#you touched my life as surely as i touched you own???

[helaintoloki]

Across the Hall

pairing: Bucky Barnes x reader

warnings/notes: kind of a slow burn with fluff, angst, themes of insecurity, violence, reader has an abusive ex, eventual happy ending

a/n: this took me forever to write but hopefully you guys like it! and also friendly reminder that my requests are open so feel free to send in your ideas :)

summary: Bucky��s quiet life is disrupted when a new neighbor seeks his help

It starts with three knocks to his door.

Bucky had only been home for five minutes since returning from his workout when the noise startled him out of his contemplative state. He wasn’t exactly thrilled at the interruption considering he wasn’t expecting company so late into the evening, but he felt obligated to throw on a sweater to cover his arm and answer the door for whoever stood on the other side.

The man is taken aback when he finds you standing there before him nervously wringing your hands together with a timid smile. He doesn’t quite recognize you, but he vaguely recalls hearing word of a new tenant in the building and assumes that must be you. He notes the way your breath hitches in your throat at the sight of him and shifts uncomfortably in response, unsure as to what exactly it is you’re here for.

“Hi,” you promptly greet after regaining your composure. He’s much more handsome up close, and you hadn’t been prepared for that. “I’m so sorry to bother you, but I kind of have a bookshelf that’s a bit too heavy for me to move on my own and I was hoping you could help me? I just moved in across the hall so I’m trying to get settled in, but it’s proving to be more difficult than I anticipated.”

The stoic man can’t help but to let out an amused chuckle at your predicament; you appear so jumpy and nervous after asking such a mundane request, but he oddly finds it endearing. Bucky was known to keep to himself and avoid interactions with other tenants, but he figured he could make an exception for a new neighbor.

“Sure,” he offers with a friendly smile, feeling oddly proud at the look of relief that washes over your features in response. He didn’t exactly have any exciting plans for the evening, so he could spare some time to help you move your heavy shelf.

“Thank you so much, you’re a lifesaver!” You exclaim before offering your hand for him to shake. “I’m y/n, by the way.”

“James,” he replies before cautiously taking your hand in his left one, thankful for the fact he’d left his leather gloves on when returning home. You don’t seem to notice his abnormality as you pull your hand away and lead the man into your apartment.

Unsurprisingly, it’s sparsely decorated and overflowing with boxes that have yet to be unpacked, but there are hints of personal touches spread throughout. The bookshelf in question sits in the center of the room, and by the scratches in the floor Bucky can tell you’d fruitlessly attempted to move it yourself before seeking his help.

“Just tell me where you want it,” he prompts you before grabbing the edges of the shelf.

“I was thinking of having it up against this wall next to the couch,” you explain while wildly gesturing with your hands towards the empty space. “At least, it will be against the couch once I buy one…”

“I take it you didn’t bring a lot of furniture with you,” he jokes lightheartedly despite how awkward he feels being in the apartment of a woman he’s only known for about three minutes. He moves the shelf with minimal effort, though he plays up the amount of strain he experiences so that you don’t become suspicious of how incredibly strong he is compared to the average man.

“I was kind of in a rush to leave the last place I was staying so I brought what I could,” you explain with a sheepish smile. “Thank you again for this, by the way.”

“Don’t mention it,” he replies easily before stepping back to admire his work. “This good?”

“It’s perfect, thank you.”

“Anything else you need?” He offers, but you simply shake your head in response.

“I think that should be it for now, but if something comes up you’ll be the first to know,” you joke with a smile, appearing more at ease now with the man. Your face brightens before you wordlessly disappear into the kitchen, leaving Bucky alone and unsure if he should make his exit or not. However, before he can make a decision you quickly return with a Tupperware full of muffins. “Here, I just baked these an hour ago so they’re still pretty fresh.”

“Oh, that’s okay,” he tries to deflect with a bashful smile, but you’re insistent he take the container from your grasp and practically shove it into his hands.

“Really, take them. Consider them thank you muffins for allowing me to briefly inconvenience you.”

Letting out a small huff of amusement, Bucky finally relents with a nod and accepts your offering. “Thank you.”

“Well, I won’t keep you any longer,” you proclaim with a sigh before walking him out the door. “Have a good rest of your night, and don’t be a stranger.”

You part with a friendly wave before gently shutting the door behind him, leaving Bucky to stand aimlessly in the hallway with the container of muffins in his hands. He feels oddly warm and content inside, emotions that rarely follow interactions with strangers, but he figures you’re not really a stranger now.

However, you have interrupted his evening, for Bucky spends the rest of the night thinking about your smile.

~~~

Three days pass before Bucky decides to seek you out.

He isn’t sure what compels him to become so bold, but he knows that he has to see you again. You haven’t left his mind in days despite how hard he tries to push the thoughts down, so he figures he might as well get it over with and attempt to start another conversation. He can’t exactly recall any of his old moves back from his own time or know if they’re still reliable, so he approaches the situation the only way he knows how.

“Hey, neighbor,” he greets with a timid smile when you finally open your door. You look surprised to see him, but he doesn’t miss the way your eyes brighten at his presence. You thought the man charming but quiet and assumed his reserved nature meant he liked to keep to himself, so you’re pleased to see him again after the bookshelf fiasco.

“Hi, James,” you say with a pleasant smile. “What brings you here?”

“I was hoping I could trouble you for a cup of sugar?” He asks, face immediately heating with embarrassment at the insanely cliche request. James had a perfectly good container of sugar in his own apartment, but you didn’t need to know that.

“Of course! I actually just went grocery shopping, come in.”

Your apartment looks vastly different from the last time he’d been here, more personal touches spread throughout and only a handful of unpacked boxes still remaining. It feels warm and inviting, and Bucky swallows nervously as he processes the fact that this is only his second time in your space. Maybe he should leave you alone before he gets in too deep, before he has to ruin your camaraderie by coming clean about the person he really is and you decide that you don’t want an ex-assassin in your apartment anymore. Instead, he chooses to make small talk.

“How are you liking it here so far?”

“It’s nice,” you hum thoughtfully as you reach for the sugar up on the shelf. Bucky quickly looks away when your shirt starts to ride up with your reach, but he can’t ignore the way his stomach flips at the sight of a little skin. “Everyone I’ve met so far is friendly and it seems really peaceful. I like having my own place again.”

“Were you living with someone before?” Bucky prods, hoping he’s not asking too many questions. You smile faintly as you begin to pour the sugar into a small jar, but he notes the way it doesn’t reach your eyes.

“Yeah, uh, my fiancé. Or, ex-fiancé now, I guess,” you murmur with a humorless chuckle. “It didn’t work out.”

Your usually cheerful demeanor has now dulled, and Bucky feels guilty for having brought it up in the first place. He isn’t exactly sure what to say or do to make it better, but thankfully you choose to save the conversation for him.

“What are you using the sugar for, by the way?”

Bucky stiffens, eyes widening slightly as he realizes he didn’t rehearse a script to go along with his lie. He wasn’t making anything, but he didn’t think he could flat out tell you that the sugar was just an excuse to see you again.

“Apple pie,” he quickly replies, wincing at the abruptness of his tone while you smile and carefully slide the jar of sugar across the counter his way.

“Sounds good. I’m more of a pumpkin pie girl, myself,” you hum thoughtfully.

“Yeah, I’m not really a pie person at all. Just thought I’d try something new,” Bucky offers with a sheepish grin, eyes glancing around the apartment only to notice the empty space next to the bookshelf. “Still haven’t found a couch?”

“Nope,” you relent with a tired sigh. “I’ve been meaning to go couch shopping, but I’m kind of worried about how I’m gonna even get it up the stairs and into the apartment by myself.”

“I can help you with that,” Bucky blurts before he can stop himself. You appear taken aback at first, but a look of relief soon washes over your features at his words.

“Oh my god, would you really?” You exclaim with delight, and before Bucky can even process what’s happening you’re quickly throwing your arms around the man in an appreciative hug. He stiffens immediately upon contact, not used to such acts of affection and especially not from a woman as pretty as yourself. You, however, don’t seem to notice his awkward demeanor in the slightest. “You have no idea how much I appreciate you.”

“Don’t mention it,” he offers bashfully as he tries not to let you see how much of an impact your touch has on him.

“Does tomorrow around one sound good?”

“It sounds perfect,” he replies earnestly.

It isn’t until later in the evening that he realizes he’s never been couch shopping before.

~~~

As Bucky promised, he accompanies you in your search for a couch and helps you carry it into your living room. It nestles in perfectly next to your shelf, and you couldn’t be more thrilled.

You invite him to stay for a movie in celebration of finally having a spot to sit, and though he promised Sam he’d meet him for dinner he doesn’t have the heart to say no to you. That’s how Bucky ends up nestled next to you on the couch enjoying his first ever viewing of Silence of the Lambs.

“So you’re telling me you’ve really never seen this movie before?”

“I guess you could say it’s been on my bucket list,” he admits with a diffident laugh, grateful you’re none the wiser to the truth his words hold.

“It’s one of my favorites!” You gush enthusiastically before passing him the bowl of untouched popcorn. “But I think that might make me sound crazy to admit out loud.”

“Crazy is good,” Bucky assures you with a tender smile, chest tightening at the way your eyes light up in response to his words. “I like crazy.”

You settle into the movie together with ease, enjoying snacks and answering any questions Bucky has about the film. It amazes him how naturally he can fall into spending time with you, almost as if you were merely long lost friends and not strangers who lived across the hall from one another. He hadn’t felt this way since Steve, but even then, what he felt with you was different. Special. You existed outside of his life as a Sargent or the Winter Soldier, and he enjoyed having you help him fulfill his need for normalcy.

A random sitcom now plays to provide background noise as you and Bucky continue to converse way past the movie’s end. You long to know more about the handsome stranger who has slowly become a normal part of your routine, and you hang onto every word he says no matter how heavy your eyelids feel.

“I’m not sure if I have a favorite song, but I definitely think I won’t be able to get ‘Goodbye, Horses’ out of my head for the next few days after watching that movie,” he confesses with a wry grin that has you quietly giggling into your hand.

“You seem like the type of guy who listens to oldies,” you note with a thoughtful hum, prompting him to shift uncomfortably from his place on the couch. “Would you say you have an old soul?”

“Something like that,” Bucky notes with a wince. He wants nothing more than to be completely honest with you, but he fears it may be too soon to unload his history on you. He’s not sure he could handle the hurt that would come from you pushing him away if you didn’t like the truth. “Do you like that type of music?”

“I did at one point, but I kind of fell out of it once I started dating my ex-fiancé. He hated it,” you note while scrunching your nose in distaste at the mere mention of the man. “He hated everything, if I’m being honest.”

“Is that why you called it off and moved here?” Bucky asks before he can stop himself. He doesn’t mean to pry or be invasive of your past, but he wants to understand how any man could fumble an absolute gem like yourself.

“Well, that, and the fact that he had a habit of getting physical with me,” you confess casually with a despondent smile that fails to reach your eyes. Bucky rears back in shock at your confession, prompting you to quickly interject, “But I got out of there as fast as possible, and now I’m much happier on my own.”

“I’m… I’m so sorry you had to go through that,” Bucky offers gently. “I hope you know how incredibly strong you are.”

Smiling, you carefully reach across and take his gloved hand in your own. Despite not being able to feel the touch of your skin, the warmth you emit is enough to have his heart racing in his chest when you tightly clasp his hand.

“You’re unlike any guy I’ve ever met, James.”

“Bucky,” he corrects you gently. Your brows furrow slightly in response, prompting him to let out a small chuckle at your puzzlement. He gently gives your hand a squeeze before continuing, ��My friends just call me Bucky.”

Realization sets as your brows lower and lips pull into a delighted smile at his clarification. You gently return the squeeze before nodding in understanding, thrilled at the idea of having your first official friend in the city.

“Okay,” you agree softly, “Bucky it is.”

~~~

You knock on Bucky’s door with the hopes of having him over for dinner, but it isn’t your neighbor that greets you on the other side.

“Can I help you, little lady?” The man says with a playful smile. His stature is intimidating but his features are kind, and for a moment you find yourself forgetting what you even came for in the first place.

“Is Bucky home by chance?” You ask with a bashful smile, hoping your eagerness to see the man in question isn’t too obvious to his guest.

“He should be on his way back with some takeout,” the man explains. “You like Chinese?”

He doesn’t allow you to answer before opening the door wider and allowing you entry into the apartment. It feels wrong to do so without Bucky being present, but you don’t want to be rude by rejecting the kind man’s offer. You swallow nervously when stepping foot into his home for the first time; the apartment is tidy but scarcely furnished, though you’re not one to judge considering you went four days without a couch.

“You a friend of Bucky’s?” The man asks while pulling out a chair from the island counter for you to sit. You nod.

“I just moved in across the hall, and Bucky’s been helping me get settled in. I’m y/n, by the way.”

“Oh, so you’re y/n,” he says with a knowing smile before offering a hand for you to shake. “I’ve heard a lot about you. Name’s Sam.”

“Nice to meet you,” you smile politely before freezing as his words finally settle in your mind. “Wait, really?”

“Of course, Bucky speaks very highly of you,” Sam affirms with a wink.

“What do I speak highly about?” A voice interrupts, prompting you both to turn your heads towards the man juggling boxes of takeout in the doorway. His eyes widen in surprise at your presence before a careful smile settles on his face. “Y/n, what brings you here?”

“I came to see if you wanted to join me for dinner, but I guess I’m jointing you and Sam instead. If that’s okay?”

“Of course it’s okay,” Sam answers for him, heartily clapping the man on the back. “A friend of Bucky’s is a friend of mine.”

You hide your laughter behind your hand at Bucky’s obvious annoyance towards his friend and decide to make yourself useful by setting the table for dinner. Despite this being your first time in his apartment, you’re easily able to find your way around his kitchen. It amazes him how quickly you’re able to make yourself comfortable in his space and how well you mesh into his life as if you’d always been a part of it.

“You never told me she was cute,” Sam murmurs under his breath with a playful nudge to Bucky’s side. The Sargent merely scowls in response before elbowing him back with more strength than necessary. However, the two immediately act inconspicuous when you turn your attention back to them and sit down to enjoy dinner.

“So how do you two know each other?” You ask before taking a bite of broccoli. Bucky gives Sam a pleading glance and attempts to convey his want for you to be kept in the dark about his true identity, and thankfully the Captain is able to pick up on his signals.

“We met through a mutual friend,” Sam answers with ease. “We actually hated each other at first.”

“Hate is a strong word,” Bucky tries to defend only to deflate at the pointed look Sam gives him.

“I don’t know how you can stand living across the hall from him,” Sam quips much to his friend’s chagrin.

“I’m actually really glad to be neighbors,” you confess with a sheepish smile, face heating with embarrassment while you try to avoid Bucky’s gaze. “I didn’t think I’d be able to make any friends when I first moved here, but he’s made it so much easier on me.”

“What are neighbors for?” Bucky offers with a careful smile before finally meeting your gaze. The room is charged with romantic tension as you two take in the other’s presence, and Sam makes sure to point this out to Bucky hours later when you finally return to your own apartment.

“I’m telling you, dude, she’s into you!” Sam exclaims from his place behind the sink. “You should go for it.”

“You don’t know what you’re talking about,” Bucky rebuffs with a scoff while taking a freshly washed plate from Sam and placing it on the drying rack.

“You’re kidding, right? You think I didn’t notice the eyes you were giving her?”

“What eyes?”

“You know, the eyes,” Sam emphasizes, immediately imitating the look of longing Bucky had worn earlier in your presence. The soldier’s face scrunches in bewilderment before he quickly shakes his head in displeasure.

“Don’t do that, that’s not what I look like.”

“That’s exactly what you look like,” his friend defends before handing him another plate. “Look, all I’m saying is it wouldn’t hurt to maybe tell the girl how you feel and invite her out for something nicer than Chinese takeout.”

“Alright, let’s say I ask her out. I pull out all the stops, and it goes perfect. She decides I’m the guy she wants to be with, and I decide that I need to come clean about who I really am in order for that to happen? What happens when I tell her she’s dating the Winter Soldier? When I tell her about the blood on my hands? She doesn’t even know about the arm.”

Sam is silent after Bucky’s line of questioning, and unsurprisingly, he doesn’t have an answer. The super soldier sighs before slumping against the island counter and allowing his head to hang in shame and regret.

“I’ve already lost one good friend. I don’t know if I can handle losing another,” he admits quietly, almost afraid to voice the thought aloud.

Sam rests a comforting hand on Bucky’s shoulder but remains silent, contemplating his next words before finally giving him a reassuring pat on the back.

“You’ll never know if you don’t try,” he reminds him gently. “And you and I both know this girl is worth the risk.”

Bucky smiles faintly at Sam’s words, thoughts already straying to you and the light you’ve managed to bring to his life. He knows his friend is right, but he still can’t bring himself to make a move, at least not yet.

All he can do is hope you won’t mind having an ex-assassin super soldier for a boyfriend.

