#warm bodies x plus size reader

[bi-writes]

attached | ghost x f!reader

i have no idea what it is that binds us together. but it doesn't really matter.

type: one-shot (8.4k)

cw: zombie apocalypse au, mature language and content, suggestive language and content, dark!ghost, dark!reader, reader described as curvy/plus-sized + has hair long enough to braid, graphic depictions of violence + murder + gore, depictions of suicidal thoughts + intentions (no actual action), mentions of depression + sadness + loneliness, depictions of assault + harassment (not by ghost), horror movie vibes, unprotected piv, allusions to baby trapping, cumplay, oral (fem!receiving), 18+

Death can be a curious thing. It used to be something definitive. Exact. It used to mean the end of something.

No, now it's a beginning. Not a sweet beginning, but a beginning nonetheless. It turns a new tide. Reactivates cells that were once dead. Sparks nerves that used to be dormant, that used to be dark. It makes muscles move even when they aren't supposed to. Brain-dead, but still hungry.

He hasn't been able to understand the phenomenon quite yet. He's tried. He's picked up a few books and tried to do his own research, but it's difficult when there is no way for him to view the cellular structure of it all on a micro-level. He cannot see the way it grows or how it takes over. He hasn't been able to figure out what techniques it uses to keep a body awake even when the central organs no longer function the way they're supposed to. What keeps it moving? What keeps the feet running and the stomach hungry and the saliva warm?

Why is it that when he plunges his blade through its heart, it still kicks? The brain is its engine, as with his own body, but this is different. The brain runs even when it has lost its necessary components. Blood circulation, oxygen, the things it needs to thrive; but this state of being is not like his own. It doesn't need the same things it used to need because its purpose is not to keep a body running. Its purpose is to eat. To infect. And that is all.

He likes to play games these days. He has a lucky silver euro, one he pried off the dead body of someone that he hated. He spit on that body before raiding his pockets. He hated that fucking brute; he disgraced the style of wearing a mask by using a fucking t-shirt instead. Perhaps Austria is a beautiful country, but it certainly produced one of the most unlikable of men. He thinks even if the world was still right-side up, he would've killed him anyway. The only thing useful about him was that he was carrying a few extra magazines and this coin in his front pocket.

Every morning, when he wakes up, he makes whatever will happen that day a game. If the coin lands on heads, he gets to kill himself today. If it lands on tails, he has to endure 24 more hours before he can play again. The rules are simple. The game is easy. Everyone knows how to play it, but not everyone will like to win it.

Today, he decides to do something different. Today, he decides if he wins, he will wait another day. He has never won this game; he decides if he can't win it, he'll manipulate it until he gets what he wants.

It hits the table with a light clink. It rattles around in a few circles before settling, and when he leans back in his chair, he sighs. He knows what it will be even without looking, but he looks anyway. When he sees the carved outline of its face-side up, his eyes flash. He won.

He never wins.

Something is keeping him here. He chooses not to ask questions. There isn't anyone to ask anyways. No one answers when he speaks. He doesn't think there is anyone left to listen.

If someone would ask him why he doesn't just put the muzzle to his temple and pull the trigger, he would just say that it was because that was how the game is played. Those are the rules. He can't try unless that's what it tells him to do. There is no fun in cheating the game; it wouldn't be proper, it wouldn't be correct. It would be grounds for disqualification, and that just wouldn't do, not for him.

He has to do things the right way. Always. It's how you keep order in a world that has none left. It's how you maintain structure even without the lines drawn in the sand. This is the way things are done; God is not waiting at the end of a very long staircase, He is rattling that coin on the table and waiting for Ghost to take a peek.

He thinks it keeps landing on tails because perhaps God is tired of playing this game with him; Ghost has never been surprised. He will always be ready for disappointment. Giving a gift is no fun when the recipient simply receives it.

It landed on heads today. He won the game. He tried to play it differently, but someone won't let him.

There's snow on the ground this morning. It snowed all night, coating the ground in a few inches of powdery ice. He looks away from the window and back towards the mirror, continue to run the razor over his head. His blonde hair falls in clumps in the sink. He keeps it neat and short, close to the head, and then he does the same with his face. He cuts the stubble close, keeping his face clean, but it doesn't wipe away the rest of his face, the things he can't just cut away. The scars, the ridges, the skin that closed over wounds angry and white and uneven. He can see his teeth through the broken skin above his lip, the yellowing of them now that he only brushes them a few times a week with his lack of proper toothpaste, and he grimaces when he sees the new red spots of raised skin left behind from the dirty mask he wears now. He dips his toothbrush into his bottle of water before brushing, careful to scrub his gums properly before spitting into the sink.

When he finishes, he makes his way back into the bedroom to get dressed. He did the washing yesterday; he found a creek only half frozen over, and he made use of the bar soap he keeps and managed to clean off most of his clothes. He feels a little better slipping into his cargos now that they aren't drenched in sweat or dirt. He tucks a long-sleeve into his pants before putting a thick windbreaker on over it, but he finally feels complete once he slips his mask on over his face. In the mirror, he adjusts it, making the skull straight, and he blinks back at himself. The mask does more than just hide him from the dead.

It keeps the living walking a careful circle around him, and he wants to keep it that way. He hasn't spoken to a single person since it began. He stopped counting the days once his boots ran out of space for notches. Anyone he sees now, he scares them off with one look, or he puts them down before they can take a step closer to finding out if he's real or not.

He doesn't take chances. He has always had a special skill, being able to sniff out the bullshit before it begins. He leans into it now, and it isn't a bullet wasted if it stops the chaos before it can wind up.

He still wears his tactical gear. He can't part with it. His holsters have not failed him, still buckled around his thighs. His vest is still strapped on, and without it, he feels naked. He has long since discarded of the Union Jack patch on his chest; there is no king nor country anymore. They are colors in different shapes, and they mean nothing now; they were buried a long time ago.

His backpack feels light. He's running out of bullets, and he doesn't like how it feels. Nowadays, he has to go further and further to get what he needs, and recently, he's taken to picking up everything and simply moving to make the trips all the easier with no home to go back to.

It's not all that different to the life he had before. He never stayed in one place too long then either. He signed the shortest leases, and he would move once it was up, never lingering and never buying more things than he could carry in the back of his truck. His memories are in his head and nowhere else. He keeps no trinkets. He saves no pictures. There is nothing from the old life that needs to be brought into the new. He shifts between both lives, one foot in the past and one in the future, and he thinks that's what really makes him live up to his name.

He's a Ghost. A drifter. Standing between two places at the same time, not knowing which to stay in and which to leave. It would hurt, if he was really human inside, if he could feel anything at all.

But he's not. His insides are nothing but organic matter. His head is a clock, ticking, counting down, but he's not aware of when it runs out.

He digs the heel of his boot into the snow to gauge the depth. It barely comes up over his toes. He huffs a little before taking a peek at the map tucked into his vest. He had circled a place just north, a main street he is hoping will have a stash of things he will need.

Ammunition. Weapons. Food. Water. A new book, for fuck's sake, maybe a Sudoku puzzle that isn't already scribbled into.

The forest gives him cover, so he sticks to it. Out in the open, he would stick out, dressed in all black. He keeps to the trees, ducking under the leaves and trying not to leave too much of a track behind. He doesn't plan on staying in that cabin again, but if he must, he doesn't want anyone seeing a way to come back to it.

The one thing he does appreciate about this new place is the quiet. It lingers, and it's calm, and when he breathes, the world breathes back. He feels like he had always been telling everyone to shut up, but now, his voice hasn't been used in months. Even when he passes other people, he doesn't speak to them. If they don't spot him, he keeps to the shadows, and if they do, they don't see him for long enough to know what hit them.

It's a good stash. The store had been rifled through by now, but in the office, there had been a nice drawer filled with supplies. A few boxes of ammunition, a revolver, and a new blade to stick in one of his boots. He picks up some other odds and ends. Batteries. A roll of yarn. A small sewing kit. A few pens. His backpack feels a little heavier, and it's a weight he appreciates when he makes his way back outside.

He sticks to the alleyways as he searches for the roof over his head for the night. He decides the cabin he slept in last night was too close to the road; if anyone was driving or following it, they could find that place too easily, and he wouldn't be able to sleep another night comfortably there knowing this truth.

He finds himself veering off road just enough. It's fucking cold, freezing, and he's grateful to the mask for helping him keep it together as he ducks under the wind and keeps an eye out for any nearby landmarks. Sometimes, on slow days like this, he would sit on a ridge and kill infected for sport. Practice focusing his sight, calculating the wind, keep his mind in check by hitting his targets and ridding the world of another one of those things.

There are different kinds of hunters out today.

He hears them before he sees them. He knows what kind they are when he hears their laughter. Low and untamed, sloppy and fucking messy. They always are. These kind spoil their treasures. They eat their food until it makes them sick, and then they do it all over again. They never learn their lesson.

When he settles his rifle down along a fallen tree, he eyes them through his scope. There are two of them. Both are fattened, with dark hair and lazy eyes, and they look greasy. Their clothes are in ruins, and their packs are light, and Ghost figures that they look enough alike to be perhaps brothers, or maybe cousins. Their smiles are equally as sadistic. The taller one tugs something along, and when Ghost aims the scope down a little, he sees her.

Her.

He's dragging her by her legs. She's kicking, but it's hard for her to do much when her arms and legs are bound by mismatched bits of fabric and rope. She's crying, that much is clear, squirming as she spits and gargles around the gag in her mouth as she tries to break free. She has heart, but she isn’t a fighter. If she was, she would’ve realized her teeth could snap that fabric of her gag, and she would know that the knot they’ve tied succumbs easily to upwards pressure.

He follows them. They keep going, dragging you and laughing as they make it to a makeshift camp hidden amongst a clearing. There's a few tents set up, a small dip in the earth to hold a campfire, and when they settle on tree trunks to sit, the smaller one takes a blade and cuts your gag off, leaning over you with a low chuckle. They mean to maim and to take and then to kill, and you know this when you look into his eyes.

"Hello, darling."

"Bite me."

He laughs again, dropping onto his knees over you, but when he gets close enough, you sit up with what little strength you have and bite him along his ear. The cartilage rips, and you tear half his ear off, and then he's scrambling off of you, screaming, holding the side of his head as he rolls around in circles in the snow. He colors it red, and you snarl with satisfaction. Ghost takes a deep breath in and lets it out shakily. The look in your eyes–he can taste that, roll it around on his tongue. You did not clock the poorly-tied knots, but you do see opportunity, and you are the kind to take it.

"You bitch!"

Just as the taller one is about to get on top of you, Ghost decides he's seen enough. He closes one eye, lines up the sight, and he lets out a cool breath as he drops the both of them within a second of each other. They fall easy; a bullet clean through the back of their heads, and now they're finally quiet again. They will not get up, either.

Your lip trembles as you look towards the trees. You watch as the leaves rustle, and when you see a man emerge from the thick of them, you start to cry. You think maybe you're seeing things; you must be so dehydrated, so hungry, that a reaper has come for you, and you are much deader than you thought.

The reaper stares down at you curiously. He swings his rifle over his shoulder, tilting his head to the side as he bends, getting a blade out of his boot before he cuts the restraints that bind you. He doesn’t hesitate when he does this; he does not deem you enough of a threat to keep you bound.

You sit up slowly, wiping your face, and when you meet his eyes, you're surprised to see how human they are. They're dark, but alive, and he has blonde lashes and pale skin underneath. He covers himself, but you can still see him. There's a man under there, not a reaper.

Just a man.

I hate men.

You shake off the rest of the restraints, turning your wrists and ankles and flexing your muscles for good measure. When you realize you are nothing but a little shaken up, you look back up. He's still staring at you, hard eyes lowered in a glare as he looks you over. He's sizing you up, maybe, deciding what to do with you. You meet his eyes one more time before gathering the saliva into your mouth and spitting onto the floor. It's a garbled mess of blood, from the flesh you had severed from that man.

He blinks slowly at that, makes some decision that he doesn’t voice out loud, and then he starts to walk away.

You stand on shaky legs, taking it as your cue. You watch as he rips open the flimsy tents that those men had left behind, and he's already grabbing backpacks and rifling through them for goods. He already starts filling his own vest and backpack with the things he finds; some flashlights, fishing line, more food and ammunition. You follow him, moving to the other tent beside it and starting to grab their things and toss them outside. You get to your knees and open the packs, laying out what you find carefully. They have interesting materials in here, ones you associate with explosives. C4. Lighters. Batteries. Wiring. You clench your jaw when you pull out the last box in the bag.

Condoms.

Bunch of pricks.

He finds your discoveries useful. He opens up an empty pack he found and fills it to the brim with supplies. When he zips it up, your stomach drops when you think he might toss it over his shoulder and leave. It only sinks for a moment before he turns the backpack around, holding it up for you.

You pause for a little and think. It only takes a few seconds for you to decide to stand up and slip your arms through the straps.

When he walks again, you follow.

The sun is setting by the time you find somewhere to sleep, but it looks like luxury to you. A quaint little brick house tucked between the hills, a ways from the road and positively hidden. He spotted it through his scope a few hours ago, and he made a beeline for it. It's difficult to keep up with him; he has incredible stamina and the longest legs. He moves like a ghost, too quiet for his own good. You would never know from looking at him how stealthy he could be. For such a huge man, you would never notice him before he could get the drop on you. It makes you conscious of your own steps and how loud they are, and you try to mimic the way he moves as you keep walking.

You don't know why, but you think he must be very pleased with how quiet you've gotten. You don't know why that fact pleases you, too.

He makes you stay outside when you arrive. He pulls a small handgun out of his backpack, and he checks the chamber before handing it to you. He clicks his tongue, forcing your eyes on his, and he puts a finger to his mask-covered lips, telling you to keep quiet. You take the gun from him, pointing it at the ground and holding it at your side, and he touches a knuckle under your chin before he twists a silencer onto his own gun.

You watch with rapt attention as he clears the house. His movements are quick and calculated, and he keeps low to the ground. It's mesmerizing. Big and capable, one with the shadows. The only thing you see in the dark is the white of the skull over his face, and if you didn't know it was him, you would think that you have just seen God.

But God isn't real. Apparently ghosts are.

He is back outside in less than ten minutes, nodding his head at you. You take it as your cue to come towards him, and you hand him the gun back when you pass him. You go into the house and immediately start to light some of the candles scattered around. You set your backpack down, rubbing your shoulders out, and you take a seat on the couch.

It hits you then, the gravity of it all. Men are your captors, and then they are your savior. They'll never leave you alone. They'll never let you go. You were ruled by their iron fist in a previous life, and you will endure their wrath in this new one.

You start to cry. It's the first sound you've made since screaming. You cover your face with your hands, and you don't know why you feel safe enough to cry, but you do, and it comes out of you fast.

He tilts his head to the side as he watches you. It's a strange thing to see something so...alive. He's used to only seeing things moving that can't speak back to him. If he does see things alive, he puts them down as if they are rabid dogs.

He can't find it in himself to kill you. Something is so odd about it. About you.

Everything about today seems more than coincidence. He won the game today. And then he found you.

When he tries the sink in the bathroom, he's surprised to find it working. He grabs a bowl and fills it with water, and when he comes back into the living room, you are staring at one of the flickering candles blankly, shivering. You have stopped crying, but your face is still wet with fat, lingering tears.

It looks like you've been hit by a brick wall. Your hair is matted in places, in tangles. It’s in desperate need of a cut. It's stuck to your face around the perimeter, caked by sweat and mud and dried blood. Your clothes are in ruins; you wear a ripped jumper, thin jeans, and the soles of your boots are starting to fray and come off, and he can see where you've tried to mend them unsuccessfully with duct tape. You wear no jewelry, and your fingernails need to be cut. Those men have left marks on you, but those will fade.

He kneels in front of where you sit on the couch. Using a threadbare cloth, he dips it into the water and raises it to your face. You show no resistance. You let him wipe your face off, the tears, the dirt, the blood. It stains the cloth ugly, but you can't look at anything else except for his eyes.

They're so dark. Brown, like bark, like honey. You haven't spoken a word to him yet, but the silence is sort of bliss. All you can hear is the drip of the water when he rings out the cloth.

He helped you. He didn't have to. He could've kept walking, but he stayed with you. He didn't leave you. He could've walked away again, but he let you follow.

He isn't a good man. You know that. Anyone who has lasted this long isn't a good person. You've done the same. You've let it take you, once or twice, let the snarl in the back of your throat guide your hand. You've let the voices fester, let them eat at the acid in your stomach until they begged for more, and you won't admit it, but it felt good. Felt good to protect yourself. To rid the earth of something terrible. To say no.

He must understand that. He's decorated in its essence, the one of understanding, the one that says I know what it's like to take matters into your own hands, and he did it with you, too.

He's doing it now, cleaning you up, and you don't know him, or his face, or his name, but you'll try hard to give it back. To give him something. To tell him you are worthy and not useless. It doesn't show today, how far you've come, but you'll try.

"Thank you," you finally whisper. He's dragging the cloth over your bottom lip, and he blinks rapidly, as if a bit startled by hearing your voice. When you speak again, it's to tell him your name, and he thinks for a few moments before continuing, wiping under your jaw.

He doesn't sleep that night. He stares out the window, like a guard dog, and he lets the soft breaths of your sleep keep him awake.

The gas lighter on the stove still works. It takes a match to light it properly, but when the fire starts, you take some of the soup cans from your pack and make breakfast.

Your smile when he comes into the kitchen nearly blinds him. You look more rested than yesterday, and you ladle some soup into a bowl for him, setting it down at the table. He notices the two bowls, his and yours, and he notices that his bowl has more food.

It is then that he decides to keep you.

What he doesn't know is that you've decided the same. The world has thrown you the way out. A man, built like a bear, happy finger on the trigger and capable of getting you out of harm's way. You need to convince him that you are worthy. You need to convince him that you are valuable. A keepsake.

Men are what start wars, not what end them. Men are the cause of chaos and destruction, it is prevalent throughout history, and it is why you are here now, in a place that doesn’t exist, where people don’t breathe the same air anymore. A man thought himself correct, but he was wrong, and he didn’t listen when someone told him otherwise. They are the ones that take advantage of your vulnerability, and instead of trying to understand it, they use it to get what they want.

You can do the same.

You start by mending his clothes. He's laid some out to dry after washing, and you notice the tears in his shirts. When he comes back a little while later, with dinner hanging off his shoulder, you are seated on the couch, feet tucked under you, with a needle in your hand as you sew up one of his shirts.

You've bathed, found new clothes, warmer ones, and your hair is braided and off your face. He hates to say he prefers you a little dirty, but he likes this, too. A natural beauty. A soft face.

You make a real dinner that night. There's canned vegetables that you try to spruce up with the spices you find in the cupboards, but the real meal is the venison you're served. He butchers it outside like a professional, and he sears it on the stove with a perfect touch. When he feeds you that first bite, your mouth explodes with flavor. Your belly is full that evening, and when he blows out the candles for bed, he eats you out in the dark of the corner bedroom.

He's not sloppy like you thought he might be. Not overeager. He's easy with it, casual. Big hunk of a man smothered between your thighs, and he laves his tongue through your folds like his very own personal dessert. He drinks straight from the source, holy water spilling sweet between his teeth, and when he gets his tongue inside of you and holds it there, you nearly leave earth for somewhere else. You come like that, too, his filthy mouth sucking on your clit before he's slipping that tongue in you again, and you mewl against the bed as he tucks his hand under your ass and spreads you wider.

He tells you his name a few nights later. He doesn't speak, not ever, but when you're crying around his thick fingers, he whispers it against your ear.

"'s Simon," he growls, and you know what he means by that. He wants you to say it while you bounce on his fingers, when you rut against his thigh. He wants you to say his name when you're coming undone riding his face, when you're wetting his mask with your pussy and making him choke on your cum. Such a wet, sweet girl you are, and sometimes he skips wash day for his mask so he can shove it into his mouth and pant around it and taste you while he fucks his own fist.

It's insanity, he thinks, as he's cleaning his rifle. The idea of traditional. But it's what befallen him, what he sees all around him, and he tucks his index finger into a hole too small to pinch himself just to make sure he isn't living a dream. You're in the kitchen, mending more clothes, something warm boiling on the stove. There were seeds in the greenhouse, and you're saving them to plant in the spring, so for now, you make do with canned goods and whatever Simon hunts for during the day. You found books in the attic, and you read them at night, head in Simon's lap as he plays with your hair or rubs your sore ankles or cuts your nails. You're the only one that ever speaks; he hasn't said a word to you except for telling you his name, and you're content to be the only one that uses their voice.

He always listens. You told him one time that you loved the shade of green that the trees wore, and he came back one day with a sweatshirt of the same color for you. He noticed you trying to mend those terrible boots, and he found a new pair for you, your size this time, barely worn and fit for winter. He brings lots of things for you; books, clothes, even rocks sometimes, when he just thinks he found one that you might like.

You do like them. You have started filling a small bowl with the ones he brings, and he notices you rifling through it sometimes, just looking at them, and it makes his chest swell with pride.

Like giving a treat to a dog. Like giving him a fucking bone.

He teaches you how to shoot. You know how to pull a trigger, but that’s the extent of your expertise. He teaches you how to stand, how to turn the safety on and off, how to hold the gun between two hands so not even his own can take it away from you. He makes sounds when you please him. Hums low, lets out a soft breath, sucks in the air through his teeth. You can’t see his face, but the way he looks at you when you fire a bullet and knock bottles off their ledges, it warms you, all the way down your spine, reaching your toes. You want him to keep looking at you this way, so you try hard, and he notices.

You’ll never be what he is, but the small victories are what have him chubbing up in his cargos and falling asleep between your thighs. You give, and he takes, and he keeps coming back for more.

He teaches you that distance is your strength. You aren’t like him; you aren’t built like a brick house, you won’t be bigger than a lot of your opponents. You need to keep them away from you, however you can. He makes you good with that gun because it’s your best chance, but in the even that you lose it or you run out of bullets, he shows you how to aim a hatchet so that the blade always lines up between someone’s shoulders.

The way you listen makes him salivate. The way you blink up at him and say yes, Simon and take his orders, it makes it difficult to keep away from you. 

Today marks two months in the house tucked on the hill. Simon hunts, and you cook, and you live in some sick, twisted housewife fantasy at the end of the fucking world. Simon provides, and you keep, and when the box of condoms falls out of your backpack one day, you glance at Simon for just a moment before he's on you.

It's animal, that first time. He tackles you practically onto the carpet of the living room, and he props you up onto your elbows and only pulls down your jeans enough that he can fit his cock between your thighs. You hear the tear of the condom wrapping, and then he's laying over your back, sinking to the base, cock nestled inside of you as he grips your throat gently and fucks you into the carpet. Poor beast, he's definitely going to need his knees massaged after this, but you can't think about that much when you're taking the fattest cock of your entire life and trying to survive underneath him. It's that fine line between pleasure and pain that you're desperate for, and you pull threads out of the carpet as you try to hang on and take it like a good girl.

You can hear his voice. It's low, and subtle, but he grunts with each agonizing thrust, hips snapping against your ass as he fucks you back onto him over and over and over again.

It's primal. Nasty. You wish he wasn't wearing a condom, you want him to be in your skin, you want him to fill you until you're full, let it spill over, and then do it all over again. You want him to bite into your throat and tear, and you want him to eat you and then put you back together, and then do it again and again and again.

"So big," you gasp, and he falters at that. You recognize it, the need for praise, and you latch onto it with claws and stay there. I need him to stay here with me. "So good...so good t-to me, Simon–"

He groans. It's music.

Keep me. Keep me. Keep me.

"Simon, please–" You scratch at his arm, not satisfied until you feel blood. When you break the skin, he laughs, a breathless laugh that has your eyes rolling back in your head as he shoves your face into the carpet and mounts you like a fucking horse. The deep slap, slap, slap of skin is enough to send you away, send you home, your mind foggy as your pussy squeezes him for all he's worth. The slick of the condom is pleasant, but you want it raw. You want every part of him carved into you, and you arch your back, suck him in, whine and cry and beg for him to just, "please, Simon, I need it, I need it."

"Need wot?"

The sound of his voice is whiplash. He hisses when he sinks deep, staying there, holding you at a sharp angle so he can knead your ass and watch it bounce back on him. He sucks on his teeth, and there's drool slipping out of your mouth. That accent, his voice, like velvet, from deep within his chest. You want to hear more of it.

"Be a man," you gasp. "Be a man, and fuck me."

He doesn't see the desperate look on your face when he slips out of you. He doesn't see the relief that washes over you when you hear the condom come off, latex crumbling as he tosses it, but he feels the warmth of your pretty pussy when he sinks back in, skin to skin, and feels you clench for dear fucking life.

"Fuckin' Christ," Simon groans, and you reach back for him, gripping his arms, forcing him to fall over on top of you. He settles with his elbows on either side of your head, and you bow your back and grip the carpet again as he fucks into you nice and slow, deep, fat head leaking precum and making you cry because finally, yes, please, this is it, what I want, I'll have you forever.

You're so pretty. Even in his past life, Simon never got to have anything pretty. He was too ugly, too big, too awkward. Any woman of good faith stayed 100 yards away, as if his mere presence was a warning alarm, some invisible radius that kept them away from him. He always thought it was for the better. He always thought good riddance, they shouldn't have me, I shouldn't have anyone. Not when only days before, he had tortured a Russian militant until he had no teeth and hung his severed fingers on twine around his own neck.

But you won't run away. He's given you opportunity. He's left the cottage and staked out the outside just to watch you, and all he sees is you moving between windows, shaking out the dust from old blankets and washing the dishes. All he sees is you sewing his clothes and cooking his food, and when he comes back inside, all he sees is your smile and your face and your pretty mouth that falls open when he makes you come all over his hand.

Now it's the end of the world, and he lets a coin flip decide whether or not he lives or dies. And even when he flips it now, it never agrees. When he asks to die, the coin tells him no. When he asks to live, it’s always interrupted by you.

