches the drapes.

I = Intimacy (how are they during the moment? the romantic aspect)

He puts the “gentle” in gentleman. He may not be the most poetic with his words, but everything he says is nothing but genuine and full of love. He wants his partner to enjoy themselves as much as he does (perhaps even more)!

Gonta doesn’t have sex…he makes love 🥺

J = Jack off (masturbation headcanon)

He didn’t really masturbate much before he gets a sexual partner. He’s experimented in touching, and knows that it feels good, but he feels guilty whenever he did so.

Once he learns it’s a natural thing to do, he does it more often. In fact, he does it a LOT when he first becomes more comfortable with it. To a point it interfered with work...those damn hormones...

K = Kink (one or more of their kinks)

Gonta isn’t really a kinky guy, much more vanilla. He does like a bit of roleplaying, however. Especially with scenarios revolving around him being a protector to his mate, and providing for their needs~

L = Location (favourite places to do the do)

Gonta loves doing it in the outdoors! A soft bed of grass, on a picnic blanket, in a tent, being out in nature is where he feels most comfortable and at home! Bonus points if you can hear crickets/cicadas softly singing in the background.

M = Motivation (what turns them on, gets them going)

Mating season is certainly a big one...when his partner is looking submissive and breedable, it’s near impossible for him to resist!

N = No (something they wouldn’t do, turn offs)

As always, no bathroom stuff. It’s not gentlemanly!

He also doesn’t like the idea of hurting his partner, even if they ask for it. The concept of BDSM is foreign and rather scary to him. He’s a very vanilla boi :’)

O = Oral (preference in giving or receiving, skill, etc.)

Ever the gentleman, Gonta loves servicing his partner first and foremost. He’s a quick learner, and doesn’t have a gag reflex, so he can do a satisfactory job.

He loves receiving it as well but doesn’t want his partner to strain themselves trying to take in his size. He’ll be completely taken aback when his partner swallows-

“W-why you eat Gonta’s seed? Won’t it make you sick???”

P = Pace (are they fast and rough? slow and sensual? etc.)

Most of the time, the gentleman is slow and sensual, not wanting to hurt his partner, and showing how much he loves them!

Sometimes though...he’s a total beast and will leave his partner’s intimates rather sore the next morning.

A true gentleman, and a true wild man~

Q = Quickie (their opinions on quickies, how often, etc.)

Overall Gonta prefers to take it slow, but sometimes the mood just strikes him! A nice quickie between work can help him get through the rest of the day...then at night, he’ll be sure to do a much more thorough job :3

R = Risk (are they game to experiment? do they take risks? etc.)

He doesn’t like taking risks, that just isn’t gentlemanly! He would legit start crying if someone walked in on him :’(

S = Stamina (how many rounds can they go for? how long do they last?)

The man literally said: “Gonta keep you up all night”

And it’s absolutely true! Almost none can compare to the amount of stamina this man has!

T = Toys (do they own toys? do they use them? on a partner or themselves?)

Gonta is new to toys, and the more “complex” toys (anything with batteries, weirdly shaped ones, ect.) are confusing. Overall, he prefers to just use what he has, but he’s willing to learn how to use toys if that’s what his partner wants!

U = Unfair (how much they like to tease)

Teasing is a foreign concept to Gonta, the poor guy just doesn’t get it. He’ll take it as his partner being mean to him, which would completely kill the mood.

As a gentleman, he would never tease his partner! Even if they asked...he just doesn’t have it in him-

V = Volume (how loud they are, what sounds they make, etc.)

He tries to be quite...he really does. And hey, a lot of times he doesn’t go above soft moans and grunts. But sometimes he gets really loud...noise complaints loud. He feels so guilty about it and will try to apologize profusely to the people who hear him.

“Sorry! Gonta not mean to be loud! Gonta was just mating with partner...will try to be quieter next time!”

W = Wild card (a random headcanon for the character)

He has a very good imagination. Once he gets a good understanding of his partner’s anatomy, he can fully visualize any scenario for when he’s going solo.

He can also cum hands free easily as well! A lot of times he’ll just thrust his hips while imagining himself inside of his partner, and he won’t even need to touch himself to completion!

X = X-ray (let’s see what’s going on under those clothes)

Yeah...Gonta’s a pretty big boy. We’re talking in the 8 inches area with plenty of girth. He’s also uncut and has huge balls :^)

It’s intimidating, but he’s willing to work with his partner to make it as comfortable and enjoyable for both parties as possible!

Y = Yearning (how high is their sex drive?)

It depends on the season. Springtime is when he’s the most longing (mating season and all that), and Fall is when it’s not on his mind too much. Of course, every day is different, but it’s a general rule of thumb.

Z = Zzz (how quickly they fall asleep afterwards)

He falls asleep fast, and he sleeps like a log. So, you’d better hope you don’t need to pee, cuz his bear hugs are near impossible to get out of-

🌸🌸🌸

I’d let Gonta keep me up all night...o//u//o

Hope you enjoyed! And if you don’t agree with any of these, that’s fine! These are just my personal headcanons!