~~~

A harsh thunderstorm plagues New York and cuts off the power to your building. Your apartment is shrouded in candlelight as you make the best of what you have, and you’re grateful for the fact that Bucky so graciously offered to come over and keep you company until the electricity is restored.

“I hate thunderstorms,” you shudder after lighting another candle to set on the coffee table. “They weren’t very common where I was from.”

“They’re a little loud,” Bucky agrees pensively. Each clap reminds him of his foggy past in the war, and he finds himself fighting to keep the unwelcome memories at bay.

You seat yourself on the couch across from the man and drape your throw over your legs to keep you warm. The living room is freezing now that the heater is out, and despite the amount of layers you throw on nothing seems to help.

“I don’t think I ever asked this, but what do you do for work?” You prompt him after a moment’s silence. Bucky shifts uncomfortably on the couch.

“I, uh, I’m retired,” he replies lamely while offering you a meager smile. “Army veteran.”

“You served in the army?” You ask with piqued interest, shifting a bit closer to the man. “What did you do?”

“I was a Sargent.”

“I never would have guessed,” you say thoughtfully.

“It was so long ago, I don’t… really like to talk about it,” Bucky confesses, refusing to meet your gaze. He knows he’s not technically lying to you, but he’s also aware of the fact that he��s not giving you the entire truth. He doesn’t know how to be straightforward with you, too petrified of risking you becoming afraid of him and withdrawing yourself, but he can only hide his true identity for so long before you find out.

“Oh, I’m sorry,” you immediately apologize only for Bucky to assure you it’s fine. “We can talk about something else. How’s Sam?”

“That topic actually might be worse,” he grimaces, but his lighthearted smile that follows signals he’s only kidding. “Sam is good, just busy.”

“Being Captain America?” You finish for him with a raised brow much to Bucky’s surprise.

“You know?”

“I don’t think it’s exactly a secret,” you reply with a sheepish smile while wrapping the throw tighter around yourself. “He looked so familiar when I first met him, and a quick internet search helped me put it together pretty quickly.”

Bucky’s heart leaps into his throat at your words. If you’d done your due diligence on Sam, who’s to say you hadn’t done the same for him? Knowing you, he feels it’s safe to assume you would have brought it up by now if you had found any real information about his past, and he tries to remind himself of this as he attempts to quell the panic bubbling inside him.

“I won’t tell anyone that I met him personally or that he visits this apartment building,” you assure him, incorrectly assuming the reason for his panic is a need to protect Sam’s privacy. “Not that I really have anyone to tell considering you’re my only friend here.”

“Thank you for that,” Bucky breathes out in relief, anxious to move on from the conversation. “But what about your friends back home?”

“I didn’t really have any,” you quietly admit. You look away almost shamefully and take a moment to collect yourself before you can meet his eyes again. “My friends were my fiancé’s friends, and I knew they would never pick my side over his if I told anyone the type of man he really was. I knew if I wanted to get away I had to cut them off too or they’d just tell him where I’d run off to.”

Bucky knows he has no right, but every time you mention your ex-fiancé he can almost feel the anger boiling inside him. He can’t comprehend how anyone could ever mistreat someone as wonderful and kind as you, and he knew if he ever got the chance to meet the man he’d make him pay for all the hurt and anguish he’d caused you. Bucky almost felt like your protector in a sense, like it was his responsibility to look after you now that you were alone in such a big city, and he hoped you didn’t mind the fact.

A sudden clap of thunder has you nearly jumping into the air as you immediately throw yourself at Bucky’s side and anxiously grip onto his arm. He’s grateful for the fact that it’s his right arm you hold onto, but he still finds himself stiffening at the sudden closeness. It’s been years since a beautiful dame has thrown herself at him like this, and his brain feels like it’s overloading as he tries to process the moment.

“I’m sorry,” you offer meekly, clearly embarrassed at your frightened outburst. You start to move away only for Bucky to pull you back, prompting you to look up at him in surprise.

“Don’t be sorry,” he assures you with a comforting smile. “That’s what I’m here for.”

You find yourself slowly relaxing at his benevolent demeanor, and with his permission you slowly ease yourself back into his side and allow him to wrap an arm around your trembling figure.

The rain continues to pour outside your modest apartment, but you find yourself able to fall asleep in the comfort of Bucky’s embrace. The man never makes an attempt to move, not even when the power returns and the lights finally turn on. Instead, he allows himself to enjoy the warmth your closeness brings and admires your relaxed features as you sleep soundly with your head resting comfortably against his shoulder.

He could get used to this.

~~~

You scored a job as a waitress at a nearby diner to help pay your bills now that you’re completely on your own and your savings are beginning to run low, and Bucky notices that you’re gone from your apartment more often than not. His knocks go unanswered, and he finds himself feeling sullen in response to your sudden absence. You’ve invited him multiple times to come visit you at work and enjoy a free slice of pie, and on this particular day he decides to take you up on your offer.

It isn’t a long walk from the building, and he appreciates having an excuse to leave his apartment for once. His stomach is twisted in nervous knots at the thought of finally getting to see you again while he rehearses what he plans to say. Bucky’s boyish charm isn’t what it used to be, and his romantic moves are rusty from years of inaction. However, he is able to remember one move in particular that always went over well with the girls back in his day, and for that reason he stops at a local flower stand to buy you the nicest bouquet of roses he can find.

Bucky is a man in love, and if his gift goes over well, he plans to finally come clean and tell you everything about his past so that he can have a chance at being with you. No more beating around the bush.

The diner is empty save for a few occupied booths, and this makes it easier to spot you when he sets foot through the front doors. Though the sight of you immediately brings a smile to his face, it quickly fades when he notes the distress on your features. Your eyes are wide with fear, hands moving frantically as you speak to a man Bucky doesn’t recognize, and he doesn’t miss the relief that seems to wash over you when you meet his eyes from across the room and silently plead for help.

“Bucky!” You call with a nervous smile, anxiously wringing your apron in your trembling hands. “Perfect timing.”

“Who’s this?” He asks with a raised brow, eyeing the stranger up and down methodically. Bucky could easily take the man without question, but he still didn’t like the look of him. The man’s eyes were shifty and calculating, and his demeanor was one of arrogance and callousness.

“Bucky, this is Michael-“

“Her fiancé,” Michael boasts proudly with a braggart smile.

“Ex-fiancé,” you correct him through gritted teeth, “and he was just leaving.”

“Fine, fine,” Michael offers before raising his hands in surrender. “I know when I’m not wanted, but don’t think this is over.”

Bucky grunts in irritation when Michael goes out of his way to harshly bump his shoulder against your friend as he pushes his way out of the diner, leaving you a terrified mess as you stand trembling in the middle of the walkway. You swallow thickly and meet Bucky’s gaze with an apologetic smile that doesn’t quite reach your eyes.

“I’m sorry about that,” you offer quietly, hands still nervously wringing your apron. Bucky notes the subtle quiver of your bottom lip and the way your lashes flutter quickly to hold back tears. You look terrified, and he hates to see you so wound up.

“Hey, it’s okay,” Bucky assures you gently as he sets the bouquet aside and takes your unsteady hands in his gloved ones. “Maybe you should sit down a minute and take a breath, yeah?”

“Yeah…” you murmur quietly before allowing him to gently ease you into the nearest booth. In your panic you hadn’t even noticed the flowers he’d brought, and despite your frenzied state you’re still able to offer him a bashful smile for his efforts. “Are these… are they for me?”

Nodding, Bucky grins before handing you the bouquet. “They’re for you, pretty girl. I thought they’d look nice in your apartment.”

“Thank you… for these, and for saving me back there. I can’t believe I froze like that.”

“What happened?” Bucky presses gently, wanting to know every detail possible so he can better protect you moving forward. You let out a shaky breath and absently fidget with the ribbon tying the flowers together as you begin to relay the events to your friend.

“I did everything I could to cover my tracks and start over, but he still managed to find me,” you murmur in defeat. “He wants me to come back home with him, and he says he won’t take no for answer. I don’t know what to do- he knows where I work, and it will only be a matter of time before he figures out where I live-“

“Hey,” Bucky urges gently, affectively stopping you from spiraling. “Nothing is going to happen to you under my watch. I’ll have Sam look into the guy, and in the meantime I’ll do whatever you need to feel safe, whether that’s walking you to work or crashing on your couch so you can sleep at night.”

You give him a watery smile and immediately rush to his side of the booth so you can throw yourself into his arms for a hug. He returns the embrace immediately, taking extra care not to use too much force with his vibranium arm while he holds you tightly to his chest. You don’t know when he’d managed to steal your heart, but you know that you’re falling in love with your neighbor from across the hall. He makes it so easy and has fallen into your life like a puzzle piece you hadn’t realized was missing from the picture. Unlike the men in your past, Bucky treats you with the utmost care and respect, and you adore him more than anything.

Bucky will keep good on his promise, and you trust him with your entire being to keep you safe.

~~~

As promised, Bucky has made it his own personal mission to be your bodyguard during your time of need. He drops you off and picks you up from work, accompanies you when you have to run out for groceries, and spends his nights sleeping on your couch. You feel guilty over the fact that the man is hardly ever in his own apartment anymore, so after some convincing you’re able to talk him into letting you cook him dinner at his place.

“Any word from Sam?” You prompt quietly while stirring a pot of marinara sauce on the stove. Life has been uneventful since Michael’s appearance at the diner, but you hate having to constantly look over your shoulder wherever you go. You don’t enjoy being on edge every waking moment and not being able to get a good night’s sleep, and you just want this whole situation to be over with.

“He hasn’t been able to find anything about your ex or his whereabouts. The man knows how to stay hidden,” Bucky replies with a scoff. The mere mention of him has the super soldier’s blood boiling, but he tries to remain composed for your sake. “But don’t worry. He can’t hide forever.”

Dinner is a quiet affair, and Bucky is disheartened to see how dejected and small you’ve become in the past few days. You aren’t yourself, not that he can blame you, but he just wishes there was something he could do to help you.

Nightfall comes soon after, and Bucky helps you get settled into bed. Despite being in his own apartment, he’s adamant that you take the mattress while he resumes his position on the couch. He thinks it will be safer that way, and he’ll be able to hear any threats before they make their way into the apartment.

“Try to get some sleep, doll,” Bucky utters softly, gently brushing his knuckles along your cheek before making his exit.

“Will you stay?” You blurt without thinking, surprising both you and Bucky as he stops in his tracks.

“Y/n, I… I don’t know,” he starts to say only for you to gently take hold of his hand and carefully tug him back towards you.

“I haven’t been able to sleep, and I’d feel better if you were here next to me,” you plead meekly, the exhaustion clear in your features. Bucky finds it hard to say no to you when you stare up at him with doe eyes and a trembling bottom lip; the sight pulls at his heartstrings, and so he finds himself carefully crawling into bed with you.

“Thank you,” you whisper gratefully as you shift onto your side to face him. Your noses are mere inches apart as you stare into each other’s eyes and enjoy the comfort of being together in bed.

“You’ll never have to thank me for wanting to take care of you,” Bucky whispers back while carefully pulling the blankets up higher over your shoulders. You feel the leather of his gloves brush against your bare skin and shudder before peering over at him.

“You sleep in those?” You voice curiously, prompting him to immediately stiffen in response. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen you without those gloves on.”

“I… have a prosthetic arm,” he confesses quietly, figuring now is as good a time as ever to tell you the truth. He refuses to meet your gaze as his lips pull tightly together into a frown, waiting for you to say something.

“Oh,” you hum softly. His heart pounds in his chest as he waits for judgement or disgust, but instead he feels your hand gently rest upon his left bicep. His entire body tenses, and he watches with bated breath as you run your fingers along the fabric of his long-sleeve shirt. You can’t feel the coolness of the metal, but you can sense the lack of flesh and muscle. He’s not sure how you’d never noticed before, but you weren’t exactly one for details.

“If it makes you uncomfortable I can sleep on the couch-“

“I think it’s cool,” you interrupt with a careful smile, no hint of insincerity or judgement in your tone. “You don’t have to show me if you don’t want to, but I don’t think it’s anything to be ashamed of.”

Bucky lets out an embarrassed huff of laughter and grapples with himself over your naivety. Would your opinion change if you knew what he’d done with his prosthetic arm as the Winter Soldier? He feels conflicted, but overall at ease with the fact that you seem receptive to his artificial appendage.

“You’re the sweetest girl I’ve ever met,” Bucky compliments you before leaning forward to press his lips against your forehead. You find yourself moving closer so that you’re pressed against his chest, and it almost feels natural to him when he wraps his arms around your frame and pulls you tightly against him.