Yes, it tells him. Yes, yes, yes, because it's been keeping him here, because it knows, because it saw, because he couldn't see both sides of the coin, but he can see it now, plain as day, and she's underneath him now, letting him inside, and she's begging him to come and to fill her up, and she's crying because he's such a big man, and she wants him everywhere and always and all at once, and Simon is nothing if he isn't an insatiable bastard that can finally be fucking selfish.

The way you say his name could make him move mountains. That soft breath you take. The falter of your voice. The whine. The world has gone quiet, but he'll make a new one, and he will leave it at your feet for you to step on or pick up.

Whichever you choose. You can do no wrong.

When he comes, he moans. Into your ear, he lets you hear him, lets you bask in his pleasure as he spurts hot inside of you, hauling you a little higher on your knees so he can make sure you come, too. He gives you the palm of his hand to grind on, fucking into you at the same time, humming deep when he feels you squeeze around him and shatter like glass.

He takes his mask off for the first time that night. You see his face, all of it, not just glimpses when he lifts it to eat or to drink, you see the whole thing. He has a terrible looking face. Something only a mother could love. Too old of scars to be from this new life. They slash across his brow, across his cheeks. He has a jagged nose, and the skin around his lips had been reconstructed poorly from however they had been slit.

He's a terrifying piece of flesh. He is surprised when you lean in and kiss him. He's even more surprised when you kick off your jeans, turn over, and fuck him again.

The mantra that sounds like mine repeats in his head over and over. He feels it, deep, warm and beating under his ribs alongside his heart that hasn't moved in a long while.

He found you in those woods, kicking amongst predators, and he took you home with him. Picked you up like a stray, fed you, clothed you, and now you've stayed. For a moment, he thought it wasn't real. Thought your full belly is what kept you here, the warm house. He didn't mind pretending, but he figured it wouldn't last.

He doesn't think that anymore. Not with the way you kiss his severed face. You nuzzle into it, cup his cheeks, and he finds it agony when you pull away.

He hovers now. In whatever room you are in, Simon must also be in it. If he leaves, he makes you board the doors, and you are only allowed to open them if he knocks in his special way. He tested you once, came back earlier than expected, and he was so pleased you did not open the door to his casual knock and only the special one that he made you come one, two, three times with your thighs locked around his face.

A terrible thing happens.

Not to you.

You're searching the greenhouse. Hoping to find some flower pots for the herb seeds you found, you're rummaging through the cabinets beside it. Your gun is sitting away from you, and although Simon would chastise you for this, you feel safe here, and it doesn't bother you.

It flings itself at you. It cries, what used to be a teenage girl, reaching for you because it wants a chunk of your softness, of the life you pump into the muscles that keep you running. You're protected by all the clothes you wear for the weather, and it is slow because of the cold freezing their rigid, dead bones, but it does not lessen the hunger, the fight, the determination to eat and spread.

Before it can bite, the back of its head explodes. You close your mouth and shut your eyes as rancid brain matter splatters the white snow and you, and it is wrenched off of you immediately. Simon stands there, his pistol in hand, and you have never seen him quite so angry as he is right now.

His eyes are wild. He heaves under that tact vest, breathing hard, and his grip on the handgun shakes, so much that he has to shove it back into the holster at his thigh and lean over to pick you up off the ground.

He jostles you. Growls. Is nearly an animal himself as he shoves you up against the glass of the greenhouse and snarls.

"Wot the fuck is wrong with ya?!" Simon snaps. "Is y'r fuckin' head on?!"

It's so quiet in your head even as he yells. Your eyes tear, but not because you're upset. You reach out and cup his face gently, and he stops. Stops talking, just watches, just looks at you as he bends and leans his forehead against yours and squeezes you to his chest.

What is this thing you have? What have you become? What innate thing has festered between you? He’s gripping the edge of the glass so hard, you hear it crack under his hand. There is some kind of sick sense of devotion among you. Some kind of responsibility. He’s angry because something under his tongue tasted bitter when he saw you struggling. It won’t be this easy. He won’t make it this easy. If he doesn’t get to die, then neither do you, and he will make sure of that, because that is the only way this game can remain fair.

You never wander to the greenhouse again. He makes you promise (lest he wastes his cum between your thighs instead of inside you, that's it, promise me).

Another terrible thing happens.

Not to you.

They're wanderers. When they knock at the door, they don't use Simon's special knock, so you don't open it. Instead, you blow out the candles and hide, peeking at them from the fogged window in the attic.

They are men (you aren't surprised, they seem to be the only thing that survives nature's heavy hand). Cold. Shivering. One of them is bleeding, you can see it from the blood trail he leaves in the snow that seeps from somewhere under the hem of his jeans. The one uninjured tries to force his way through the door, but Simon added more deadbolts to it, and it doesn't give under his weak attempts. You trade your handgun for the rifle, aiming it at them. If they get through the door, maybe you can draw them back out, keep them away from the house.

You try to stay quiet, but the healthier one uses his body and a log of wood to get through. They're desperate, desperate enough to not care that breaking through the door cuts him severely, splits through his jacket. The second man limps behind him, getting inside, and you decide to put the rifle back.

You will stay quiet until Simon gets back. Your strength is not being a bulldozer, so you'll hide until he can be that for you. You steady your breathing; even if they make it to the attic, you won't go quietly. You tried that last time, and if it wasn't for Simon, you'd surely be naked and dead in that clearing that you were dragged to.

This time, if you go, you will take someone with you at least. Severed ears are not enough. You will not make them artists, you will make them forgettable and unrecognizable, and you will give back what they give you tenfold. Even if it kills you.

It takes them all night before they finally make it to the attic. They eat your food and take showers in your bathroom and stink up the living room, you can hear them. And when their bellies are full and their minds wander, you dread the pull of the attic door as he wrenches it open and the ladder falls.

You manage to kill one as he drags you out from the corner. He latches onto your ankle, and as he pulls, you put your finger on the trigger of your handgun, and you put one right between his eyes. The other takes advantage of your moment of pause, turning you over onto your stomach so hard the gun flies across the attic from your hand. He tosses you down from the attic, and you land on your side in the hallway, and you cry as you get to your elbows and crawl, trying to get to your feet, but he's larger than you.

He catches you in the kitchen. Slams you over the kitchen counter, using his weight to pin you down, but Simon taught you better than that. He taught you not to give in. He taught you not to give up. You think about him when your fingers find the discarded fork on the counter and you drive it right through his fucking eye.

You don't stop. You don't let his cries keep you from bringing your arm down again. And again. And again. You make his face your blank canvas, and you paint it with your anger. For every man that ever touched you. For every man that ever thought himself worthy to have you. For every man that tried to make your body his prize, you poke a thousand holes in him, and you scream with him as you do it until he can't scream anymore.

You're holding the fork and standing over him when Simon comes home. His handgun drawn, silent as he makes his way in, his body visibly relaxing when he sees you. He glances at the man at your feet, still alive, gurgling there, choking on his own blood as he tries to breathe through the holes that are scattered across his face and neck. You meet his eyes, and you smile. It's uncanny to do it now, but you are happy to see him.

"There's..." You sniffle, wiping your face with your sleeve. "There's another i-in the attic."

You don’t get to see him smile under the mask. You don’t hear the near purr that leaves him as he climbs the ladder and sees the perfect place you’ve left your mark. He’d frame it if it wouldn’t rot.

You twirl the fork in your hand before going to the sink, dropping it in there, and you close your eyes as you listen to Simon's footsteps as he goes into the attic. It takes him a little less than an hour to get the bodies out the back door, and when he comes back inside, you're already wiping up the floor in the kitchen.

There's nothing to talk about. This is normal. This is just another day. Tomorrow, you might have to do it again, and you'll still cook dinner after sunset and clean the kitchen like you're doing now and sit Simon on the edge of the bathtub and cut his hair.

Simon found chocolate on his trip today, and you make cake with it. You sit in his lap under the candlelight, and you feed each other, bite by bite, and you giggle when Simon gets it all over his lips.

You kiss him to clean it off, and then you reach for another bite of cake. There's some measure of satisfaction you feel when your tongue finds the dent in the fork prongs from when you used it earlier. The chocolate tastes better somehow. Sweeter.

You catch him in the morning, limbs tangled with yours under the sheets, flipping a coin. You smooth a hand over his thick chest, along his pudgy stomach, and you watch with him as the coin lands on the bedside table, falling flat.

It comes up tails.

He decides then that he doesn't have to flip it anymore. It's pointless. He asked for answers, and he got one.

You were not luck. You were fate. And because of it, the coin will always land the same way.

His thoughts are interrupted when you reach for the coin. You twirl it between your fingers, thinking. He doesn't see what you see, but that's okay. Maybe he'll let you play now. Some other game, a better one.

Heads or tails, win or lose, alive or dead. Either way, you are attached. Woven together, thread by thread. There are no vows to say in this new place, but you aren't tested by the same kinds of things. There is no law to keep two people together, no governing power of men that say if left is truly left and that right is really right.

You are drawn together by shared experiences. The same trauma. You won't leave each other not because you said you wouldn't leave, but because there is no one else in the world that has seen the same things you have seen and has done the same things you have done. There is no one else in the world that will forgive you for what you had to do to survive. That will love you not just in spite of it, but because of it, because you did what was necessary, and you are here now to learn a lesson and not suffer its consequences.

It's just a game. If you win, he wins. If you lose, he loses. If you're alive, he's alive.

And if you're dead, then he must be, too.

[oldmenthusiast]

18+ content mdni

bookshop owner!joel miller x fem plus size reader

warnings: smut, age gap, tension, reader is in her 20s and joel in his 50s, semi public sex, reader wears glasses, not proofread

it takes many job interviews for joel to hire someone until he finds you. you're not the first young thing to apply for the job, not the most qualified either but joel likes how modest you are.

he also likes the way you avoid his gaze if he stares too long, or how you keep pushing your glasses every time they slide down your nose.

those aren't the only things he notices about you because he's become very observant due to his age; it definitely doesn't have to do with some strange infatuation over you, no.

when your hands firmly pull your sundress down if it's too windy, when you smack your own forehead if you mix up the order of the books before switching them again. joel notices that too but it doesn't necessarily mean anything.

“I’ve taken care of the online orders, mister miller.” you inform him as sweet as ever and joel’s crooked smile appears on instinct.

“thank you, sweetheart. you know how people my age are with those machines.”

you're kind enough to shake your head at his response.

“I think you're doing great,sir.” you tell him and it warms his cold heart to the core.

“go home, sugar. I'll close up soon.” he mutters with the same half smile and watches you go but not without wishing him a good day.

during peak season, the bookshop gets naturally busy but to the point where joel and you have to stay overtime.

he doesn't ask it of you but you insist.

“I can't let you do all that by yourself.” you mutter with a faint pout that he wants to kiss away.

“can’t pay you for overtime,sugar—”

“just let me do this for you,sir.” you cut him off and joel doesn't argue further.

that's how his following nights go. you sit together in the back of the store, tons of books and papers surrounding you as you work. you assist him with every single thing he needs and even if you lack knowledge in some parts, you learn it for him.

peak season ends, the bookshop is quiet and your shift ends but you somehow still sit at the back of the store instead of going home. joel sits across you while holding a bottle of beer in his hand.

“a girl your age should go out with friends and have fun, not rot in here with me.” joel tells you with a hint of amusement in his tone.

even if he's right, you do not agree.

“I like it here, it's peaceful..” you explain and as usual your gaze doesn't linger on his. you look away when joel doesn't and it makes the man smile.

“I like it too.” he mutters after a while and tips his head back to down the rest of his beer.

there's hidden intent behind his reply, or maybe just the feeling of wanting to say something more, but joel keeps quiet. whether you notice it or no, you don't say.

joel doesn't pride himself to be the best boss but at least he's a good enough one. that's what he tells himself when your most recent ex partner marches in his bookshop to cause a scene but joel sends him back with a bruised eye and some vulgar words.

it's probably the first time someone has stood up for you like that but it's more special because it comes from joel.

whether it's out of gratitude or suppressed emotions, joel thanks whatever high power has led him to the back of the store again with his body slumped on his chair and you straddling his lap.

“mister miller.” you moan as you sink down his cock, taking him inch by inch until you're fuller than ever.

his calloused hands wrap around your plush thighs and fondle the skin greedily, loving how it spills between his fingers. whatever you're not proud of, joel touches it like it's a treasure.

“I’m a man, not a boy.” he growls when you hesitate to move on him, afraid of crushing him beneath your weight. “fuck yourself on my cock, baby. come on.” one of his hands slaps your ass possessively and his words alone are good enough to give you the confidence that you lack.

once you start moving, it's over for him.

his thighs flex beneath your weight and his cock twitches within you as you ride him, taking him in so perfect.

“so good. my sweet girl. my favourite girl.” he whispers against your cheek and you melt while swaying your hips faster.

his hands clutch harder at your thighs as you bounce on his cock, buzzing with heat and need for more.

the sound of skin slapping, as well as the wet noises that emit with each slide of joel’s hardened cock inside your folds makes everything better. “so wet. you're coating my cock with it, sugar.” he says through gritted teeth as his fingers dig harder into the skin of your ass.

he slaps it once, then twice.

“mister miller!” you cry out when a particularly hard thrust is delivered straight into your sweet spot.

joel buries his face into your neck and grunts as your walls tighten around his cock, claiming his every inch. “so sensitive. bet your boyfriend didn't know how to fuck like this.” and he's probably right by the way your pussy drools and squeezes around him, sucking him in for more.

his lips find your neck and he marks it unapologetically, biting and sucking on whatever skin his mouth can reach.

when he pulls away and presses his back against the creaking chair he's graced by a sight better than any other.

joel watches you ride him, stares as your tits bounce before his face and your crooked glasses struggle to exist because of the force of his thrusts below you.

he definitely can't last long after that and he uses his strength to shove you on the table and tower over you. only then does he realize the pathetic state of your sundress, butchered up around your waist like it's a belt. he slides his cock inside you again and you whimper softly.

“knew you were made for me ever since you walked through that door.” joel growls while fondling your breasts with both hands, his mouth merely occupied with the tender skin on them.

your hands reach for him, gripping the back of his shirt as he fucks you. you're not used to being given things, only to give them yourself. and this much pleasure is overwhelming but it's good because it's joel giving it.

a particular shift of his hips helps him to slide deeper and the sensation causes you both to moan in unison.

“I won’t last, sweet girl.” he croaks between the space of your breasts while sucking one of your nipples into his mouth.

you can say the same as the stimulation brings you closer to the edge and your eyes can barely stay open at some point.

his hips follow a fast and intrusive pace, and every time joel’s hips collide against the back of your thighs it makes your skin jiggle. you feel embarrassed but not for long as joel drags his lips against yours.

“the prettiest girl. there's nothing better than you, sweetheart.” joel whispers and you kiss him before he does.

your mouths melt so perfectly, your noses brushing intimately, and if joel could bring you any closer he would.

“there.” you beg against his lips when the tip of his cock hits that perfect spot within you.

“here?” he asks teasingly and makes his thrusts purposely rougher. your legs shake around him and he does it again. and again. and again.

the bookshop is filled with your cries and begging. “i’m coming— I can't—” you mumble incoherently but joel gets it as he speeds it up.

you watch his hand disappear between your bodies and you don't question it until you feel that excellent brush of fingers against your clit, accompanied by his savage thrusts into your weeping pussy.

“joel.” his informal name falls off your lips so well and he has to remind himself to breath when you say it as you come around his cock with a cry.

it takes everything in him to not spill everything within you right there.

“where? where, baby?” he asks as he grounds his hips and hopes you'll get it.

“I'm on the pill.” you so graciously tell him while squeezing your thighs around his waist and joel nearly says thank you because of what a desperate bastard he is.

it only takes a few more thrusts for him to let go and come inside you, his hands abandoning your breasts to pull you down by your hips.

your eyes roll to the back of your head as you feel every drop pour into you and fill you up. it briefly shocks you that he's still coming — he's still filling you up with his seed and groaning against you.

“there’s so much.” you mutter breathlessly as he nuzzles his face against yours. joel simply hums and uses one of his hands to caress the bare side of your hip, keeping you relaxed.

“we’re not opening tomorrow.” he tells you in his usual tone of authority.

“it’s thursday.” you tell him.

“good day to go out and eat,yeah?” joel pulls back enough to look at you and he stares at you knowingly. his words bring a smile to your lips, one that he wants to treasure forever.

you nod then, giving him your acceptance.

“yeah. it is a good day to eat out.” his hand moves from your hip to fix your crooked glasses with a fond expression. the glint in his eyes speaks louder than any sentence.

“maybe you should keep your calendar empty for this month. or year.” his words amuse you but you're aware that it's far from a joke — he isn't asking. your eyes regard him as gently as always and you smile that way just for him. “yes mister miller.”

he was glad to have hired you.

[crystallinestars]

NSFW Alphabet - Aventurine

In honor of the handsome gambler coming home, have some Aventurine smut.

I’m so sappy for this man, ugh.

Aventurine x fem!Reader

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

For the first while, the one doing majority of the aftercare would have to be you. Aventurine has had plenty of one-night stands where the other person got what they wanted from him and then left without engaging in any form of aftercare. He’s used to sex being transactional, a tool he used to win people over.

As such, Aventurine feels lost when it comes to providing aftercare for you since it’s not something he has experienced before. At first, it feels strange to him when you offer to get him water, massage his sore muscles, or cuddle with him right after sex. It felt strange, yet he found himself enjoying the moments when you allowed him to rest his head on your chest, feeling your fingers run through his hair as you chatted about various things.

Aventurine slowly warms up to the idea of receiving this type of treatment after sex, and once he becomes accustomed to it, will return the favor. He’s fond of giving you massages and kisses and joining you in the bath for some extra cuddles. He’s also very likely to order you a delicious meal to replenish your energy or spend the rest of the night lazing in bed with you until you both fall asleep.

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

I know that this is supposed to be sexy and erotic and whatnot, but if I had to be honest, I would say Aventurine likes his eyes. As much scorn and discrimination as his eyes have brought him, they are his last remaining link to his family and people, and I think he treasures that. Plus, he likes it when you compliment his eyes and say they’re pretty. It makes him feel a bit better about his Avgin heritage.

On you, Aventurine likes your hands. He really likes how you gently caress him, be it in or out of the bedroom. From the way you hold his hand in yours, to the way you cup his cheek or trace your fingers along his body, he loves it all. He feels treasured under your touch, as if he were something precious to you, something irreplaceable. It makes him feel a complicated type of way, but he still seeks out that touch.

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

Is possessive, so he likes to cum inside and then watch his semen drip out of you. It’s a form of staking his claim on you. However, he’s perfectly happy to cum on your chest or face or wherever else you tell him to, though preferably in or on your body. Aventurine is also content to have your juices smeared all over his face from eating you out. Something about feeling how wet you are turns him on immensely.

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

Aventurine memorized your undergarment sizes and has spent a pretty penny buying you all kinds of fancy and risqué lingerie from expensive brands. He got you a few matching sets of high-quality lingerie among several costumes, such as a bunny girl suit, a maid dress, and a nurse outfit, to name a few.

He’s planning to give some of them to you as a gift on special occasions in the hopes of getting you to try them on and give him a little show. He loves seeing you dress up for him, and thinks it would be a fun way to spice up your sex life.

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

He’s pretty experienced. Aventurine has had a few partners in the past, though they were strictly one-night stands with no feelings attached. It was more of a means to an end for him to relieve stress or win over the person for a deal. He basically used his partner and got used in return, and although some of these encounters were fun, they always left Aventurine unfulfilled.

It wasn’t until he met you and engaged in real lovemaking that he finally understood what was so amazing about sex (more on this in the intimacy section).

F = Favorite position (this goes without saying)

Aventurine is pretty versatile, and his favorite positions change depending on what he’s in the mood for.

If he’s in the mood for something rougher, then he defaults to taking you from behind. He presses his hand on your upper back, pushing you face-down into the bed with your ass up in the air for him. He’s also fond of taking you against the wall with one of your legs hooked around his hip for a deeper penetration.

If he feels like letting you take the lead, he’ll lay back and let you do as you please. You want to pin him down or ride him in cowgirl? Go for it, he’s game. Use him however you want. That said, expect him to be a bit of a brat by challenging your authority with the smuggest of grins on his face. You have to earn his submission.

During moments of sweet and tender lovemaking, Aventurine prefers missionary or lotus. These positions are perfect for exchanging kisses and holding hands, and the eye contact between you feels more intimate which heightens the experience for him. He loves being as close to you as possible, your bodies pressed flush together as your hips move in sync, so expect him to keep his arms wrapped around you for as long as possible.

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

Aventurine is both serious and humorous. He definitely verbally teases and taunts you because he wants to get a reaction out of you, especially in the early stages of your sex life. It’s also a mask he employs to hide his own nervousness and vulnerability. However, he’s still considerate and respectful of your boundaries and feelings, and he takes the time to discuss these things with you in a serious manner.

While he’s usually very teasing and playful during sex, Aventurine has his serious moments. Those usually come up during tender lovemaking since it’s a more emotionally charged experience that leaves him feeling vulnerable. Genuine words of affection from you go a long way during those moments, and Aventurine might even return them in kind if your relationship has progressed deep enough.

Once he’s past the stage of slowly opening up and has become comfortable being vulnerable with you, Aventurine will act more playful and teasing again. Unlike at the start, this time he doesn’t tease you to mask his true feelings, but as a way to engage in some playful banter and watch your cheeks flush because he finds you super cute when you’re embarrassed.

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

Just look at Aventurine and tell me he doesn’t groom himself all over. He definitely keeps his pubic hair neatly trimmed so it looks tidy. It’s also the same blond color as the hair on his head.

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

He's had sexual partners before, but there were no feelings involved, so the sex left Aventurine feeling unfulfilled. It felt good, sure, but it still didn't fill the void in his heart, and he was left empty. Sex with you feels completely different, though. You're devoted to his pleasure, you treat him with love and consideration, and he can feel how much you love him through your touch and words.

There is also something so fulfilling and joyous about making you feel good, of knowing that he is the cause for those moans and blissful expressions of yours. Sex with someone he loves is a completely different experience because it's more emotionally charged, and though it makes him vulnerable, he feels more connected to you. He loves that emotional connection even more than the physical one, and it also makes him realize that there's so much more to sex than simply reaching orgasm.

Getting Aventurine to lower his guard and allow himself to be vulnerable during sex is something that will take time, but once he learns to embrace the experience, he’ll be very romantic when making love to you.

As mentioned before, Aventurine likes to keep as much physical contact with you as possible, so he’ll hold you tight against his body while rocking his hips into you. He also enjoys holding hands, especially when close to orgasm.

He’s a very sensual lover, so he runs his hands along your sides or spine, leaves hot kisses on your jawline and neck, and whispers romantic words about how he loves you or how you’re being such a good girl for him. Feel free to do the same to him in return, he loves feeling your loving touch.

Even when he’s being rough, he’s still loving toward you so you’re never left feeling like he’s just using you to get off. He wants you to be comfortable being this intimate and vulnerable with him, plus he loves giving affection.

J = Jack off (masturbation headcanon)

Aventurine accumulates a lot of stress from work, so I think he masturbates fairly regularly. He usually does it in the comfort of his own home when he has some downtime.

With your consent, he uses some lewd pictures and videos of you to jack off to, or he uses his imagination, recounting his favorite moments from your past sessions. He also pictures you in various risqué outfits or imagines what it would be like to try new kinks with you.

K = Kink (one or more of their kinks)

He's a switch but tends to take on a more dominant role because he likes having some for of control over a situation, be it in or out of the bedroom. He's quite adept at giving you commands and suggestions, such as watching you masturbate and giving you directions on how to play with yourself. Aventurine is also into mutual masturbation, with either both of you watching each other get off, or using your hands to please the other.

He's into dirty talk, but mostly giving. From you, he likes to receive praise on how good he makes you feel. He also enjoys hearing you beg and describe in as much detail as you can what exactly you want him to do to you. If the task embarrasses you, that's even better because he finds you incredibly cute when you're blushing.

Other things he likes is edging and overstimulation (giving and receiving), mild exhibitionism (see Location below), videotaping/photographing your body or your sex sessions (with your consent, of course), and mild choking (mostly receiving, but can also give).

Aventurine can handle and enjoy rougher treatment from you, but he loves it most when you worship his body. Your loving and gentle touches feel so good, and honestly, he needs the pampering. Bonus points if you compliment his body, be it his looks or physique.

I also feel like he's into footjobs and boobjobs, and getting you to go commando or with a vibrator stuffed in your pussy in public (but only if you're into that).

L = Location (favorite places to do the do)

Generally prefers to have sex somewhere comfortable and private, so the ideal place is usually your home. The kitchen, bathroom, living room, etc are all fair game because Aventurine is not very picky about the location, though he does have a preference for the comfort of a soft bed or couch.

If exhibitionism is something you’re into, Aventurine can also fuck you in riskier places like a public bathroom or near an open window, though he won’t let either of you get caught.

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

Seeing you in his clothes is a surefire way to get Aventurine in the mood. His shirts are too long for you, so he finds it cute how the sleeves cover your hands, and how the neckline dips lower to show off your cleavage. Bonus points if one of your shoulders is exposed. He finds the sight incredibly erotic and endearing.

Aventurine also likes seeing you dress up for him, be it pretty dresses and nicely done hair or perfectly applied makeup. The idea of you dolling yourself up for him just to have your neat appearance ruined by the end of the night arouses him. As does the idea of seeing those painted lips of yours leave lipstick marks on his cock while you suck him off.

Aventurine can get easily turned on if one of your make-outs turns hot and heavy. Feeling the desire and passion behind your kisses can get him aroused pretty quickly, and he’ll try to turn you on in response by deepening the kiss or sucking on a few sensitive spots on your neck he knows make you weak in the knees.