Alphabet template

[there-must-be-a-lock]

Contact Comfort

Spencer Reid x (gender neutral) Reader

Word Count: ~2000

Warnings: None, really? Emotional hurt/comfort and sorta like a touch starved deal doing on, but it’s pretty thoroughly fluffy and sugary-sweet. 

A/N: For the “bed sharing” square on my @cmbingo​ card! 

Title is from the referenced psych study, because I’m a dork. 

“One sec,” you call, wincing at how thick and nasal your voice sounds.

You wipe your cheeks hastily as you sit up. It’ll be obvious anyway, though; wouldn’t take a profiler to notice your tear tracks and blotchy face. 

It’s Spencer. Of course it is — because he’s the last person you want to see you like this, when you’re all snotty and puffy and gross. 

His eyes go wide and solemn when he sees your face, genuinely distressed. There’s that empathy again, the too-big heart that everyone seems to overlook in favor of his big brain. You love him for it. 

Well, you love him for a lot of things. 

“Hi,” he says quietly. “I was going to just ask if you were okay, but… I guess I don’t actually need to ask now.” 

You let out a watery little chuckle. “Guess not.” 

“You want some company?” He looks hopeful, almost, and then seems to catch himself, dropping his gaze with a shrug. “I understand if you just want your space, though.” 

If it was anyone else, you absolutely would not want company right now. But it’s Spencer, so. You pretty much always want him around. 

“I was just about to turn on some shitty TV because it felt too quiet in here, honestly. Company would be really nice.” 

He gives you a quick twitch of a half-smile as he steps past you, and after you close the door, there’s a pause where you both stand there and look at each other, Spencer suddenly shy as he shifts his weight from one foot to the other. 

“Do you want to talk about it?” he asks, in a thin unhappy voice. 

“Not really. Just… one of those days. One of those cases.” 

“Can I do anything to help?”  

You hesitate, because it seems like such an immature thing to say out loud, but you’re too tired to be anything other than honest.

“I could use a hug.”  

Spencer’s expression goes all soft and sweet, and your cheeks feel hot under the drying salt water as he steps closer. He wraps his arms around you, and you bury your face in his chest and try to inhale. Your exhale is a ragged little shudder, and you fist both hands in the back of Spencer’s cardigan as you cling to him, feeling raw and sensitive and so very young. 

He lets out a quiet, shaky sigh of his own, squeezing you tighter. 

How long has it been since anybody hugged you like this? It’s like the contact — the warmth of him — the pressure of his arms around your shoulders — the rise and fall of his chest under your cheek — is lifting some massive weight you never realized you were carrying. All you want in the entire world is to hold him tight, take the comfort while you can, but you know you should pull away. 

He hesitates for a second before releasing you, like maybe he doesn’t want to let go either. 

Then he’s stepping back, hands in his pockets, slightly pink-cheeked as he bounces on the balls of his feet and gives you one of his frog-faced not-quite-smiles. 

“You said something about shitty television?” he asks. “Or maybe we could watch some television that’s not actually shitty?” 

“That sounds perfect.”

Turns out Planet Earth is on, which is the rare overlap in your and Spencer’s tastes, and it’s not until you’re eagerly toeing off your shoes that you realize the bed is the only seating option. 

Spencer sits cross-legged, with his elbows on his knees and his chin propped on his fists, and he stays as close to the edge of the bed as physically possible. You lean back against the headboard and hug your knees to your chest, feeling the need to hunch over, like you could physically protect your heart. 

Then again, it’s much too late for that. You knew your heart was in trouble the moment you met Spencer. 

Today, especially, you already feel vulnerable, like all your carefully-constructed walls cracked open the second you let yourself cry, and now you’re just ripped-open and bare. You need a good night’s sleep and a long, hot shower before you’ll be able to go about your life as a professional, fully-functional, grown-up human again. Right now you’re just kind of a mess.  

“I know there’s the germ thing,” you blurt out, without looking at Spencer. “But —” 

His laugh sounds crackly and nervous, but relieved, like maybe he’d been holding his breath. “Come here.” 

You give him a grateful smile as you scoot closer to each other, and apparently you’d been so worried about your own swollen eyes earlier that you hadn’t noticed the fatigue evident in every drawn, wan line of his face. 

Not that he isn’t still the most beautiful thing you’ve ever seen. 

You duck tentatively under Spencer’s arm, and it’s not like you’re cuddling, exactly, because there’s still an inch or so of space between your hips and legs… but the bony plane of his chest, between collarbone and heart, makes a surprisingly perfect pillow. You pull the sleeves of your sweater over your hands, tucking them under your chin, curling up.

The moment feels delicate, like a soap bubble that you could burst if you simply breathe too loudly, and you hold yourself stiffly, at first, not wanting to move any closer for fear of pushing a boundary. It feels like you’re glowing at the points where your bodies are touching; the warm weight of his arm feels like bright spring sunshine across your upper back. His palm on the round of your shoulder is thawing away the last chilly bits of your self-consciousness. 

When the commercial break starts, Spencer says, “Do you ever think about how little physical contact the average single adult experiences on a regular basis?” His voice is quiet and almost sheepish. 

You smile. “Yeah, I’ve considered it.” 

“Especially when we live away from our families,” Spencer says wistfully. 