Nestled in Bucky’s warm embrace, you’re able to enjoy your first peaceful night of sleep since Michael’s return.

~~~

Bucky leaves your sleeping form behind the next morning to pick up breakfast sandwiches from the nearby bodega for you both. He doesn’t exactly have the supplies necessary to make a homemade breakfast, but he knows you’ll never say no to a coffee and your favorite sandwich. When he returns, he finds that his apartment is empty and you’re missing from the bedroom. Initially he figures you must have gone across the hall to your own place to freshen up for the morning, so he’s not worried.

Bucky decides it best to bring the food over to your apartment, but before he can even knock on your door he’s met with the sound of commotion coming from the other side. He hears your muffled voice frantically speaking to someone followed by the sound of shattered glass, your screams prompting him to break down the door and barge his way into the room.

You sit cowering against your bookshelf while Michael menacingly towers over you. A fresh bruise blooms along your cheek while hot tears make their way down your face, and you look to Bucky pathetically for help while curling in on yourself. The roses he’d bought for you now lay scattered on the ground with shards of glass accompanying them, allowing the man to easily piece together what had occurred in his absence.

“You again,” Michael scoffs before slowly making his approach towards the super soldier. He flashes a snide smile as he condescendingly speaks, “Thanks for looking after my fiancé while I was away, but I got it from here.”

Bucky is unmoving, his eyes cold and unrelenting as his hardened gaze stares down at the intruder. Through your tears you can note the enraged tick of his jaw and the way his hands are tightly clenched at his sides as he holds himself back from doing something he’ll regret.

“She’s made it clear that she doesn’t want you here,” he nearly growls through clenched teeth. “You need to leave.”

“Or what?” Your fiancé provokes with a disbelieving laugh. “You think just because she bats her lashes at you and spends the night in your bed that makes you special? She’s a little attention whore, and you’re an idiot if you think otherwise.”

“You can’t talk about a woman like that,” Bucky utters lowly. His body is vibrating with rage, his ears beginning to ring while the tension continues to build within him. He notes the way you watch on helplessly from your place on the floor, and the last thing he wants to do is scare you by becoming aggressive, but Michael was making this feat more difficult with each second that passed.

“I can talk however I want about my own fiancé, pal,” Michael speaks before giving Bucky a harsh shove. The man remains unmoving, and your attacker momentarily falters when realizing how sturdy his opponent is. “Now do yourself a favor and mind your business.”

“Bucky,” you softly cry out, shoulders trembling and eyes pleading for him not to leave you.

James finds himself taking a deep breath in while allowing his body to relax. Michael’s antagonistic voice drones on, and he knows there’s only one way to remove this man from your apartment and out of your life for good. He just hopes you won’t hate him after what is to come.

His hand immediately shoots out and catches Michael’s throat, effectively cutting off his air supply and his ability to speak. Your startled gasp fills the room as Bucky lifts the man before throwing him through your doorway. He slams against the opposite wall with a deafening thud before landing on the floor, and despite the excruciating pain he feels in his body he still desperately tries to crawl away as Bucky takes slow steps towards him.

“Not so fun when you’re on the receiving end, is it?” Bucky taunts before kneeling down next to him. “You’re lucky I’m letting you leave here while you’re still breathing. But if you ever come here again, if you ever put your hands on her again, if you ever even think about her again, I’ll make sure you leave in a body bag. Is that understood?”

Bucky doesn’t receive an answer, but he knows he’s made his point clear when your ex pathetically scrambles onto his feet and books it down the hallway. Resting his hands on his hips, Bucky lets his head hang with a sigh. He didn’t enjoy having to berate the man in front of you, but he can at least take pride in the fact that your ex-fiancé will never bother you again thanks to him.

Bucky quietly makes his way back into your apartment and finds you carefully picking up the scattered shards of glass. You remain silent, even when he kneels down to help you, and he begins to worry that maybe he had gone too far.

“You okay?” He asks you in the softest tone he can manage. Your tired eyes peer up at him through wet lashes, and it takes you a moment to gather your thoughts before you can reply.

“Your glove came off,” you murmur quietly, and Bucky almost isn’t able to catch it.

“What?” He repeats before slowly turning his gaze to his left hand. Sure enough, his usual leather glove is missing and his metal hand is on full display. He swallows down the lump in his throat despite the building anxiety he feels, clenching and unclenching his fingers before looking back up at you. He must have lost it in the scuffle, and he’d been too engrossed in making his point clear to notice.

“That’s not a normal prosthetic arm… is it?” You feebly prompt him. Bucky refuses to meet your gaze and quickly stands himself upright before slowly backing away from you. He feels suffocated by his shame and his guilt, and as he takes in his surroundings he realizes that his worst fear is manifesting itself into reality right before his very own eyes.

He wordlessly leaves your apartment and swiftly locks himself back into his own living space. The walls are closing in around him, and Bucky can do nothing but let his anguish consume him.

He’d ruined everything.

~~~

You haven’t heard from Bucky in over a week and your knocks to his door go unanswered. You’re all alone again, and the isolation is suffocating.

You miss the man who had became a part of your daily routine and infiltrated your space with his kindness and warmth. You had fallen in love with him, your heart aching for him every time he was away, and now only a tightness in your chest remained in his absence. You hadn’t meant to embarrass him when pointing out his arm, and you meant what you said when you told him he had nothing to be ashamed of. Everything had happened so quickly you hadn’t had a chance to explain yourself, to explain that despite the fact that you knew everything, your opinion hadn’t changed of him.

Your meeting with Sam had led to a deep dive into the history of Captain America, so it shouldn’t have been a surprise that your search had led you to a plethora of information on the hero’s close friend James Buchanan Barnes. You knew you should have stopped yourself from reading further and instead asked Bucky to explain everything to you instead, but once you started reading you couldn’t stop. You were overloaded with information about his time in the war, his relationship with Steve Rogers, his affiliation with Hydra as the Winter Soldier, and his role in the fight against Thanos. It overwhelmed you, but it did not deter you from the man or prompt you to end your friendship with him. You weren’t afraid of him, and you worked desperately to get him to see that.

You hold a freshly baked batch of cookies in one hand while the other relentlessly knocks on his front door. You’ve been at this for about a good five minutes, and though it has earned you annoyed looks from neighbors that pass by you in the hallway, you’re determined not to give up until he sees you.

“Bucky, please,” you beg in exasperation, knuckles beginning to turn red from the constant impact against the wood of the door. “I know you’re in there so please come out. I can’t take this anymore.”

You’re met with silence, but this doesn’t deter you in the slightest; you know he’s in there and can hear your pathetic pleas. What you don’t know, however, is that he’s leaned right against the door on the other side watching you through the peephole. His mind is filled with turmoil as one part of him screams to open the door and let you in while the other insists this is for the best. What good does he have to offer you as an ex-assassin? What kind of life can you live tied down to the Winter Soldier? Bucky can’t bring himself to put you through the torment and the danger that comes with being his partner, and he curses himself for ever letting you get close to him in the first place.

“I miss you,” he hears you relent, voice wavering as you fight back tears. “You’re my best friend.”

Bucky can physically feel his chest tighten at your confession, and it takes everything in him to not open the door. He doesn’t think he can stand the torture any longer, and he begins to move towards his bedroom only for your voice to stop him in his tracks.

“I know everything,” you utter gently, prompting his heart to leap anxiously in his chest at your confession. “I know that you were a Sargent in World War ll, and your best friend was Steve Rogers. I know you’re the Winter Soldier. I know… I know that in spite of all of that, you’re the kindhearted man who befriended the complete stranger that knocked on your door and asked for help to move a bookshelf. You’re more than your past, and it doesn’t scare me like you think it does. I… I love you.”

You let your forehead fall against the door and shut your eyes, waiting with bated breath for any sort of response or movement from the other side of the door. You’re given nothing, and it’s now that you start to realize your friendship with Bucky is most likely over. You slowly back away from the door and set the plate of cookies beside it before taking one last longing look at his apartment.

“I’m sorry. I won’t bother you anymore,” you finally sigh, turning to make your way back to your own apartment. However, the click of the lock turning causes you to freeze in your tracks, and you hesitantly turn around to face the man whose door you’ve been assaulting for the past ten minutes.

His blue eyes are glossy with tears that threaten to fall, and his tired features display the torment he’s endured while isolating himself from you. He looks at you almost in astonishment, and for a moment neither of you dares to move or speak. You don’t know what to say or how much he’d heard.

“You…” he starts to say before taking a nervous swallow. “You said you loved me?”

You manage to flash him a meager smile while anxiously stuffing your hands in your pockets and casting your sheepish gaze to the floor. “I thought that was obvious. Why else would I be showing up at your door all the time?”

A quiet laugh of disbelief leaves him at your words, and Bucky feels confident enough now to leave the doorway of his apartment and take a step closer towards you.

“So this,” he says while raising his left hand and flexing his fingers, “doesn’t bother you?”

“Why would it when that very arm kept me safe?” You utter gently, taking another step closer so that the space between you grows smaller. You hesitantly bite the inside of your cheek before slowly raising your hand and offering it to Bucky. A pregnant pause fills the air as he stares down at your outstretched fingers, his brows furrowing with uncertainty while he hesitantly clasps your hand in his artificial one.

The metal is cool against your palm and brings an instant sense of comfort as you lock your fingers together. You fit together perfectly as if your hand had been made for him, and a funny feeling tingles within his chest as Bucky comes to this realization.

“I’m sorry for shutting you out,” he professes earnestly, gently pulling you against his chest so that he can wrap his arms around your figure. “Everything felt too real, and I was terrified of the possibility that you might not want to be around me anymore.”

“You could never do anything to scare me away,” you assure him gently, your eyes full of sincerity as you peer up at him. “I meant what I said, Bucky. You’re my best friend, and I love you.”

“I love you too, doll,” he murmurs with an adoring smile. Using the tips of his metal fingers, Bucky gently angles your face so that he can meet your lips in a kiss. Your eyes immediately flutter shut as you melt against him and savor the feeling of being so close to the man you’d missed so dearly while you were apart.

It’s as if the rest of the world fades away while you share your tender embrace in the middle of the hallway where you’d first met months ago. You came to the city for a new start, but Bucky never would have guessed that your arrival would signal the start of his own new beginning.

A bookshelf brought you into each other’s worlds, and a kiss in the hallway would keep you together for the rest of your lives.

[swtheartz]

info : AFAB!reader but no gender mentioned, reader is a healer, spit kink, dacryphilia, cunninglingus mentioned, blowjobs mentioned, sexual content, they’re all freaks

a / n : i’m gonna start tagging people in my posts so if u wanna be tagged?? lmk!!!!! also hi lx :3

each version of mark has their own unique healer. their dynamics with each other are all so vastly different—all of them think theirs is the best. they’re annoying about it, too, all obsessed with their versions of reader. none of them would have it any other way.

mainstream mark is so casual about it. their relationship is by far the most normal one. a little unofficial, sure, but it’s not like he cares. in his mind, you’re not going anywhere and he isn’t either.

“i, uh, just usually go to them after a fight. it’s not always on purpose, just. . . just sometimes. it’s weird, but they don’t have to heal by touching me. i’m not elaborating on that.”

no goggles mark is definitely one of the weirder ones. laughs about it, is excited to talk about it.

“oh! dude, i love it when we fight. usually ends up with them under me. it’s funny, actually—eating them out works just fine whenever they don’t wanna heal me. pussy juice of life, i swear-”

“they don’t have to heal with their hands,” viltrumite mark looks thoughtful, genuinely thinking about it. his relationship with his version of you is mundane, if anything. they’ve got their own quarters in the viltrum empire, and well. . .

“i prefer their mouth.” he admits, arms crossed over his chest.

omni mark can’t help but scoff. “we don’t fight. i get hurt sometimes, and they heal me.”

“you don’t fight? what’s the fun in that? like, seriously. do you guys even fuck??”

“. . . i prefer it when they cry,” omni mark hums, almost prideful with the way he says it.

they’ve all got their own preferences—whether it be them eating you out, making you cry on their dick, or sloppy makeouts—they get healed one way or another.

[hard-core-super-star]

i touched you for only a fortnight [W.Maximoff]

pairing: sugarmommy!wanda x reader

summary: after hearing that someone's been flirting with wanda, you start questioning your place in her life. luckily, your relationship is one of the main things she's secure in.

warnings: mentions of dom/sub dynamics; allusions to sex but no smut yet; jealousy + insecurity; legal nonspecified age-gap; sugarmommy!wanda deserves her own warning tbh

wordcount: 2.2k

a/n: HI SO, i very randomly decided to make what was supposed to be a solo fic into a series so...this is the unofficial first part. don't get impatient with me, next part will be full smut, i got too attached to the story to rush a smut scene here. i think this is my first official wanda fic so i'm very excited to see how this goes. let me know your thoughts, hope you enjoy <3

* * * * * * *

You're not entirely sure how you ended up in this situation.

One day, you were a broke college student, barely hanging on by your teeth and the next, you were Wanda Maximoff's newest obsession. Everyone and their mom knew about the CEO, about the rumors that followed her wherever she went. She was rich, ruthless, dedicated in a way no one could match. She was a force to be reckoned with but most of all…she was your sugar mommy.

You wish you could say it had all been accidental, coincidental even. But it wasn't. At least, not fully.

A few months ago, your best friend had talked you into going out to a club with her. Kate was many things, mainly economically stable and with far more connections than a normal 22-year-old should have. Of course, that was due more to her mother than the brunette's charming personality.

You didn't fully understand why she was so adamant about acting like she wasn't a rich kid. Or rather, a privileged rich kid. It was refreshing, but it was a little hysterical considering she pretty much relied on her mother's riches for…everything.

Still, you appreciated how down to earth she was. Even when she dragged you into a ridiculously crowded club with drinks you couldn't afford. She didn't seem to mind, though, considering the ease with which she handed the bartender her credit card.

You hadn't expected anything interesting to happen that night. You assumed all you'd really do was get drunk and babysit Kate so she didn't run her mouth and get into a fight with the sleazy guys that always found their way to you.

Fate had other plans for you, it seemed, because Wanda Maximoff was there that night. And she was instantly drawn to you…and the way you slapped a sleazy guy for blatantly placing his hand on your ass.

She stepped in before security could even try to kick you out and she offered you a drink for your troubles.

It'd been unexpected but you had never been one to turn down a beautiful, slightly scary, woman. You didn't know it then, but accepting her offer was the best thing you'd ever done for yourself.

And not just because Wanda was even quicker to spend money on you than Kate.

So, as weird and uncharted territory as it was, you slowly got used to being the older woman's sugar baby. To spending your free time with her, to bringing her lunch when she forgot to take a break in between meetings, to giving yourself over to her every night in as many ways as you could handle.

Of course, that didn't come without its challenges. The biggest of them being your insecurities about your place in her life.

It didn't seem to matter how many times she reassured you that she wanted you, you knew being her sugar baby wasn't the same as being her girlfriend. You had no right to feel jealous when she went out for drinks with other CEOs. No right to be upset when people flirted with her at the club.

Just because you knew that, though, didn't mean you didn't get upset. You were grateful for Wanda, and even more grateful for the kindness she showed Kate by giving her a job at her company, but that gratefulness wasn't enough to quell the jealousy that crept up on you sometimes.

Especially when your lovely best friend added fuel to that fire.

It's late when you hear the front door of Wanda's penthouse open. You've spent the majority of the day by yourself, having been told not to visit the older woman at her office because of some important meetings she was going to have. You, being the obedient lover she knew you to be, did exactly as she asked despite how bored and lonely you got.

Things would have been fine had Kate not told you how flirty Wanda's assistant had been all day. It seemed every time Agnes made some sort of suggestive comment, your best friend was close enough to send you a message about it.

And to top it off, the older woman hadn't replied to your texts in a few hours. So, needless to say, watching her come home extremely late, after a long day apart, does little to help you feel better.