He also loves it when you tease him, especially sexually. If you give him fleeting touches against his clothed dick, press hot kisses along his throat, or tug on his lower lip with your teeth, he'll easily get worked up. Giving him a fleeting taste of pleasure before pulling away, leaving him yearning for more all day will drive him wild and he'll follow after you like a puppy. Expect to be teased into oblivion in return once he gets his hands on you.

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

As a man with a truckload of trauma, there are certain kinks Aventurine isn’t comfortable participating in, or some that he flat-out rejects.

He’s not into roleplaying scenarios where one of you is subservient to the other, so things like slave play or petplay get a hard no from Aventurine. He also doesn’t like calling you mistress due to the time he was forced to call his enslaver ‘Master’.

While he’s ok with some light bondage like having you pin his wrists down with your hands, he gets uncomfortable if handcuffs or rope is involved because it conjures up bad memories from when he used to be restrained like that as a slave. For the same reason, he’s not into wearing collars or collaring you.

While he can handle some rough play like choking, spanking, and biting, he doesn’t like being heavily hit, because again, it triggers bad memories for him. He doesn’t like being injured or causing you injury. He also doesn’t enjoy demeaning dirty talk that treats you or himself as something lesser or as an object.

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

His silver tongue is good for more than just talking. Aventurine enjoys giving oral because watching you writhe and fall apart under his mouth is a huge ego boost. He loves to play with and tease your pussy, memorizing all the motions that get the best reactions out of you or any directions you give him to please you right. He becomes an expert at eating you out.

Aventurine gets a deep satisfaction out of pleasing you, and it definitely gets him hard to hear your moans and watch you squirm because he’s making you feel good.

However, I think he prefers receiving just a teensy bit more. Just a smidge. Having you between his legs, eagerly sucking his cock while maintaining eye contact with him is just heaven. There’s something so nice about being lavished with your love and attention, of seeing and feeling how devoted you are to making him feel good. It makes him feel appreciated and desired, which is a huge turn-on.

That said, Aventurine really likes 69ing because that way you both get to give and receive pleasure at the same time, which is a win-win. Though he does miss seeing your pretty eyes looking up at him while your mouth is stuffed with his cock.

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

Again, depends on his mood. If he’s feeling frisky, he’ll opt for a quicker and rougher pace, snapping his hips into yours in quick, sharp thrusts while holding onto your hips or arms to hold you in place. However, he’s never rough to the point of it being painful. He doesn’t want to hurt you, so he’s never that rough with you.

Since he’s a sensual person, Aventurine definitely enjoys slower sex. It’s his go-to when making love to you. The thrusts are slow yet deep, his cock dragging against the walls of your pussy, allowing you to feel him properly and fully. With a slower pace, he can kiss you deeper, press his forehead against yours, and exchange words of love more easily. He’s also a fan of slow morning sex.

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

He’s fond of quickies. As much as he loves to take the time to work you up and explore your body, sometimes he just needs to quickly release all that pent-up lust to clear his mind. Especially if you’ve been teasing him for a portion of the day or you guys don’t have an opportunity to seclude yourselves for a longer session of sex. He can wait until you get home, but if you’re also willing, he’d much rather have a quickie.

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

He’s a gambler and lives for the thrill of taking risks, so I’d say he’s open to experimenting in the bedroom. Aside from the things mentioned in the ‘No’ section, Aventurine is very open to trying new things, even more dangerous ones like choking or exhibitionism. Even if he’s not into something, he’s willing to at least try it once if it’s something you really want to do with him.

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

Has average to a bit above average stamina. Can go for one long round with a lot of foreplay, maybe two if he’s particularly horny. Probably recovers quicker than you, though.

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

Does own a variety of sex toys he experimented with, but his favorite is a bullet vibrator that he uses while masturbating.

Will absolutely buy toys to use on you, like dildos, vibrators, ballgags, crops, etc… feel free to use the toys on him too, if you want.

He finds toys to be a fun way to occasionally spice up sex to prevent things from getting too stale in the bedroom.

U = Unfair (how much they like to tease)

Huge tease. The biggest tease. The kind of tease to overstimulate or edge you until you’re crying and beginning him for relief or to stop—you won’t even know which one. Thankfully he’s rarely that mean, but he likes to edge you a bit before diving into the good stuff.

Aventurine loves to hear you beg, and he will deny you what you want unless you ask for it nicely. You want him inside? In what way? His fingers or his cock? You need to be more specific, darling~

He also verbally teases you, commenting about how eager you are for his dick or how wet you already are despite just starting, etc… And he always says it with that smug, confident smirk of his.

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

Aventurine tries to be quiet because he’d rather hear you over himself, but he does let out his voice a fair bit. He’s prone to whining when you pleasure him, letting out low groans and soft moans, sometimes even growling if you get him particularly worked up, though that sound is rare.

He also talks a lot. Even if he’s breathless from exertion, he’ll still talk dirty, complimenting you on taking him so well, on how eager you are to please him, or how good you feel inside. If he’s making love to you, you might even catch him whispering a strained “I love you” when he’s close to climax.

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

Aventurine has nimble hands and knows exactly how to use them to drive you crazy with pleasure. He’s an expert at fingering you, knowing just the right way to curl his fingers inside your pussy to hit your g-spot, what pressure and speed to thrust them in and out of your sopping cunt until your toes curl and you’re clamping down on him as you orgasm.

He also likes to slip a hand between your legs to rub at your clit while fucking into you or to gently tweak and pinch your nipples. The little squeaks and sighs you let out in response are music to his ears.

If at any point you’re frustrated by him constantly edging and teasing you, he’ll quickly shut down your cute protests by deftly rubbing at your clit in exactly the way he knows you love. The way your jaw goes slack as you forget what you wanted to say, reduced to a moaning mess, has him gloating and grinning in triumph. He loves watching you succumb to his touch.

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

Is 4.5 inches (11.5 cm) long when erect, and 4.1 inches (10.5 cm) in circumference (girth). His dick is slender with a few prominent veins running along the shaft. The tip is a nice pink color.

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

Average. Generally, Aventurine engages in sex 2-3 times per week, but can easily go for more since he’s easy to arouse. The only issue is that he’s often too busy to find the time. You better believe that when he comes home from his weeks-long business trips, he’s taking you to bed for some passionate sex.

Z = Zzz (how quickly they fall asleep afterwards)

It depends on the situation. If he has work to do after, then he will cuddle for a bit before reluctantly parting from you.

If it’s nighttime or if he has no pressing matters for the day, then Aventurine might let his exhaustion take over and allow himself to fall asleep. It doesn’t happen immediately, though. He prefers to indulge in the afterglow with you, chatting and cuddling for a while, maybe taking a bath together to clean up before bed. He falls asleep a lot easier with you by his side, feeling your fingers tenderly card through his hair or burying his nose into the crown of your head and breathing in your scent.

Unrelated, but he can be both the big and little spoon, though I think he prefers being the little spoon more often. It makes him feel secure when your arms are wrapped around him. He likes falling asleep while facing you, too. Being wrapped up in each other’s arms brings him comfort.

[sttoru]

toji x nympho reader 🤭

⟣ tags. dom!toji fushiguro x female reader. smut. overstimulation, creampies, cunnilingus, exhibitionism, daddy kink, slight slapping, cum play, blowjobs, thigh riding, fingering, positions mentioned; cowgirl, doggy. he’s mean sometimes teehee. reader gets called ‘doll & princess’. separate headcanons + small drabbles under cut.

𝐓𝐎𝐉𝐈 was sure of it; no woman could ever keep up with his stamina or libido. he was surprisingly proven wrong when he met you—your sexual desires were almost too much to keep up with. that last statement goes for the average man, at least.

𝐓𝐎𝐉𝐈 was no regular man at all. in many ways. and especially when it comes to sex and all that it comes with. with all his experience, he knew just the right techniques to satisfy a woman and keep her entertained for a long time. plus, his stamina and size were no joke due to his constant training and bulky physique.

𝐓𝐎𝐉𝐈 never misses on the opportunity of satisfying your needs. you could wake him up at 3 a.m with the question if he could help with you with a certain ‘problem’ and he’ll grunt—surely—but doesn’t hesitate to roll over on his back and let you pull his boxers down whilst encouraging you to ride him in an exhausted manner.

“c’mon, weren’t you the one asking if you could fuck y’rself on my cock? ya either do it right or get off.” mean as always. but somehow, it increased the pleasure you were feeling already—that hoarse, raspy morning voice of toji’s echoes in your ear with each sentence uttered. it was even hotter when he’d grunt or groan under his breath. toji had one hand on your ass, squeezing or lazily spanking it whenever your hips slammed down on his. his other arm was draped over his eyes, keeping them closed since he was in the mood to continue sleeping—basically half-asleep, in contrast to your energy filled body which was riding his cock continuously. “mhmm, jus’ like that. fuck y’rself dumb on my dick, princess.”

𝐓𝐎𝐉𝐈 knows you get turned on very easily just from him doing the most simplest of things. what really gets you going is his body—the way his big, masculine hands knead at the flesh on your waist whenever he hugs you from behind, the veins running through them making your pussy tingle. . or when he stretches and warms up in your bedroom before going on a mission—that makes you rub your thighs together. and you make it known that you’re turned on by him just by looking at him with those seductive eyes.

and 𝐓𝐎𝐉𝐈 can’t deny that your horniness awakens his.

ass up, face down—your body was getting pounded into the bed by none other than toji, who was fed up with the constant lustful looks you gave him whilst he worked out. it made him lose all concentration, which wasn’t good, since he needed to prepare for a bounty he was going to take on that night. thus, toji took out his frustrations on you and your greedy cunt; “ya hear that? y’re fuckin’ dripping for this cock to fill ya up—yeah? wan’ me to fuck some of my cum into y’r cunt before i go?” you whine and nod whilst your noises were muffled by the pillow. your body ached for toji and you were desperate to get anything from him, any sensual touches would do—your pussy was sensitive and needed its release. toji knew that you wouldn’t be satisfied with just one round, however, so he was determined to go make it a challenge: fuck you until you’re leaking his cum from all your holes and passed out from exhaustion.

𝐓𝐎𝐉𝐈 loves it when you shamelessly or shyly beg him to suck his dick. you do it most of the time when he’s manspreading on the couch, just chilling and looking bored whilst watching a dumb show on the television. next thing he knows your head appears between his legs and his fingers are tangled in your hair, pushing your head down on him. sometimes it even happens in public; he’ll be sitting there on a chair or bench, a protective hand on your waist and your eyes would be directly on his crotch. he doesn’t even have to be hard—there’s always that massive bulge hiding under his pants, reminding you of what he’s packing down there.

“fuck. . doll—y’re gnna make me cum before i get a taste of that pretty pussy.” toji grumbles quietly, half closed eyes staring down at your kneeling form. you were sucking and drooling all over his cock, sometimes gagging when the tip hit the far back of your throat, though that only spurred the man before you on. his hips buck up into your mouth, your hands automatically clenching into fists, putting your thumb under your other fingers to stop your gag reflex from activating—desperate to give toji that pleasure he longed for. the man was surely enjoying every second of it. he kept you quiet (except for the faint wet, slurping sounds from your warm mouth as his cock slid in and out of it), his lips curled into an amused smirk, “tha’s my girl—taking all of it in her mouth. what a good little thing.” toji made sure to whisper those words, not caring if somebody heard what was happening from outside the department store’s bathroom stall, but still wanting to avoid any unnecessary trouble. he was actually holding himself back from ravaging your cunt instead—though he settles for shooting ropes of cum down your throat.

𝐓𝐎𝐉𝐈, who gets off from eating you out. he loves to have your cunt full out on his face—adores the way you squirm when he’s pushing your thighs and hips down on his face to get a proper taste of your slick—enjoys when he’s just relaxing with his mouth and nose stuffed between your folds, giving absent licks whilst simply enjoying your scent. he especially loves eating your cunt out when you’re begging for his cock instead. he always shows you just what he can do with that tongue of his—bringing you a different type of pleasure than his dick could do.

one moment you were reading something on your phone, and in the other your man’s face was buried into your wet cunt. you were moaning and writhing on the bed sheets, trying to grind against his mouth. toji was taking his sweet time with you, “mmnh, so fuckin’ good. give me one more, yeah? one more orgasm f’me, princess.” that was what he said minutes ago and you were already on your third climax. you loved this—absolutely relinquished in the feeling of his tongue lapping your juices up, his lips that sucked on your clit every couple seconds, nose buried between your folds. “nghhh,, wan’ you so bad, daddy! wan’ you to fuck me, please!” toji chuckles drlyly, the vibrations hitting your cunt. two slaps were brought down upon your thighs; “i’ll fuck y’r needy self when i wanna, ya hear? now cum on my tongue or i’ll force it outta ya, princess.”

𝐓𝐎𝐉𝐈, who loves to finger you or let you ride his thigh when he’s busy but still wants to keep you satisfied. you’d be whining for his attention, pouting and slightly frustrated when all you want toji’s attention. and his touch, naturally. sometimes you’d go as far as stroking yourself in front of him to show your desperation— which he finds to be the hottest thing ever; you being so needy that you’ll thrust a few fingers inside your cunt and moan for him to come fuck you properly. works every time. but when toji’s a bit too busy to do anything (or too tired / lazy), he gets you off with his thigh or fingers.

“i need to call shiu for info on that one bounty. .” toji recalls and grabs his phone, one hand on his mobile whilst the other was slowly cupping your pussy, thumb drawing lazy circles on your clit, index rubbing your labia. you whine as his hand there disappears, “gimme a minute, sweet thing.” toji licks his index finger whilst pressing some buttons on his phone, head leaning against the headboard of the bed as he watches you impatiently grind against his muscular thigh. he lets you do as you please and watches your ass and hips as they move in front of him. toji tenses the muscles in his leg whenever your clothed pussy slides alongside his skin, bouncing his thigh whenever you’d rest and take a break from grinding—keeping the stimulation going— “giving me a good show, huh? keep at it. might reward ya after my phone call.”

[ohbo-ohno]

Kinktober Day 1 - Breast Worship

Price x F!Reader - 1.5k (on ao3)

summary: Price pays special attention to one of his favorite parts of you. (Reader's POV)

cw: soft piv sex, price has a big dick, reader is plus-size with big tits

The slide of John’s cock inside of you is just on the right side of painful, your head thrown back against your pillows and your eyes screwed shut as he fills you slowly. 

“There we go,” he rumbles above you, calloused palm stroking your hip. “Takin’ me so well, hm?”

Your breath hitches as he bucks forward, sliding another inch deeper. “Fuck, John, yes–”

He swats your ass once, light for him but still stinging, tsking. “Language, love.” His hand drifts down further, groping at one soft thigh and petting you, your skin sensitive to the rough texture of his fingertips.

You nearly choke on a cry as he continues pushing forward, his heavy balls settling against your cunt a relief in spite of your difficulty getting in your next breath. You feel him in your guts. “Oh, God.”

He settles himself against you, chest warm and wide. Your breasts are squished a little uncomfortably beneath him, but the skin-to-skin contact more than makes up for it as he runs his hands up either side of your body, tracing all your dips and curves and giving you his weight. 

You run your hands down his back, nails scratching along his muscles as you grip him tight with plush thighs and breathe through the sensation of him so deep inside of you. Your body adjusts quickly, well-experienced at taking him inside of you even if it's always a stretch, and it only takes a few heartbeats for you to be nudging him with a foot, urging him to fuck you.

He props himself up on one hand above you, cupping your face with one massive paw and stroking your cheekbone. “Alright, love?”

You nod, wrapping your arms around his neck and tugging him down so you can press your lips to his, sharing his breath. John takes the chance to ravage your mouth as he wants, tongue stroking along yours as you leak steadily around him, cunt holding him tightly.

He tears himself away from you, head dropping to rest between your breasts, his head rising as your chest heaves. “Goddamn, sweetie, the way you squeeze me…”

You press your hand to his face now, stroking through his beard as he looks up at you, tits pressed against both of his cheeks. ”Fuck me, John,” you say, voice throaty and rough with need. 

He groans, burying his face back in your neck as he pulls out, forcing himself to go slowly if the way his grip against your hips turns nearly bruising is anything to go buy.

You cry out when he bucks back into you, filling you to the brim again. You can’t keep yourself from tearing up as he settles into a steady pace, only pulling out about halfway before burying himself to the hilt again and again, cockhead brushing your cervix on every thrust. You let the tears fall, know that John only gets more aroused the more of a mess you are for him. 

“John!” You cry at a particularly rough thrust, burying your nails into his shoulder.

He’s panting as he pushes himself above you, hands fisted against the mattress on either side of your head as he fucks you that much harder, lips twisted up in his own pleasure. His stomach presses against yours, his hair just long enough to feel soft instead of ticklish. 

“Sweet fuckin’ thing, aren’t you?” He asks, pulling nearly all the way out on every thrust now, sweat dripping down his neck. “Jesus, look at these tits.”

You gasp as he buries his face back in your chest, quickly moving to your right breast and taking as much of it into his mouth as he can. Your gasp melts into a moan at the hot suction against your nipple, fingers curling tightly through his hair and holding him close as he echoes your moan against you.

“John, John,��� you pant, eyes squeeze shut as he continues to fuck you, the combination of a thick cock in your pussy and a hot mouth on your tit enough to make you feel like you’re melting. 

He’s drooling around the mouthful he’s got, pressing himself as deeply into you as he can. When he first pulls back he looks nearly feral, pupils blown wide and lips slick with his spit. He leans back just enough to look at his work, fucking you a bit more slowly now.

He grunts a moment later, shifting so one hand can cup the underside of your breast and lift as he slows to something just above grinding inside of you. You huff, the feeling of sweat-slick skin being exposed to cool air not something you particularly relish.

“Look’it that,” he breathes, brushing the irritated skin just below your nipple with a thumb.

“Beard burn,” you supply, feet twitching as you contemplate the best way to get him to move again. “Not quite as bad as chafing, it won't last long.”

He nods but you get the sense he’s not really listening, his thumb still stroking the bit of skin that’s nearly back to its normal color. He shifts then, scooting down your body now so he’s looking at your chest instead of your face.

You open your mouth to complain, needy and ready to be fucked again, but before you can get a word out he pulls his cock nearly the whole way out of you before burying himself back to the hilt, knocking any thought of speaking from your mind. 

The pace he sets now is quick and deep, the head of his cock rubbing against your g-spot on every thrust and kissing your cervix, your slick making the glide of him inside of you feel unimaginably good. Your thighs grip him tightly, knees locked around his ribs and holding on for dear life. 

He presses his open mouth to your breast, almost rubbing himself across your chest as he kisses every bit of your skin – your tits are far from small, he’s got a lot of area to cover. His spit cools quickly on you, making you shiver beneath his assault as he does his best to suck your entire tit into one mouth.

You scratch his scalp, pulling as he massages your unkissed breast with his hand, cock still fucking you open quickly enough to keep your eyes unfocused and your mouth limp. Your pant openly as he rubs his face against you, the extra sensation of his beard only driving you closer and closer to your peak. 

“Feels s-so good, John,” you pant as he moves to your other breast, kissing and biting his way across as he shifts his weight, hips never pausing. You whine a little when he massages the tit he was just abusing, the feeling of his rough hand on sensitive skin making you clench down hard on him. 

He groans above you, hips snapping against yours that much harder. You squeal when he bites your nipple, back arching into him for more as you writhe beneath him. “John!”

He’s close to feral above you, chin digging into your soft skin as he nips you with his teeth, leaving his marks behind as he seemingly tries to cover your entire chest in his saliva. The quick bursts of pain combined with the way his hands are massaging you yanks you right to the edge of orgasm, your breaths hiccupping.

“Close, close, John, ‘m close–” you gasp, nails digging into his scalp as you push against him as much as you can on your back, teetering on the edge. 

When he bites one nipple and pinches the other at the same time, you fly off it, vision nearly whiting out as you moan and squeeze him tight. Your nipples are throbbing but it only adds to the pleasure, a sharp bite of pain to contrast the sweet squeeze of him inside of you.

He loses all coordination a moment later, face dropping to rest in your cleavage again as he fucks you without thought, rough and nasty as you start to come down. You whine and cry a little more, the overstimulation wracking your body and sending goosebumps down your arms.

“Fuck, fuck,” you hear and feel him grunt into your skin, his hot cum spurting inside of you as his hips slow down, his thrusts slowing until he’s just grinding into you, cock buried as deep as it will go.

You hold tight to his shoulders, heaving beneath his heavy weight. A moment later he pushes himself up, cupping your right breast and examining it closely. 

“Pretty,” he purrs, running his thumb over the indentations of his teeth patterned over your skin. 

“Felt good,” you say, melting beneath him.

“Yeah?” He looks up at you, pupils blown and lips swollen. He glances down at the other side of your breast, smacking it lightly enough that it could almost be a tap. “Should make this one match then.”

You’re already moaning before his lips even touch your skin again.

[zepskies]

Touch Me

Pairing: Dean Winchester x Plus-size!Reader

Summary: Dean isn’t used to how “touchy” you can be, but he never said he didn’t like it.

AN: I had the Midnight Espresso series in mind for this, since it plays on a recurring theme in that series (how the reader expresses herself), but it can be general Dean x Plus-size!Reader as well!

(In the Espresso-verse, it would take place just a few months after the first story.)

Word Count: 2K

Tags/Warnings: 18+ only for smuttishness. Established relationship, hint of body insecurity, but mostly fluff and feels.

It takes him a while to get used to it, the way you touch him.

Even before you two started dating, you were like this.

You’re an expressive person by nature, always talking with your hands, full body animated when you tell stories. Sometimes you’d grab his wrist playfully, or brush your hand along his back when you pass by. Or you’d grab his shoulder to steady yourself and lean into him when you had too much to drink. 

Dean liked it—all of it. In fact, he found it endearing as hell. That hasn’t changed, even after a few months of trying to figure out what this is. What you two are together, and what you could be.

It’s just that…his family wasn’t so touchy feely growing up. Hell, he can probably count on one hand how many times he hugged his dad. For Sam, maybe two hands.

Your hands are warm, even when they startle Dean a bit while he’s working on detailing his Baby. He sits on a stool low enough for him to get the grit and gravel out of the front right tire.

He jumps when he feels something slide across his shoulders and down his chest, but he chuckles, feeling you press into him comfortably from behind. Your breasts feel like a (sexy) pillow.

“You oughta wear a bell or something,” he remarks, even though he squeezes your arm in greeting, leaving a grease stain in his wake. Your smile presses against his cheek.

“Then how would I get the privilege of scaring the mighty Dean Winchester?” you tease.

He snorts in response. “You just surprised me. A little.”

“Mhmm,” you reply, beginning to lay a path of kisses along his jaw. “Need any help here?”

He takes a deep breath at your ministrations, smiling. “Got a feeling you just came to distract me.”

“Hmm, yeah,” you admit. Your lips wander down his neck, grazing the shell of his ear along the way. Pleasure laces down his spine.

“You know, I think we have yet to christen Baby’s backseat…” You tilt your head, chewing your lip. “Although, I wouldn’t dare imagine how many christenings have come before me.”

Dean chuckles again, but he turns to look at you over his shoulder with more than just desire in his eyes.

“Yeah, well, you’ll be the one that matters,” he says.

You pause, looking down at him like you’re trying to figure out if he means it or not. And he does.  

After a moment, you smile. Dean swivels on his stool and tugs you down to tumble onto his lap, into his waiting arms. You yelp in surprise, but you laugh into his neck when he pulls you flush against him by your jean-clad ass and thigh. He’ll happily get a handful of either one.

You make yourself comfortable on his lap and take his face into your hands. They're gentle, despite what they can do with a Beretta 92.

“I like this,” you admit softly. “You and me.”

Dean quirks a smile. “I’d say it’s an improvement.”

This time when he steals a proper kiss, you’re left without a smartass retort.

Even Sam notices.

The first time he does, you’ve just cooked dinner for them on a slow day. When Dean takes in the spread of pork roast with his eyes, he grins up at you with a heartfelt:

“Thanks, sweetheart," he says. "Looks awesome. Smells even better.”

You brighten with a smile. You answer him by reaching out to cup his cheek, pressing a sweet kiss to the other. You stroke your thumb across his prickly stubble, and let your hand slip down his neck and shoulder on your way back to the kitchen for the bread.

Sam watches the way his brother is a bit surprised by the contact, blinking as his gaze follows you to the kitchen. Dean smiles to himself.

Sam's lips twitch upwards as well.

Is he actually blushing? he wonders.

Dean catches him staring. He raises his brows, clearing his throat.

“What?” he asks.

Sam shakes his head and sips at his beer.

“Nothing.”

After that, Sam starts to pick up on the other little moments, like the way you sit close to Dean while researching during a hunt, your arm or your thigh brushing his. And the way you run your fingers through his hair while watching a movie together, or raise his arm so you can curl yourself up against him on his corner of the couch, threading your fingers together afterwards.

Sam shoots his brother a secret smile of amusement for that one. Dean chooses to ignore him and puts on Porky’s II on the big screen projector with the remote.

You fall asleep about halfway through the movie. Granted, you guys just got back from a long hunt, and you’re all pretty wiped. You’re just the one who succumbed first. From his side of the couch, Sam reaches for a throw blanket you bought for them and helps Dean lay it over you.

Dean happens to meet his brother’s gaze, and Sam smiles.

“Things seem to be going well for you guys,” he says quietly, so he doesn’t wake you.

Out of habit, Dean downplays with a shrug and a noncommittal sound. He brushes your hair back from your forehead, and he makes sure you’re covered up to your shoulders with the blanket. Finally, he rests his arm around your waist and shifts his attention back to the movie.

That’s when Sam knows the truth. His brother’s actions have always spoken louder than his words.

You haven’t officially moved into the bunker just yet.

Dean hasn’t brought it up, since everything between you two is so new. You’re here more often than not though, sharing his bed, making rich espresso out of your little coffee press for him and Sam in the morning, helping them even more with hunts that crop up.

Dean’s still getting used to sharing said bed. Mainly because you’re a cuddler, even after a couple of hot and sweaty rounds between the sheets.