You can feel the vibration of his words in his chest. You shift, making yourself more comfortable, feeling dazed and dumb with his proximity.

“The monkeys. I feel like — you know?” 

“Harlow. I know exactly what you mean.”

Trust him to get that from your ridiculously vague mumbling.  

“Except they’re babies,” you add. 

“The emotional benefits of physical touch don’t decrease just because we get older,” he says softly. “It’s just that the fear of judgement makes it difficult to be honest.”

There’s silence for a minute as the show starts again, and David Attenborough says something about sloths. Spencer’s thumb strokes your shoulder gently, back and forth, soothing. It’s hypnotic, and the tension drains from your muscles, leaving you more relaxed than you’ve felt in a long time. 

“Thank you,” he whispers. 

You swallow hard. “For what?” 

“Being honest.” 

There’s no reason for your eyes to be stinging like this, but they are. “I should be thanking you.”

“Nothing to thank me for. This is… really nice.” 

“Yeah. It really is.” 

He’s quiet again. 

Spencer smells like vanilla and old books — although the latter might just be your imagination, something to do with the power of mental association — Spencer could probably explain the science behind that. Your brain has them inextricably linked, though. You’ve caught hints of that smell before, but never up close like this. 

The softness of the worn knit of his cardigan makes you want to rub your cheek against it like a cat. His arm, skinny as it may be, feels like protection — like you’re safe here. 

After the brutal violence of the case and the emotional turbulence of the day, this quiet, golden moment is even more breathtakingly peaceful by contrast. It doesn’t feel real. 

It’s too good to last. This isn’t yours. It’s not going to last, no matter how right it feels, and your chest already aches with the idea of letting him go.    

You try to appreciate it while you can, to remember every sensation, but your body is leaden, exhausted down to the bone, completely drained of whatever adrenaline-stubbornness-caffeine combination was keeping you running until now. Spencer’s thumb rubs invisible circles on your shoulder, and he breathes evenly, and you feel safe. 

You’re asleep before the next commercial break. 

A distant car alarm wakes you, sometime later. In the handful of seconds before it’s turned off, you come to without opening your eyes, trying to remember where you are and who you’re with. The smell of vanilla makes you relax instinctively, before you can process why. 

Spencer has all but melted against you in his sleep, soft and boneless. He’s got both arms around you now, holding you close, his breath tickling your forehead. Then he stirs, and you can feel the moment he realizes where he is, because his muscles go tense as he freezes. 

“Sorry,” he murmurs hoarsely. He’s barely audible over the infomercial voices coming from the TV. “I didn’t mean to — sorry. I’ll go.” 

And before you can think better of it, you whisper, “Don’t.” 

He’s still frozen, and silent for a second that feels like an eternity. “You mean —”

“I don’t want you to leave. Stay.” 

Honesty seems to be your default setting tonight, and anyway, you can tell without looking at a clock that it’s long past midnight, well into the early-morning hours where boundaries and reservations and reality don’t seem to follow their usual laws. You can’t lie to him (or to yourself) right now. 

Spencer’s voice cracks as he says, “Okay. I’ll just — let me get the light.”

You don’t open your eyes as he slips away. This all seems like a dream, and the sharp bright lamp light might make it dissolve around you. You might wake up. 

The TV goes quiet, and when you tug at the hotel comforter, sliding between cool sheets fully clothed, the barely-there rasp of moving fabric sounds loud in its absence. 

Spencer turns off the lamp, and you open your eyes. You can just see his shape as he navigates the dark room, negative space on a charcoal backdrop, but as your vision adjusts, you can see a faint suggestion of his features in the blue-black. 

You feel it, though, when his weight makes the springs of the old mattress dip. You’d expected him to lie on his back again, but instead his face is just inches from yours when his cheek comes to rest on the pillow. You feel the way he’s breathing, quick and shallow and nervous. You feel your heart kick in your ribs, thudding so loud he must be able to hear it. 

He reaches out slowly, hooking an arm around your ribs, and pauses with just the very tips of his spidery fingers touching your back, between your shoulder blades: five soft points of contact that you feel so intensely they might as well be electrode pads connecting you to a defibrillator. 

This is crossing a line, and you both know it. 

It’s not a sexual touch, it’s not that sort of thrill going through you, but something about this feels profoundly intimate. That intimacy is almost more shocking than lust might’ve been, and it’s much more dangerous. It’s the sort of closeness you don’t walk away from unscathed.  

Spencer’s fingers flutter, butterfly-wing delicate, like one or the other of you might be trembling. 

“Are you sure this is okay?” he whispers. 

“Yes.”  

Maybe you’re both trembling. 

His palm comes to rest on your back, easing you closer, and you shift, settle, readjust. He pulls back and tilts his head just long enough to brush his lips over your temple, soft and sweet, before tucking you neatly under his chin, where you fit like you were meant to be there, with your nose nudging at the gap between his collar and the delicate skin of his throat.

“Sweet dreams,” he whispers, sounding just as awed as you feel. 

“Sweet dreams, Spencer.” 

.

.

.

If you enjoyed this, please reblog or leave a message! 

More Criminal Minds fic is here. 