It takes no less than a minute for Wanda to walk into the living room, her fingers already unbuttoning the white blouse beneath her dark red blazer. "Why are you still awake, angel?"

As distracting as the sight is, you don't let it steal your thoughts away.

"Where were you?" You ask, already hating how soft your voice is.

"Where do you think?" She replies with a well-placed tilt of her head.

Even though her tone makes you want to back down, you hold your ground, not yet ready to continue without an answer. "You're back late. You never come back this late when you're at the office."

Your words make her pause. Her eyes scan your face as she comes closer, a sigh stuck in her throat. "You know these meetings run late sometimes. I went to get a drink afterward to unwind. Why are you so upset, sweetheart?"

"Kate said your secretary was making moves on you," you say, feeling your shoulders relax as you finally give a voice to the thoughts that have been plaguing you all day. "That you let her flirt with you."

Despite how soft she's trying to be, Wanda rolls her eyes. "Kate's an idiot."

"But she's not a liar," you reply before you can think better of it.

This time, the older woman isn't able to stop the flicker of annoyance that passes through her face. "Watch yourself, sweetheart. What's that supposed to mean?"

You barely manage to hold in a groan. Complaining would only make the situation worse for you, considering how little she lets you get away with when you're obviously upset.

"That she wouldn't make something up just because…" you trail off, almost not wanting to ask your next question. "It's true, isn't it?"

Wanda sighs, easily sliding onto your lap. Your hands instantly come up to grip her hips, greedily pulling her close to you, your heart pounding in your chest as you wait for her answer. "Yes, darling, it's true. Agnes was in a bold mood today, but I shot her down every time. She knows I'm taken."

Her words help soothe your jealousy somewhat but they're not enough to overshadow your insecurities. "Are you? Because I'm not your girlfriend."

"y/n," she says, her eyes narrowing slightly. "What are you trying to say?"

Even though you know she's not upset with you, her tone still makes you shrink into yourself. You had been so confident earlier, so sure of what you were going to say to her, of what you were going to ask, and now…it had all evaporated with one quick raise of her eyebrow.

"Nothing," you sigh. "It's stupid."

Wanda doesn't let you hide. Her hand comes up to cup your face, tilting your head back so you're looking up at her. "It's not stupid. You're jealous, aren't you, sweetheart?"

The softness in her voice does little to erode your insecurities. If anything, it makes you want to hide even more. To run away and pretend you never even brought up the idea of being more than…a pastime. Because maybe if you could escape the conversation, you could escape the reality. The very real possibility that she didn't want you to be anything more than her favorite toy.

"Why would I be jealous?" you respond, trying to muster up the rest of your courage. "I don't own you or your time."

The redhead sighs again, knowing it'll take more than a few well-placed words to get through to you. "What's with the attitude, hmm? What's going on in that pretty little head of yours?"

You recognize her words for what they are. The opportunity for you to be honest. To unload everything that's been overwhelming your mind since you realized how hard you'd fallen for the older woman. The fears, the insecurities, the uncontrollable need for her.

You almost don't want to admit it. Don't want to further complicate a situation that's gotten so out of your control. It was supposed to be temporary. You were supposed to be temporary. But you can't imagine a life outside of the one you've somehow built with her.

"I don't know," you finally say. "I just hate the thought of Agnes thinking she can flirt with you. She can't."

"She can't?" Wanda repeats, a hint of amusement seeping into her tone. "Why not, angel?"

She's toying with you, you know that. Turning you in circles until you're too confused to avoid answering her questions. Maybe it should feel manipulative, even cruel, but all it does is show you how well she knows you. How good she is at coaxing answers out of you by being soft and patient.

No one would believe you if you told them how sweet the ruthless businesswoman is. How easy it is to make her melt and give in to your every whim.

It would be ridiculous if you weren't the one wrapped right around her finger.

"Because…" You trail off with a huff. "You know why."

"Come on, baby," she tries again, her fingers caressing your jawline and making sure you keep your eyes on her. "I need to hear you say it. Please? For me."

All you allow yourself is a whine at first. Just the smallest sign of weakness. Of the brat Wanda secretly loves taming.

"Because you're my domme," you say, that hint of petulance still lingering in your tone. "You're supposed to be mine, not hers."

The corners of her mouth quirk up just enough to show how entertained she is by the exchange. In her defense, she does what she can to keep her expression serious, as if you're not just acting like a brat because you're jealous.

"I am yours, darling," Wanda replies. "You don't have to worry about Agnes. Or anyone else for that matter."

Her words manage to cut through the thick fog in your head left behind by your constant worries. They're not enough to fully erase your insecurities but it's a start. A start to the conversation you should have already had.

"You really mean it?" You find yourself asking.

You want to hate yourself for sounding so insecure, but you can't. The hard truth is, you need to hear her answer. Need to hear her put a label to what you two have. A label that goes beyond the sweet petnames she has for you.

"I do," she says, her voice dropping its usual teasing edge. "I don't want anyone else but you. I'm yours just as much as you're mine."

The words go right to your head, giving you a rush you've never felt before. It very quickly dawns on you why the older woman likes it so much when you say those words. Why it always makes her look like she's on top of the world.

"Say it again," you mumble, the softness in your tone making you feel particularly vulnerable.

The smile that grazes Wanda's face is nothing short of affectionate. "I'm yours, angel. You're the only one I want to be with."

Your hands on her hips slide around until your arms are around her waist and you're pulling her impossibly closer. You practically lunge forward, your lips seeking out hers and crashing into them.

It's not the most romantic kiss you've ever shared by any means, but the intensity behind your movements only makes it better. Especially when she kisses you back with that same passion.

Almost instantly, you're left wanting more.

"Wanda," you whisper against her lips. "I need you."

"I'm right here, baby. You can have me."

Her words would usually be enough to melt you until all you could think about was having her on top of you. Tonight, though, the desire you're suddenly hit with is different.

You need to touch her. To feel her against you. To hear her say your name over and over again until there's nothing left except the two of you.

You're not entirely sure how to express that need, though. Far too used to your usual dynamic and how easy your submission flows.

"Not like that," you say, your cheeks flushing.

Wanda simply stares at you with those same sharp eyes that hold a sea of affection you can't even begin to understand. "Is that right? You want to touch Mommy tonight, hmm?"

You nod, already feeling breathless from the thought of getting to touch her.

To show her you can be good in a different way.

* * * * * * *

taglist: @boredandneedfanfics @rosekjsses

[ddejavvu]

hi mei!! i absolutely adore your writing, you're amazing!!

could i ask you to write for reader who's touch starved and really wants a tight hug from remus, but doesn't dare ask for it for fear of being too clingy?

i am so sorry if you've written this before, i binge-read your entire masterlist a little while back but my memory is also Very Bad-

"The quiet one's brooding again."

You glance up from your notebook to meet Sirius's squinted eyes, his brows slanted at you where you sit trying to focus on your work. You're not brooding, you're just not smiling. He kicks at you beneath the table, "What's'a matter, grumpy, your essay not long enough?"

"It's fine." You grumble, "I'm just having trouble editing."

"It's late." James scrubs a hand over his face, nearly tugging his glasses out from behind his ears. He lets the hand drag through his hair, nearly wrenching strands out where they've curled into each other, "I'm fading myself."

"I can't sleep until I finish." You groan, and suddenly everything is a bit overwhelming, the press of James's thigh against yours, the way Sirius's foot is still nudging yours beneath the table, the scratch of your sweater against your bare skin.

You vault from your seat, rushing towards the common room fire with staggering steps that probably invoke suspicions of booze from your friends. Finals are stressful, and you're always worried about the looming prospect of The Future, and that's concerning enough if you pass your exams. The thought of failing them and making whatever The Future is worse- well that's what's got your hands trembling. You grasp them together like you're cold, and it helps, but the shake is deeper than your extremities.

"Y/N," Remus calls, and you hear his voice get closer, not louder, as he approaches where you stand at the fire. You stare at the flames as an excuse to not meet his eyes, and they burn your vision, but you can't bring yourself to look away.

"I just need a minute." You squeeze tighter at your own fingers, the touch stinging but calming, "I'm tired and- and I just want to be done with my work and go to bed."

"I can edit." Remus suggests, laying a gentle hand on your shoulder. For all its softness you react like it's an anvil, letting it pile onto the weight already draped over your shoulders like a yoke and nearly falling back into Remus.

"Oh," Is all he manages to say before taking a leap of faith and sliding his hand from your shoulder to your waist, wrapping the other one around your hip to meet it. His hands rest on your stomach and he stands there being warmed by the fire with you, watching the way your hands squeeze each other tighter.

"I wish we could stay in school forever." You manage, your voice cracked and breaking, "I- I'm worried about getting a real job, and paying for housing, and- and never seeing my friends again because I'm too busy working."

"I know. Don't worry, though. You'll have a good shot in the job market, though, and if you're ever in need of a place to stay, you know James's mom will tuck you in like you're hers. You could live on her plastic-wrapped couch for the rest of your life if you had to."

"I couldn't sleep with all the crinkling," You laugh, even though two tears still streak down your cheeks. You sniffle, and your nose scrunches, but your face quickly widens with a yawn, "God, I'm so fucking- tired, I just-"

"Go sleep." Remus urges, squeezing you once and letting go, "I'll proofread your essay, and I'll make sure Sirius doesn't write penis on it again like he did last time."

"As the fucking title," You growl, a forgotten fury now rising once more in your gut, "You know what? I think I can manage to stay awake just long enough to change his name at the top to Sirius Balls without him noticing."

"I'll distract him." Remus promises, throwing a glance back at the man currently ignoring his essay in favor of chattering with James, "Throw in a swear or two for me, yeah?"

"Deal." You let him grab your hand before you depart, and he squeezes it much kinder than you'd squeezed yourself.

"Hey. If you get like that again, you can ask for a hug."

Instantly, you're a little sheepish, but you power through it to nod, "Thanks, Remus."

He nods once, then lets your hand go, "Hey, Sirius, you mind walking down to the kitchens with me to get some more wine from the professors' stash?"

Sirius is on his feet in an instant, plenty of years' experience with not only stealing, but stealing booze, "How many bottles do y'think we can carry?"

"Enough to make sure you don't proofread well." You suggest, grinning coyly, and James turns a blind eye, smirking, when Sirius's quill is in your hand the moment the portrait hole shuts.

[mourndust]

18+ mdni, age gap (cait’s 25 and reader is 37), dom!cait x sub!afab reader who’s cassandra’s protegeé in the council, mean!cait, based on a anon request, vaginal tribbing, mutual masturbation.

you have said no to her flirting multiple times — but caitlyn's a fucking brat, and hearing no for an answer seems to be something she don't usually understand well, something she don’t experience at all.

her little show has all the ingredients to become a disaster. now that you began to hang out with cassandra as a new addition to the council and cait’s twenty five just getting into the basic functions of being an adult, it's clear she has no fucking idea of what she's getting into when she flirted with a woman that was ten years older than her, when she makes you blush from mentioning something about the nice outfit you pull out for council meetings or your makeup.

she makes you sure you notice she's looking at you when she goes out with her friends and gets drunk cause she's celebrating being the best of her class, graduating with astonishing grades in her generation and simply staring at you before leaving. if cassandra knew, hell, if she only knew how turned on you are by her only daughter, you'd be ten feet away from any political discussion, removed from your comfortable chair in the council with the good amount of power you’ve worked hard for.

so you try to keep your distance, problem is, caitlyn just loves to make you a disaster. loves to notice how you fluster for a comment, how you are free to say something insanely inappropriate and unable to take compliments without getting all shy and nervous — she always had things her way, the spoiled rich girl from piltover who has everything in the palm of her hand, so she expects you to well, follow.

it seems common for her to be constantly teasing her luck, like she’s waiting for the moment you'll admit you are all over her too, that you don't care about your political image, not when most of the council did similar things beneath closed doors.

"you know i'm older than you, cait. workin’ with your mother" you say, yet's impossible to ignore her when she's texting you in the night, asking if you could give her a ride home since she's too drunk to go on a car by her own: little liar. “i have duties to fulfill. can’t be distracted right now.”

she just love the idea of being your younger girlfriend, you’re what? thirty seven? six? doesn’t really matter how old exactly when you’re attractive to her. she's older now, and caitlyn wants a woman with her life already solved, someone interesting that will keep up on her conversations and needs, and in reality, she just wanted you plain and simple, does not matter if you've been hanging out with her mother lately or how important you are for the council. you.

that's why she's seated there anyway, in the passenger seat of your car, mentioning something about being an awful night even when it's just midnight. and you're offering to drop her back home safe and sound cause you have work to do tomorrow morning, but she's whining about cassandra and how annoying she is whenever she goes out with her friends, excuse after excuse.

"can i stay with you?" caitlyn asks after a while as you drive—. "just for tonight. i'll leave early."

your first mistake would be accepting, letting her invade your space so easily, but it's too late when caitlyn's taking her heels off in the entrance after a long day, and you're doing nothing but making her feel like home, shoving your hands on the black suit you wear after been working all day.

"you take my bed, i'll sleep on the couch"

"we can sleep together, i mean. you'll take care of me, i trust you-" you're blushing again cause she's not drunk, not even remotely touched by the drink she had before in the club with her friends, but she's acting up like she needs help, like she needs to sleep next to you. "sofa's uncomfortable."

"you already know what will happen if we sleep together, caitlyn."

she don't seem to care, not when she's standing in front of you, dressed in her satin navy blue dress, hands crossed over her chest as you have the audacity of look at her cleavage cause it's there and to be honest, it's pleasing to look at.

"my eyes are up here," cait replies, holding you by the jaw only to pull it upwards, making you look at her eyes instead of her chest. "wouldn't be so bad if we fucked either way, you're in the council not because of my mother, you don't owe her loyalty."

it's a good point, cause you're not really close to cassandra or the kiramman house until recently, and she's pointing it out with a satisfied smirk when cait can smell your doubt in the air — "this is between you and me, understand? no one else."

so she has it all: best grades in her generation, cool job, friends and you wrapped around her finger, expensive clothes that fitted so damn well, a nice rich family, a cozy place for herself in a good zone in piltover and your whole damn attention.

"i don't need nobody's permission to be here with you," she continues, and suddenly the air is hot cause she's cornering you, taking advantage of being taller as her voice soothe every nerve "neither do you, love."

she deserves your kisses after, almost like a treat as her mouth finds yours. she's quickly to demand as she swallows an almost unnoticeable moan, makes you a victim 'cause caitlyn's kisses are so embarrassingly good you're already wet from the act of it, how she's not afraid of angling your face up to adjust it how she needs it to be, manicured nails digging in your skin when her tongue is sliding in and she's just breathing against you, heavy breathing as she makes your hair to the side only to bare the column of your throat to her lips.