“Ah, heeey,” he says awkwardly, when you snuggle yourself up to his side. You’ve just finished cleaning up in the bathroom and going through your twenty-something mysterious bottles of night creams.

You smell good, he can’t deny. It’s that enticing combination of lavender soap and coconutty shampoo. It infiltrates his nose as you sigh and settle your head against his chest. He curls an arm around you on reflex.

But your hair is tickling his neck and shoulder, sweat is trying to cool on his skin, and there’s plenty of room on your side of the bed. 

“G’night,” you murmur drowsily and lay a kiss to his bare chest, over his anti-possession tattoo.

“Night,” he replies, with a wan smile as he stares up at the ceiling. He goes over the options in his head. One, he can wait until you’re asleep and try to gently roll you onto your side. Two, he can just lay here and deal, even though his neck is itchy, and some uncomfortable sweat is pooling down his lower back.

Or Option Three, he can just ask you if you mind rolling back onto your side. 

After a few beats to think, he quickly concludes that Option Three is not an option.

Instead, he goes for trying to be slick. He waits until he hears your breathing even out into slumber. When he thinks you’re conked out for sure, he slowly, slowly uses his arm curled around your shoulders to roll you over, back onto the left side of the bed.

There are a couple times where he pauses, worried you’re about to wake up. You just hum and sigh in your sleep. Dean's lips purse, and he continues his mission.

When he’s successfully shifted you onto your other side, he expels a small breath of relief. Now, here’s the hard part: taking back his arm.

He goes as slow as he can while sliding his arm out from where it’s trapped underneath your soft body. Part of him feels a little guilty for what he’s doing, but he’s in too deep now.

Almost there…

Your breathing hitches, and stills. So does he.

“Dean,” you say quietly.

Shit.

He looks down, biting the corner of his lip. He’s been had.

“Yeah,” he reluctantly replies.

You turn around and raise yourself up to free his arm. You sigh through your nose, finding his sheepish expression in the dim room.

“Sorry. Was I cutting off your circulation or something?” you attempt to joke.

It seems innocent on the surface, but you’ve made those kinds of self-deprecating remarks before—about your body, your voluptuous ass, hips, thighs, and perfect tits that Dean’s spent the past few months mapping every square inch of.

He frowns. 

“No,” he says. “I, uh…was getting hot. Just wanted a little space, that’s all.”

Your face falls further, no matter how much you try to hide it. A small, proverbial oyster knife twists in his gut.

“Look, if…if you want your bed to yourself, I get it. Less room to go around,” you chuckle, again with that self-deprecating humor. It doesn’t reach your eyes. “I can find my old guest room—”

Dean’s brows furrow along with his frown. He reaches out and grabs your arm before you can even start to get up.

“Hey, stop. Sweetheart, that’s not what I said.” He tugs you back over by your hand. He raises his brows to level with you, conspiringly. “Truth is, I’ve got sweat heading toward the crack of my ass.”

Your face freezes, and then it breaks, spluttering with laughter. Dean smiles, even though he’s also a bit embarrassed.

“You literally got me hot and bothered,” he says, with a teasing gleam in his eyes. “I just need a little cool down. Else I might just wake you up for Round 3.”

You stare back at him in amusement now, tinged with affection. However, the longer your thumb brushes over his knuckles, the more that insecurity starts to creep back into your gaze. 

“You’ll let me know if I’m overstaying my welcome, right?” you ask. “I want to keep exploring…well, us, but I don’t want to smother you either.”

He sighs, shaking his head. “You got all that from me telling you I want to fuck you later?”

You dissolve into laughter again, shoving at his chest. He’s known you long enough to figure out what you need though. He grabs your offending hand and pulls you in. Then he rolls you onto your back and traps you underneath his broad frame.

“You’re not going any-damn-where. Not if I can help it,” he says, his voice deepening to a timbre that makes a shiver run down your spine.

You look up at him, your eyes shining through your lashes with desire, and deeper things too. Things that just about make him putty in your hands, whenever you touch him.

So he touches you. He cups your cheek, traces your jawline with his thumb. The pad of it smooths across your full lower lip as you smile softly, and he realizes then just how far this could go for him. He knows it’s the real deal.

That knowing warms him further and makes his stomach churn at the same time. He’s reminded of the warning he gave you before you two started dating.

“I attract a lot of crap in my life,” he admitted. “Shit you want no part of.”

You grabbed onto the lapels of his plaid shirt and pressed a soft kiss to his jaw.

“Well, that’s a stupid reason,” you said. 

“It’s really not,” Dean shook his head. “Truth be told…I’m no good for you either.”

You hadn’t given a shit about all that. He’s been trying to figure out why you took a chance on him ever since…but he knows his reasons.

Even though he still believes everything he said back then, it doesn’t change much of anything.

He’s in too deep.

He dips down and claims your lips. You kiss him back with the same fervor, sliding your hands around his back, feeling every smooth dip of muscle between his shoulders.

“Round 3?” you playfully ask, between kisses.

Dean grips one of your thick thighs and spreads your legs for him, so he can grind his hips into yours, pressing his risen length against your heated core through your panties. He earns your moan in response, and he swallows it up with a more devouring kiss. He doesn’t let up until you’re panting for breath, already squeezing on him with your thighs around his hips.

He breaks, just for a second. He gives you a cheeky grin.

“Try to keep up.”

AN: Yep, Dean tried to pull a Ross Gellar. 🤣 (AKA: the "Hug and Roll.")

I don't know why this little idea wouldn't leave me alone! I guess I just like the thought of Dean having to get used to being doted on, even through something as small as being touched affectionately. Not just during sexy times. 💖

(Also, if you've read Midnight Espresso, you'll probably notice a little excerpt from there included here.)

Anyway, I hope you liked this! Let me know what you thought. 😘

Keep Reading:

Next in the Espresso-verse is Devour Me:

Summary: When you and Dean start to press each other’s buttons, both of your tempers ignite. To make up for it, you give him an impromptu salsa dancing lesson…one he didn’t exactly ask for.

▶️ Next Story: Devour Me (Part 1)

Ko-Fi Me ☕

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[clownwritesfanfic]

Drift Away - Five Hargreeves x Fem! Reader

Summary: When Five gets stuck in the subway station all alone, he decides to stay in a comfortable timeline while he tries to figure out how to get back to his family, however, he didn’t plan on falling in love with the lonely woman who lives there.

Genre: Fluff/Angst

Word count: 7,984

Warnings: death, slightly canon compliant but not really, implied sex, slight nudity, author pretends to know wtf they’re talking about when it comes to cottagecore living

Disclaimers: Can you tell I love the subway concept but hate how it was executed? I refuse to believe Five would ever stop trying to go home. Also no Fivela in this because that whole mess is one I don’t want to clean up. Reader dresses feminine. Plus size, poc, and trans fem friendly. If you see something that goes against that, please feel free to say something. Five’s body is 24.

———————————————————————

It had been a little over six years now. Six years of being stuck in a confusing maze of timelines and once again, Five was all alone.

At least in the first apocalypse, he found comfort in Delores. But down here, his only company was the rats.

Five was desperate. He wanted to go home, to see his family again, try and stop yet another apocalypse. He wasn’t going to give up, that wasn’t the kind of person he was.

But this place was driving him crazy. He could focus in here. He wanted a shower, clean clothes, a regular source of clean water and good food. He remembered a timeline he visited that looked peaceful, a place he could relax and feel safe to figure out a way back.

He picked himself up off the ground. His body aching and joints creaking. He may have a twenty-four year old’s body, but it sure felt like his body finally caught up to his age.

Five groaned as he stretched, feeling his sore muscles pull and his vertebrae clicking into place. Damn that felt good.

When the train came to a stop at his station and the doors slowly opened, he stepped on board and collapsed on the nearest seat. He was so hungry and dehydrated that he barely had any energy. He hoped it wouldn’t be long before he could get to the timeline he wanted.

It took about twenty minutes for Five to get to the right timeline, and another seven to exit the station. He was so exhausted that the stairs nearly made him pass out. He knew exactly where he was headed and he couldn’t wait to get there.

When he saw the little cottage far in the distance, he felt a burst of energy. He had been dragging himself along for thirty minutes and the knowledge of having good food and fresh water helped him find the strength to continue.

The gate to the property was open, its latch broken. Five made his way to the greenhouse as it was the closest thing and he knew there were strawberries inside from his last visit.

He opened the door, a burst of warm humid air hit him immediately as he stepped inside leaving the door ajar. He made a beeline for the plants and started picking and eating as many ripe strawberries as he could. They were so sweet and the juice ran down his chin.

He was busy stuffing his face when he heard the familiar cock of a gun causing him to freeze in place.

He slowly turned around, one hand frozen in place holding a strawberry near his face, his mouth full of the fruit. The first thing he noticed was the twin barrels of a shotgun a few feet away pointed directly at his head.

Then his eyes moved down to see whoever was holding the gun, was wearing a beautiful dress that stopped right above the person’s knees.

“What are you doing here?” A stern voice spoke out. The gun was obscuring their face but he could make out the long hair that framed it.

“I’m not going to ask again.” They readjusted the gun as a warning when he took too long to answer.

Five dropped the strawberries he was holding and held his hands up. He roughly swallowed what was in his mouth and tried to speak.

“I’m sorry. I don’t mean any harm. I’ve been lost for a long time and I’m starving. I didn’t know anyone lived here.” He explained in a soft voice, trying not to startle the owner.

The gun faltered slightly before it was lowered slightly. A pair of eyes stared back at him with an unreadable look.

The person sighed and finally lowered the gun fully, the click of the safety being turned on being heard through the quiet greenhouse.

Five was able to see them fully now, a woman was stood blocking the entrance, and she looked beautiful.

“Come on, you look rough. I got some proper food inside and some clean clothes.” You gestured for him to follow you as you stepped out of the greenhouse.

Five eagerly followed you out, excited to finally eat something proper and get clean. You closed the door behind him and started towards the cottage a few feet away.

A few chickens roamed around the property, most running out of the way as you two walked but there was one or two you had to nudge out of the way with the barrel of the shotgun. You did it with such care and gentleness that you must’ve had to do it many times before.

You opened the wooden door to the cottage and held it open, gesturing for him to go in first. He thanked you as he passed you and took in his surroundings.

The inside was cute. It was small but not cramped, more…cozy. Plenty of room for two people to be comfortable.

You closed the door behind you and propped the shot gun against the wall. You startled Five, causing him to jump a bit when you accidentally clapped your hands together when brushing them off against each other.

“I’m sure you’d like to take a bath quickly. But everything’s pretty old school around here so it will take me a while to get enough water and warm it up. But I’ve got some soup simmering right now.” You put your hands on your hips as you looked him up and down.

“Thank you. Anything is perfect.” Five knew he looked (and smelled) bad. He hasn’t been able to do anything properly for six years and he was grateful for whatever you could provide.

You nodded, feeling weird having a man around after being alone for so long. You gestured for him to take a seat at the dining table as you walked to the kitchen and grabbed a bowl, ladling some of the soup into it. You placed the bowl down in front of him and grabbed some slices of sourdough bread you had made fresh that day and placed it in front of him as well as a spoon.

Five was nearly drooling at the steaming bowl of soup in front of him along with the fresh bread. You chuckled silently to yourself when you noticed his expression.

“It’s potato and leek and the bread is sourdough, made it today. I’m going to go get a bath ready for you, help yourself to seconds if you’d like, there’s plenty left.” You patted his shoulder before you left towards the bathroom.

“Thank you.” He called as you left and dug in. He moaned as the creamy and smooth soup slid down his throat so easily and warmed him up from the inside. He was quick to dip a piece of the bread into the soup and scarfing it down. He hasn’t had a proper meal in years so he couldn’t control himself.

It was about twenty five minutes later when he wandered into the bathroom. He had helped himself to seconds like you said and he also washed his dishes. He didn’t want to be any more of a burden than he already felt.

The bathroom was small. There was a big long metal tub sat on the side of the room, a wooden shelving unit with potted plants on the top few shelves and some different soaps on the lower shelves with in reach of the tub. On the opposite side of the small room was a metal basin full of charcoal that was glowing orange.

There was a window a few feet above the tub that was slightly open for ventilation, there was a door that lead to the outside that was wide open. As Five was busy observing his surroundings, you walked in from the open door. A pole was over your shoulders, two big metal buckets full of water on either side.

“Oh…hello…” You were startled at the sight of him but you couldn’t let it stop you cause the buckets were starting to feel heavier by the minute. You bent down at the knees and slid the pole off your shoulders, causing the buckets to hit the ground with a thump making some water splash out onto the concrete floor.

“I..uh…the soup was really good, thank you.” Five shuffled awkwardly and scratched the back of his neck. He was impressed by your strength, and watching you do it in a dress was just the cherry on top. He was used to seeing strong women due to his time in the Commission, but none of them looked as soft and feminine as you did. It was clear you were a tough individual and he liked it.

“No problem.” You lifted the buckets up and set them in the pile of lit charcoal and used a stick to move the charcoal around so it surrounded the buckets. “Sorry, I don’t have running water. I’ve gotten used taking cold baths, usually only heating it in the winter but I thought you’d appreciate a warm bath more.” You brushed your hands off and placed them on your hips.

“You don’t have to go through all this trouble for me.” Five felt awkward, he’d never had anyone care about him this much and he was slowly starting to realize how much he craved a simple life like this.

You waved him off with a scoff. “Just gaining some good karma points.” You joked. You reached in the cabinet that the container of charcoal was sat on top of and grabbed some big fluffy towels out and set them on the middle shelf near the tub.

As you checked on the temperature of the water, you explained to Five that all the soap and shampoo was homemade. Despite living in the middle of no where near a forest, you had a neighbour that you regularly trade with. She was an older lady that grew Beehive Ginger, a plant that produced a natural liquid shampoo. You were able to make your own bars of soap pretty easily with the lye you also made. You mostly had everything you needed out here but it didn’t help to build connections with those near by.

As you picked up one of the buckets, holding the bottom with a cloth you picked up earlier and poured it into the bath, Five was thinking to himself how much he wanted a life like this, he hoped he could when he got back to his family and figured out how to stop the Cleanse, but it was tempting to stay here with you.

You poured the second bucket into the tub, it didn’t fill it completely but it was full enough, it would’ve cooled down by the time she was able to grab more water and heat it up anyway and Five was grateful for any amount of water. You scooped up some of the smouldering coals with the bucket and dumped them into the water.

Five gave you a weird look and you let out a breathy laugh. “It will keep the water warm longer. The water put it out and cooled it enough where it won’t burn you, plus, charcoal ash is good for your skin. Helps bring out toxins and such.”

Five nodded and thanked you again. You left to go grab him some extra clothes you said you had lying around and he finally took the opportunity to strip out of his dirty clothing. He wasn’t sure where to put the clothes so he left them in a pile on the floor. When he was fully nude he climbed into the tub and sat down. He groaned when the warm water raised around him. It reached just above his belly button and he took a moment to just sit there and enjoy the warmth. Not wanting the water to get cold, he grabbed a small pitcher that was on one of the shelves next to the various soaps. He scooped up some water and poured it over his head, relishing in the warmth and how it felt as some of the dirt washed right off.

You walked into the bathroom, a folded up shirt, jeans, and a pair of briefs in your arms. You paused when you realized he was in the tub already, you couldn’t blame him, you’d want to clean off as soon as possible if you looked as bad as he did. The tub was high enough where you couldn’t see anything below his shoulders from where you stood.

“Sorry.” You laughed awkwardly. “I’m used to not having to knock. Here, got you some clean clothes. They should fit.” You placed them down on a stool nearby and noticed you hadn’t closed the door to the outside and walked over and latched it shut. “Sorry to get rid of the view but sometimes the goats get too curious and sneak their way in and that usually brings in the chickens.” You laughed.

Five smiled with a huff. “Thank you, again.”

“Stop it. No more of that.” You huffed. “I’ll be around. Just shout if you need something.” You smiled and gathered up his dirty clothing and left.

——————————————————————

An hour or so later, you had his original clothes all washed and hung up outside to dry in the sun.

You were sat at the dining room table, drinking some tea thinking about everything that’s happened so far.

Five entered the dining room and smiled. He opened his mouth to say something before you cut him off. “If you try and thank me one more time I’m going to kick you out.” You semi joked.

He silently laughed and shook his head. “Noted.” He pulled out a chair and sat adjacent to you. “I was actually going to say, I didn’t know how to empty the bath so I just left it.”

You waved your hand. “Don’t worry about it, I’ll take care of it later. Tea?” You gestured to the kettle sitting on the stove.

“I’m more of a coffee guy.” He sheepishly admitted.

“Oh, I’ve got some of that.” You stood up and grabbed the container of instant coffee and poured some into a mug and poured the hot water from the kettle into it and stirred it around. You placed the mug in front of him and sat back in your seat. You made it so quickly it was as if you’ve done it many times before. “Sorry it’s only instant. Coffee is kinda hard to get out here so we’d have to go to the nearest town for it which is about two hours away.”

“I’m grateful to be having any coffee at all. I haven’t had any for twelve years.” He picked up his mug and took a sip. It was the perfect strength, slightly bitter but it wasn’t the worst he’s ever had.

“Oh! I forgot to ask if you want cream or sugar with that.” You sounded concerned but didn’t really make a move to get up.

“Oh no, that’s alright. I take it black. This is great.” Five reassured.

“How are the clothes? They comfortable?” You asked as you sipped your tea.

“Great, yeah. They fit perfectly.” A little too perfectly to be honest.

“That’s good. I cleaned your other clothes, they’re outside right now hanging up.”

You both let a comfortable silence go through for a few minutes before you gasped. “Oh my god…I just realized I never asked for your name.” You laughed.

He smiled after taking a sip of his coffee. “It’s…Five.” He hesitated, not sure on if he should tell you his real name but deciding it was the least he could do.

“Five? Like the number?” You questioned.

“It’s…a long story.” He sheepishly replied.

“I got nothing but time…but I won’t make you talk about something you don’t want to.” He was grateful for that. “I’m Y/N by the way.”

He repeated your name. He liked the sound of it. “Do you live alone? I find it odd that a woman who I’ve only seen wear a dress so far has men’s clothes.”

“I….I had a husband.” You looked away.

“Oh..I’m sorry. I didn’t see a ring so I just assumed…” he trailed off when you grabbed the thin chain around your neck and pulled it out from the top of your dress. A simple metal ring hanging off the edge.

“Hard to do any work around here when you’re worrying about keeping a ring on your finger. Plus I’ve never been one for wearing rings. He made it himself out of some scrap metal he had lying around.” You explained as you played with the ring. “We got married officially down at the courthouse. No wedding though. We were never much for big events like that and we didn’t really have anyone to invite anyway.” Tears pricked at your eyes as you thought back to it all.

“If I may ask, what happened?” Five straightened up in his chair, feeling sorry for you.

“He went out one day to check the traps we have out in the woods…never came back. I went looking for him for months but I never found him. He wasn’t the kind of man to just leave. He loved it here. So I assumed something got him.” You sniffed and wiped your eyes. “Sorry…”

“No no it’s alright. That sounds awful. I’m sorry that happened.” He reached out and laid a hand on yours that was on the table. It was out of character for him, usually he wasn’t good at comforting others, but he felt like he needed to. Something drew him to you.

You smiled weakly. “It’s been three years. You learn to cope and move on quickly. Especially with this kind of life. You don’t get to mope around, there’s always stuff to do here so you have to work through it.”

“It must’ve been hard, having to do everything yourself after having someone else to split the chores with.”

“It was. But you get used to it. You sorta look like him too. The long hair and eyes, they’re just like his.” You smiled. “Anyway…enough about me. You can stay as long as you’d like. I’ve only got one bedroom but the couch is surprisingly comfortable. I’ve taken many naps on it. Sorry I can’t offer you something better.”

Five smiled. “Anything is better than what I’ve been sleeping on for the past six years.”

——————————————————————

Five originally planned on staying for a few days. But a few days turned into a few weeks, which then turned into a few months.

He hadn’t given up on finding a way home but he got a little…distracted. He helped you out around the house and small farm you had. You taught him how to do a lot of the more labour intensive tasks and over time you two grew closer.

You were in the greenhouse, collecting some of the strawberries to make jam later when Five appeared in the doorway, a watering can in his hand. He was wearing a green knitted sweater that used to be your husband’s favourite. He paused for a second to admire you and smiled to himself and busied himself with watering the plants.

You glanced over and smirked to yourself and picked one of the smaller strawberries and threw it at him. He tried to hold back a smile at your antics when he got hit with another strawberry, and then another, and another. Finally, he turned to you.

“You’re not going to have enough to make jam if you keep throwing them at me.” He smiled gently at you.

“Ah, they’re just the shitty ones I would’ve fed to the chickens. I think I have enough now anyway.” You took a few steps towards him before you stepped on the handle of a trowel that was left on the ground. It caused you to slip and you dropped the basket of strawberries in shock, you prepared to catch yourself when Five caught you just in time.

You both made eye contact. You felt a shiver go down your spine at seeing eyes that looked so similar to your late husbands. You felt yourself get lost in them the longer you looked and Five felt the same.

The last person he ever loved was Delores, and she wasn’t even real but he loved her all the same. But you made him feel the same way, only a thousand times more. He had started to fall for you over the months of being alone together.

He glanced down at your parted lips, silently asking for permission. You sucked in a small breath and looked down at his. He slowly leaned in, tilting his head slightly before closing his eyes and softly kissing you. When you parted you looked at each other again before Five whispered.

“Was that weird?”

“No…but that’s what makes it weird.” You replied.

At that, Five cupped the back of your neck and pulled you closer, bringing your lips back to his. This time the kiss was more passionate and loving. You held onto his shoulders, gripping his sweater.

You slowly dragged your kisses down his jaw right to a specific spot on his neck and harshly sucked. Five threw his head back and moaned lightly. He hadn’t been given a hickey before but it felt so good. After a few seconds you pulled away and admired the bruise starting to form.

You pulled away from him and walked towards the greenhouse door. He looked at you in confusion, wondering if he did something wrong or if you were just toying with him when you turned around to look at him and leaned against the doorframe.

“You coming?” You smirked with a look in your eyes.

He grinned and stalked towards you with a predatory look on his face. You giggled and took off towards the house with him chasing behind you.

——————————————————————

Five had been with you for six months now. He has since graduated from sleeping on the couch to sharing your bed.

He has been everything you could ask for. Attentive, loving, patient, caring, hard working, etc. He was perfect in your eyes.

You were once again in the greenhouse. It was your favourite place after all. You were sat on a crate, using some shears to tidy up some flowers for the small bouquet you were putting together.

Five walked in carrying two rabbits. “Oh wow look at that. Two this time.” You smiled.

“All because of your traps.” He winked and kneeled in front of you.

“Such a flatterer.” You smirked as you put down the shears and placed the last flower with the rest. “What are you hiding?” You inquired with a raised eyebrow.

“What do you mean?” He asked, trying hard to hide his smile.

“I know you. You got that look.”

“What look?”

“That guilty ‘I have a secret’ look!” You laughed.

“I have no such look.” He bit his lip holding back his smile.

“Whatever.” You rolled your eyes with a grin.

“Ok ok you’re twisting my arm.” He reaches into his jacket pocket and pulls something out. “Here.” He holds it out to you.

You gently take it from him and notice it’s a bracelet made of metal. It’s beautifully twisted together making a unique piece of art. “Oh…Five, this is beautiful. Where did you get this?”

“I made it. Used the scrap metal I found lying around.” He looked up at you.

“I love it.” You looked up from admiring the bracelet into his eyes.

“I aim to please.” He looked at you full of love and smiled.

You grabbed the back of his head and pulled him in for a kiss. He placed a hand on your waist and leaned in to the kiss. He was always such a good kisser. It was passionate and full of love and want and always left you breathless.

You both slowly pulled away, leaning your foreheads together as you caught your breath.

“I love you, Five.” you whispered as you softly scratched his scalp.

“I love you too. So much.” He replied, his thumb rubbing your waist.

As much as you’d love to keep the moment going, he slowly pulled away and stood up. “I’m going to go look for more scrap metal, we’re getting low and one of the traps needs to be fixed. I’ll be back in time for dinner.”

“Oh, okay. Be careful.” You smiled at him as he stood in the doorway.

“I will, love.” He replied softly before turning around and leaving.

Your smile fell as soon as he was gone. Now was as good a time as any.

——————————————————————

Despite finding peace and happiness with you, Five never stopped trying to find a way back home. His family was important to him and even though you were apart of it now, he still wanted to get back to his siblings.

He told you all about his family, his powers, how he got trapped in the future, his true age, everything that lead him to that point in time with you. The only thing he left out, was the subway. It was quite a distance away from your little piece of heaven and he didn’t want you to get stuck by accident like he did.

It was the one secret he kept from you, but what he didn’t know was that you had one of your own.

You had been feeling suspicious for a while about where he was getting all the metal. It was woods and foliage for miles so you had no clue where he was getting it all.

You weren’t stupid, you knew how much his family meant to him and you saw how it effected him being away from them for so long yet again. There would be days where he wasn’t himself, he was visibly depressed and his mind was occupied with the thoughts of his family. He would reassure you that he loved his life with you and didn’t regret a single thing, but being apart from them was hard.

But you were selfish. As much as you would love to meet his family, you refused to lose the one man that made you happy, again.

You waited for Five to get a head start before you went after him. You had to be careful, you knew he was a trained assassin and a former CIA agent, one little mistake and he’d catch you and you didn’t have an excuse thought up if he did. Luckily, you had some training yourself. Not at the level of Five’s but good enough where you were able to sneak up on him a few times before.

You followed a few yards behind him, staying close by but far enough behind where you won’t lose sight of him.

After about twenty minutes of walking, Five reached the entrance to the subway station. He looked around as a precaution before descending the stairs. Luckily, you had ducked down before he could spot you, you rose from your spot as you watched him go down the stairs.

You walked over and looked down from the top of the stairs and sighed heavily.