[draganasimpsforjeff]

Jeff The Killer with Camgirl S/O

How fucking dare you?

Just sitting there with slutty clothes presenting your lovely flesh and figure for other men to see for men who don't own you. Who don't love you, fuck you, or hold you. Something that was his job as he was crowned your boyfriend.

He watches you from across the room as he sat on an old office chair, growing more and more pissed off as you giggle innocently at the webcam sporting on your laptop. The same innocent giggle that you did when you would purposely get him jealous just so he would dick you down later.

He was more than aware of your games and this was just one of them.

His fist clenches nails digging into his clothed knees, threatening to rip the fabric of his jeans. The way your leg slides up and the fishnets showing more than enough of your skin. As far as he knew, that skin only for his eyes to see and of course these disgusting assholes paid to see those parts of you.

The only thing that kept him from not stomping over there and ripping the cords to shreds, shutting the scene down and deactivating your account was because 1. None of them actually get to touch you. They're just seeing from a screen 2. It did bring in money but it was the point of it.

His ears perk up at the familiar ding of when someone pays you a tip, making your smile turn into a toothy grin before licking your lips and spreading your legs a little more, sliding your hand teasingly downwards. "You're willing to pay that much for me to just play with myself? How generous." he snickers, rolling his eyes as that was your fake appreciative voice.

The same way people worked in customer service have but you obviously made more and were happier, it was present in your voice. And it irked him to no end.

Of course, you happened to just pick a perfect shade of lighting for tonight's show. One that happened to be his favorite especially compared to your body.

Cherry red lights with some neon lights in the back, creating the picture perfect shadows for your curves, accentuating the best of you possible, which was every part to him. But red was such a lustful color as well and oh honey, how greatly you were wearing it tonight.

His leg began to bounce up and down in aggravation, slowing feeling the need to chew his nail till they were all bloody.

Ha. How great would it look for you to suck on his fingers, lapping up all of the blood with big doey eyes silently asking for more to taste.

You were such a beautiful creature to break and mold to his perfection.

"Alright then!" you giggle, using your hands to pull down your lacy underwear, swinging it around your finger before making the point to throw it far enough to where it lands on his face.

You watch for a moment admiring the sight of his shoulders tensing as he was sniffing the underwear where your pretty cunt was hiding behind moments ago.

Oh, how sweet you smelled.

But then you pay attention back to the crowd, sliding just one digit down to your puffy folds, beginning to fake moan which almost makes Jeff laugh from behind the scenes.

You were such a liar. You didn't know yourself more than he did. He knew the twists and turns, inside and out and everything else just by how much his dick had paid your cunt a visit. You were his personal cocksleeve anyways.

A few more dings come through, wanting you to use more than your fingers to please yourself. You really wanted to use Jeff's knife handle but you had a feeling the men on this platform were too boring and vanilla for that.

Holding in a sigh, you turn around and get on your knees letting the camera get a nice view of your ass and pussy as you lean towards the lower shelf on the nightstand where you and Jeff kept your plastic box of toys. You smirk as you hear a low growl but roll your eyes his way, sending him a wink but not making it noticeable enough to raise questions.

You hum, turning back around the shirt you wore right now gave visual access to your cleavage.

The urge to claim you in front of others was getting stronger, almost a painful knot in his stomach as he watches you with eager eyes rummaging through the toy box, asking which one they would like to see you use to abuse your cunt with.

Though he didn't want to blow your cover of being 'single' as that was what you claimed because people would want to offer more money to someone who couldn't get help from someone else especially these filthy bastards who think if it wasn't for them, you would be homeless and no way to buy things to customize certain requests and make more money.

His heart started beating faster his breathing harder before he marched over there and the second your eyes connected you knew this was game over.

"Oh shit." you mumble, before being pushed onto your back already knowing to listen to whatever he wanted as he was your real savior.

He turns to the camera with an angry look on his face, several usernames exiting out of the room but plenty remained but the chat stopped with the emojis and suggestions. He continues to stare down at the screen before snapping his head over to you.

"You want to show them who you really belong to?" Oh how quick your submissive side caved for him and you nod, whimpering a little as he was taking a bit too long for your liking.

"That's a good girl." he smirks, taking out his knife from his hoodie the bit of light making the blade glint, moving a little to the side so the audience had just enough of a view to see what he was going to do.

He reverses the knife so it was the handle that teases your sopping sweetness that was begging for him already muscles pulsating and working themselves in preparation for him.

You whine, exposing yourself more for him as he shoves more of the handle into you the blade cutting his hand as he gripped it. His eyes narrow at you as he uses one of his hands to go to your lips. "Lick, slut. Show them how freaky MY girl is."

Well you were definitely going to be known for something on this platform.

Taking a moment to shared lock eyes it was enough to part your lips open for him to slip his long manly fingers into your mouth blood mixing with your saliva.

Such a delicious combination.

The two of you mixing so well.

Your moan grow louder in the room and with it not being soundproof, they only echoed.

Small spaced out dings could be heard as you both collected money from horny cocks. You were absolutely losing yourself to him once again as he continues with the handle before pulling it out.