“where’s your room,” she asks marking you cause she wants to know what shitty excuse you'll say tomorrow in work, the face you'll make when someone asks you what happened.

she wants to be in your sheets, be in every space you own until she's part of you and your life, so you let her pull you to the dimly lit hallway, the warm lights shinning against her skin and the satin fabric of her dress as she guides you — as if's not your house already, to your own room.

and caitlyn kiramman is a dream. should be a product of your imagination as she slips off the thin shoulder strap of her dress, the dress now pooling on the ground as she enters your room, turning on the lights cause she desires to be seen, be heard and worshipped as her hands finds the jacket of your suit, letting it fall close to her dress; your white shirt follows after, your black pants and it's everything you want.

fuck it if it's not heaven on earth, cause it feels just like it when she's crawling on top of you, pushing you to the bed to give you the most interesting view. the air is hot as you seem to forgot how to breathe, the toned muscles of her back and her already pebbled nipples rubbing against yours as she leans to kiss you.

fuck it if it's not heaven on earth.

caitlyn settles between your legs and she's wearing this sinful underwear that barely count as one as you can see her cunt from over the fabric, spreading your legs cause the friction — the damn friction of the lingerie against your black undies already dampening is unbearing, making you needy to have her closer.

she looks gorgeous from there. looking down at you with a smirk of winning, gripping on your thigh only be able to ride you at her own pace, cruelly cause from over the fabric you crave nothing but the direct contact.

the white cloth seems to cling into caitlyn's sex, her arousal already smeared against the transparent fabric as she holds her moans in, straight hair cascading against the sharp angles of her face, and the sight of her is enough to make you ache, she's bitting her lower lip as wet sounds fill the air, barely holding her sounds in as she moves against you.

“gonna make you part of my very own soul, do you hear me?" she says as her fingers pull on your underwear to the side — "so even my ghost is tangled with yours."

you're creaming your underwear and its embarrassing as white traces of your arousal still fresh sticks to caitlyn's underwear, soaked folds as she moves enough so her cunt rubs against yours.

"take that shit off," you whine, pulling on the string of the blue haired panties. "please cait, take it off."

"there you are," her words slur together as she speaks, cheeks blushed, lips parted, a damn view — "now you speak huh? be louder, i need to hear you councillor. make your demands clear."

"i said take your panties off, cait" you say, prompting yourself over your elbows — "let me feel you."

must be the look you give, the commanding undertone in your voice, but she's finally getting rid of her underwear and you're welcomed, instead, with her soaked pussy now grinding at a perfect pace on top of you. parted legs, her weight pushes you down against the mattress and it's oh so good; caitlyn's arousal dampens her thighs and it's messy, downright filthy, those meetings where you know you'll need a damn shower after but she craves it, the wet sound you two make with each undulated movement of her hips, the fucked out expression in your face.

it takes a moment to get you there: her skin is dampening with sweat, her tits bounce with each movement and she's so fucking sensitive at this point cait's mumbling erratic praising words, using her hands to spread you open and slowly use a couple of fingers to rub against your clit.

and her moans are delicious, oversensitive as you she finally cums on top of you, shaking when your fingers reach her clit, making a mess on your bed right before you follow through, moving your own hips against her pussy cause you're greedy, greedy and you'll take anything you can get as you ride your orgasm, creamy white mixing up in caitlyn's swollen cunt.

and her breathing's not yet controlled as she's hugging you, taking care of you as she presses soft kisses on your back cause she likes being like that, the temperature of your body against her, the burnt sensation as she keeps you against her in the bliss high of pleasure, a tangled mess of limbs and sweat.

how they say? piltover royalty needs to have it all.

you must known it would be stupid after to accept an invitation to have tea and discuss political agenda with cassandra kiramman when her only daughter is visiting her again out of nowhere, giving you that damn look you are now well aware of.

are you going to let me ruin you again?

[shanklin]

Stan and Ford never actually lose contact after the summer. Sure they don’t talk as much as they used to and it’s a bit lonely but some time apart did them good!

Ford tries not to be hurt by the fact that Stan was doing so well without him and found friends of his own the moment Ford’s presence stopped holding him back.

Ford also tried not to be hurt by the fact that Stanley refuses to come visit them. Even when their father called and ordered them to take Stan off his back for a summer, Stan wouldn’t budge. He made other plans with his new friends, who were normal and fun and nothing like Stanford.

Ford still only had one single friend to call his own. Don’t get him wrong, Ford loves Fiddleford but he made one big miscalculation when he told Stan to go back to New Jersey alone. Fiddleford wasn’t Stanley. There is no possible way for him to fill the void that Stan left behind.

Ford ignores Stan’s calls for three weeks straight after Stan refuses their father’s order to visit them the first time. 

Three weeks and one day later he picks up the phone and lets Stan apologize and make up excuses. He’s too tired of missing Stan to argue. If their calls are all Stan could spare for him, Ford will take them, those little scabs that, just for a couple of minutes, make him feel whole again.

Just like always they end their calls by slapping their palms against the phone in a makeshift high six and hang up. 

Stanford cries for a long time after.

Another year passes and Ford is pissed. Fine. If Stan won’t visit him, he’ll go to New Jersey himself and knock some sense into the knucklehead.

Grunkle Dipper and Grauntie Mabel ask him if he’s sure. They know how hard it was for Ford in New Jersey with all the bullies but Ford waves them off. He’s 14 now, almost 15, not a little kid and he managed just fine living in Jersey for the first 11 years of his life.

He doesn’t tell them that the only reason he survived those years was because of Stanley’s fierce protection.

Ford is pissed at Stan but he’s also excited to finally see his brother again. He’s gonna surprise him and then yell at him and then hug and go to the beach and see how the Stan o’ War is doing. Stan told him he made some improvements and he is excited about what ridiculous upgrade Stan came up with.

When they finally arrive at the pawnshop they’re met with police cars and an ambulance. The paramedics carry out a body bag and Stan is let out by the police in handcuffs. 

Stan's eyes widen in surprise but his expression closes off not a moment later. 

Everything happens in a blurr. 

His father is dead. His brother in custody and they’re being questioned by the police. 

Grunkle Dipper and Grauntie Mabel do most of the talking while Ford is not listening, hiding his hands in his pockets and looking at the ground.

“I want to see my brother.” is the only thing he manages to say. He ignores the concerned looks the adults give each other. He’s here to see Stanley and nothing else.

***

Then, finally, he gets his wish after days of waiting.

The social worker leads him to Stanley and tells him that she managed to get them some time to talk in private. 

It’s the first time in three years that Ford gets a good look at his twin. He’s not sure he likes what he sees. 

Stan is bigger than him, has more muscles. But not the kind you get from boxing. The kind you get from doing hard labor for a long period of time. Stan mentioned a part time job at the docks but now Ford fears there was more to this than Stan let on. Much much more, looking at the new scars Stan never mentioned. There was one on his forehead. One on his arms, a hidden one on his shoulder. Ford dreads to know what else Stan is hiding.

The worst part, however, is how despite all the muscles and scars Stan looks small. Pitiful even. It’s unsettling the way he won’t meet the social worker's eyes, the way he shies away from her kind touch. It’s nothing like the Stan he remembers. Nothing like the Stan he's been talking to for at least once a week for the past three years.

The social worker leaves them alone with a reassuring smile and Ford tries to find the right words. He thought this would be easy. That they would be able to talk with each other just like they always did.

“Stan-” Ford starts unsure of how to continue. Luckily Stan is two steps ahead and moves in for a hug. Okay that's good. Ford can do a hug. Ford opens his arms to let his brother in, only for Stan to open Ford's jacket and inspect the inside.

Ford blinks, arms still open.

“What are you doing, Stanley?” Ford asks, bewildered.

“Checking for bugs, genius.” 

Stan's voice had lost the quiver that had made him so pitiful just a moment earlier and took on an irritated and condescending tone instead.

He lets go of Ford's jacket as if he touched something especially nasty and throws himself into one of the many chairs in the meeting room and leans back. 

“Guess the bitch really did tell the truth, huh?”

Stan stares out of the window and frowns. 

“So what the fuck are you doing here? Pretty sure I told you I was busy again this summer.”

“Stanley..what happened to you? What did you do?”

Stan leans forward, looks deep into Ford's eyes and grins.

“Nothing they can prove.”

Stan laughs and keeps on laughing as Ford tries to make sense of it all.

Stan is mocking him. Just like their former classmates, just like the bullies.

Ford storms out and refuses to talk about the meeting.

Grauntie Mabel and Grunkle Dipper keep throwing each other concerned looks and Ford knows they're not only for him, but also for Stanley.

His brother has everyone fooled. He pretends to be a victim, hurt and afraid, telling lies about their father abusing him. He makes a show of it during the hearings and has the adults wrapped around his little finger. Some, Grauntie Mabel and Grunkle Dipper included, shed tears for him.

Stanford just watches and seethes. What game is Stan playing here? Why is he doing this?

In the end they let Stan go, judging their fathers death as an accident. 

Before they leave for Oregon Mabel sends them both on an errant run, which Ford knows is just supposed to function as some more bonding time between him and his brother.

The moment Stan leaves the adult's sight he drops his charade and stops looking like a kicked puppy.

“You never answered my question. What the fuck are you guys doing here?”

“We came to visit you, but clearly we shouldn’t have bothered. You were doing all so great by yourself it seems.”

“You only got that now? After I spent the last three years coming up with weak excuses not to see you?” Stan laughs. “And they call me the dumb one.”

Ford flushes in anger but holds it in. It makes no sense. If Stan really didn’t want anything to do with him, why the frequent calls? Why bother pretending missing Ford and all the apologies for not visiting. If Stan really didn’t care he would’ve just ignored him completely. It would’ve been easy.

Stan moves to leave but Ford grabs his arm and holds him back.

“Stan, enough with the lies. Tell me what’s really going on. Whatever it is, we can figure it out together. As a team.”

Stan twirls around and pushes Ford hard against a wall. For a moment he looks around at the empty street before gritting his teeth and almost growling.

“Don’t touch me, you freak!”

Ford barely registers the words as he kneels over from a punch to the gut.

Stan walks away and this time Ford lets him.

It’s the last time Ford sees his twin for a very very long time.

If only Ford had followed Stan that day, secretly stalked him through the hidden alleyways and closed off passageways. 

He would’ve seen Stan enter an abandoned building guarded by armed men on each side. 

And if he listened closely he would’ve heard Stan shouting for a man named Rico to show himself and demand to see the kids.

But Ford doesn’t follow Stan and so he will never find out what that was all about. 😌

*

*

*

*

*

*

*

“Where are the kids Rico?! If you did anything to them I swear-”

Rico throws up his hands, feigning innocence.

“Relax, Stanley, relax. I’m a man of my word. I don’t hurt kids.” Rico puts an arm around Stan's shoulder. Stan tries to wiggle out but Rico holds firmly in place. “I’m not like your dear old Pa, after all”

Rico slaps Stan on the back and ruffles his hair. 

“You’re welcome by the way.”

Stan uses the moment to put some distance between them and glares at the stronger man. 

“You nearly got me put in jail for murder!”

Rico grins and spreads his arms.

“I had full faith in you getting yourself out of it, my boy. And the show you put on? Simply wonderful. I almost shed a tear myself at your performance!”

“Where. Are. The. Kids. Rico?!”

Rico sighs and waves his hand. Some of his henchmen lead two kids, a couple years younger than Stan himself, into the room. The moment they see Stan they shout his name and run up to hug him. Stan holds both of them tightly in his arms.

“I missed you, dude!” The boy cries and hides his head inside Stan's shirt while the red headed girl glares at Rico standing behind Stan.

Stan looks them over and smiles.

“Soos, did you take good care of your sister?” Soos rubs his eyes and nods. Stan looks at Wendy, who gives him a thumbs up.

“Yes, very touching. Now let’s discuss business. I need all three of you on a plane to New Mexico in about 2 hours.”

All three of them? 

“What's the catch?”

There is no way Rico would let them go just like that. He must know they’ll run away the moment he lets them leave.

“There’s no catch. Do your job and no one gets hurt. If you choose to betray me though and run away.” Rico pulls out a knife and tips it underneath Stan's chin. Stan pulls Soos and Wendy behind his back. “Well I might just have to let my frustrations out on your dear twin. You two look so much alike, he’ll do nicely as a replacement.”

Stan snorts but schools his features and takes on a worried look.

“Eh, boss.” One of the henchmen butts in.

“Pines just beat up his brother before coming here. I don’t think that threat is gonna work”

Rico rolls his eyes and throws up his hands. 

“See what morons I have to deal with on a daily basis?” He tells Stan and then turns around to the henchman.

“He was obviously acting, you idiot.”

“Oh believe me. That wasn’t an act. You did your research. My family abandoned me. Hurt me. Why the fuck should I care about what happens to them?”

Stan takes both Soos and Wendy by the hand and drags them towards the entrance.

“But who am I to tell you how to do your business? So we’ll be off catching that plane and all that.”

Rico snorts.

“Oh Stanley, you’re a gambling man just like myself. That’s why I like you, but you’re a bit too young to fool me just yet. You will do just as instructed or it’ll be your brother who suffers. Maybe we’ll cut off his hands and sell them to one of those tourist trap freak shows. That way you can visit him while I’m hunting you down for betraying me.

Stan stops walking and deflates.

“Good boy.”

Selfish Shellfish AU - Masterpost

[ssweetreveries]

bad habits | l.jn + l.cy

🎧 earned it . the weeknd

✩ jeno x reader x anton

⋆ 18+ mdni!

⋆ word count! 2.1k

⋆ request? ✓

oneshot, nonidol!jeno, nonidol!anton, afab!reader, fwb!jeno, roommate!anton, bsf!anton, dom!jeno, sub!reader, perv!anton, protective sex, light choking, back scratching, slight begging, dirty talk, a bit of manhandling, voyeurism, oral sex (m.receiving), anton’s a bit shy?, use of pet names (baby, angel, princess), porn no plot…

synopsis . you don’t know your best friend has been getting off by listening in on you and your fling..

likes, reblogs, comments are appreciated!!

author note: first time writing something like this and i absolutely hate how it turned out 😭😭 hopefully yall enjoy it more than me :’)

i apologize if there is any mistakes, this isn’t proof read and english isn’t my first language. enjoy!! ><

anton can’t help it. can’t help his hand sliding down his pants, palming his stiff dick. the sound of your moans, the sound of skin slapping against skin, it’s too much, he needs to touch himself. He knows he shouldn’t be doing this, god, what would you think? What would you think when you find out that your roommate—who so happens to be your best friend—has been getting off to the sound of you.

It started off as an accident. Anton never meant to develop this horrible habit of his. Never meant to find himself standing outside your bedroom door every time you came back home with Jeno. But here he was again, pressed against the wall separating your bedroom from the hallway.

The first time it happened, Anton seriously just wanted to go to the bathroom. He got up in the middle of the night, got out of his room, and made his way down the hall. What stopped him though, was those sweet noises coming from your room as he walked past.

He didn’t mean to overhear, didn’t mean to press his ear to the door as your soft moans were heard through the hard wood. You can’t blame him though, right? You were the one being so loud after all—is what he convinced himself…

Nothing could compare to the sight in front of him tonight though. The door slightly ajar, giving him the best view of Jeno’s lean muscular frame on top of you. Your arms wrapped around his torso, desperately hanging onto his back for dear life, nails surely digging into his flesh.

This never happened before, you never left your door open. Were you in on him? There’s no way you found out what he’s been doing, right? He’s overthinking. You probably just forgot to close it, but the thought of you knowing.. it sends a rush of adrenaline straight to his groin.