——————————————————————

A few months later, you were outside feeding the chickens when Five walked outside, he had the messenger bag he always used when going out slung around him.

He hadn’t needed to go to the subway station since the time you secretly followed him but a lot of things needed repairs recently so he had to find some more metal soon.

He walked up behind you and wrapped his arms around you and kissed your cheek. “I’m going out now. Be back soon, okay?” He said softly as he rested his head on your shoulder.

Five has become more touchy and cuddly recently and you’re not too sure why but you’re not exactly complaining.

“I can come with you. I don’t have much else to do right now that’s urgent. Just lemme finish up here.” You replied, throwing the rest of the seed to the birds.

“No no, it’s okay, love. You stay here. It’s safer here than out there.” He tried persuade you.

You huffed and turned around in his arms. “Five, I’ve survived out here on my own for three years before you showed up. I think I can handle it.”

“I know, but please? Just stay here. It gives me peace of mind knowing you’re here safe.” He looked down at you with pleading eyes.

You sighed exasperatedly. “Fine. But don’t be too long or I’m coming after you.”

“I won’t, love. See you soon.” He kissed you before taking off.

Five felt guilty. He had found a notebook that had the answers to find his way back home. He had held on to it for so long but he had no clue how to bring it up to you. He loved you, and he loved his life with you so much. But he also wanted to save his family, and as much as he’d love to bring them here, he knew most of them would refuse to drop their new lives to start over completely. Plus your cottage and garden kept both of you living comfortably and he had no idea what this timelines world was like outside of the small bubble you stayed in.

He was going to scavenge for metal but he was also hoping to study the notebook a little more. He had covered the subway walls in equations while he tried to think of all the possibilities of getting his family safe while also being able to stay with you. He knew you wouldn’t want to leave your timeline, especially since the one he was trying to get back to was turning to shit quite quickly.

Five had walked this path so many times that he was walking on auto pilot while looking down at the notebook and thinking. He had made it to the station and was about to take the first step down when he bumped into something solid.

He looked up and saw a bunch of wooden planks and chains blocking the entrance.

“What the hell?” He muttered to himself.

“I knew you’d come here.” He turned around when he heard your voice. You were stood a few feet away looking disappointed.

“Y/N? What are you doing here? I told you to stay back.”

“I know. But I wasn’t going to let you go down there again.” You crossed your arms.

“You did this?” He gestured to the shoddily put together barrier. “How do you even know about this place?”

“I followed you last time. I knew you were hiding something. Plus I was curious as to where all the metal was coming from. So…what’s that?” You nodded towards the notebook he was still holding.

“You have no right to keep me out of there.” He ignored the question and walked towards you.

“I can do whatever the fuck I want. You’re not going down there again.” You stood your ground.

“Oh yeah? And where else would I get the materials we need?” He was starting to get pissed off.

“Fuck all that! I don’t give a shit about that! What are you doing down there that’s so fucking important?” You yelled, getting frustrated with him diving the question.

“Trying to find a way back home! To my family!” He raised his voice back, throwing his arms up.

“This is your home now, Five. You’re happy here. We both are.”

“This is NOT my home. Without my siblings here, it will NEVER be home. With or without you here.”

That hit you hard. You felt a pang in your chest at hearing that.

“So that’s it? You’re just going to leave as soon as you can? You just can’t WAIT to get away from me huh?”

“Don’t be stupid.” He huffed.

“Stupid?! You won’t even tell me what the fuck is in that notebook or where you go it!” You waved your arms around.

“It’s the answer I’ve been looking for on how to get back to my timeline. Now, take this shit down so I can finish my equations.” He sighed.

“No.”

“Excuse me?”

“I said no. You’re staying here.” You stared at him while he glared at you.

Five got close to you, getting up in your face. “What the fuck is your problem? What makes you think I won’t just blink down there and leave right n-“

“BECAUSE I DON’T WANT TO LOSE YOU AGAIN!” You screamed as tears finally started falling down your face.

This startled Five, causing him to back up. It took him a second before he spoke up again.

“What do you mean ‘again’?” He questioned.

You squeezed your eyes shut and shook your head, hugging yourself.

“Y/N…” Five warned as he took a step towards you.

You hung your head as your tears kept falling. “I knew about timelines long before you showed up.” You sniffed and lifted your head, looking off to the side. “My husband…he…he found this place years ago. He went on the subway and came back telling me all about it. He was so captivated by it that he kept coming back, taking it to different timelines. I went with him once but we ended up somewhere awful. I never wanted him to go down there again. I didn’t trust it. But of course he was too stubborn and didn’t listen. He went out one day and…never came back. I waited for years. I came out here every day for about two of those years, just waiting for him to walk back up. I wanted to close it off but kept it open just incase he came back. Then you showed up…and I…I thought that you…were him. You looked and sounded the exact same. Even had the same name. But I knew you couldn’t have been him from the way you acted when we first met. But when I gave you his clothes to wear…all I saw was him.” You wiped your tears away.

Five was silent for a while. Trying to process everything you just dumped on him. “So…I was a replacement, for the version that you lost.” He clenched his jaw.

“No!” You looked at him with surprise. “No I swear you weren’t a replacement. Even if he was a version of you and you had a lot in common, you’re also different. There are things you do, things you say, that are so different from him. I never saw you as a replacement. I never saw you as him. I just saw someone so familiar that I felt so comfortable with. You made me fall in love all over again with a whole new person.” You tried to explain quickly.

Five sighed and looked away, scratching the back of his neck. “I need to get home.”

You sucked in a breath. “Five, please. Please don’t leave me alone out here again. I’ll…I’ll do better! I will do whatever you want as long as you just stay here. Please.” You felt tears stinging your eyes again as you reached out and held onto him.

“Y/N…” He sighed. He brought his arms around you and held you close. “I love you. I really do. But I don’t belong here. I’d love to stay with you. I really do. But your Five is out there somewhere. Stuck just like I was. He belongs here with you. I need to be with my family. I’m sorry.”

You sobbed into his chest as you tightened your grip on him.

“I’ll find your Five. I promise. I’ll find him and I’ll bring him back to you. You’re strong, you can take care of yourself while I look for him.” He reassured as he nuzzled into your hair.

“How do you know he’s even still alive?” You whimpered into his chest.

“He’s a Five. We’re stubborn, and if he loved you as much as I do then I know he’s fighting to get back to you.”

You both stood there, the air cold as you held each other. Your sobs mixing in with the sound of the wind. After a couple of minutes, your tears died down and you slowly pulled away from Five. He looked down at you, evidence of his own silent tears on his face.

You reached up and wiped the tears off his face. “I love you, Five. Just as much as I loved mine.”

He caught one of your wrists. “I know.” He whispered before kissing your palm. You both looked into each others watery eyes before stealing one last kiss.

When you pulled away, you leaned your forehead against his, one last time. “Do you promise you’ll find him?”

“I promise.”

With that, you backed away from him and held your hands close to your chest, one of them playing with the bracelet he made you all that time ago. You watched him look at you one more time, smiling, before suddenly he was gone in a flash.

You felt yourself fall to your knees as your curled in on yourself as you sobbed.

——————————————————————

Five had managed to arrive safely in his timeline. He was going to keep his promise to you, but first he needed to see his family.

His heart was still heavy at the thought of leaving you behind but he tried not to let it show. He didn’t want his siblings to pry too much when the wound was still open.

He walked up to the familiar house and sighed before knocking on the door. It opened to reveal Lila.

“Hey there you are. Finally.” She looked him up and down. “What the hell are you wearing?” She questioned.

“I can’t be comfortable?” He countered.

“Alright, don’t get your knickers in a twist. I’ve only ever seen you in suits or a school boy uniform. It’s weird seeing you in casual clothes.” He rolled his eyes at her statement. He certainly didn’t miss her quips. Lila stepped back and opened the door more to let Five in.

As soon as he stepped inside he saw Diego with Grace on his hip. “Heyyyy you made it, Cinco! Come on in, take your shoes off first though.”

Five softly smiled at the sight of his family safe and sound.

——————————————————————

Five found himself back in the subway station pretty quickly. The Cleanse had yet to be stopped and everything was escalating so fast but he knew he had a promise to keep. He hated leaving his family again with no explanation but he refused to let you down.

He was prepared to spend another six years down there all alone just for you. Luckily, he had only spent a few hours searching different timelines when he came across a deli.

He had followed what he swore was an another version of him down there. He hoped it was the one he was looking for.

However, he was shocked to find the entire place was full of doppelgängers. “Hey! Over here.” The Five in the suit that he followed called him over to a booth.

“What is this place?” He sat down across from himself.

“It’s a gas station. What the hell’s it look like? It’s a deli.” His counterpart replied sarcastically, sipping some coffee.

Another Five chuckled in the booth behind him while yet another copy of himself placed down a mug of coffee and two pastrami sandwiches on the table.

“Little light on the sauerkraut don’t you think?” Five joked.

“Yeah, it says it on the menu and I keep telling him but…he never listens.” He shook his head.

“Sorry.”

“It’s not your fault.”

“Theoretically it is.” He picks up the mug of coffee.

“Oh, you’re not gonna like that.” The other Five points out.

He looks down at the coffee with a frown.

“So! I take it your figured out the subway system by now.” The Five takes a bite of his sandwich.

“Alternate versions of the same moment in time?”

“That is correct. You’d be surprised how long it took some of the Five’s to figure that out.” Five mumbles with a mouth full. It made him think back to you and how you always scolded him if he talked with his mouth full. He hoped you were alright.

Five swallowed and continued. “We’re all you. From alternate timelines, most of us have given up trying to fix the problem.”

He looked at his counterpart, confused. “What problem?”

“The broken timeline, man. There’s only supposed to be one.” Five sipped his coffee.

He thought for a moment. “I don’t get it.”

“Look around, Five.” He sighed. “Does this seem right to you?”

He looked to the side. “Well, no-“

“You think Einstein was thinking of this when he was figuring out relativity? Not a chance. This shit would’ve made his head explode.” He took another sip of his coffee.

“Ok so, what shattered the original timeline?” Five questions.

“Not what…who. And I’ll give you three guesses to figure it out.” A ding is heard through the deli.

“We did!” Another Five from behind the counter shouts.

The Five across from him looks exasperated. “Why you always gotta wreck shit, Brisket Five? Why?”

“By we he means…the family, my siblings?”

“The morons, yeah.”

“I’m familiar with them, yeah.”

“One perfect timeline and the moment we come into existence; boom! Shattered. Into an infinite number of alternate timelines in an infinite loop of time. As we try and save the world- how many times…was it again?” Five leaned over and asked the Five in the booth behind him.

“One hundred and forty five thousand four hundred and twelve.” The Five lowered his newspaper to look at the other two.

“That’s a lot. He’s like Rain Man, that one. He loves num- oh by the way. Look at the artwork.”

He turned and looked at all the framed photos littering the walls.

“All the different ways we made our universe go kaboom. Gold star for consistency, am I right?” He joked.

“We need to fix this.”

“Oh trust me, we tried. That’s why one of us created the commission. By the way that’s why there’s no paradox psychosis here. Uses the same technology that Five did for the panic room. He wanted to undo all the broken timelines, get back to the one and only. But that always fails because…?” He prompted.

“The family is the problem. We’re doomed to save or destroy the world over and over again and infinitum.” He sighed.

“Bingo.” A Five sat at a table holding a coffee chimed in.

“Bingo.” The Five across from him repeated with his mouth full.

“I need to get back to my family. Stop this from ever happening.” He stood up.

“Well…good luck with that. Guess you don’t want your brisket to-go?” The Five reached for his plate and slid it towards him.

He was about halfway to the door when he remembered his promise and turned around. “One last thing. I spent a year in a different timeline with a woman. Her name is Y/N, she said she lost her husband because of the subway and that he’s another Five.”

“Y/N, huh? Only a few of us have met someone with that name, but chances are you’re looking for that one over there.” He pointed to another Five who looked the worst out of all of them. He was hunched over a table in the far corner, head in his arms. “Used to talk non stop about his wife named Y/N and how he had to get home to her. Poor bastard got stuck and went crazy trying to find his way back.”

That’s all Five needed to hear. He walked over to the Five and shook his shoulder. The Five grumbled but lifted his head.

“Hey, I know how to get you back to your timeline. Your wife misses you a lot. She’s waiting for you right now.”

“Y/N?!” He straightened up.

“Yeah. C’mon. She needs you.” He helped the Five stand and lead him out of the deli.

——————————————————————

On the subway ride back to your timeline, your Five was pacing back and forth.

“Sit down. You’re gonna fall on your ass when the train stops.” Five tried to calm him down.

“I haven’t seen her in years. She told me to stop coming down here but I just couldn’t fucking listen and I ended up leaving her all alone.” He brushed his hand through his messy and dirty hair.

“Hey. She’s strong. She was doing just fine by herself when I met her. I promise she’s okay. She’ll be happy to see you again.” He sighed. He really wishes it could be him, but now that he knew his family was destined to destroy the world no matter how hard they try to stop it, he had to go back and be with them.

When the train stopped in the right timeline, he guided the other Five out. “Ah shit.” He muttered when he got to the stairs and saw it was still blocked off. “Forgot she did that.” He grabbed the other Five and blinked them to the surface. He shivered at the cold air. It must have been a few months since he left considering there was now snow on the ground.

“This way. I’m not sure how long it’s been for her so let’s not keep the lady waiting.” The disheveled Five followed close behind him, growing anxious at the familiar scenery. His heart started beating hard in his chest when he saw the cottage in the distance.

As they got closer, they could both see you exiting the greenhouse, a basket in your hands.

“Oh my god…” The Five whispered. He stood still in shock at seeing you again. You looked just as beautiful as he remembered. “Y/N!” He called out.

You looked around at the sound of your name being called. You had been hallucinating hearing your name in Five’s voice since he left so you were in complete shock when you looked over and saw your original Five a few yards away.

You dropped the basket, its contents spilling onto the snowy ground, and beelined for your husband, jumping right over the fence.

He ran towards you, quickly closing the distance before colliding in a desperate hug. Tears were pouring down both of your faces as you squeezed each other right. Scared that either one of you might disappear.

You looked up from his shoulder and through blurry vision you could see the Five you spent a year with standing in the distance. You smiled at him and mouth a “thank you” to him.

He smiled sadly back at you and nodded. You closed your eyes and nuzzled deep into your husbands neck. When you opened them again, Five had disappeared from view. You frowned, a part of you will always love and miss him, but you had your true Five back now. You could only hope he found someone that made him happy.

You pulled back from the hug and looked your Five in the eyes and smiled through the tears. “Welcome home, honey.”

——————————————————————

As Five stood hand in hand with his family as the Durango slowly consumed him, he thought back to you.

He had no idea what timeline was the right one, but he could only hope, that even if it was a slim chance, that your timeline was the correct one.

As you laid in bed, cuddled up to your husband, you didn’t feel a thing as your timeline disappeared.

——————————————————————

On the twelfth hour, of the eighth day of August, 2024, absolutely nothing out of the ordinary occurred.

Y/N would say, it was just a normal day as she watered the marigolds in her garden.

[lil-quinnie]

If he die, he die.

Warning +18 sitting on Eddie's face, fingering, oral (f reciving), male masturbation, angst, smut

Summary college au You and Eddie have a friendship with benefits, he always made it clear that it wouldn't go beyond that, but would it?

F!boy Eddie x Plus size reader

-

“C’mon baby, I need it” Eddie begged you again. It’s getting boring with all his insistence on that. Of course you wanna satisfy all the little fantasies in Eddie’s head, but this one, specifically this one, made you shiver just imagining.

“Jesus Eddie, I already told you no” you rolled your eyes while Eddie followed you through the corridors of the college “I don’t think I can’t do it” you shout- whisper back to him. 

“But you can try you know… with me, I mean”

You push past the exit door, looking for the first free spot you could sit and smoke a little before going back to your classes “Shut up! Are you gonna give up on this one day?”

“Not a chance,” he said, his lips dangerously close to the shell of your ear, his velvet voice invading your soul, causing tickles behind your ear, he continue, “I can tell you are stressed”  His big hands were giving your shoulders a strong squeeze, “look how tense you are, you can come to my room later and I’ll help you with that babygirl”. His smirk grew bigger when he noticed your thighs clenching together, “see ya round” and he left.

-

That same night you knocked at his dorm room, which he opened almost immediately revealing a cocky smile on his face, hair in a low bun and shirtless, “of course” you thought. He only nodded with his head, giving you space to enter the room like all the other times you knocked at his door for the same sadistic reason.

It don’t took long for him have you naked and pinned down his bed, his tongue buried in your warm pussy “fuck princess, sweetest pussy I ever had” he said muffled. Your hands in his locks, bringing his face impossible closer to you core, grinding and moaning like nobody else ever made you do it. 

He turned you into a needy slut and he needed you this way. 

He started to lap your pussy so soft you didn’t feel it at first, you held your body still,while he painfully, so fucking slowly, sucked at your sore nub.

He yanked your hands off him every time you tried to hold his head where you needed him most. “More Eddie, please I need more” you cried at the high of your frustration, he is usually mean with you, but always gave you a fucking mindblowing orgasm… 

Today, otherwise, he was leading you until the edge of your limit “I need you, please, I want to cum Eddie”.

He lifted his head, his glistening chin shining through the dim-light of his room.

He laughed through his nose “Poor baby” his hands traveled through your plush tights ‘till your soft tummy, avoiding your dripping pussy “Nobody had touched this tight pussy, huh?”

Yeah! 

All the guys who had asked you out, mysteriously gave up some hours later, So yes!!!, nobody had touched your pussy in a long time. Eddie thinks it's cute how you are clueless of what he was doing over your back. He could fuck whoever he wants, of course he could, but you? “oh! fuck no.” You were too good for them, whoever it was, you were just too good.

“Please…” it was a mere whisper between the wet noises of Eddie’s lips around your swollen clit. 

“Sit on my face” he gave a last kiss at your clit “make yourself cum in my face pretty girl” 

Eddie took your lack of answer as a yes, and before you could say anything, he was pushing your leg over his naked chest, your exposed pussy so close of his mouth, he salivated

“Eddie I…” his hands hold a strong grip on your thighs, leaving purple digits on your skin, pushing you further to his face  “I am not asking anymore”.

His voice was darker, you could only nod timidly, he rolled his tattooed back on the mattress while liking his lips, his eyes drinking for all your naked body  “the best sit of the house for my favourite girl” fuck he shouldn’t had said that, but right now he was to lost in your dripping pussy to care.

You shyly swung your leg over his head, positioning your pussy in the center of the insistent boy's face, his large calloused hands slid across the skin of your thick thighs until his fingers sank into the flesh of your hips. "That's it, it wasn't that difficult was it, pretty girl?" he placed kisses on the inside of your thighs between the pauses in his words, Eddie didn't wait long to attack your pussy, he gathered all your juices on his tongue before trying to fuck your thight hole If it had been at another time, in another position, you were sure you would have liked it already.

The pain started to radiate through your knee as you tried to hold all your weight while Eddie tried to pull you closer and closer to his mouth "babe... what are you doing?" he asked, adjusting himself between your legs so he could look at you, “are you okay?”

You thought about opening the bedroom door and running out or even jumping out the window, if it weren't for the lack of clothes "I...I don't know if that's a good idea Eddie, I'm..." the boy's eyebrows came together, you didn't know if he was confused or angry at your words "what? you are what?"

On impulse, you tried to cover your naked body with your arms, sitting next to him on the bed "I'm FAT"  bringing one of his pillows to your lap " ‘m not just like the other girls you usually bring here Eddie, I can't sit on your face without killing you" you said surgically.

He rested his body on his elbows leveling his gaze with yours "though you were a virgo baby" he said trying to cheer up your mood, which had the opposite effect on you "idiot" you said as you got up from the bed

"Come on, love! I'm sorry, I was just messing with you", he said as he guided you by your wrists back to the bed, his fingers were light on your skin "Do you want to talk about it?" His big eyes were staring at your naked body, his tongue involuntarily moistening the lips that were just now so close to your sweet pussy, reminding you of your vulnerable state, covering your body with your arms crossed, shaking your head negatively.

"You know, I wouldn't ask you if I thought I couldn't handle it" he began meekly as he kissed the length of your arm up to your neck, worshiping your stomach with his free hand, teasing your nipple in the process "I want to feel the full weight of your thighs around my face, baby"

His lips sucking bruises on your neck, you were already clenching your thighs "Can you do this for me, baby?" he started to push himself back onto the bed pulling you with him, making you straddle his lap again.

He never broke eye contact, not once, which made your excitement almost run down your legs. "I don't care if you choke me with that pretty pussy of yours."

His thumb began to tease your clit, making you seek more friction, moaning like a needy slut, "Sit on my face, pretty girl, if I die, I die."

you couldn't take it anymore "if he dies...he dies" that was what you had in your head when, without thinking, you sat on his face, with all your weight. The first thing you felt was his nose meeting with your clit, making a shiver down your spine. Eddie's strong hands held firmly on your thighs, holding you in the position he wanted more, against his face.

His tongue explored all your pussy, fucking your hole calmly, feeling the taste of all your juices. You rode his face, holding his hair between your fingers to keep you balanced as you rubbed your pussy in Eddie's beautiful face.

Eddie sucked your clicks fervently, sliding his tongue inside you, every time you wiggled in his face. His muffled moans were taking you to the limit until he turned you to the bed without any prior explanation. Before you managed to protest, Eddie started explaining himself as he opened your legs exposing your wet pussy to him, lying on his belly, kissing the inside of your thigh in the process "Fuck, your pussy is so damn good"  Kissing your lips lightly.

"Please, Eddie" he has you begging even without knowing what for.

“shhh! sweet Girl, I'm going to take care of you" you started to feel Eddie's fingers teasing your clit with small circles, the first digit easily entered inside you, massaging that spongy place that made your eyes roll  "but before I have to ... " his words were cut by the noise of his  zipper opening "I'm hard as fuck, almost cumming…fuck" his second finger came in more difficult "so tight, just for me"

He fucked your pussy with his fingers and sucked your clit like a hungry man while masturbating. The moans were mixed with the song playing in the back of the room, Eddie could feel you throbbing on his fingers, which brought a mischievous smile to the boy's lips. "Cum for me princess, that’s it, good fucking girl"

By the shaking voice, you knew he was close too, what made you hump your pussy against his face more vigorously, his fingers did not slow the rhythm as they hit the right place inside your already puffy cunt, you felt your orgasm washing you while Eddie's hoarse voice was guiding you for him. "So good for me, I missed you ... I missed this pussy so much" he finished the sentence painting your belly with the white strings of his come.

Eddie's sweaty body lay next to yours, a satisfied smile between his swollen, pink lips. "That was..." he started the sentence and you cut him off in the middle with your loud laugh, "Yeah...that was" you replied, already showing signs of getting up from the bed

"Stay" he said, holding your arm and stroking it with his thumb "at least a little longer, it's been a while you know"

"yeah, yeah ok, maybe we can watch a movie or something" you offered as you put your t-shirt back on, remembering that nothing stopped Eddie from seeing his entire body with the blue light of the tv against his skin

"Yeah, or something" he said with humor in his voice.

You got comfortable in Eddie's bed, next to him, with his scent filling your nose. You knew what your relationship with Eddie was, it was casual. He made it very clear every time that he noticed any sign of feelings you had for him, and despite it hurting, you accepted the conditions he imposed, as long as it didn't get in the way of your friendship.

He intertwined his fingers with yours, placing a kiss on your hand.

"I missed you this week, you disappeared" he whispered in his ear, "Exam week, sorry" you whispered back but he didn't buy that excuse

"I mean it" he said "I even looked for you but Steve said you were busy every time I asked" you could feel the tone of jealousy in the voice of the man who looked at you as if asking for an explanation "yes, I was… I was helping Steve study and it took a lot of time out of my day, that's all"

"So choosing Stevie over me?" he said, teasing you and poking your body, trying to tickle you "NOOO" you laughed loudly and tried to get away from the boy's embrace while the game was cut off with three loud knocks on the door.

"Shit" Eddie said, as he got out of bed trying to put his pants back on, he couldn't even open the door properly when two skinny arms pulled his head in for a hot kiss.

Eddie let himself be carried away by the kiss for too long, as you got up from the bed and gathered your things to leave the room, knowing full well that that lump in your throat had been caused by you.

Before you could put it all together, her voice invaded your ears "I came to save you when I found out who you were with", the girl said loudly, looking you up and down with that look of disdain.

You passed by the two like lightning, not waiting for Eddie's response, rushing down the hallway only stopping walking when his voice was no longer heard, you could no longer hold back the tears contained in your eyes when his head went encountering something hard

“Fucking hell” you said With your hand on your forehead, you saw Steve's broad back before hugging him and starting to cry. He didn't ask any questions, he just hugged you back as you calmed down, stroking your hair and whispering sweet nothings until he got a smile from you, guiding you away from his and Eddie's dorm.

A scene that did not go unnoticed by a jealous Eddie.

[lanabuckybarnes]

Would you write a plus size reader w either bucky or steve(or both) where they are her first real relationship and she gets scared that she doesn't deserve to be with either of them and so she tries to push them away so she doesn't get hurt but instead they show her why she is their person.... like tooth rotting fluff and the filthiest smut..... if that's okay if not no worries

| All Yours, Only Yours |

18+ Minors DNI

✧Pairing✧ Bucky Barnes x Plus Size!Reader

✧Warnings✧ A lil angsty, Sharon being a big bully (like seriously you’re 50 and you’re bullying someone? ick), Name calling, Angry Buck, Crying, Bucky is a simp, Confessions, Marking, Dry humping, Oral (F), Fingering (F), Teeny bit of cum play, Dirty talk, Unprotected PinV, Praise, Petnames, My shitty writing — again very tame for me but i didnt want to go overboard. If there any more I’ve neglected to add please let me know.