"How cute...you've already creamed on it...this all for me doll?" he asks with a teasing tone as the handle shows hot white liquid over it. You nod frantically, whining while tears begin to build and threaten to fall from being teased and nothing more.

He was usually talkative during sex like his own words turn him on as well along with how your body responds to them.

He licks his lips slowly before sliding his tongue over the black cover of the knife, licking up your sweetness and swallowing it. He was quiet compared to you, he would not dare to make a single noise especially on camera. No. If anyone was going to be loud it was going to be you.

"You want my cock, sweetheart?" He asks, grabbing you and moving your body so once he fucks you he wouldn't be blocking the view. He gave the camera a side view and your face was now visible.

"Yes, daddy." you said respectively in a desperate tone, squeezing your thighs against him to trap him in your grip, but he just snickers grabbing some pink rope and quickly tightens your wrists together before stretching your arms over your head. "Beg." he says, taking his clothes off to reveal his overly sexy body.

Abs for days with prominent muscles and bones showing with his back and collarbones and oh fuck, his shoulder. He had a deep cut v line with a pretty thick dick that was around 7 inches.

What was enough to make you so full and slutty.

You hated when he did this because you could feel yourself growing shy but it was worse this time as there were eyes watching you. You look at him, silently sending him a message to just fuck you without saying anything. But he just smirks, leaning down to kiss your knee and to your thigh while making sure his dick teases your entrance.

You were in so much pain and all you could do was use your legs to touch him and nothing else. "P-p-please daddy.." you begin, making him tilt his head. "Please what? finish your sentence."

You swallow thickly, pressing your body against his trying to gain more of a chance for him to slip inside of you, but he pushes away. "Finish your sentence."

"Please daddy fuck me dumb like the stupid slut I am." you whine your cunt growing more and more wet and needy.

"Was that so hard?" he asks before ramming himself into you making you cry out in pleasure and some pain as he didn't let you adjust before continuing to thrust.

"This. This is my fucking cunt. I don't even have to pay for some lousy show with some fake ass moaning-" He growls, obviously sending a message to the remaining people.

"I own her. She's my little slut. My girl, to love, to hold, to FUCK! And guess what? I get it for free." He laughs seeing tears streak down to your cheeks.

"How pathetic that you only touch yourself, imagining how it would feel to be inside of her, well that's not enough." He grunts, grabbing his knife to make small cuts on your hips before leaning down to lick them up. Making some more cuts and spreads it around your stomach with his hand.

"She's my little freak." He only continued to get you bloodier and that was enough to make everyone leave.

He immediately pulls out making you kick your legs in a tantrum as he goes over and cuts the wires, disconnecting from everything and takes his time deleting your account. "I hope you learned your lesson." He says, eyeing you as you struggled to get the rope off your wrists watching as puts his pants back on and leaves the room.

Leaving you a bloody, horny, wet whore surrounded by toys and the memories of him using them on you. His scent all around. Everything in the room was his.

Including you.

[ciaossu-imagines]

omg hi!!! can you do reigen from mob psycho 100 for the this or that list? please? you can pick the questions lol thank u have a great night!!!!

Hello, hello, my lovely anon! Thank you unbelievably much for this question! Reigen is one of my favourites so I'm just going to do all the questions! Have a great night yourself!

coffee or tea?

Reigen will drink both without complaint. He does appreciate a cup of coffee now and then but overall, he does find he prefers and drinks more tea. He has to add at least a little bit of sugar to coffee as he does find the taste more bitter than he’d like and he doesn’t really enjoy the aftertaste of anything heavier than a light roast coffee, whereas he finds no matter what type of tea, it’s normally pretty good just as is.

2. cars or planes?

Cars are more practical and what he uses far more than he’d ever use a plane so he’d pick that option.

3. books or movies?

I’m not saying he never reads. Reigen is a very intelligent man and is fairly well read but if given the choice, he’s always, always going to pick a movie. They take far less time for him to get through and since he’s a fairly visual person, it’s a more enjoyable form of story telling for him.

4. movies or tv shows?

He’d still pick movies, every time. And honestly, the more B-grade and cheesier the movie, the more Reigen will like it.

5. books or magazines?

It really depends on why he’s reading. If he’s doing research on something, he tends to go more for magazine articles or published articles on the internet but if he’s reading for pleasure, it’s a book. That being said, he probably has bought more magazines than books, oddly enough.

6. soda or water?

This is a difficult one as I firmly think that before Mob showed up, Reigen probably drank a lot more soda or tea or coffee than he did water. He next to never took care to stay really hydrated, despite knowing how much healthier it was and despite recommending that other people did. When Mob showed up though, Reigen started slowly modeling better and better behaviour for the child and that included making sure both of them stayed well hydrated. It’s gotten to the point where he actually prefers water over the more sugary drinks, though they are a nice occasional thing.

7. long-term relationships or casual flings?

Neither, honestly. I don’t think Reigen really thinks of romance all too often or of sex all that often. It’s not a huge need for him like it is for some other people and he has a lot of other things he’d rather prioritize. If he had more time, maybe, or if it became a bit more important to him though, he would definitely be more of a long-term relationship sort of person. Casual flings are not his thing at all and he thinks they could potentially lead to someone’s feelings getting hurt or many other complications.