Anton has to hold back a moan as he watches the scene unfold infront of him. Just how many times had he fantasized about this? How many times had he imagined how Jeno handled you in the bedroom? From the moans he often heard, he knew it wasn’t gentle or kind. And from what he’s witnessing infront of him, his suspicions were right.

“Fuck—” Jeno curses under his breath, hips snapping against yours with brutal force.

“So—” thrust. “fucking—” thrust. “tight—” he mutters in a husky tone, his head falling to your shoulder.

You moan, your legs wrapped around his waist pulling him impossibly closer, walls sucking in his thick length.

Jeno pulls back a bit, detaching your arms from his back and pinning them harshly above your head.

He lets out a hoarse chuckle, amused at the sight in front of him. His other hand wrapped around one of your thighs, his fingers digging into your flesh as he keeps pounding into you. “Fuck, angel, look at you, such a mess.”

You whine in response, hands desperately trying to free themselves, much rather wanting to feel his body on yours.

Jeno’s grip only tightens, his hips snapping to yours ruthlessly, his length hitting all the right spots.

Anton’s fingers wraps around his cock, hand tugging languid strokes as he tries to suppress his own moans.

Your sounds, the sight in front of him, combined with the anxiety of getting caught.. it’s all too thrilling. His hand comes to cover his mouth, head falling down as he works at his painful erection.

“F-fuck—! Jeno!”

His head flies back up at the sound of your heightened moans and the sheer desperation in your voice. Anton himself desperately wanting to see you come undone, see your expression as you reach your high and imbed it in his memory to replay over and over again.

But, of course, Jeno isn’t as nice as to give you what you crave just yet.

His hips continue moving against yours, head dipping right next to your ear and you can feel his hot breath fanning against your neck as he whispers, “Mmh, you close, princess?”

You whine and nod, “S-so close, Jeno— Please!”

He leaves a kiss to your neck, and you think he’s going to give you what you desperately crave before he suddenly lets go of your hands and pulls out of you.

You whine at the loss, about to complain, but not even having the chance as Jeno roughly flips you onto your stomach in one swift motion.

His hand harshly grip your hips, pulling you back to him and entering you with no warning.

You let out a loud moan, body jerking forward. Jeno doesn’t let you fall down though, one of his hand snaking up to your neck, fingers wrapping around it with a delicious pressure as he pulls you back up against him.

Your moans and the way Jeno manhandles you, it’s all too much. Anton feels himself getting closer as his hand pumps faster, eyes fixed on your face and the way Jeno just uses you.

Jeno continues pounding into you, his other hand coming down to play with your clit as he keeps your back pressed to his chest, his grip on your neck tightening slightly.

His mouth attaches to your neck, nipping and leaving marks that will surely bloom in the morning, letting out a low string of curses as he nears his own orgasm.

You feel a bit dizzy, breathless as he continues hitting that one spot that makes you see stars, the pressure on your neck just adding to the intense pleasure you feel.

You can feel yourself nearing your orgasm again in no time, and from the way your sopping cunt is clinging to his cock, there’s no doubt that Jeno can tell too.

“You’re close again, fuck-, aren’t you, baby?” he asks through a series of groans.

You nod furiously, letting out a small whimper.

Jeno lets go of your neck, letting you fall onto your hands and knees, both his hands holding your hips in a tight grip as he pistons into you.

Anton breath hitches, his hand momentarily stopping his movements as your eyes meet his in the new position. Your own eyes widening at the sight of your roommate standing in the doorway.

Your brain is mushy from the way Jeno is making you feel, you must be hallucinating, right? Surely.. There’s just no way your best friend is really standing there, watching you as your fling keeps pounding into you.

Not that you have much time to process, as Jeno’s hips continue snapping to yours at a relentless pace, making your eyes roll back in delight.

Anton swallows dryly, eyes locked on yours as he resumes his stroking. He must be sick, but he thinks he might just cum from the look on your face alone.

Your walls clench involuntarily around Jeno’s thick length, overwhelmed with everything happening.

He hisses, his body coming to fall over yours as his hips start to stutter.

Your moans only heighten as you feel yourself getting there.

Anton’s hand quickens, desperate to find his release at the same time as yours.

You finally come undone with a breathless scream as Jeno hits that one spot, knuckles turning white from how hard you’re gripping the bed sheets.

The sheer look on your face is enough for Anton to reach his limit, his head falling back against the wall as he lazily continues to stroke himself.

Jeno’s lips attach to your neck, biting into your shoulder as he comes undone with a groan, his hot cum filing the condom.

In a moment of consciousness, your eyes flick up, catching a glimpse of Anton’s retreating figure.

Jeno doesn’t pull back immediately, letting both of you come down from your highs with soft pants.

When he does, he flops down against your pillows with a sigh, pulling you with him.

He presses a kiss to your head before whispering, “Good?”

You hum in response, pressing a quick kiss to his chest before sitting up, stretching slightly.

“Where are you going, princess?” He asks, voice still a bit hoarse.

“Bathroom” You mumble as you get up, throwing on your panties and a shirt, legs a bit sore but you’ll manage.

Jeno’s lips quirk into a small smirk as he watches you go with a slight limp.

—

You wait against the wall facing the bathroom door. You can hear the faucet of the sink running, indicating of Anton’s presence inside.

It isn’t long before he comes out, freezing in the doorway as he sees you standing there.

His eyes trail down your body, cheeks flushing slightly at your lack of clothing before his gaze flickers back up to your face. “(Y/N)..” he says a bit breathlessly.

You cut straight to the point, “How long were you there?” you ask in a whisper.

He swallows dryly, there’s no point in lying, you obviously saw him, but still he couldn’t bring himself to find the words.

He avoids eye contact, ears turning red as he is faced with the reality of what just happened.

You take a step forward, “Toni.. Why were you..?”

His eyes snap back to you as you speak up again, “I—“ he starts, voice slightly pitched, “I’m sorry— I- I don’t know what came over me—”

“You probably hate me now.. You have every right to be disgusted— I-I’m so sorry (Y/N)..” He says, his voice coming out a hushed whisper as he mumbles his thoughts.

You hum, stepping fowards, hand coming to touch his arm. “You’re my best friend ton. You know i could never hate you…” you start,

“Disgusted? Not so much. Intrigued? Definitely.”

Anton swallows, body tensing under your touch. Barely registering your words as his gaze wanders about.

Maybe it was the thrill of it all, or maybe you just had that effect on him, but he could already feel the growing desire within him again. He knows he should have more control over himself, you were his best friend.

But, god, the sight of you in only a shirt and panties, standing right in front of him, paired with the image of earlier that he knows he just won’t be able to get out of his head, like, ever.

Your eyes trail down, noticing the growing tent in his pants, before flicking back up to him. Gaze briefly glancing at your now closed door, and back to Anton again, a sly smile dancing on your lips as you speak up. “Need help with that?”

“W-what?” He says shakily, was he hearing this right? or was this all some sort of twisted dream?

You hum, “You heard me..”

He swallows dryly, a shaky breath leaving his lips as you continue looking up at him with those eyes of yours, waiting for an answer.

“Please..” He whispers.

And that’s all you need to hear before slowly pushing him against the wall, letting yourself fall to your knees infront of him, fingers hooking into the waistband of his sweats.

You look up at him and he gulps, his chest rising and falling with heavy pants as he anticipates your next actions.

You slowly pull down his pants, his angry cock coming to stand tall against his stomach.

Your hand wraps around his shaft, giving him a few tentative strokes.

He throws his head back against the wall, biting his lips. God, he can’t believe this is really happening right now.

You give him a few licks before wrapping your pretty pink lips around his tip, and Anton swears he’s gonna cum just from the feeling of your lips on him alone.

You start taking more of him in your mouth, head bobbing as you swirl your tongue around his length, making sure to apply a bit of pressure on his tip, pumping the rest of his length with your hand.

He knows he’s not gonna last, the feeling and the reality of it all overwhelming his senses.

He lets out a low moan, hands balled into tight fists against the wall. He can’t hold back any longer, “W-wait—” he whines, but you don’t stop.

Continuing to take him until he releases thick ropes of his cum into your mouth, his body trembling slightly under your touch as he comes undone.

You pull back, swallowing his release and wiping your lips with a satisfied smile.

He stands there, fixing himself and panting a bit as he watches you get back up from your knees.

He watches you as you stand up, stepping on your toes to lean in close to his ear.

“Next time, just… ask? Preferably when Jeno’s not here” you whisper with a teasing grin before pressing a kiss to his cheek and leaving him standing there alone, against the wall with heavy breaths, all hot and flustered, as you go back to your bedroom as if nothing happened.

God.. he was done for.

© ssweetreveries follow for more!

[maroonpascal]

It was enchanting to meet you

Pairing: Harry Castillo x reader

Summary: you’ve never imagined that meeting Harry Castillo could change your life forever

Word count: 773

Notes: this is literally just for the vibes and nothing else, wrote it on my way back home from uni just for fun. Based on the moodboard I posted yesterday (og post)

Date nights with him were always a dream and always more than you could ever expect; you were used to easy nights, nothing too special but with him everything was different. You didn’t even imagine how life would have changed when that night he sat next you at that event, offering you a drink, his charm immediately captivating you, an aura that it is hard to find. His brown eyes were the thing that made you forget everything else in an instant, and then the way he talked and his voice, words falling from his lips softly, like the most expensive velvet. And how could you ever say no to all of that, to a man that was taking all your breath away, your heart beating so fast at the way he was looking at you.

That night you kept looking at him as you sipped on your drink, and with every second passing you would notice a new detail, the cute patches in his beard that would resemble to little hearts, his perfume now becoming also yours, given how close you two were, and that green emerald on his right hand; soon you understood that not only he was handsome as hell, but he could also make you laugh and he was smart, having a way of speaking that would make you hang from his lips, and the night took a completely different turn. Would you have ever imagined to end up in his expensive apartment? Surely not, but the universe has its ways, and that is how you ended up there, after a night of talking and smiling with him, hands in your hair as he pushed you against the wall, kissing you like nobody had ever done, a passion igniting you and making you feel more alive than ever. His touch was firm but gentle at the same time, handling you like you were most precious thing in that apartment, more expensive than his own emerald ring.

When you woke up the following morning you had those pristine bedsheets around you, and you turned to him just to see him blissfully sleeping by your side, an arm around your waist, exactly how he had fallen asleep last night. This could be a one nightstand only, you thought, soon I’m gonna leave and everything will go back to normal, I will go back to my normal life and this will remain just a feral dream.

Little did you know.

You had no idea that once you had left that apartment he would have called you, checking on you and simply wanting to hear your voice, and life really wasn’t the same anymore.

What you had thought was one single event, bloomed into something more, as you were attracted by him like a magnet, an invisible force dragging you to him, soon enough having to give a name to whatever was happening between you two.

Soon you also understood that it was a very different relationship from the ones you’ve had in the past, as he would always surprise you in the most incredible ways. Sometimes it would be a huge bouquet of red roses, so many roses that you couldn’t even count them, sometimes he would rent an immense villa only for you two, to spend a little getaway weekend; you could never guess what he had in store for you, because every date could be even wilder than the previous one.

One night he had taken you to the airport, car full of luggage, and only when you arrived there you discovered he was taking you to Paris with his private jet for a romantic week.

So he would surely cover you in gifts, romantic trips, take you to the most expensive restaurants and you were sure you could also ask him to bring you the moon too and he would find a way to do that, but what truly made you fall in love with him wasn’t that. It was the way he would care for you, the way he would hold you at night, and the passion that he had for you, but especially the talking you would do with him at late night, when both of you were tired and you would look at each other with sleepy eyes, stolen soft kisses in the kitchen with dim lights over you, the taste of red wine over your lips and his warm kisses on your neck, hands intertwined. And the truth is, that you could have forgotten all the expensive stuff, scrapped all of that, because what you only needed was him and his infinite love for you.

[frudoo]

hiii sorry ik u write slasher!141 so maybe this could be some random version of that but what if reader is craving physical touch and simon is *refusing* to give it to her and being super mean so she goes to johnny crying and he satisfies her needs and comforts her ?🎀

only if you feel comfortable writing !! 💗🎀

Once again I am SO SORRY it’s taken me so long to get to your ask!!!

This kinda turned into more of a Simon-heavy fic than I thought, I hope that’s okay :(( on this blog, SIMON RILEY GETS A HAPPY ENDING!!!!!!!

Hope this holds y’all over while I’m working on the second part of this 🤞

Warnings: Mentions of murder. Mentions of depression (one use of ‘kys’). Hurt/comfort. Entire series is a dark!fic—MDNI.

Sometimes, Simon gets in a foul mood.

Today, it was a victim that got him all twisted up. Slippery little bitch, always managing to weasel her way out of his usually iron-tight grip and immobilize him just long enough to go into hiding. When he finally took a bludgeon to her knees so that she couldn’t run anymore, she resorted to scratching, and when he ripped off her nails, it turned into harsh words. Typically he’s able to drown their bullshit out, but this harlot was absolutely brutal.

Gotta kill bitches because you can’t get any pussy?

Fucking ugly bastard, you remind me of my uncle’s dead dog.

Why don’t you spare your victims and kill yourself instead?

Needless to say, her death was quick and well-deserved. Still, her words got to him. All the depression he’s tried to fight off for most of his sorry life came back roaring like a forest fire. He came barreling inside the house and upon seeing his bad mood, you attempted to hug him.

He shoved you off.

Simon, your sweet baby boy who always makes sure to give you a lingering kiss each morning, night, and every hour in between; the man who pulls you into the shower every chance he gets just so he can take the time to ask about your day while he carefully washes your hair; the one who brutalizes anyone who dares look at you the wrong way—Simon Riley shoved you off. You fell to the ground and all he did was step over you, storming up the stairs to his room. Kyle was first to get off of the couch and run after him. John pressed a short, apologetic kiss to your forehead then followed the younger man. You heard the lock click and then you were alone.

The tears come before you can fight them off. Not once has Simon ever treated you like this. Even when you beg, the man refuses to do anything remotely kinky in the bedroom if it involves you being brought momentary pain. The sudden change in his behavior is jarring, to say the least. You don’t even bother to pull yourself up, curling into a sad little ball on the ground and sobbing.

“Bon’, did ye see wha’s wrong wit’ Simon? Saw ‘im stompin’ in an’- bleedin’ ‘ell, hen, are ye okey?” Johnny bursts through the door covered in dirt and sweat—he had been in the garden pulling weeds for you and must have seen Simon’s demeanor before he went in the house—immediately falling to his knees when he sees the state you’re in.

“He- I- he’s never-” you ramble through tears, unable to look your beloved Scotsman in the eyes even as he lifts you into his arms.

“Och, it’s alreit, lass, le’s ge’ ye tae bed,” Johnny coos, carrying you up the stairs and into his own bedroom.

Johnny cautiously pulls the covers back and lays you down, making sure you’re comfortable. The contrast of his gentleness and Simon’s indifference makes your chest tighten painfully. It hurts being treated so poorly, especially by someone who swore he would never cause you any harm. It makes you feel icky, wrong.

“Talk tae me, hen,” Johnny insists as he strips off his dirty clothes, stealing a glance at you every so often.