✧Word Count✧ 4.3K

✧Author Note✧ I really hope you enjoy this and I've done your request justice, I honestly tried my best but idk…Anyways!!! Much love to everyone, please let me know what you think. Love ya xxx

“Still not answering?” Natasha asks from her spot in the cockpit, concern evident from the wrinkle between her brows.

“Nope” he spits his reply, reeling from the whole ordeal. He thrusts his phone into his jean pocket, sick to the back teeth of nothing but a black screen greeting him instead of your sweet little messages.

“Did you piss her off or something?” Sam tries to lighten the mood but is swiftly shut down, his hands rising in surrender at the killer glare the brunette shot his way.

“Calm down everyone, we’ll be home soon so we can figure this out” Steve, the voice of reason commands order within the small confines of the jet. He sits, a gloved hand rubbing over his friend's shoulder trying to reassure his muddled brain but to no avail.

Bucky is pissed. He’s pissed and he’s worried sick. A week he’s been gone for and he’s missing you like crazy. The only issue? You are ignoring him, straight up ghosting his brooding ass which is completely unlike you. Often on missions when Bucky clicks his phone on he’s greeted with a flurry of messages from you; photos of little birds you see on your walks, photos of alpine taken at odd angles and constant little messages that make his heart full and ready to continue his painstaking missions—none of it, just a notification from your favourite restaurant offering a discount to keep him happy.

As soon as this jet landed he was going to get to the bottom of what was going on and then he was going to cuddle you to death as punishment. Not that he’d let anyone else know that.

One Week Earlier…

Beep beep beep. Bucky’s alarm sounds at the ungodly hour of five am, his groan following. He didn't want to get out of this bed, he was too warm, his huge body wrapped around yours. Your movements spurred his own, your arm reaching over to switch off his alarm while he pushed himself into a sit, thoughts already on the mission afoot.

“Morning,” your raspy voice purrs, bringing his attention back to you. His eyes fall to your face; following the slope of your puffy cheeks up to your barely open eyes, your hues peeking through only enough to tease him. Putting his weight on his right arm he’s on top of you before you can blink, his head tucked into the crook of your neck, peppering tiny kisses along the warm skin.

“Morning princess,” he bites back his yawn, shifting so his hips slot in their spot between your plush thighs, loving the way they wrapped around his narrow waist just the way he loved. Practice truly did make perfect. His dark vibranium fingers drifted from your collarbone, over the swell of your breast until it found its favourite perch on your hips.

“So fucking pretty” he breathes, his pupils dilating to let more of you in — until you pushed him away.

“You gotta get ready Mr” you giggle, moving your foot so you could push him further away, ruining his plan B of pinning you down by your hips.

“Don’t remind me…”

His cold left hand hooks around your ankle, pushing at it until your knee hinged, bending up and out. A suspicious hardness presses against you, a wicked smile on your boyfriend’s face.

“I mean it Buck we can’t, Nat will be kicking that door down any minute” he groans at your words knowing that you are completely right. That lock had been replaced an embarrassing amount of times because of that exact situation. You hated rejecting him, knowing that he could easily put you back to sleep until midday if he wanted. After a small standoff between you both you warn him again, an arch in your brow and a growl behind his name.

“You’re such a little tease, you know that?”

You laugh, sitting up, watching him skulk around the room in nothing but his grey Calvin Kleins, “I haven’t done anything!”

“Sure you haven’t” he argues, moving over to you again, his metal fingers looping under your chin to tilt your head back to gaze up at him, “Looking so fucking sexy in the morning and I can’t fuck you stupid. That’s not teasing that’s damn near criminal.”

You groan, rolling your eyes at your pouty 106-year-old man. You inch closer to his mouth, a sickly sweet definitely not bratty smirk on your face. “Get your ass ready.”

“Fine…but only because you looked so fucking sexy ordering me around,”

“Bucky!” You shout after him, blush on your full cheeks. He only smirks over his shoulder, pushing his briefs to the floor at the entrance to the bathroom, giving you a full view of his posterior.

You get up too, knowing you had been awake too long to fall asleep again. You get ready with the shower as background noise, pulling on some workout clothes. Today you decided you’d try out the gym right here in the compound, you’d been to many different ones in the past; often polluted with the smell of days-old sweat and men reeking of testosterone, grunting and groaning at weights you could only dream of lifting.

An hour later, after waving Bucky off on his week-long mission you were in the gym.

“Hey” you smile as you pass Sharon, her blonde hair whipping as she ducks and weaves to dodger imaginary punches the bag throws out before throwing a couple of her own. She offers you a tight-lipped smile, her eyes straying from your face down your body. She takes note of your long top and shorts that settle around mid-thigh compared to her sports bra and tiny shorts — her flat stomach and sculpted legs on display.

God you wish you had just as much ventilation. Just as you go to place your earphones in your ears you hear a scoff coming from Sharon’s direction. You pay it no mind, setting the treadmill for a nice incline and pace, pressing the timer until it shone with the time you wanted.

The treadmill slowed for the cooldown. Your eyes moved from the display in front to glance over your shoulder, the gym was empty. You grab your bottle only to realise thanks to your distraction you'd finished off your water. You stop the treadmill and hop off, making a beeline for the kitchen. The walk to the kitchen from the gym wasn’t that long but with the feeling of your sweat culminating in places you didn’t want it to be it was almost torturous.

“I couldn’t believe it when I saw her,”

A gaggle of hushed laughs comes from the kitchen, stopping you. A familiar dread coils in your stomach, reminding you of when you were young, the children pointing and laughing — joking at your expense.

“she must been on that treadmill for about five minutes and she was all like huff huff” she laughs obnoxiously “Her face was like a big tomato, I almost died trying to keep myself from laughing” Sharon continues.

The group cackles again at your expense, almost doubling as Sharon makes the huffing noise again. You cling to your shirt, pulling it from sticking to your body. These women you thought were friends did just what everyone else did.

“She’s pathetic, I don’t know what Bucky sees in her” Your heart stops. That little devil on your jumps and cheers at the confirmation of what it has been telling you since the start of your relationship with Bucky. You were never enough.

“I can’t wait for him to dump her once he gets sick of her wide load.”

Tears fall on their own accord but you don't register them, too busy inside your head being suffocated by every doubt and self-conscious thought you ever had since you confessed your feelings for the super soldier. You didn't deserve Bucky and everyone thought that too.

Back at your room, freshly clean. You scrolled through your messages from Bucky. The little hearts next to his messages no longer felt genuine like he was only doing it merely to save your feelings from being hurt. You were nothing but a burden that he was forced to bear; it wouldn’t be long before like Sharon said, he got sick of the clinginess and the need for reassurance and broke up with you.

Well, you weren’t going to be a burden any longer. You wouldn’t let him break your heart first. You turned your phone off, tucking it into your bedside drawer.

—

“Bucky wait!” Sam calls from the quinjet but it goes ignored. Bucky’s face is twisted in annoyance as he takes wide, purposeful steps towards the tower doors. He was going to find you and you were going to tell him why the fuck you were ignoring him.

He ignores the shouts of his name as Nat, Steve and Sam follow him indoors, smashing the elevator button with his thumb and stepping inside. Once on your floor, he stormed like a charging bull to your room, slamming a gloved fist on your door in a poor excuse for a knock.

The loud knocking from the other end of the room had you jumping back in your seat, the slee overtaking you gone in an instant. Your heart lurched at the familiar face, worn from exhaustion and malice clear from the scrunching of his forehead and tick in his cheek muscle.

“Oh hello, where have you been?” Bucky snaps, glaring down at you as you use the door as a shield from his scrutinising eyes. Here it comes, the moment you’d prepared for all week. You don’t think you’ll go back to dating apps, too many weird me—

“You know how worried I was when you didn't answer me all week?”

Huh. “Huh?”

“‘Huh?’ Are you joking? You ghosted me, left me scared to death on a mission halfway across the globe and all you can say to me is huh!” His blue eyes glisten and you look at them closer. There was no anger there, only concern and fear culminating in swirls across his blue orbs, rearing its head in rage across Bucky’s face.

“Bucky I—” you try but you can’t find the words, each syllable sticks in your throat, balling up until it feels like you can no longer breathe. The week of bottled-up emotions spills forth at the sight of him — at the revelation that he was utterly terrified. Tears fall from your eyes before you know it, your lip wobbling as you keep trying to speak.

Bucky’s shoulders tense at the sight of tiny tears falling over your full cheeks, guilt replacing his earlier pain,

“Fuck c’mere baby” he pulls you close, bending at an almost uncomfortable angle just to hold you as close as humanly possible.

“I'm so sorry for being so annoyed but you have to see why I was so scared something had happened to you. You left me on read for an entire week and blanked my calls. That isn’t you, you know how scary that was for me?” He whispers so softly, backing you up to sit on your bed.

In his arms, surrounded by his warmth and scent the week you had fell from your mouth like alphabet soup, from the gym to Sharon to how hard it was to ignore your phone knowing that Bucky would’ve been calling you every single day but you did it to protect your own heart. Nothing was kept a secret.

“I’ll kill her,” he growls when you finish, muscles tightening even more around you.

“Buck.”

“Right…sorry, I won't kill her” He lied between his teeth, well sort of. He wouldn’t actually kill Sharon but he knew you'd be upset if he did anything to her which he was indeed planning to do but to save you any more pain for the evening, to keep that teeny tiny smile on your face he lied.

“What makes her think she has any fucking right to speak on other people’s appearance anyway?”

“She wasn't lying…” it came out in the tiniest little voice, maybe your way of silently hoping he didn't hear it and he wouldn’t have if it weren't for his super soldier ears.

Gripping onto your wrists Bucky flipped your world in an instant, the breath leaving your lungs as your back makes contact with the bed, your wrists caught on either side of your head.

“Are you lying to me doll?” He says, raising a brow at you.

“No…”

“You are! You're lying right to my face,” he argues, pressing your wrists further into the mattress below. Your eyes fall shut as his face inches closer to yours.

“Look at me princess,” he waits until you open both eyes again, looking up at him as if he strung the stars in the sky “There is not a single thing that I'd change about you and I mean that. I fell in love with you the way you are now, you aren't some bitch that gets off on making fun of others. I fell head over damn heels for you because you are you.”

His eyes sparkle with adoration, his hands running up and down your body softly. The juxtaposition of metal on one side and warmth on the other sends shivers up your spine.

“I love you,” he breathes, leaning down again till your lips graze his. A teasing smile pulled on the pink corners of his mouth, a similar glint in his eyes, “you know that right?”

“Yes,” you nod, pushing up to close the distance between your mouths but he pulls away.

“I don't think you do,”

“I do Buck I promise.”

“Well…” he began, the glint in his eyes dulling as want engulfed the colour, “let me make sure.”

Bucky takes his time. He has to knowing that you're feeling small. Slowly his lips slot with yours, ushering out sweet little sounds to replace the broken ones that still thrum fresh in his mind.

“I love you,” he says again, capturing your hitched gasp with his tongue as he pushes it past the seam of your mouth, the tip flicking against your own to entice it to mingle. Slowly but surely the tension drips from your shoulders, your arms moving from his grip to trail up over his rigid stomach and chest. They sink below the shoulder pads of his jacket, pushing it off his broad frame and onto the floor beside the bed. Your hands paw at the exposed skin on his arm, fingers squeezing, nails scraping over the corded muscle.

“All of yours…all of it.”

Each time the seal of your mouths broke you chase them, planting kisses teeming with nothing but raw desire onto kiss-bitten lips. The words that Sharon said are long gone from your mind now, replaced by the man in front of you. Everything you smell, taste, touch and see — it's all him.

The brunette slips off his glove; his warm and cold, metal hand grips your hips, pulling you up into his lap with a squeak.

“You feel that?” He grunts, moving from your mouth down your face to your neck. His lips suck and his teeth nibble, marking you, proving to anyone around that dare dispute his love for you again. With undeniable strength he grinds you down into a sizeable bulge poking from his tight jeans, he hisses at the contact, letting a hand fall to your ass with a small spank.

Your arousal seeps through your thin panties making them stick to your dainty folds; your clit buzzes at the delicious scratch the metal of his zip brings you — a gasp catching in your throat every time your neglected nub catches the pull tab.

As much as he worshiped the way you dry-humped his cock, soaking the front of his jeans. Bucky is desperate. After a week of no contact, not even a tiny emoji heart never mind a raunchy photo, he needs something — anything. And he's going to get it.

“Get on the bed” he demands, pushing at you ever so slightly. “Panties off.”

You do as you are told, fingers frantically hooking into the waistband of your underwear, rolling the material over your thick thighs until they hook around a single ankle.

“Spread those legs for me baby, lemme see that sweet little cunt.”

You hesitate for a second, your legs twitching to open but knees knocking again as you close them. Blown pupils snap onto your face his jaw clenched hard and his nostrils flared. Before you can react his calloused hands settle gently, luring you into a false sense of security.

They soothe down your thighs as his blue eyes study you. Inch by inch his dull nails tap over your beautifully wide thighs until he's back at your kneecaps. With a soft unassuming smile, bucky pushes your legs wide, a rush of oxygen leaving you as your sopping folds are exposed to the cool air of the room. He doesn't give you a chance to breathe before a warm hand smacks over your wet folds, your body jerks, an unabashed moan flying from your parted lips.

“Don't fucking deny me this” he growls, fire roaring in his eyes. “You ghosted me for a week, now you're gonna lie there all pretty and let me eat this sweet fucking cunt.”

You nod, biting your lip. At the first presence of him between your legs, his hot breath billowing over your labia, your eyes roll into the back of your skull. Over each fold, ridge and crevice his breath fans, a shiver rolling over your spine each time; without warning he lays his tongue flat and wide, licking a strip from hole to clit. His tongue disappears and he does it again, guttural sounds falling from him at your taste mixing with the sharp trills you let out.

“Sing for me baby, let me know how good I'm making that pretty pussy feel” He delves in like a man starved, devouring your cunt as though it were his first and last ever meal on earth. He'd die happily if it were.

You were a mess, a mess of pleading cries. Your legs shake against his powerful hold, your hands grip his unruly brunette locks. Letting his hands drop from your thighs he stops his slurping to lay a soft, sweet peck on your raw clit. He smiles up at you, his face glistening with your juices visible thanks to the city lights peeking in through your open windows. Your mind wandered, wondering if the people in the building across could see the way Bucky fucked his tongue into you, curling the long muscle up to press against that ridged spot on your upper walls — he hit it with ease every time.

Using your distraction as an advantage bucky moves a hand to join his mouth, sliding his fingers in alongside his tongue for a second before he pulls his tongue from you. He moves, looming over you with a massive shit-eating grin at how much he unravelled you. you should've been embarrassed at how wet his face was; slick ran from his stubbled upper lip over and below his chin. You had done that to him and he wore it proudly. His fingers push deeper and curl out, coaxing the coils in your stomach to snap.

“Come on baby I know you feel it” he speeds up, the sound of your messy pussy almost as loud as your harsh breaths and whimpers.

“Buckyyy” you squeal, gripping at anything you can.

“That's it, baby…you're squeezing around my fingers, are you gonna cum?”

You nod but it's not enough for your man. He dips, nipping at a pebbled nipple and that's all it takes for those tightly coiled ropes to pull taut and snap. A sound you've never heard from yourself erupts from your lungs, your fingers clutching at bucky, the sheets, anything. Stars peppered your vision, blocking out the smug image of your boyfriend, blood rushing in your ears muffling his words of praise.

“Come back to me baby, that's it, good girl. such a good girl” Bucky coos, his fingers slipping out to rub lazily at your clit. He keeps going until you jerk harshly in his hold.

“You did so well, such a good fucking girl cumming like that for me” He praises, kissing your cheek and then your mouth, a smirk pulling at his lips when you moan at your taste.

You flash him a big dopey smile in return, your eyes hazy and your plump little cheeks flushed. You look gorgeous; Bucky had seen many things in his long drawn-out life but nothing could ever compare to how you looked fucked out beneath him.

He would stay like this forever…if his cock wasn't aching for release.

He stands, fiddling with his belt and fly until it comes loose. He wastes no time in pushing them both past his round ass and onto the floor, his cock springing free. His shirt goes next, thrown somewhere in your small room letting you get the full experience of what Bucky had to offer you. Layers of corded muscle ripple beneath his silky but scarred skin, his chest peppered in tiny curly hairs that sink below his sternum and over his abs where they begin to thicken until they finish, well trimmed at the base of his thick, heavy cock.

His eyes never stray from your body as he takes himself in his hand, pumping once, twice, his thumb catching the precum leaking from his tip. He kneels back between your welcoming legs, rubbing his slick thumb over your lips. A hushed chuckle vibrates in his chest as you suck the thumb into your mouth, eagerly licking his taste from the digit.

“Such a dirty girl,” you giggle, pulling back until his thumb slips out of your mouth with a pop. “Do you think you can handle one more hm? Can you let me fuck that little hole?”

“yes Buck” you smile, your eyes falling shut as he kisses you again.

“good girl” he growls, moving your legs over his own before grabbing a pillow to squish under your hips. With one hand he pushes the head of his length through your mess, dipping into your hole before running back up over your clit. He does it a few times, occasionally slapping his cock against you, praising each tiny sound you let out.

“Please Buck” You toss your head back, grinding your hips up to meet nothing. At this rate, you were going to come to nothing more than his teasing.

“Please what?” Oh he's a piece of shit. He knows what you want because he wants it too. He waits for a beat, enjoying your huffs of frustration. “Tell me and I'll do it.”

With the last of your sanity, you cry out, “fuck me buck ple—ah”

You slap a hand over your mouth as he spears into you, stretching you like he does time and time again. It never gets any easier with a size like Bucky’s; his tip kissing your cervix with each thrust and your walls sing at the almost painful stretch.

Bucky’s thrusts are delightfully slow, letting you feel each drag and push, each rigid vein on his pulsing cock. There is no fucking involved, he's making love, making sure you know that he would spend eternity wrapped up in your body no matter what size you are. The deep coloured marks along your neck and between your thighs would attest to that.

“Fuck” he moans, mouth gaping. “Don't think ill last long princess” His vibranium fingers fall to your soft belly, skating over the smooth skin to your full hip.

He squeezes hard enough to leave marks, “fucking mine.”

His thrusts speed up, his head snapping back and eyes rolling. His balls bounce rhythmically against your ass, the bulbous head of his cock smashing into the end of your cunt where a dull ache forms — a warning of future hurt when you wake tomorrow. You don't care, not when his free hand dips between you both, pulling back the hood of your sensitive nub and flicking it over and over.

He feels the way you tighten around him, holding him in a vice grip, “hold it princess, just a little longer come on”

“I can't Bucky please” you whimper in response.

“Yes, you can baby—oh fuck I'm close” his weight falls atop yours, smothering you in him. His hips stutter, his balls pulling up towards his body.

“Cum now, soak my big fucking dick.”

The slamming of the headboard ceases when his thrusts slow to shallow grinding, his mouth swallows any sounds you let out.

“Such a good fucking girl for me—shit” he sighs, slips from you with a hiss.

“Buck—”

“Shh pretty girl you're alright” he holds you close for a while, holding you tight to his broad body. Tears fall from your cheeks but he swipes them away. You don't know why you ever doubted Bucky, he's the only constant in your life.

“I love you” He whispers as the blood rushing in your ears settles, running through your veins in exhaustion.

“I love you too”

“Don't you ever listen to those idiots again, because I will show you over and over what you mean to me” Bucky promises with a kiss on the crown of your head.

You smile, laying your own lazy kiss over your thumping heart. You like the sound of that.

I DO NOT give permission to have my work copied, translated or reposted. If you see my work anywhere else except this page I have not given consent for it to be used.

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Thanks for reading~

[pretty-little-mind33]

Pietro Maxmioff x fem!reader

Summary: You don't want to share a bed with Pietro. He wants nothing more than to share one with you.

Prompt: one bed - "Don't bite your lip, bite mine."

Warnings: again, I use Czech as 'Sokovian', swearing, flirty!pietro, anxious!reader

PIETRO MAXIMOFF MASTERLIST

BLURB MASTERLIST

"Which asshole gave Pietro and me a room with only one bed!" you hiss, standing in the small living corner that is in the hotel, your arms crossed.

Steve and Tony glance up from their m friendly game of pool while Natasha smirks from where she is on the couch. Wanda, who is watching Steve and Tony's game, laughs and you snap your head around to glare at her. 

"What's so funny? Can't I switch with you? He's your brother!"

Wanda shakes her head, still smiling. "Rooms are rooms."

You huff. You're not stupid. Everyone on the team thinks you and Pietro have some romantic thing going on, which means they'd most likely done this on purpose.

"Well, fuck you all," you say and storm back into the elevator, angrily making your way up to your hotel room again. 

You open the door and almost slam into Pietro, who is walking out of the bathroom, with only a towel loosely hung around his hips.

He curses in Sokovian as his eyes widen. "Miláček (Sweetheart)," he says, finally registering it's only you, and that familiar annoying play-boy smirk curls his lips. 

"I leave you alone for barely five minutes and you've already finished your shower?" you ask in disbelief, ignoring how water still drips down his torso and over his toned abs.

Pietro makes it so damn hard to be mad at him when he looks this good. 

"I'm quick," he shrugs and walks by you, ruffling your hair with a grin. He turns and walks into the main room, calling out behind him, "Plus, now you have more time to shower yourself. You're welcome, Princezna (Princess)."

You roll your eyes and storm into the bathroom, shutting the door behind you as you pretend you're not completely flustered by him or his pet names. 

Once you've finished your shower, you leave the bathroom dressed in your pajamas. Your hair is dried and brushed and your skin smells like the vanilla body wash you'd used.

Pietro is lying on the right side of the bed, his arms folded behind his head as he watches a comedy movie and chuckles along. 

He perks up when he sees you and smiles. "Hey, drahoušek (darling)," he says, his voice hoarse and raspy. 

"That's three," you hum and walk over cautiously, sitting on the other end of the queen-sized bed, staring at Pietro like he's some scary unknown. "You have any more cheesy pet names I can't understand up your sleeve, Maximoff?" 

Pietro chuckles, very amused. "How do you know they're cheesy if you can't understand them, moje srdce (my heart)."

You narrow your eyes at him defiantly. "I just know," you say. "I know you."

Pietro hums and looks at you, his silver hair falling over his icy blue eyes for a moment. "Wanna finish the movie?" he asks. 

You shake your head and climb under the blanket. You hear Pietro's laugh and then he turns off the T.V. He speeds up to turn off the lights, tucking himself into the bed next to you in a blur. His body feels so warm, so close, and your head spins as you try to stay as far away from him as possible. You hate these feelings. You hate them more than anything. 

"Princezna (Princess)?"

You tense. 

"Y-yeah?"

You hear the shifting of sheets and then he's even closer, his hand coming up from behind to brush some strands of your hair as his fingertips then linger on your cheek. "Look at me, will you?" he asks seriously. 

You hesitate, not wanting to turn around. Pietro hums again and whispers something in Sokovian in your ear. His breath is warm on your skin and as if in a trance, you turn around. Your noses almost touch, causing your eyes to widen. The curtains aren't drawn closed so you can see him easily in the moonlight. 

He's gorgeous. 

You bite your lip, the action almost uncontrollable. 

Pietro's gaze hardens and without much thinking, he leans in and takes your chin in his hand, kissing your lips. In the process, he opens your mouth to disconnect your teeth from your lips as he deepens the kiss. As startled as you are, you kiss him back and pull him closer to you. No lips have ever felt softer than his.

Pietro pulls away after a moment and grins. "Don't bite your lip, next time drahoušek (darling), bite mine." 

His words cause you to halt, your body feeling weak as you look at him with wide eyes and a shiver runs through you when his thumb traces your lips.

You find yourself nodding, your shyness appearing as you realize Pietro fucking Maxmioff had just kissed you—while in the same bed—you know have to share.

Pietro is looking at you like he adores you, his eyes tracing every blemish and insecurity on your face with a look that makes your heart flutter.

"I like you," he tells you. "A lot." 

Your mind is unable to conjure up any coherent words but it's screaming at you to return the feelings. 

"You don't need to tell me now, Princezna (Princess)," he whispers and kisses your forehead. "Miluji tě (I love you)," he adds, knowing you can't understand him. His arm wraps around you and you let him, nuzzling into him. His chest fills with pride.

Your mind has only calmed down a little, or calmed down enough, that the one thing you can think is thank god for the team and their weird sense of intuition. 

tags: @tansgirlfriend, @princesssunderworld, @lqrlei, @brokeaesthetic, @sayitlikethecheese

[blindmagdalena]

Guilty Pleasures

18+ 3.3k homelander x plus size f!reader. workplace harassment, stalking, voyeurism, masturbation, lite humiliation kink, sublander flavored. nebulously takes place post s1. part 1/4. AO3 link. | Chapter Directory

Homelander is on top of the world. He can say or do whatever the fuck he wants, and the sycophants around him will bend over backwards to make his word law, with few notable exceptions.

He never expected you to be one of them. When you put him in his place after a workplace incident, he becomes fixated on the promise of a firm hand alongside a soft body.

It’s Thursday, which means Homelander is currently bored to tears less than ten minutes into Vought’s weekly digital marketing meeting. These monotonous discussions of percentages and trending graphics gradually begin to feel like a drill pushing slowly into each of his ears, but they’re a necessary evil if he wants to have input when it comes to his image.

He taps his fingers impatiently on the armrest of his chair. The tapping pauses, however, at the appearance of a new presenter.

You.

You’re a far cry from the dime a dozen jackass in a suit that had been presenting before you. He’s sure he hasn’t seen you before, which means you’re new. His gaze drifts from your round face to the sensible cut of your blouse, the garment buttoned nearly to your throat. Anything less would be considered lewd given the size of your breasts. He wets his lips absently, adjusting himself to sit a little straighter.

He’s completely lost track of what you’re talking about in favor of watching the way your hips sway each time you walk from one end of the board to the other, tactfully engaging each observer. You have a resonant voice, commanding attention without sounding harsh. With a rack like that, you must have to fight to have a word you say heard by anyone with even a passing interest in a good pair of tits.