8. sweet or sour?

He would definitely rather eat something sweet than something sour but doesn’t mind either...in moderation. Anything too sour makes him feel like vomiting and anything too sweet hurts his teeth.

9. sci-fi or fantasy?

Reigen loves sci-fi. In particular, he loves the really old, really cheesy, horribly produced sci-fi movies with aliens so bizzare and so badly made up that nobody can take them seriously.

10. pizza or fries?

Fries are actually one of Reigen’s weaknesses, I firmly believe. They are his ‘these are trash for me but they’re soooooo good’ guilty pleasure, the more salt the better!

11. vanilla or chocolate?

Vanilla goes with more things and doesn’t have as heavy an aftertaste as chocolate and it’s what Reigen prefers.

12. going to the movies or long walks?

As much as Reigen likes a good movie, he would rather take the long walk. He does genuinely enjoy being physical and getting out and about.

13. pants or skirts?

Pants. He never shows it but he doesn’t much like his legs. For some reason, he’s really kind of self-conscious about them and prefers to keep them hidden under pants.

14. shower or bath?

Bath all the way, especially at a bath house. It’s just a very soothing experience and really relaxes him. Showers seem more practical and perfunctory and less enjoyable overall.

15. formal or casual?

While he will wear casual clothes, Reigen feels the most at ease and the most like himself in a business suit or in slightly more formal attire.

[mandoalorian]

For some reason I really need to read Maxwell fucking reader in their luxurious walk in closet that’s basically a room of fuckable surfaces.

Blinding Lights [Maxwell Lord x F! Reader] SMUT

Warnings: 18+ smut, f recieving oral, fingering (guys it’s so intense i’m obsessed okay), cunningless, squirting, over stimulation, orgasm denial,  unprotected p in v,  pre-established relationship, soft Max but rough sex.

Word count: 3100>

Author’s Note: This is honestly one of my favourite smuts I’ve written in a long time. I’m proud of the detail (is that weird?) and I just hope you enjoy reading it as much as I enjoyed writing it. As always, reblogs are appreciated. <3

Masterlist

Maxwell’s mouth was insistent, that much wasn’t a surprise. He always kissed you as if it was out of desperation. Hot and passionate -- like it might be his last chance kissing you forever. He savoured every moment, the taste of your tongue and the way your soft lips fit perfectly against his. You could faintly taste the vanilla lip balm he was wearing and couldn’t contain the wanton moan that escaped your throat when his big hands began caressing your body. They finally settled on your hips, and he dug his ring glad fingers into the soft skin there, offering you a playful squeeze.

When you squirmed beneath him, he chuckled, feeling a familiar heat flood his body. He nudged the curve of his nose against yours when you broke away from the kiss, but once he was satisfied that you had caught your breath, his lips came crashing down onto yours again. Maxwell took a few steps forward, pushing you into his walk-in closet and propping you against one of the shelves. He’d thought about this -- a lot.

You pulled away from his mouth once more and looked around, taking a second to process that you were no longer in his bedroom, but in his walk-in closet. It was enormous, and absolutely extensive in size. There was no reason, absolutely no reason whatsoever, for Maxwell to have this many power suits. Each one had been pressed and ironed perfectly before getting hung up. It was colour coordinated, but make no mistake, it looked like a rainbow. Racks on racks of shirts and ties and pocket squares, waistcoats, belts and suspenders, a display of cufflinks -- it honestly looked like a department store.

“Are you okay?” Maxwell asked, resting his forehead against yours. 

You fixed your gaze back onto his lust blown brown eyes and smiled. “I’m perfect,” you reassured him, and your heart swelled with joy as you watched his face light up. “I can’t believe we’ve been together for a year and I’ve never seen your closet.”

Maxwell dramatically cleared the shelf behind you of his shoes and knocked them all the ground. It didn’t go quite as smoothly as he imagined. It was something he’d seen in a movie once. He cleared his throat before finally speaking.

“Yeah,” he shrugged like it wasn’t a big deal. So you hadn’t seen his closet… so what? He’d shown you everything else. You’d literally travelled the world with him -- and you were fixating on the fact you’ve never seen his closet. To him, it wasn’t a big deal. But to you, it just showed that your boyfriend still somehow managed to be an enigma. You weren’t mad or upset, if anything, you found it endearing. In a way, it was nice that you were still finding things out about Max, even though you’d already known him for so long. “But I’ve wanted to fuck you in here since I first brought you home.” Maxwell grumbled in admittance, leaning in to pepper kisses along your neck and down your collarbone.

He needily tugged on the hem of your dress, making it clear that he wanted it gone. You pulled the thin material over your head and dropped it to the ground.

“So perfect,” he whispered, bringing his hand up to caress as his chaste kisses deepened down to the valley of your breasts. You felt his free hand snake behind you as he fiddled with the clasp that held your bra together. “May I?”

“Yes,” you breathed out needily, and within a second, your bra was gone. Now just in your panties, you nodded in the direction of your boyfriend. “Your turn.”