When you shake your head, he frowns, flipping his shirt inside out to rub the grime off of his face. He decides he’s clean enough to get under the covers with you, pulling you close and rubbing random circles all over your skin. Johnny’s always been such a reverent lover. In every graze of his fingertips, every touch that causes a shiver throughout your body, you can feel his devotion.

“Please?” He whispers, pressing a kiss to your nose, then the corner of your mouth.

“Simon pushed me,” you mumble, suddenly feeling embarrassed by this entire ordeal.

“Oh, bonnie girl,” he coos, pulling back to look at you. “Ah ken he can be a reit arse.”

“I just wanted to hug him because he seemed sad, b-but he just… he pushed me down. He’s never done that before,” you sniffle, tears gathering in your waterline for the umpteenth time.

“M’sorry, hen, ye didnae deserve tha’. Simon jus’... well, sometimes he lets ‘is brain ge’ the best o’im. Doesnae ‘appen tae often bu’ when it does, changes ‘im,” Johnny explains, cupping your face in his big hands.

“I just wanna sleep it off,” you sigh sadly.

“Ah promise, when ye wake up, it’ll all be back tae normal,” Johnny carefully tucks your face into the crook of his neck and wraps an arm around your soft waist.

It takes no time for you to fall asleep in his arms, your soft snores making him smile to himself. Your eyebrows furrow and your bottom lip puckers out when he presses dozens of kisses to your face. Johnny cracks his neck and settles his body in, about to join you in your nap, when there’s a soft knock at his door. He lifts his head slightly, one eye open to look at whoever just walked in.

“Is she asleep?” Simon asks gruffly, looking undone.

“Aye,” Johnny responds quietly.

“Can- can I come in and ‘old her?”

Johnny’s heart breaks all over again at the tone in his lover’s voice. He waves Simon over, shuffling further in the bed to make room. He adjusts you on his chest as the blond settles in next to him so he could be by the both of you. One huge, scarred hand rests on the small of your back right below the Scot’s.

“Ye feelin’ better?” Johnny questions in a murmur, his free hand wrapping around the back of Simon’s head to play with the hairs at the nape of his neck.

Simon nods but doesn’t elaborate any further. His gaze is focused on your peaceful face and his chest tightens at the knowledge that he hurt you. Johnny doesn’t allow him to spiral, pulling him down into a slow, tender kiss.

“She’s alreit, ye ken,” he whispers against the older man’s lips. “Kno’s ye didnae mean it.”

“I feel awful,” Simon frowns, nuzzling his crooked nose against Johnny’s jaw. “Too good f’me, all o’ya.”

“Si?” Your small, croaky voice startles both men.

“Here, sweet girl,” he responds instantly.

You yawn as he cups one cheek in his palm, leaning into his touch without hesitation.

“Missed you,” you mutter, opening your eyes just long enough to look at him with a lazy smile.

His heart skips a beat, and tears flood his eyes. He leans forward to press his lips to your temple, resting his head on the opposite side of Johnny’s chest to face you. The younger man grins as he gently massages both you and Simon’s shoulders, happy that both of his loves are finally at peace.

“Missed ya, too,” Simon sniffles, intertwining your fingers with his.

[multi-fandom-imagine]

Odysseus all places he would fuck when 🙏🙏/silly

A/n: Me vibrating with excitement because I have been waiting for this.

Odysseus’ Favorite Places He and His Wife Have Had Sex

(Because Even the Cunning King of Ithaca Has Weaknesses… and His Wife Is the Greatest of Them All.)

From the moment Odysseus took you as his wife, you knew patience would be required. He was a man of sharp wit, endless charm, and the kind of arrogance that came naturally to someone favored by the gods.

But beneath all of that?

He was devoted. Fiercely. Unrelentingly.

To Ithaca. To his people.

And most of all—to you.

And gods help him, he could never keep his hands off you.

1. Your Wedding Night – The First Time He Claimed You As His Own

Odysseus had never believed in fate.

He had always believed in cleverness, in shaping his own destiny, in finding the path no one else could see.

But then he met you.

And suddenly, fate didn’t seem so ridiculous after all.

On the night of your wedding, after the celebration had faded, after the guests had drunk themselves into contented sleep, he had taken your hand and led you to his chambers.

And for the first time—Odysseus, the man who always had a plan, had no idea what he was doing.

Not when it came to you.

Because you were different.

You were his.

And as he undressed you—slowly, reverently, as if he were unwrapping the most sacred of treasures—he realized he had never wanted anything more in his life.

The first time he made love to you, it was slow. Deep. A vow in the form of touch.

Your fingers had tangled in his hair, your breaths had mingled between kisses, and the moment you gasped his name—he was gone.

Gone for you. Gone forever.

And in that moment, he knew—

No matter what war, what storm, what trial the gods threw at him… he would always find his way back to you.

2. The Olive Grove – Where He Learned to Worship You With More Than Words

Odysseus was not a simple man.

But his love for you?

That was simple.

It was in the way he reached for you without thinking. The way he let his fingers drift along your skin, even in the presence of others. The way he always returned to your arms after a long day, as if the weight of ruling Ithaca meant nothing once he was touching you.

And sometimes, his love for you turned into something he could not control.

Like the evening he found you walking alone in the olive groves, your hands skimming the silver-green leaves, your dress flowing around you like some kind of divine vision.

You had turned to him with a teasing smile, eyes full of mischief.

“Are you following me, my love?”

Odysseus had not even bothered to deny it.

You had expected a witty remark. A playful response.

Instead, he had kissed you.

Hard.

You had barely had a moment to gasp before he pressed you against the trunk of an ancient olive tree, his lips tracing the line of your throat, his hands pushing aside the soft fabric of your gown.

“We shouldn’t,” you had whispered breathlessly, but your arms had already wrapped around him, pulling him closer.

Odysseus had laughed against your skin.

“You knew what would happen the moment you smiled at me like that.”

And then he had worshiped you, right there, beneath the trees that had stood for centuries.

The gods had surely been watching.

And Odysseus hadn’t cared, because feeling you come undone by a few thrusts was everything.

3. The Palace Balcony – When He Needed to Prove You Were Still His

Odysseus was not a jealous man.

But he was possessive.

You were his. His wife. His queen. His breath and his heart and his home.

So when a visiting noble looked at you too long, let his compliments drip too sweetly into conversation—

Odysseus had remained calm.

Outwardly.

But later that night, as he pulled you onto the stone balcony that overlooked the sea, his hands gripping your waist with something close to desperation, you had known.

He needed to remind you.

Remind himself.

That you belonged to him as much as he belonged to you.

His kisses had been rougher that night, his hands pulling at your clothes with less patience than usual.

And when he took you—pushed against the balcony railing, the night wind cool against your fevered skin, his name gasped between your parted lips.

He made sure you felt him everywhere.

Made sure you knew that no man could ever touch you the way he did.

The sea had stretched endlessly beyond the cliffs.

But all he had cared about was you.

4. The Battlefield Tent – The Night Before War Took Him Away

War had always been Odysseus’ curse.

He had never wanted it. Never craved it the way Ares did.

But it had come for him anyway.

And the night before he sailed to Troy, before ten years of war would steal him away from you, he had needed you.

Needed to remember the way you felt beneath him, the way your body fit against his, the way you whispered his name like it was both a prayer and a command.

So that night, in the privacy of his tent, with only the flickering oil lamps casting shadows against the canvas—

Odysseus had made love to you like a dying man reaching for his final taste of paradise.

And when it was over, when your fingers traced the muscles of his back, when your lips pressed against his shoulder in silent understanding, he had promised—

“I will return to you.”

Because no war, no gods, no storm could keep him from you.

And he had kept that promise.

Even if it had taken him twenty years to do it.

And his favorite Places you two have had sex after his return home.

(Because After Twenty Years, the King of Ithaca Had A Lot of Time to Make Up For.)

Odysseus had dreamed of this.

For twenty long years.

Through war, through storms, through gods and monsters—he had clung to the memory of you.

But memories had never been enough.

Not when he had spent nights reaching for you, only to find empty air.

Not when he had whispered your name into the wind, hoping the gods would carry it back to you.

But now?

Now, he was home.

And he was never letting you go again.

1. The Marriage Bed – Where He Needed You First

He had built this bed.

With his own hands. With his own sweat. A piece of himself woven into every fiber of it.

And for twenty years, it had remained untouched.

Just as you had.

So it was only fitting that the first place he took you again was the same place he had last held you.

That night, it was slow.

It was gentle.

Not because he did not burn for you, but because he needed to savor it.

Needed to map your body with his hands, his lips, his breath, relearning every curve, every sound, every way you responded to him.

Needed to feel you, flesh and warmth and devotion, to remind himself that this was real.

That he was real.

That he had made it back to you.

You had gasped his name between kisses. Had tangled your fingers into his hair, pulled him closer, as if afraid he would vanish again.

He had whispered promises against your skin—ones that had no need for words.

And when you had come undone beneath him, when your breath had hitched and your body had trembled

He had followed, his hands gripping your waist, his forehead pressing against yours as if grounding himself in the very thing he had fought for.

You.

Always you.

He may have been covered in blood but that did not matter to you because your husband was home.

2. The Throne Room – Where He Took You as His Queen

The suitors were dead.

Their blood had been washed away. Their bodies dragged from the palace.

And yet—Odysseus still felt their presence.

Still felt their lingering trespass in his home, in the halls that had belonged to him and him alone.

Most of all, they had dared to exist near you.

And that?

That, he could not abide.

So as you stood in the throne room that evening, watching the last traces of war fade from your home, he came to you.

“You are mine,” he murmured against your ear, voice dark, rough, full of something deep and primal.

You shivered beneath his touch, but you did not stop him.

Because you understood.

Odysseus had reclaimed his throne. Now, he needed to reclaim you.

There, against the very seat of his power—he pressed you against the throne and took you as his queen.

It was not gentle.

It was not patient.

It was desperate, possessive, a silent declaration that you belonged to no one else.

That no man—mortal or god—could ever take you from him.

Your nails raked down his back. Your lips bruised against his.

And when he finally collapsed against you, breath ragged, his arms trembling around you—

He knew.

He had conquered many things.

But you would always be his greatest victory.

3. The Shoreline – Where He Marked You Beneath the Stars

The sea had tried to keep him from you.

For ten years, Poseidon had raged, had thrown him to the mercy of the tides, had cursed him with loss after loss.

So Odysseus found it only fitting that he take you beneath the very stars that had guided him home.

You had been walking along the shoreline, barefoot, your dress flowing around you in the wind, looking like something out of a dream.

Odysseus had been watching.

Always watching.

He had waited long enough.

He had come up behind you, his hands sliding along your waist, his lips brushing against the shell of your ear.

And when you had leaned into him, sighing softly—

That was it.

He had guided you down onto the soft sand, his body covering yours, his mouth sealing away whatever protest you might have given.

And there, beneath the endless sky, with the waves lapping at the shore—

He made love to you.

Your back against the earth, his hands gripping your thighs, your hips, keeping you steady as he drove into you.

The rhythm of the ocean matching the rhythm of his thrusts—

The sea could have raged. The gods could have watched.

Slow at first, teasing, making you beg—

And then faster, rougher, until all you could do was cry out his name.

And when it was over, when your bodies were spent, tangled together in the warm sand—

Odysseus didn’t care.

Because for the first time in twenty years, he was exactly where he was meant to be.

With you

He had kissed your forehead, chuckling softly, murmuring, “I should bring you here more often.”

And he had..

4. The Olive Grove – Where He Worshiped You Again

Odysseus had taken you here before.

Years ago, before war and fate had stolen him away, he had pressed you against these very trees, whispered filthy promises against your skin, laughed as he undid you beneath the cover of green leaves.

It was only fair that he do it again.

Only this time—it was different.

Because now, there was no guarantee of tomorrow.

Now, he knew what it was to lose you.

So when he took you there again, it was reverent.

It was not rushed.

It was Odysseus, pressing worship into your skin, hands memorizing every inch of you like you were the only thing keeping him tethered to this world.

He had groaned your name against your throat, had kissed you until your knees buckled, had held you up as he sank into you, slow and deep and unyielding.

And when you had whispered his name, breathless, undone.

He had answered with a vow.

“I will never leave you again.”

5:The Throne Room (again) Because He Likes to Remind You That He Is King

Odysseus is a man of power, a man of command.

And some nights, he enjoys reminding you exactly who he is.

The first time had been unplanned.

You had been sitting on his throne, draped in his cloak, waiting for him.

When he walked in, his gaze darkened instantly.

“You look far too comfortable there,” he had murmured, stepping closer, his voice rich with heat and something dangerous.

And before you could tease him back, before you could move.

He was on you.

His hands were gripping your thighs, pulling you forward, making you gasp.

His mouth was hot against your neck, against your collarbone, against the swell of your breasts—

And then, he was inside you, pressing you down into the throne, moving deep and unrelenting.

His lips brushed your ear, whispering, “You may sit upon my throne, but I will always rule you.”

And the moment you moaned at his words, tightening around him, trembling beneath him—

He had growled in approval, claiming you again and again.

Afterward, when you were panting against his chest, your body boneless, your lips swollen, tremors still hitting you.

He had leaned back, smirking. “Perhaps I should let you sit on my throne more often."

6. The Bedchamber – Where He Loved You As a Husband, Not a King

Odysseus was a king.

A warrior. A tactician. A man who had fought against fate and won.

But here, in your arms, he was none of those things.

He was just a man.

Just yours.

This was the last place.

The one that mattered most.

Because here, it was not about reclaiming or proving or marking.

It was just about loving.

And gods, he loved you.

So when he pulled you into his arms that night, pressing you into the softest of linens, tangling himself with you beneath the warm glow of the fire—

He didn’t rush.

Didn’t devour.

Didn’t conquer.

He just loved you.

For every night he had missed.

For every kiss he had been denied.

For every whispered promise he had wanted to give but couldn’t.

And when he finally collapsed beside you, arms still wrapped around you, your heartbeat steady against his chest.

For the first time in twenty years, Odysseus felt at peace.

Because he was finally, finally home.

[raccoonfallsharder]

some questionable headcanons.

navigation | headcanons & imagines

just thinking too much about how (and why) rocket doms & subs in all (well, most??) of his different incarnations. of course there’s lots of crossover because at his core, rocket is always rocket, but sort of… reskinned by the experiences in his different worlds.

i spent way too long thinking about this while traveling over the weekend. NSFW (mdni) with gn reader below the cut my loves. just some ramblings/musings that are subject to change according to my mood.

mcu rocket

DOMS YOU: by doing whatever it takes to make you beg for him — to force you to convince him that you want him, that you need him. he’s a master of edging, and he wants desperately to leave marks on you as proof that he was there. it’s not a dealbreaker if you aren’t into spanking or biting or spanking or clamping or spanking or bruising, but he’d love to give you just a little bit of pain if you’re into it. also likes to degrade you a little too, but has a hard time bringing himself to be really mean when he likes you oh-so-much. oh — and the top-drop is real with this one, so make sure to provide good aftercare for your dom.