Not that the cheap fabric of your bra is doing them any favors. Silk would be better. He’s always liked the shine of it. Softer, too. It wouldn’t scrape against your shirt the way he can hear that cotton blend you’re wearing is doing. 

Curious, he focuses his vision to peer through your blouse. Your undergarments are plain and sensible. Boring. Still, it elicits a distinct pang between his legs. His mouth waters slightly. Even from where he is, he can smell you, fresh and clean, slightly sweet smelling–like vanilla. Your clothes may be pedestrian but at least your perfume is nice.

Letting his gaze slide lower, he admires how the curves of your body flow into one another. He can tell just by looking at you how soft you would feel against him, under him. How good you would feel to grip and hold in place, sink into and lose himself in. Your voice has a soothing quality to it that lets him easily imagine you’re breathlessly singing his praises instead of rattling off bullet points in a presentation.

Fuck, he’s getting hard, his cock throbbing lightly against the cup of his suit. It’s the only thing that allows him to fantasize as freely as he does. The best part of it is that he’s fairly certain he can sense something warm and wet throbbing between your thick thighs.

He suspects he’s not the only one fantasizing.

The room is quiet for a second too long, and Homelander abruptly tunes back in to realize you’re staring directly at him, expectancy in your gaze. He pulls a blank, realizing he hasn’t processed anything you’ve said. “Say again?”

There’s a flicker of irritation in your eyes before you tightly school your expression back into polite professionalism. His lips slowly split into a devious smile that he consciously fine-tunes to be more neutral. How close you came to some sort of heated response was kind of… cute. It makes him want to give your proverbial pigtails another tug just to see what else he can evoke.

The thought of pulling your hair is good. The thought of you pulling his hair is better, though.

“I asked if you have any feedback for our campaign leading up to the premiere,” you say, though Homelander finds himself more interested in the flash of your tongue he gets as you run it along your teeth afterwards. Your temperature is up a notch, too. You must not be used to such direct attention from someone like him.

“Nope,” he says glibly, turning on one of his patented knock-out smiles. “Looks good to me.” At that, he pointedly looks you up and down, meeting your gaze with a quick wink. 

Judging by the slight tic at the corner of your mouth, you aren’t charmed by his response. Still, he waits in preemptive satisfaction for you to appease him by returning his smile.

You don’t.

Instead, you say nothing more than a terse “Wonderful,” the singular word barely passing for civil, let alone professional. You move on, and Homelander finds himself taken aback. You don’t meet his eye for the remainder of the presentation, and while that gives him plenty of opportunity to ogle you, it bothers him.

Towards the end of your time, he clears his throat. Everyone looks at him.

Everyone but you.

“Thanks so much for your time,” you say to the committee, smiling, finishing your piece with a small incline of your head. You go sit, and there’s a slightly awkward pause before the next presenter takes center stage.

Homelander sits in stunned silence. The idea that you, some fresh faced nobody, think you’re in any position to blow him off is laughable at best. Who cares if he didn’t pay attention to your little presentation? That’s not his job. You’re lucky he’s even here, lucky that someone like him would think to give you time out of his day.

By the time the meeting concludes, you haven’t spared him so much as a glance. Indignation builds hotly in his chest. He’s had more than enough of being snubbed lately. He’s not going to tolerate it from the likes of you.

You should be on your hands and knees begging for his attention.

He watches a handful of your peers congratulate you on your first presentation, though plenty of others cast him wary glances and decide not to approach you. They know better. They know who’s really in charge around here. Naturally, they all skitter away like roaches when he strides towards you.

“Not bad for your first presentation,” he tells you, his smile toned down into a thin, lopsided smirk.

You look around yourself, no doubt taking note of how the other little insects around you have scattered. Maybe now you’ll realize your mistake.

“Thank you, sir,” you say, your body angled slightly away from him, as if you’re ready to bolt at any second.

“Got a lot on my mind, though, so I don’t think I absorbed as much as I could have,” he says, laying on that boyish charm a little thicker than usual. “Would really appreciate it if you could stick around and run that by me one more time.”

Your gaze flickers away from him–he wishes you would stop doing that–to the others who’re filtering out of the room, slowly leaving the two of you behind. “As I said during the presentation, all the documents will be available online,” you say, finally looking back at him. You actually have the audacity to look annoyed that he’s talking to you.

“I don’t have a computer,” he replies, his own voice beginning to flatten.

“I’m sure someone in IT can help you with that,” you say, undeterred by his attempts to corner you. 

His smile tightens minutely. “Do you have some kind of problem with me?”

Your heart jumps. He finds satisfaction in that, at least.

“No, sir,” you say sharply, a barely discernible hitch in your voice. “What I have are deadlines. If you’ll excuse me, I’d like to meet them.” With that, you manage to squeeze by him. Despite the steady confident tap of your shoes against the floor, your heart races rabbit-like in his ears.

He contemplates you as you go, momentarily stupefied by your flagrant disregard for him. You weren’t entirely unaffected by his presence, though. If you’d had less of an avenue for escape, would you have been so flippant? He continues to focus on the beat of your heart as your steps carry you further from him. It doesn’t slow. You’re still full of adrenaline, the scent of it lingering alongside your perfume. He inhales a slow, deep breath, the leather of his gloves creaking as he curls and uncurls his fist.

Homelander finds himself wondering what your agenda is, what makes you so desperate to break from the norm and catch his attention. It’s clear to him that’s what you want. Why else would you be so stubborn where anyone else would yield? He scoffs to himself. 

God, it’s so obvious in hindsight.

He has no doubt that your brazen attitude would shatter if he pressed in closer, if you felt the heat of his breath on your lips. He could part your soft thighs and paint the face of God on the ceiling above you with his tongue inside you. You couldn’t dismiss him so easily then, could you?

You’re so determined to be noticed that it’s almost pathetic. He shouldn’t reward this kind of behavior, and yet he feels strangely inclined to commend it. What you’ve done is brave in a way. Insolence and sycophants he can’t abide, but a touch of bravery? Well… That can be rewarded.

Your heart thunders in your ears as you make a beeline for your office. You can feel a terrible burn crawling up your chest and into your cheeks, the reality of what just happened finally allowed to sink in. You had spent all morning preparing yourself for presenting your work in front of not only your new peers at Vought, but in front of the world’s most prolific superhero. You were solid, you were ready.

Until you felt the gravity of his gaze on you. The weight of it made you stutter where you shouldn’t have, lose your train of thought mid-sentence. Every time you dared to look at him, he was looking at you like he was going to swallow you whole. Never have you felt more acutely aware of yourself than you did beneath his stare, feeling the way he was picking you apart as keenly as you would feel his hands undressing you.

It left you as furious as you are flustered.

That arrogant bastard!

You close the door behind you with a rough breath, closing your eyes. You can’t even sit, you have to pace your office instead, shaking your hands out as you walk. You know you weren’t imagining it. He confirmed as much for you when it took a solid eight seconds of silence for him to tear his gaze up from your chest, smiling as wickedly as any devil and caught elbow-deep in the cookie jar.

You couldn’t look him in the eye after that. It was humiliating to be reduced so thoroughly and obviously in front of your peers. Worst of all, he seemed damn pleased by it. 

Though that isn’t the only reason your heart is still racing. You’re not quite ready to address that yet. You’re fairly certain if you’d been forced to speak to him any more than you had, you would have said something that would cause you to lose your job. You just need space to breathe, to collect yourself, to–

There’s a brisk knock at your door. Great. What now?

“Just a m–” You’re stopped dead in your tracks by a familiar flash of red, white and blue as Homelander lets himself into your office, closing the door securely behind him. 

“Howdy,” he greets. He looks cartoonishly wide and brightly colored against the neutral colors of your office, even more larger than life than he’d seemed in the conference room. He has a smile that looks like it belongs in the mouth of a shark about to take a bite of you. It sets you off kilter completely–not that you’d been much on it to begin with.

You gawk a moment before managing to close your mouth. “Homelander,” you say, your voice curt in your own ears. You have no idea how to address him, still frazzled from not only the presentation, but your interaction that followed it. You should ask him what he needs. 

“What’re you doing here?” That came out ruder than you meant it to. Not that he doesn’t deserve it. Still, you’re trying to keep this job.

“Are you always this pleasant?” He asks, cocking his head slightly as he comes to a stop in front of you, his arms held behind his back beneath his swaying cape. “Or did I catch you on a bad day?”

Is he serious?

“Your conduct today was inappropriate,” you say flatly, settling your hands on your hips.

Homelander scoffs lightly. “Oh, relax. You gonna ‘#Metoo’ me over a wink? Christ, you’re done up tighter than that blouse of yours,” he says, his gaze dipping. A chill rolls up your spine as you watch his tongue roll along his teeth. He’s like an animal anticipating a meal.

Your jaw drops, cold shock settling in your gut alongside that blistering heat. Of all the things you had prepared yourself for before coming to Vought, Homelander being a misogynistic sex-pest hadn’t been on your list.

Well. Not the sex-pest part, anyways.

You point to your office door. “Get out.”

He blinks, zero comprehension in those deceptively charming baby blues. His smile turns incredulous. “I’m starting to think you don’t understand what’s happening here,” he says, his tone taking on a precarious edge. He lets out a breathy, mirthless laugh. “You know, most people in your position would be begging for my attention.”

There it is.

You suck a noise through your teeth, nodding slowly. "Oh, I understand exactly what’s happening here,” you say, shifting your weight like you’re winding up for a pitch. “I know you think you're special because you're famous, or a supe, or both. I know you think I should be grateful that you’d even look at someone like me, but you’re not special, and I’m not grateful. The reality of the matter is I can get dick whenever I want it–good dick–and I can get it without being humiliated at my job.”

The silence in the room is deafening. Homelander looks stupefied, but you decide that you’re not done.

“You're not blessing me by making entitled passes and crude remarks while I'm trying to work. You’re being a nuisance,” you say, your heart beating in your throat. “So please, would you kindly leave?” You ask, voice firm despite the friendlier nature of your phrasing.

Finally, Homelander is the one left gawking. He looks like a fish with the way his mouth keeps opening and closing, but it’s the dismissive, aborted little scoffs he makes in between that really sell his wounded bewilderment. You can see tension lurking just beneath the surface, an anger that skulks in the creak of his leather gloves.

Fear begins to creep up the back of your throat, burning like bile, but you hold steady as he seems to be deciding what he’s going to do with you. The longer the quiet stretches on, your focus entirely on the subtle spasms in his expression, the more sweat begins to prickle at the back of your neck. You refuse to fill the space, you refuse to back down.

For all his power, he’s still just a man.

Eventually, he swallows. “Okie-dokie,” he says, his tone unlike anything you expected. He sounds confused–a little dazed, even. He walks to the door, and after one hesitant look back at you, he leaves.

The door closes with a soft click that still makes you flinch, the sound of it loud in the silence of the room. You blink several times, the abruptness of his departure making the whole encounter feel like some sort of fever dream. 

What the fuck just happened?

You’re not special.

The impact of those words struck Homelander’s ears like a loud, painful ringing that follows him as he walks out of your office. He feels off balance, each step leaning slightly to the right.

It’s a ludicrous statement. Objectively wrong. Who in the fucking world could be more special than him? He’s a literal god, and you’re no one. A faceless, nameless cog in Vought’s mechanism that hoists him to the top of it all. That’s your job. To elevate him. Worship him.

Instead you spoke to him as if he were nothing. He could have cut you down where you stood for that. He could have put your head through your office window, snapped your neck, held your skull and burned your eyes out of–

He shakes his head sharply, swaying. He all but stumbles into the bathroom, surprising one of the worker drones washing their hands. “Get out,” Homelander says gruffly.

“Uh, sir–”

“Get the fuck out!” He snaps, startling the man so badly he immediately rushes off, fumbling with the door on his way out. Homelander slams it shut and lets out a ragged breath, digging the heels of his palms into his eyes, then his temples as he paces the bathroom. His reflection taunts him from his peripheral vision.

He hasn’t been able to look himself in the eye since he snapped his Doppelganger’s neck while he knelt before him.

That’s what he wants from you, isn’t it? Mindless desperate praise and worship. Why, then, does the thought od it make his stomach churn so violently he can taste the burn of bile? He tugs compulsively at his suit collar, the press of it against his skin uncharacteristically hot and itchy.

“I can get dick whenever I want it–good dick.”

He shamefully palms himself through his suit, confusingly hard amidst a swirling turbulence of contradicting thoughts and feelings. He could be good for you, too, if you’d fucking let him. He knows he could make you crumble, take apart that carefully constructed demeanor of professionalism and make you see him for what he is. He can prove himself to you. He will prove that you’re wrong about him, and then you’ll show him the love respect he deserves.

Hurriedly, he unzips his pants. His eyelashes flutter as he shoves his hand into them, roughly grabbing hold of his cock. He braces his forearm against the bathroom door and lets his head drop forward, watching his crimson glove pump the leaking head of his dick. His mind bounces between scenarios. He imagines himself in your place, fully on display for you to ogle. He imagines you’re watching him even now, staring him down with that unaffected look of indifference, of irritation, of disgust.

He bites back a whine, gritting his teeth. He wants so badly to imagine his face buried in your soft tits while he fucks the plush space between your thighs, but he knows you won’t let him. Not right away. You’d make him earn it, wouldn’t you? You’d make him watch you please yourself before he ever got so much as a taste.

The glassiness in his eyes begins to sizzle, the moisture burning away as crimson light flares up in them. Would you laugh if you could see him now, or would you scold him for touching himself without your permission?

Homelander comes hard, tipping his head back with a loud moan as he paints the bathroom door with ribbon after ribbon of come. He barely manages not to blow a hole through the ceiling, the light of his eyes flaring and softening in time with each euphoric wave of release. He pants through it, head falling forward and thunking lightly against the door, resting there while he catches his breath.

“Fuck,” he exhales eventually, sighing. He wipes his hand on the wall and then carefully tucks himself back into his pants, his mind swirling hazily on the best high he’s had since…

Clearing his throat, he puts himself back together before leaving the bathroom. Clearly, the thing that he’s been missing is a challenge. 

Luckily for him, you’ve kindly volunteered yourself.

( chapter two )

[sanguineterrain]

okay i've had this thought brewing for a while and i think you're the only writer who would do it justice!

reader meets jason again post-lazarus pit and he's amazed by how different reader is look-wise. reader was a teenager the last time they saw jason and now as an adult they've gotten a more "adult" body. reader is curvier, fleshier, no longer as lean as they were as a teen and is a bit self conscious about their body. but it drives jason wild to see his old crush all grown up into this mature body, hell he's changed a lot too. but yeah i feel like jason would be so body positive and full of praise 🩷

decided to combine this with a request i got for this prompt: 8) we share the bed because this is what we’ve done since we were kids, regardless of the adult implications now. i so agree with you anon, i think jason would be simultaneously body positive and absolutely FERAL for his old/current crush ;)

jason todd x gn!plus-sized!reader. reader used to work with the bats and is best friends with jayjay. reader is insecure and speaks poorly about their body. jason does NOT like that and desires you carnally! wahoo! suggestive content but no outright smut.

****

You haven't been in Jason's room in five years.

Alfred's kept it pretty much the same. Same books on the shelves, same Gotham Knights sweatshirt Dick gave Jason for his birthday. The curtains are the same shade of maroon, and the left one has a tear from when you played with a batarang. Jason had covered for you and was grounded for a week.

You flip through a dog-eared copy of The Three Musketeers. A few of the pages have underlining in pencil. You trace them with your finger.

The door creaks open. You look up.

Jason freezes in the threshold. His wrist is bandaged and you can see stitches on his forehead. You frown.

"Hey." You set down the book and go to him, offering your shoulder for him to lean on. "You okay?"

Jason sighs, ignoring your shoulder. "Who called you?"

"What d'you mean? We're psychically linked, Jay-Jay. I sensed that there was trouble afoot in Gotham City."

"Uh-huh. That didn't work when you tried to convince the old man I needed a puppy because you psychically divined that it knew me in a previous life."

"You and that Terrier were soulmates and I'll hear nothing of the contrary."

You take Jason's arm, despite his protests that he can make it two feet to the bed. He lays down, trying to hide how his arm twinges in pain. You frown and slip in beside him.

Jason's a lot bigger than he was the last time you shared a bed. Well. You both are. You roll over so you're facing him, squished against his side. You pull your leg up, suddenly self-conscious about everything Jason might be able to see.

Jason is warm. He's warm and big and solid and good God, you've missed him.

Your best friend is also fucking gorgeous and you really want to kiss him, but, uh. Ignoring that. You're very practiced at ignoring the urge to kiss Jason.

"Thanks for comin'."

The light is still on, casting a soft orange glow across Jason's features. He glances at you, lashes casting shadows on his cheeks. You can count all the freckles on his nose, this close.

"I'll always come when you call, Jay," you say. "Well, when Dickie calls. Said you got a concussion."

He turns his head, sighing at the ceiling. "'S not a big deal. Mild concussion. Leslie said I'll be fine in a week, but we all know that's code for two days."

"Yeah, I don't think so. You bats really are birds of a feather."

"How dare you. 'M nothing like those wackos."

"Sure, buddy. Keep lying to yourself. You brought me in all those years ago for a little normalcy."

"My mistake," Jason says.

He gets thwacked with a pillow for that. It fluffs his curls. He grins at you.

You tuck in closer, resting your chin on his shoulder. Jason turns his head so his cheek rests on the top of your head.

"You can have the bed," he says.

"Don't be a silly goose."

"'M gonna go home anyway."

You scoff. "Not like this, you're not."

"Been worse for wear."

You roll your eyes. "How are you gonna ride your bike with a hurt wrist and a concussion, genius?"

"Please, babe. The real question is how will I sneak past Alfred?"

"I'm a babe, now?"

Jason half-smiles. "Always were."

"Liar. Can you imagine me in a Batsuit again? Exactly, you can't. I simply don't have the bod for it."

"Hey." Jason reaches down and gently pinches your thigh. "Why ya doin' that?"

"Doing what?"

"Talkin' bad about yourself. Don't do that. 'Sides, it ain't true."

"Jaybird." You level him with a look. "Be serious. I know you're my best friend and you have to say that, but c'mon. I've seen the hotties you work with. Hell, I've seen Bruce and Dickie."

Jason's face twists in disgust. "Do not call my dad and brother hot."

"Okay, fine. I've seen you."

His brows rise. "What?"

"What, what?"

"Are you... callin' me..."

You snort. "Duh. Have you seen yourself? You've always been cute, Jason. If you didn't have the demeanor of a honey badger, you'd be fending off marriage proposals left and right from the Gotham public. You've always been the prettier one of us, Jay-Jay."

Jason's quiet. You keep going.

"Anyway, neon's never been my color, and it seems like that's a pretty immovable requirement these days. Like, I get Clark's trying to be seen from space but he doesn't get bloated. And the Spandex? Goodness gracious—"

"Y'really see yourself like that?"

Jason's staring at you with a wrinkled brow, mouth set.

"Like what?"

"Like you're not pretty? Like I'm too good for ya?"

You prop your head up on your arm. "You've always been too good for me, Jason Todd."

"That's just not true. And you're fuckin' beautiful, so stop sayin' that shit."

You blink. "Jay, c'mon—"

"No. It's true, so stop. You're the most beautiful person I've ever had the pleasure to know, and if anybody's gettin' proposed to, it's you."

"Jason." Your face is on fire. Why did you open your mouth? "Stop. It's fine. So I'm different; my body's changed and shit. I'm not an athletic vigilante anymore. My thighs have, like, their own zip code. It's my own fault. I didn't keep up the training and whaa—!"

In one fluid motion, Jason's rolled you onto him. Your legs straddle his waist. You catch yourself on his shoulders, then begin to scramble off, burning with embarrassment.

"Sorry, I'm heavy, you're injured—" you babble, picking up your leg.

"Will you quit?" Jason keeps your leg exactly where it is, tenderly stroking your ankle with his thumb. "Actin' like I'm made of whipped cream."

"You're concussed."

"Mildly."

"Stop, Jason. Please. You don't have to do this to-to prove a point. I get it, I won't talk bad about myself."

Bit hypocritical, considering some of the stuff you know for a fact Jason believes about himself.

But this is humiliating, your extremely attractive, crime-fighting best friend pretending that you haven't totally let yourself go all to bolster your ego.

"Nah, I don't think you get it," Jason says conversationally. His hand creeps under your shirt. You squirm. "I really, really don't think you get how fuckin' gone I am for ya."

"Huh?"

"Oh, yeah. Now, that's my fault, never sayin' anything. I was being cowardly. So lemme make it clear for ya, sweetheart."

His hand leaves your ankle and pulls your face to his. And then Jason kisses you.

"You're concussed," you whimper against his mouth. "Jason, you're—"

Jason laughs, low and sweet. He strokes the side of your face. "I could have amnesia and I wouldn't forget the fact that I've been in love with my best friend since I was fourteen."

"Are you sure you don't want me to move? I can—"

"No way. Y'know how long I've wanted you on me? Shit, I sound like a creep, thinking 'bout you like that, but—"

Jason rolls you both onto your sides. He hefts your leg over his, so you're slotted between each other. Then he kisses your neck, mouth hot and desperate. You gasp, belly swooping.

How long have you wanted this? How long did you believe you'd never feel this way about another person after Jason?

"I can promise you," Jason says, breathing hard against your skin. "You're a knockout. You knock me out. And I'll knock out anyone who says otherwise."

You huff and get a little braver, kissing Jason and returning him onto his back. He grins, sharp and hungry. He wants you. There's no doubt.

"I still think you're concussed," you murmur, letting him feel up your shirt. "But lucky for you, I have the utmost sympathy for poor, bedridden bats."

Jason hums, grunting when your teeth scrape his ear. "Oh, I've always known I was the lucky one, having you."

[konigsblog]

loser könig with insecure plus size reader plss plsss ♡(ू•‧̫•ू⑅)

Plus-size!Reader x Loser!König.

König can't understand why you're so insecure.

He's desperate to see your body, to finally lose his virginity. He can barely contain himself. He grinds against you constantly, touching you all over, only for his hands to be slapped away when he gets too touchy-feely. He gropes your soft hips and thighs the most, his large and calloused hands wandering over your soft flesh and smooth skin. He fantasises about fucking your thighs, covering them in his creamy load. He buries his face in the crook of your neck, relishing in your sweet, addictive scent.

You always wear baggy clothing to hide your figure – the figure König is so desperate to admire. You don't allow him to shower with you or to see your naked. Although, König can definitely understand what it's like to feel insecure, and that's why he worships the ground you walk on. It's pathetic to see König so desperate and greedy. If he's teammates found out about his depravity, they'd never give it up. In the privacy and comfort of your home, he covers you in kisses and love, doting on you for being adorable.

It's hard to deny König, especially when there are tears brimming in his waterline and he's huffing at your smell.

König kisses all over your body, covering your soft thighs in his love as he pleads with you for a taste, finally convincing you to relax, to let go. König is overly touchy, his hands groping your insecurities, making you feel loved with his lustful touch. He rolls his warm and wet tongue over your clit and gazes up at you with half-lidded eyes, his tongue working into your hole. You moan out and grasp at his hair, covering your eyes through shame and embarrassment as you allow him to admire your curves and insecurities, grinding against his face back and forth.

[writtenbymoonflower]

Unpretty

You are insecure and Peter is oblivious. tasm!Peter Parker x fem!reader

cw: reader had very negative thoughts about body image. mentions of weight and general body image issues. i tried to keep it as neutral as possible so everybody could read and relate, so it can be read as plus!size reader or not.

1.5k words

The position you were in wasn’t unnecessarily uncomfortable. The physical part felt really nice, actually. Peter was laid on his side, nose nuzzled into your hair while you were in his arms flat on your back. His even breathing was soothing and you felt close and warm. 

Emotionally, however, you felt confused. 

You had to resist cringing every time you remembered that Peter’s large hand was spread over the bottom of your tummy, likely feeling everything “wrong” about it. He could definitely feel it wasn’t as flat or firm as you would like it to be, even through your thick crewneck. And even though you logically knew it was impossible, you felt the stinging insecurity all over your body, like he was touching you everywhere you hated. Your brain was telling you that through feeling the soft part of your stomach, he could also feel and see where your thighs were too big, where stretchmarks were painted all over your body, and where your skin wasn’t completely smooth. 

He probably would hate my body as much as I do if he could see. The little voice in your head nagged. 

Obviously, you knew that wasn’t true. You knew that everyone had little things that bothered them and yours weren’t even especially unusual. You also knew that voicing these thoughts to Peter would likely lead to you being even more self-conscious and him being confused. Or even worse, him pitying you. You were snapped out of your spiral by Peter’s shifting in position. 

“What’re you thinking of, baby?” Peter whispered. To your horror, his hand started rubbing your stomach over your sweater. “I can practically see the steam coming out of your ears.” He laughed the way he does when trying to calm you down, like he doesn’t think it’s funny but it might be less intimidating if you believe he does. You turned your head to look at him. Being this close didn’t allow you to see his full face, but you could see one of his pretty brown eyes, looking at you with far too much love for your heart to handle.

“Not thinking of anythin’ really.” You kept your voice as even as possible and hoped he didn’t hear the nervous hitch in your breath as he reached under the hem of your sweatshirt to touch your skin. You panicked and tried to cover by grabbing his hand in yours and holding it between your ribs, right under your chest. He looked confused but still stroked your hand with his thumb.

“Yeah okay.” He was sarcastic and rolling his eyes but his voice was still light. He brought your joined hands up to kiss the veins on your wrist, closing his eyes and letting his lips linger for a good few seconds. All while still burning his eyes over your face, letting his pupils linger over a feature before jumping to the next, admiring your whole face with so much care you would cry. 

“What?” You asked, growing shy under his intense stare. 