Maxwell rolled his eyes but couldn’t escape his grin as excitement filled him. You loved seeing him smile. Not that fake, forced television smile -- but his real, genuine smile. You knew it was real because he had this little dimple in the left of his cheek that always popped out. You felt so lucky that you were one of the only ones that got to see him like this. You were one of the only people who could make him smile -- and make his heart blossom with so much love and adoration. To Maxwell, you were truly a figment of perfection. He was an esteemed, intimidating businessman. But you were like an angel; soft and delicate. You made him a better person without even trying.

It took him a little longer to undress -- discarding the jacket, and then the tie, and then his suspenders, and then unbuttoning his shirt and pulling it off his shoulders. The second he was shirtless, you did what you always did. You reached out and wrapped your arms around him, relishing in the heat of his broad and tan chest. You nuzzled your head into him and he began to softly smooth out your hair.

“I love you so much.” he uttered softly, pressing a kiss into your hair. His stomach erupted into butterflies when he felt you smile against his skin.

“I love you too.” you sighed into admittance.

When you pulled away, he cupped your face and his thumb brushed the height of your cheekbone. You were half expecting another deep kiss, but his lips barely brushed against yours.

“Get up.” He ordered, pointing at the shelf he’d just cleared of his shoes. You turned around in surprise but followed his demand, hopping up and sitting on the shelf. Your feet were dangling off the edge. You were only a few inches from the ground, but it truly felt like you were sitting on a cloud.

He adored your body and he made sure you knew it. He spent a few minutes gawking, and if it was anyone else, you would’ve felt uncomfortable. But you were so madly in love with Max Lord, you let him look for as long as he wanted. You knew it wasn’t easy for him to get shirtless, as he had an air of insecurity about his body, but the two of you trusted each other one hundred percent and being around Max (and Max being around you) gave you both a significant boost of confidence. 

“You’re so amazing.” Max breathed out, shaking his head incredulously and clasping his hands together in awe. It almost looked like he was praying.

You tossed your head back and Max felt his cock jump in his tailored pants at the way you exposed the column of your neck, just for him. “Stop,” you groaned. You were glad your head was thrown back so Max couldn’t see the flush of heat that crossed your cheeks. “You always say that.”

“But it’s true!” he exclaimed before taking a step forward and bringing his hand to your neck, giving it an experimental squeeze. 

“Max please,” you whimpered, crossing your legs together as you felt the arousal pool in your panties.

“Please what?” he asked, his warm breath fanning over your ear lobe.

“You know.” you drawled out as his hand cradled your breast again. He dropped his hand down to your stomach and let it linger just above the hem of your lace panties.

“I want you to say it.” he hissed, making your cunt clench around nothing. Gods -- you needed him. 

“I want you to fuck me.” You gasped out, and a wicked smirk crossed Max’s lips. His eyes were almost black at this point, and his dark blonde hair that was once perfectly styled, was now disheveled, with little waves falling out of place.

A small hum of acknowledgement left his lips as he rubbed his middle finger and index finger over the material of your panties. Max grunted at the feel of your clit through the lace material.

“You’re already so wet and I’ve barely even touched you,” Max praised, bringing his finger up to the bright closet lights and revelling in how your arousal glistened on his digit.

You needily rubbed your knee against his erection and he groaned, hating how confined he felt in the fitted suit pants. You loved to hear him. The noises he made during sex were sweet like honey and they turned you on so much. “I have to taste you.” Max announced finally, dropping to his knees and pulling your panties down.

He threw them haphazardly to the floor, in a puddle amongst yours and his other garments of discarded clothes. Just the vision of him on his knees between your legs was enough to drive you crazy. It was like he was worshipping you. Max softly began to palm at your knees as he spread you open. He leaned in, pressing hot, wet kisses into the softness of your inner thighs where it felt like cream.

The curve of his nose nudged against your clit and you tried holding back a cry as a jolt of pleasure ran through your core. He was taking his time, making you wait -- ever the tease. You brought your hands down to the back of his head and let your fingers tangle in his soft locks of hair. You gently pushed his face further into your core, hoping he’d get the message.

It was like he read your mind. He licked a hot stripe between your folds and the simple movement had you already seeing stars. You bundled his hair up into a fist and waited for him to lap at you again. Though this time, he changed his technique. He blessed you with short and fast kitten licks, and everytime he skillfully maneuvered his tongue over your bundle of nerves, you felt yourself near climax.

“Oh Max,” you moaned, not even realising the way your legs had clamped around his head. The wet noises that echoed through the confines of the box shaped closet were obscene, and you might have once been embarrassed, but quite frankly, in this moment, you had other things on your mind.

The tip of his tongue began to flick in and out your entrance and you let go of his hair at the sudden intrusion. You cried out, having no reason to care about how loud you were being. It was just you and him. “Oh fuck Max.” 

His tongue increased speed, faster and faster, and it felt like your body was about to fall off a cliff and into a tingling sea of ecstasy. But he suddenly pulled off you when he sensed how close you were, denying you of an orgasm and leaving you a heaving panting mess. 

You wanted to smack him. You wanted to get your revenge. How could he do this? You were so close. You were so close to cumming, literally just from his tongue. When you finally gained the energy to open your eyes, you’d mentally prepared yourself to say something but you were greeted with the image of Max and his pretty puppy dog eyes blinking up at you. And immediately all your thoughts were lost. His lips were shining with your wetness and curled up into a smile.

“You know I’m just preparing you for what’s to come, right?” He quizzed, raising his eyebrows. Okay, he had a point.

“Could’a still let me cum.” you grumbled, pouting your lips to sign your disapproval of the unfair nature of his game.

Max furrowed his eyebrows together and frowned. “Baby, what have I taught you?” He asked, and when you didn’t answer, he sighed. “To be patient.”

His gaze didn’t leave yours once, but still, he managed to bring his thick, ring clad finger back down to your core and push it deep inside of you. He didn’t take it slow, like the softness in his eyes might’ve implied. He thrusted his index finger as deep as he could and immediately located the special sweet spot inside of you -- the one he had memorised so carefully. 

Instead of adopting his usual routine, he did something that took you by surprise. He didn’t remove his finger, it wasn’t an ‘in-and-out’ type of thing. He scraped the tip of the digit against your g-spot, his finger curling inside of you as he did so.  It was ethereal. You’d truly never felt an intensity quite like it, and he wouldn’t stop. It was rapid and hard and the sensation you felt was blinding. The pleasure burned through your body like wildfire, and it didn’t take long at all before you had completely submitted to him. You couldn’t take anything in, you couldn’t process his actions anymore, it was too overwhelming. Overbearing too, but in the best way imaginable. He was stimulating you persistently, and no matter how much your thighs shaked or your cunt clenched around his finger, he just kept going. 

Somewhere down the line, your eyes had snapped shut.

“Look at me,” Maxwell growled. You whimpered and squirmed, pretending like you didn’t hear him. To be fair, his voice was just an echo in the background, your feelings of how good this felt were at the forefront of your mind and Gods, why had he never tried this before? “Look at me or I stop.” He warned.

You didn’t know if he’d actually stop, but you knew for a fact you didn’t want to risk it. So it took all your might, but you managed to open your eyes, your gaze pleading with him, begging him to keep going.

And he did.

Had you cum yet? Surely you had. It felt like you’d cum a thousand times over, your body aching and tired. When he brought the thumb of his free hand to your clit and began to circle it, you wanted to scream. Maybe you did, you didn’t even know anymore. You couldn’t see clearly, everything was just like white noise.

That was it. That was the final straw. The lower portion of your body was a spasming mess and you had completely lost all focus. There was no going back. Until, his finger doubled out of you, lightning fast, as bolts of pleasure zapped through your body.

“Holy shit!” Max hissed, his eyes wide as he took in the sight before him.

You still weren’t entirely sure what was going on, until you felt… wet? Wetter than before. Significantly wetter than before. 

“Oh fuck baby,” Max whispered, and you managed to catch a blurred glimpse of his face before he plunged his finger back inside of you. His face looked wet too. “You’re perfect. So perfect.” he praised.

“Wh-- what-- wh--” you could barely even find words as he continued to finger you. Despite his actions being slow this time, the overstimulation was killing.

“You squirted, princess.” Max smiled proudly, pressing a kiss to your knee.

“I-- what-- I did-- what--” You were still in disbelief. So that’s… that’s what that was. It felt like a molten hot tornado ripping through your body -- and you’d never felt anything like it before but there wasn’t a chance you’d trade the feeling for the world.  “I’ve never done that before.” you confessed, relishing in your post-orgasm haze.

“I’m glad I could make you do it then.” Max said before removing his finger and placing it on his tongue, moaning at the taste of you.

He gave you about a minute as you came down from your high, and as you did so, he unbuckled his belt, pulled it through the loops of his pants and got completely naked in front of you. You were still on cloud nine when you felt the bulbous tip of his cock press against your core.

“I’m going to fuck you now,” Max whispered, leaning over your body and nibbling at the skin of your neck. “Just like you wanted, okay? And I’m not going to be gentle.”

Well, at least he warned you.

He thrusted deep inside of you, his movements relentless. You clenched around him, desperate to milk him for all he had. It was amazing, the feeling of every ridge and vein of his cock rub against your walls. He was going to make you cum again, you were sure of it, and you knew it was going to be soon.

The way his length throbbed and twitched inside of you -- you knew he was close too. You were so insanely wet from squirting, you could even feel your juices drip down the curve of your ass. You couldn’t imagine the mess you made, probably sitting in a puddle of your own arousal right now. 

You wished the moment would last forever, but he rested his head in the crook between your neck and shoulder and bit down on you. “Gonna cum.” he gasped, fucking you even harder. Faster. Deeper. You were a shaking mess.

“Cum inside of me, Maxie.” you begged, tugging on his locks of hair and giving him just enough motivation to let go.

“Almost there.” He groaned before gasping out as his salty seed spurted inside of you, roping your walls filling you up.

He stayed inside of you until he softened, hugging you tight and kissing you softly. “I love you so much, so so much.” He’d confess in between kisses. “Never leave me. Please never leave me. I love you too much.”

You could feel his heartbeat against your own as you ran your fingers through his hair. “I’m never leaving you Maxie, I promise.”

-—-—-—♡—-—-—-

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