“You’re so pretty, baby.” He was still smiling at you like a fool. “So so pretty.” He sing-songed. He urged you to lay on top of him with his arms, but you held fast in your place. Your boyfriend apparently took this as a challenge, because he showed off his real strength by pulling you fast onto his chest. 

“Peter!” You said, scolding and nervous and flustered all at once. 

“What?” He asked smugly, with a look of triumph on his face. You ducked your head out of his eyesight. “Baby, what’s up?” He asked again, more sincere. You still didn’t answer, your anxiety was roaring too loud in your head. You were probably crushing him under your weight. His hands were planted on your hips, likely feeling the extra fat and getting grossed out. He was just too nice to say anything. He was also too far close to your face for comfort, definitely seeing patches of oily skin or blemishes littering your face. It all became too much for you and you tried to roll off of him, but he gripped onto you harder. 

“Peter, let me off.” You kept your voice light but you were panicking inside. 

“Yeah, not happening.” He stayed stubborn as a mule. 

“But I’m heavy, I’ll crush you.” You said desperately. 

“Good.” He rebutted, still acting as if this was a casual conversation. 

“Peter, I’m serious. I’m too heavy for this. You’re going to hurt yourself.” Your voice trailed off, getting quieter towards the end. The whole sentence was soaked in shame that Peter hadn’t yet picked up on. Now, there was a concerned crease between his eyebrows. 

“Huh?” He looked genuinely confused. “What put that dumb idea in your head? ‘Too heavy’ for what, exactly?” He started as if he was about to rant, but cut it short. To your dismay, he pulled more of your weight onto him. 

“It’s not dumb, it’s true. I’m just too heavy” You argued back. He couldn’t really be that oblivious. Anyone with eyes could see it. 

“Oh I’m sorry,” He started sassing, like he actually wasn’t sorry at all. “I didn’t know that you now were the only deciding judge of something being ‘too much.’” He was being defiant on purpose. 

“Peter, please.” All joking and argumentativeness had left your tone, just leaving shame and sadness. Peter softened at this and encouraged your head up to meet his eyes, holding your jaw firmly so you couldn’t look away. He looked like he was slowly putting pieces together in his head. 

“Baby,” He started, still not breaking eye contact with you. “Is this why you’ve not been letting me touch you as much?” Peter looked so sad, it didn’t suit him at all and you wanted to make it better immediately. “Do you think there’s something wrong with you, that I would think there’s something wrong with you?” On the last sentence he was extra distressed, like he couldn’t believe the words were leaving his mouth. 

“I just-” You were trying to articulate your feelings without making this any worse. “I mean, not every part of me is pretty, you know that.” You tried to say it casually but Peter’s expression didn’t lighten at all. Instead, his bottom lip jutted out and his eyes got wider, looking like a cartoonishly sad puppy who was denied a treat. 

“I don’t know that, actually.” He moved his hand to the back of your head, threading his fingers in your hair. “You don’t think you’re pretty?” He said the last part like his heart was cracking. And in Peter’s mind, it was. His baby was thinking badly of herself, and even worse, she was thinking he thought badly of her. 

“I mean,” You cringed as the words left your mouth, wanting desperately for the conversation to end. “Not really. At least, there is a lot about me that could be a lot better.” Peter was at a loss for words. You had obviously mulled this over and were solid in your opinion. 

“I don’t think there is. I think you are perfect. I love everything about you.” He said softly, his voice missing its usual teasing tone.

“But-” You started, but cut yourself off. 

“But what?” Your argumentative boyfriend was back. “C’mon. Talk to me, baby.”

“I just-” You gathered your thoughts as best you could. He was really being difficult. There was no way he hadn’t noticed something. You also really did not want to say your insecurities out loud. It was too raw. But you knew Peter, and he wouldn’t back off without you giving something. “My stomach isn’t flat.” You said, as if that was enough argument for you being disgusting. 

“Okay?” He actually laughed at this, eyebrows scrunched in confusion. “And?” 

You rolled your eyes, irritated. “And, in general I’m just too big. And my skin isn’t good either. It just doesn’t all add up very well does it?” You resisted the urge to cry, you didn’t want to add that on top of this already stressful discussion. 

“Sweetheart,” He looked exasperated. “I think- I think you’re being really mean and unfair to yourself.” He searched for the right words. “Everyone has things about themselves they don’t like, yeah? But you should know, you are not too anything, and there is nothing about your looks or body that is ‘not good.’’ He said every word firmly. “And most importantly, there is nothing, absolutely nothing about your body that I dislike, or that you should worry about me seeing or touching, okay?” His voice was soft during the last few sentences, like he was speaking to a little kid with a scraped knee. It made it a lot harder to resist crying. “Okay?” he said, still looking directly into your eyes. 

“Okay.” You said, watery. You swallowed hard and buried your face in his chest, feeling all too many emotions. “Thank you, Pete.” You didn’t think you could say anything else without falling apart. 

“It’s okay. I'ts alright. It’s what I’m here for.” He stroked the back of your head, still being gentle. “Just do me a favor, yeah?” 

“Mhm?” You muffled.

“Just, make my job easier for me next time. Tell me when you’re feeling like this, okay baby?” He pleaded as he pressed a kiss to your hair. 

“Okay. I will.” 

“Good. Now cuddle me please.” Demanding Peter was back. “And put all your weight on me, it’s no good otherwise.” 

[ddaz3d-and-cc0nfused]

Aaron having a rough day because of too much paperwork and asks reader for permission to hug her at work?

Like super cute and special little moment - totally interrupted by someone walking in or saying “aww” / “finally!”

༉‧₊˚. 𝐚 𝐧𝐚𝐭𝐮𝐫𝐚𝐥 𝐤𝐢𝐧𝐝 𝐨𝐟 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐠 || 𝐚𝐚𝐫𝐨𝐧 𝐡𝐨𝐭𝐜𝐡𝐧𝐞𝐫

— pairings: aaron hotchner x plus size!reader

— summary: though things between you and aaron weren't official yet, he was in need of a hug (yours of course).

— warnings: literally nothing honestly besides aaron being overworked and tired + fluffiest fluff!!

— wc: 725

⋆ a/n: to me fluff fics are like the light at the end of a very smutty tunnel, so here's this one to balance out all of my aaron smut that i've written 😭

masterlist | AO3

Aaron’s head was throbbing.

The space between his eyes rang dull and his body felt weak, his needy joints craving the sweet release of his bed back home, but most importantly, he needed you. He needed to hold you, needed to feel your plush body warm his harder one. 

He casts a lazy glance to the stack of paperwork before his eyes gazed out of his open blinds, and seeing you sitting there with headphones in your ears working leisurely on case files caused a feeling of contentment to settle in his gut.

Aaron couldn't just go down there and wrap you in his arms; things between you were too… confusing. You were lovers but not at the same time; he held you sometimes, texted you, and got lunch with you, but there was no label. It was like there was an unspoken agreement. As old as Aaron was, he was pretty sure this was a “situationship” – cleverly and knowledgeably put by Penelope.

There was no way around this without using his ‘boss’ card.

Your workflow was interrupted by a paper ball being thrown at the back of your head.

“Real mature, Morgan.” You grunt, bending over at the waist to reach down and grab it. “I think you got more things to worry about than a ball of paper, sweetness.” Morgan's head cocks forward a bit, gesturing at Hotch’s office. “The boss man’s already said your name once.”

You look up to see Aaron standing there with that familiar scowl on his face as he stares right back at you. “Could I see you in my office for a moment?” Aaron repeats once more. “Oh shit.” You mutter to yourself with a sigh.

You practically scramble up the stairs to follow him when you see him disappear back into his office without a casting glance behind him.

When you step through the door, Aaron has both hands planted on his desk, his head hanging low and eyes pinched shut.

Your tense demeanor melts and you approach him with concerned eyes and furrowed brows. “Aaron?” You ask and place a hand on his shoulder. You could feel his body relax under your touch, and he sighs. “Are you okay?”

He looks almost hesitant, but he turns his head so he faces you.

“I - forgive me if I’m being inappropriate, but can I hug you?”

The question catches you off guard. He had never been so forward before.

“Yeah, yeah of course,” 

Aaron searched your face for any lie or hesitancy, but he found nothing but your soft smile looking back at him.

The first thing that you notice when he wraps you in his body is that he’s warm, so warm and he smells delightful. You bury your nose in his neck and shyly inhale his cologne. It’s pine and cedarwood and completely him.

He relaxes into you, his arm wrapped securely around your waist, the other cradling your head in his hand. 

“I’m so tired.” Aaron murmurs into your ear, and the warm air of his breath sends a shiver down your spine and your grip on him tightens. You frown at his words, your own fingers reach up to stroke through the shaved part of his neck, gently massaging the area. “I know, I know, and I’m sorry.” You say quietly.

Holding you makes Aaron really start to regret the limited amount of sleep he had been getting recently. 

The air in his office was calm, the only thing you could hear was Aaron’s occasional sighs and two shy hearts hammering together nervously.

“Sir - Oh!” Penelope stopped before she even began, the woman almost tripping over her heels in shock. 

Aaron and you all but jump away from each other; there’s a bashful smile on your face while Aaron just looks plain old irritated. He doesn’t mean to glare at the technical analyst.

“I uh - there’s a case.” Was all she could say before shuffling over to put the case file on his desk. 

When she leaves, there is a moment of quietness shared between the two of you before you hear a resounding ‘I told you!’ ring throughout the Bullpen below. You gaze out the window to see Penelope at Derek’s desk.

You can’t help but laugh all the while Aaron just grumbles.

A fine contrast if you do say so yourself.

ೃ⁀➷ my lovely taglist!: @alina02 @louderfortheback @minervadashwood @their-love @fandomsarelifee @theendofthe70s @nomajdetective @mgg-theprettiestboy @phoenixblack89 @celtic-crossbow @hallecarey1 @bunnybabe-babydoll @alixwriter @dixonzzgirl @violettavirus @khxna

[lady-of-tearshed]

Adore you

Cassian x plus size!Reader

A/N: Happy birthday to my mentor and very dear friend, @sarawritestories 💕 Hope you'll like this good old filthy smut with your favorite bat boy. Enjoy!

Sumarry: Nesta forces you to buy the set of lingerie you told her you found pretty despite your insecurities. Cassian, your mate, hopefully knows exactly how to soothe those insecurities of yours.

Word Count: 3.5k

Warnings: SMUT. Rated 18+. Mature content. Weight insecurities. Spanking. Biting. Oral (f receiving).

Dividers by @tsunami-of-tears 💕

“Nes- Stop it! That clearly won’t look flattering on me.”

“You said it looked good on the model!”

“Yeah, well, I’m not exactly the same shape!” You complain, trying to resist as your friend keeps stubbornly pushing you inside the fitting room.

She frowns at you, shoving the meticulously sewed lingerie in your hands, and closes the curtain right in front of your face. Maybe the light curtain wouldn’t be really helpful to keep you inside the cabin, but the thought of Nesta’s fury if you didn’t at least try on the outfit definitely is convincing enough to stop you from trying to escape the fitting room.

“Come out when you’re done saying bullshit! You’re a fucking goddess, it’s time you realize it for yourself!” She practically shouts, making your whole face turn bright red, a perfect matching color of the pretty set of said little unmentionable. You clearly have made a mistake by admitting to your friend that you find this lingerie set pretty. You shimmer out of your clothes before she can get you even more flustered by practically getting all of the shop attention’s on your silly little fight. You make a quick work to slip into the lingerie.

Nesta is right on one thing. It does quite look good on you.

Stupid, stupid Nesta!

Your heart is pounding in your chest as you keep still, waiting for your mate to come home from the mission Rhys had sent him off to. You stand there up straight, right behind the front door of the house of the wind, wearing only the light lacy red fabric.

That, and a matching silk nightgown you had insisted on buying with it.

“Why?! You’re going to cover up every interesting thing!” Nesta gasps when you add the silky nightgown on the counter to pay.

“Well it’s either that, or I’m never wearing this again!” You scowl at her, already questioning the decision of your purchase.

You roll your eyes at the memory, and you tuck the nightgown closer to your slightly cold body. The fire in the hearth crackles, and the heat coming from it soon warms up the room. “Thanks,” You chuckle, and the lights flicker, as if the house was giggling too. What a nosy house…

Cassian, as usual, almost barges inside your shared home, the house of the wind being gifted from Rhysand to the pair of you as a mating gift. No wonder why Azriel is the spy master of this court and not him. Delicacy is clearly NOT your mate’s thing, except on certain occasions. The freezing weather of the Illyria’s mountains seeks quickly into the house, brushing against your skin as the house tries to keep the room warm. Cassian just stands there, chin falling all the way down to the floor, dumbstruck. He looks quite funny like this, only one boot off and the door handle still in hand.

“Cass… It’s huh…” You gulp, suddenly feeling extremely self-conscious of how little you were wearing in comparison to him, “It’s cold.”

Cassian jaw closes, and he makes quick work to close the door and drop down his weapons right in front of the door. He doesn’t even bother to align his boots on the carpet, leaving the entryway in a mess. Usually, you would have scolded him for not putting his things back in their usual spot, but the way his eyes are devouring you on the spot… It leaves you speechless.

A breath you didn’t even know you were holding escapes your lips when his cold hand brushes against your cheek, lifting your head up to meet his burning eyes. “How was your day?” You whisper the question, it has become an automatism in your routine. He would come back home from the camps or whatever mission he was sent to, and then he’d tell you all about his day, then ask about yours.

“It’s about to get a whole damn lot better…” He growls into your ear, the nibbles he leaves on your lobe sends jolts of electricity up your spine. “How was yours, princess?” He asks, kissing his way down your neck, leaving a warm wet trail on his way down to your collarbone.

“Good, I went shopping, uh-” You gulp, words impossible to form logical sentences when he is relishing on your skin like that.

His hands fall to your hips, squeezing them lightly as he urges you to keep talking. “You did, huh?” His fingers gently pull the bow of your nightgown, but you flinch slightly, your hands moving to stop his instinctively before the last piece of clothing covering you can fall open. He lifts his face from your neck quickly, his eyes frantically searching your face as he tucks your nightgown closer to your body in order to comfort you. “I’m so sorry, love, I should’ve-”

“No, no,” You cut him off by pressing your fingers to his lips.

He takes your hand in his gently, placing gentle kisses on each of them, then on the palm of your hand, your wrist… His eyes were soft, begging for you to explain, to tell him what made you uncomfortable. He silently leads you to the couch for you to sit down and talk with him, offering you the option of either sitting on his lap or on the spot beside him. When you settle for his laps, his arms carefully wraps around your waist, attentive to each of your movements, ready to stop at any sign of discomfort showing on that pretty face of yours.

His thumb traces soft circles on your hip, his eyebrows scrunched with worry. “Tell me what’s wrong,” He whispers, his eyes pleading. You hide your face in his neck, raising your knees to your chest and sigh, his santal wood scent immediately calming down your nerves.

“I just… I got scared that you wouldn’t like how I look behind that silky thing…” Cassian raises a brow, pulling you further up his lap to get a closer look into your eyes. His face was the face of a general now, the way he is staring at you is firm, his hazel eyes deadly serious.

“Will you please let me prove you, princess, how fucking much I love this body of yours?” You can feel his breath fanning on your lips as he speaks, a wicked temptation to kiss them sparks in you. You clutch tightly onto his leathers, the soft glow of his siphons and the fire dancing in the hearth illuminating the room in a soft glow. He could see your every feature in this light, this would be in no way a similar experience to everytime you and Cassian had made love, in the darkness of your shared bedroom. If you agreed, you would agree to him seeing you fully, every shape of you, on every angle. You would lay bare, naked, vulnerable in front of your mate.

The thought only made your arousal grow, and Cassian nostril flared at the sweet scent of it. He almost growled at the smell and trepidation, still waiting for your consent. You nod, biting your lips softly, but actions aren’t enough for Cassian, he needs words. “Do you want me to worship you, Princess? Will you let me adore your body the way it deserves to be?”

You clench your thighs together for some friction at the sound of his deep, guttural voice. You were desperate for him, all insecurities vanishing at the way his eyes shine with lust and delight when he looks at you. “Yes, I want you to. Please.”

He doesn’t wait for you to ask him twice before he quickly bends you over his lap, your chest pressing against the soft pillows of the couch. He growls, bringing your hips closer to his already rock-hard member. He bucks slightly against them, his hands working on massaging your thighs. “Such beautiful legs you have, Princess… And those delicious thighs…” He wraps his hand around your ankle, lifting the lower part of your leg up, and brings his mouth to bite down the soft flesh of your calf.

You moan at the pleasurable pain of his teeth sinking into the sensitive flesh, and your ass lifts up on his own. You feel his hardness twitch against your hip as it brushes against his length from your movement, your arousal shifting even more at the thought of the effect you have on your mate by just being sprawled over his muscular thighs in your little nightgown. A gasp flies from your lips at the burning sensation of Cassian’s large calloused hand meeting your plumped ass with a small smack. A warning. “Stay still for me, pretty girl, will you?” He pins your hips back down, the peak of your very lightly clothed core brushing against his leathered work pants. You nod frantically, your mind already too dazed by your arousal to think straight.

Cassian moves his tongue flat against the reddish mark he just left on your calve, groaning against your skin as if he’s devouring the most delicious thing, which is kind of what he’s doing. “I said will you?” He whispers, his voice so gutural, so primal, it makes you even more soaked than you already are. As if he senses it, his fingers release your ankle and he slides the silky fabric of your robe up, still waiting for your answer.

“Yes.” You breathe out your answer, already panting in anticipation.

“Yes what, Y/N.”

You gulp, your name rolling off your mate’s tongue feels like the most sensual caress in your ears. “Yes, Cassian, I will stay still for you. I promise.” You whine, begging for his fingers to keep touching you.

“You’re so perfect…” He purrs, gently brushing his knuckles against your newly exposed skin, enjoying the ridges on your thighs against his fingers, caused by the cellulite. You almost swear that you can hear his naughty little smirk when he speaks, even though you don’t dare move your head to see it for yourself. You keep your chin down onto the pillow, staying very still. “Mind to remind us of our safe word, Princess?”

“Our safe word is Siphon.” You whimper, feeling his fingers moving dangerously close to where you need him the most.

“Good girl.”

His fingers push the lacy fabric away from your core, exposing your glistening naked sex to him. He hums in content at the sight, and slowly slides his fingers through your folds, still not penetrating you, only coating them with your natural lube. Your inner walls clench around nothing, begging to have him inside of you. You instinctively squirm, dying to feel him closer, and you realize your mistake, unfortunately too late.

Cassian tuts and moves his fingers away from your sex, sucking them clean, not wasting any drop of your essence. After unbearable seconds of silence, Cassian dries his now clean fingers on the fabric of your nightgown. “What did I tell you, Princess…” He sighs, lightly scolding you.

You whine, and turn your head to look at him, tauntingly pouting. “To stay still?”

“To stay still,” He confirms, groping your right buttcheek tightly, his finger digging into your skin hard enough to mark what’s his. “And did you stay still?” He teases, now stroking the curve of your ass.

“No…” You mutter, and his hand lands on your other buttcheek in response, a pleasurable tingling sensation soothed by the sweet caress of his palm right after.

You squeal and giggle when he suddenly pulls you over his shoulder in one swift movement. His teeth teasingly nibbles your belly rolls, then, with one last little smack on your ass, he leads you to the bed. The way he lays you down on the mattress is gentle, careful, mirroring all of his love for you.

He pulls on your hips, dragging your ass right on the edge of the bed. “Now rest on your elbows, and I want those stunning eyes of yours to stay focused on mine. Got it this time?” He orders, like the general that he is. You simply nod, earning a teasing grin out of him. He undresses quickly, his length springing free of his trousers to slap against his abs. Just as you thought that he was about to pound into you, Cassian sinks to his knees and settles your knees onto his shoulders.

You mentally paint the image in your head. Your mate, the lord of bloodshed’s face framed by your thighs, tying up his hair, about to slide into battle.

Well, more like about to slide his tongue all over you.

Cassian’s large, calloused hands slide under your butt cheeks and yank you closer to his face. His lips are so close that you can feel his breath on your sex, but you stay still, even though your instincts are screaming into your head to just buck your hips and rub yourself against his face. Sensing your impatience, Cassian chuckles a little, but quickly ends your suffering by licking your core on all its length. You want to throw your head back and let your eyes fall at the back of your head, but remember Cassian’s two simple rules.

Stay still, and keep your eyes on your mate.

Cassian’s smirk grows as he keeps taking his sweet time relishing your sex, his eyes gleaming with lust, pride, and adoration. You could almost see “good girl” written in the darkness of his widely dilated pupils. He picks up the pace of his tongue, flicking the bundle of nerves settled at the apex of your cunt occasionally. Your legs start to tremble as your orgasm grows closer. “Cass…” You whimper, and he digs his fingers into the soft flesh of your hips, pinning you tightly to the bed so you can stay still and let him do his job. He wraps his lips around your clit, and sucks it hard, releasing it with an audible pop as you come undone all over his face.

Predictable. He knows you, and your body, all too well.

Cassian’s hazel eyes never leave yours as your whole body quivers with spasms from your orgasm. It’s only once you slowly start to get back to your senses that he looks away from your eyes to peer down at the bow tie of your still closed nightgown. He flicks his thumb over his lip, sucking off all of the remnants of your juices, then raises to his feets. His fingers unties the silky fabric in one swift movement, and he’s very quick to remove it from you, revealing the taunting lingerie you’re wearing. He bites his lower lip and growls. “Mh… Princess…” His hands move up to cup your breasts, flicking his thumb over your perked nipples . “So fucking beautiful…” He moves his head down, to the side of your stomach, and bites down on your belly rolls.

Cassian makes sure to leave a path of hickeys as he makes his way up to your mouth, marking every place his lips have explored, and enjoyed. His face then lifts up, and he crashes his lips on yours. His fingers tangle in the hair at the nape of your neck, and he pulls them back to tilt your head. You moan, and he takes that opportunity to slide his tongue against yours. You slide your hands to grip onto his shoulders, then he pulls away, both of your breathless from the searing kiss. “See how good you taste? Do you understand why I’m addicted to it now, why I’m addicted to you?”

You grin shyly, but nod in confirmation. “Yes, I think I'm starting to understand…” You stroke his cheek, and kiss his lips lovingly. “Good… Now, get on your hands and knees, Y/N.” You shiver at the tone of his voice, but obey. You feel him moving behind you, then hear the flick of the bedside lamp. Underneath this light, even if the lightning was dull, Cassian could see all of you. You hear him pick up something, and walk around the bed before he appears in your field of vision.

With your vanity mirror that he settles on the wall facing you, exposing the reflection of your practically nude body, chest down and ass up.

“Look at you…” He says, walking back behind you, staring at your reflection in the mirror. And you can see it clearly now, the way he looks at you, as if you were some of those Day Court marble statues. You stare back at yourself in the mirror, looking at you.

And for the first time in a whole damn while, you really see yourself. Like he does. You feel…

“Ravishing,” Cassian praises, his fingers moving your underwear to the side. He didn’t want for one second to remove that breathtaking lingerie off of your magnificent curves. He presses his tip against your burning core, then bucks his hip to sheath in completely.

He tilts his head back as your inner walls squeeze around him perfectly, his fingers tightly gripping onto your hips. He forces his eyes back onto the mirror to stare at you, and he is delighted to see how your face, his mate’s face, twitches with pleasure, your eyes cock drunk at the feeling of being so full. “Cauldron Y/N, take what you need. Fuck yourself onto me, princess.”

You moan, his words making you unbearably hot and needy. You move your hips, thrusting yourself onto him as your soft inner walls needily clutch around his cock. Cassian throws his head back, his hand squeezing your ass in encouragement. “That’s it, make yourself feel good. Just like that, fuck…” Tears prickle your eyes as your hips roll against his, his balls slapping against your clit with every thrust, and you feel you can see in the mirror how your legs shake from your growing pleasure.

Cassian, sensing that your legs were about to give up, lifts you up to his chest. He wraps one arm around your shoulders, and his other hand reaches down to circle your sensitive button. “I'm so close..” You mumble, surprised to still be able to articulate anything through the ecstasy of the moment.

The general growls into your ear, biting down onto your neck as he picks up the speed. “Me too, gorgeous. Me too.”

You cry out his name as his dick keeps hitting that mind-blowing spot inside of you. His hand leaves your clit, and his still wet fingers hold your chin, forcing your eyes to stare at the obscene reflection of you two. “Eyes on you, on us. Look how good you look princess…” He traces his hand up your side, his eyes fixed on your reflection. “How perfect we fit…” Your eyes dart to where your sex meets, and you reach your orgasm at the sight, head falling onto Cassian's shoulder, eyes hardly keeping focus on the mirror. His thrust grows sloppy as he spills inside of you, a guttural moan leaving his lips as he comes.

Cassian lifts you into his arms, slowly pulling out of you, and places you down comfortably in the middle of the bed. He joins you back in bed seconds later, a damp rag in hand. His movements are loving, careful, as he cleans you up in a comfortable silence while you both try to catch your breath. He unclasps all of your lingerie, discarding it into the laundry basket, before lying down and pulling you up into his arms, your head resting on his chest.

His fingers trace soothing circles on your back, and before you fall asleep completely, he kisses the shell of your ear, and whispers in it softly. “We should go shopping so I can buy you more of these… Soon.” You smile lazily, all of your worries about if these kinds of garments were made for your body type almost vanished. “You look pretty in anything, my love.”

You giggle softly, lifting your eyes up to meet Cassian’s confused expression. “You have a weird way to teach life lessons.”

His hazel eyes twinkle with mischief as he tucks a sweaty strand of hair behind your ear, stroking your cheek with his thumb. “Did it work, though? My little… lesson.” He wiggles his eyebrows, and you roll your eyes, snuggling closer to his chest, his arms embracing you tightly. They make you feel secure, and so incredibly loved.

“Yeah yeah. It worked.”

And without any more words needed, you both fall asleep in the comfort of each other's arms.

Taglist: @lilah-asteria @mybestfriendmademe