SUBS FOR YOU: the amount of trust it will take for this rocket to explicitly sub for you is immense (though it’s pretty clear early on that even if he likes to degrade you a little bit, you’re the one with all the power in the bedroom). he doesn’t like to be restrained by anything but his own willpower, which is admittedly flimsy. but for you, he’ll try: clenching his fists into the sheets of his bunk, gripping onto shelves and hatch-frames and anything else he can brace himself against to try to keep from touching you when you tell him to keep his hands to himself. he might even let you blindfold him, though he’s honest enough to admit that he can use his other senses to get a pretty clear idea of where you’re at and what you’re about to do. the truth is, this rocket really does want nothing more than to make you feel good — and if that means letting you take control, he’ll figure out a way to do it. after the first time — when you’ve given him so many orgasms he thinks he might’ve actually died and gone to a better afterlife than he deserves — he’s more willing to explore whatever options you want, just as long as you keep murmuring those sweet little reassurances that you’ll take care of him.

eidos rocket

DOMS YOU: most rockets have something of a gunplay-kink, but this guy takes it to the next level. he loves to both toss you around and boss you around, and lavish you with all sorts condescending praise — particularly when stretching you out on a cannon. plus, ever since that night you let him get you high on everbloom, he can’t stop thinking about how sweet and silly and eager-to-please you’d been while intoxicated. he won’t do anything without your explicit consent, but he can envision a whole galaxy of fun if you let him do that again.

SUBS FOR YOU: this rocket generally avoids situations where he’s vulnerable, so at first it seems like you’re unlikely to ever get the upper hand. secretly, he also worries about having flashbacks to the labs when restrained, or the sensory deprivation chambers when, well, sensory-deprived, so traditional bondage is a no-go. i don’t think he minds you taking the lead, though — just be prepared for him to be bit of a pillow princess when roles are reversed. that said, the truth is that between the cold contempt of the kree scientists, lylla’s sacrifice for his life, and tella’s betrayal, this rocket — while vain as hell in regards to his pretty fur and stunning physique — does worry that there’s something intrinsically inadequate about himself as a person. shower him with enough authentic praise, and he’ll do just about anything to keep it (and you) coming.

cartoon rocket

DOMS YOU: this rocket absolutely sees himself as a dom and is also absolutely not one. underneath it all, some part of him believes that he’s still the unloved runt of his family and the weird one on halfworld — and no matter how amazingly brilliant and capable he’s become, that perception of himself never fully goes away. except for when he’s with you, that is. look, he tries to boss you around a bit. but when you give him that sweet, indulgent little smile and massage the base of his ears, he’ll do whatever he can to please you. the closest this rocket gets to “calling the shots” is when he leaves fine red scratch marks somewhere visible on your skin — loving the way it looks like he’s claimed you (even if part of him would much rather be claimed).

SUBS FOR YOU: did you see the episode with ja kyee lrurt? sure, it’ll take a whole lot of trust-building to get there, but once he’s fallen for you, this rocket will worship the ground you walk on. he’ll trip over his own tail trying to make you happy, both in and out of bed. step on him, spit in his mouth, and call him a good boy, and he’ll be thankful.

universe-killer rocket

DOMS YOU: WARNING. DANGER. if this rocket decides to let you live in the first place, he’ll be wanting to keep you collared around the clock. imagine everything the other rockets do to dom you, but dial the intensity up to thirteen and make it at least six shades darker. loves to see you crawl.

SUBS FOR YOU: oh honey. you’re in the wrong place. at best — once he softens up to you — you’ll get a part-time service dom. maybe. it’s not even that he doesn’t want to submit to you (though he doesn’t). it’s mostly that he wouldn’t remember how if he tried.

marvel rivals rocket

DOMS YOU: i’m still getting to know this rocket but it’s clear he likes variety, based on his dramatically-different looks. i suspect he’s got a major size-kink to go along with that tendency, too. it doesn’t matter that he’s smaller than you in stature: this rocket has at least fifteen different prosthetic cocks and about ten of them are too big for you to take without substantial prep. don’t worry, though: while rocket is not patient in most things, he makes exceptions for this. he loves sinking into you nice and slow while you’re all teared up and dripping, grinning maniacally against your damp skin and purring, “easy, sweetheart; biiiiiig stretch”

SUBS FOR YOU: this rocket’s got super-soldier trauma too, but i think he’s also way better at being part of a team — which means he’s willing to take one for it, too. submitting to you is the equivalent of a trust-fall, and once you’ve had his back in battle, he’s willing to at least give it a shot. give him a playful flick to his earring and a smirk to let him know you’re in the mood to boss him around, and he’ll let you as long as it leads to multiple orgasms for both of you. as mentioned, he’s also a big fan of shaking things up, so feel free to try out all your new ideas, just as long as you’re communicating beforehand.

ewing/rosenberg/et al rocket

DOMS YOU: this rocket spent some time with a pretty little thing from the aceta system and learned all about traditional krylorian ropeplay. he loves tying you up with all sorts of deviously-positioned knots that tease your poor, delicious body every time you take a breath. then he just sits and drinks his angargal’s (neat) and watches you with a predatory grin and a few casual — if absolutely filthy — “compliments.” is it even edging if he’s not actually doing anything? he’s innocent, your honor! except that he might jerk off on you, just so he lasts longer when he finally gets inside you (plus there’s something about see you you helpless and dripping — with his fluids and yours — that makes him dangerously feral). he’s also a big fan of directing you on how to touch yourself — especially if he can make you edge or overstim your own body. it feels like the ultimate control to him.

SUBS FOR YOU: this rocket loves cuddles, physical affection, and quality time — though he’ll never admit it. it’s on account of him being the loneliest flarkin’ guy in the universe, of course. he hadn’t remembered his past for circs — just a big ol’ hollow void in his history that he’d filled with persistent dread, raw nerves, and more cons and grifts than even he can recall. had his heart broke once or twice, and generally perceives himself as too much of a d’ast grizmod to be worthy of another person’s genuine love. and then he’d gotten his memories back… only to find out he’d been an authentic dumb-ass hero in a past life, before his former enemy had married his girl. it had really sent the message home: that nobody’s just gonna give him nice things. well. nobody until you. so cuddle this rocket up tight in your arms, and treat him oh-so-lovingly — spend late nights with him in the cockpit and listen to his stories — then stroke his tail while you ask him so sweetly to jack himself off. he’ll find himself doing whatever you say before he even realizes it. or — if you want to give him a real treat — make him promise not to move while you cockwarm him for an hour or two. make sure he knows that there will be no orgasms for cranky gunsmiths who can’t stay still. he’ll stare at you like you’re absurd for suggesting it — why the flark would he agree to something like that? — but after two minutes of you holding him snuggled tight inside you, he’ll start getting teary-eyed from the sheer emotional intimacy of it all.

skottie young rocket

DOMS YOU: by tying you up and overstimming you — again and again and again and again — with his tail and a dozen new toys he made himself. today. look, he’s gotta try ‘em out somehow, and you’re both his lucky muse and his favorite lil test-subject. loves to make you cry — but only for fun reasons. would absolutely arrange for another sub to wreck you under his direction, but only if you told him you’d be into it. he’s one-thousand percent a showman of the highest caliber and he’s gotta make sure everything’s over the top so he doesn’t disappear without ever being loved, which means he also doesn’t mind a full-fledged audience.

SUBS FOR YOU: if you’re looking for vulnerability with this rocket, you’re more likely to find it in unguarded moments of sexual intimacy that are remarkably vanilla. why? mostly just because it’s proof that he doesn’t always have to be the most outrageous thing in the galaxy to keep your attention. these are the moments when he’s heartwrenchingly soft, when he might explain to you how isolated he feels, how he’s searched high and low for “his own people” and has always been reminded that he’s the only thing like him in the universe; that he’s tried to fill the void with an endless parade of gender-variable space-princesses only to find that no-one ever made him feel less-alone — until you. but if you’re looking for submission… well. this rocket is the switchiest switch to ever switch. he has no issue subbing for someone with whom he expects to have fun, mostly because he doesn’t have to trust you to play sub for you. he’ll let you do pretty much whatever you want in the name of brat-taming, but the joke’s on you if you think he’s not capable of wresting back control the moment he wants it. for flark’s sake, he can get out of those electrocuffs in less than two seconds if he wants to — and he’ll never be done being a brat.

[dee-writes-anime]

Labor with Satoru Gojo

FEATURING Satoru Gojo x Reader

SUMMARY You weren’t sure what you expected labor to be like, but one thing was certain—Gojo was going to be an absolute drama queen. And, unsurprisingly, you were absolutely right.

CONTENT WARNINGS fluff, crack, Gojo being Gojo

AUTHORS NOTE I thought about making this a more serious, maybe even angsty fic, but then I thought: "I don't often have the opportunity to write for Gojo a lot." Which then led to this monstrosity, hope you like it ;)

SERIES MASTERLIST

The world was ending.

Or at least, that’s what Satoru Gojo was convinced of as he careened through the hospital hallways, wailing like a banshee as if he were the one whose body was actively trying to rip itself in half.

“She’s dying! My wife is dying!”

The nurses barely spared him a glance, unfazed by his dramatics as they guided the actual patient—his heavily pregnant, very much in labor wife—into the delivery room.

You, between gritted teeth and with the kind of calm reserved only for people at the edge of their patience, hissed, “I am not your wife, Gojo.”

“Semantics!” he wailed, tossing his sunglasses somewhere into the abyss, raking his hands through his already disheveled hair. “You’re the mother of my child, my future, my life—oh god, we’re going to be parents. Do you know what that means?”

Another contraction slammed into you like a truck, and your response came in the form of an agonized scream.

Gojo, rather than reacting like a normal, supportive partner, let out his own bloodcurdling shriek in response, gripping onto the nearest nurse like a lifeline. “IT’S HAPPENING! OH MY GOD, GET HER THE DRUGS! GET ME THE DRUGS! I CAN’T HANDLE THIS—”

A hand—your hand, fueled by the strength of a thousand ancestors—snatched him by the collar and yanked him down to your level, your noses nearly touching.

“Satoru,” you said, voice eerily steady despite the hurricane of pain. “Shut. Up.”

He gulped audibly, nodding furiously.

The doctor, who had clearly drawn the short straw and was now responsible for delivering Gojo Satoru’s firstborn, sighed and patted your shoulder sympathetically. “Alright, let’s get started.”

Gojo perked up immediately, regaining his usual swagger as he dramatically rolled up the nonexistent sleeves of his Jujutsu Tech hoodie. “Alright, team, let’s do this. I’ve seen Grey’s Anatomy. I can totally—”

“OUT.”

You pointed a trembling yet resolute finger toward the door, and a nurse, a saint among mortals, immediately grabbed Gojo by the arm to usher him out. He flailed in protest.

“No, no, I’m sorry, I’ll behave, I swear!” he pleaded. “Please don’t make me leave, what if I miss something? What if they switch my baby? What if they give me the wrong one and I don’t notice until they’re like, fifteen and suspiciously bad at Infinity—”

A collective groan echoed through the room.

The doctor, sensing the only way to avoid further delays was to placate the nuisance, sighed. “Fine. You can stay. But if you cause any more trouble, you’re out.”

Gojo brightened immediately, plopping down beside you and gripping your hand. “Don’t worry, baby, I’m your rock. Your anchor. Your—”

Another contraction, another bone-crushing squeeze.

Gojo screamed louder than you did.

Hours later, when your cries had quieted, and the room settled into an exhausted peace, a tiny, wailing bundle was placed in your arms. Tears welled in your eyes as you gazed at your newborn, every ache and agony fading into insignificance in the face of the tiny life you had brought into the world.

Gojo, standing beside you, peered over your shoulder, his infinity dropped, his cerulean eyes wide with something raw and unguarded.

“She’s so…” he trailed off, lips parting slightly. “Wow.”

For once, he was speechless.

A smile curved your lips as you nudged him. “Satoru?”

“Yeah?”

“Would you like to hold your daughter?”

He blinked rapidly, nodding so fast you feared he might get whiplash. Carefully, as if she were made of the most delicate glass, he took her into his arms, his usual arrogance replaced by pure, unfiltered awe.

“Hi, little one,” he murmured, brushing a thumb over her impossibly tiny fingers as they curled around him. A choked breath left him. “I’m your dad.”

The world was ending.

Or at least, the world as he knew it was. Because suddenly, nothing—not Jujutsu High, not the higher-ups, not even his own untouchable power—mattered more than the fragile, perfect little being in his arms.

You watched him, exhaustion tugging at your limbs but warmth filling your heart. “She’s got your hair.”

Gojo grinned, eyes still locked on her. “Poor kid.”

You laughed softly. “She’s doomed.”

He leaned down, pressing a kiss to your forehead, his voice softer than you’d ever heard it. “Thank you.”

And for once, there was no exaggeration, no over-the-top theatrics—just Gojo Satoru, the man who loved you, the man who loved your daughter, the man who, despite everything, was wholly and irreversibly yours.

“…Okay, but seriously, I almost passed out like four times—”

“Satoru.”

“Right, right. Shutting up.”

“Five times, actually,” the nurse muttered.

Gojo gasped, clutching his chest. “Betrayal.”

TAGLIST

@makingtimemine @strawbrrycat @soraya-daydreams @shokosbunny @saltypuffin1040 @danilights2021 @startwithrecords @obeythebutler @sparklykeylime @surielstea

[getaapologist]

A follow-up to my betrothed!reader blurb. Made just for me, a slightly early birthday present. Hope you get some enjoyment out of it too.

[ Prior betrothed!reader blurb here, has some important context ]

“Not there, Geta, they’ll see it!” you hiss, pulling the small blade away from his palm.

He’s just looking down at you, grinning, not a care in the world. As if you were his greatest treasure. Because you are.

“Do what you must,” he sighs, golden laurels glinting in the light. He brings his hand down to you, offering you the blade. As if he trusts you. Because he does. “But maybe wait until after?” He settles down over you, not worried about the knife you hold. His nose nudges your jaw as he settles on top of you, lips finding your throat. You quickly drop the blade on the floor.

His touch is overwhelming. His affections were never half-effort. 

For the life of you, you couldn’t figure out why he desired you so strongly. The first time someone referred to you as a witch, you were concerned. When that very same title came tumbling from Geta’s lips as he held you in his lap, sweat sliding down his temple, breathy moans following it, you found you quite liked it. 

“My Empress,” he breathes, holding himself up with a forearm, his big brown doe eyes fixed on you, “you are radiant.”

His words fill you with pure love and adoration. If anyone knew the depth of his love for you, they would surely exploit it. You made a game of it, appearing sometimes disinterested and bored at gatherings, almost contemptuous, but you stole your moments of affection behind hedges and in darkened rooms when the need was too great. 

Much like now, you made your Emperor sweat, every bit of his energy spent driving into you, considering your pleasure as much as his own. After a month, you knew each other’s bodies quite well. It did not take him much to cause you to cry out, squeezing his shoulder tightly as you tremble, vision going spotty.

Geta, for all his bluster, was quite sweet. But only for you, he assured you. He even insisted that he would be the one to journey to your chambers for those secret moments of melding in the night, so you would not have to walk back after. 

And now, now that you would not have to be so secretive? Well, it just meant more. More time spent together. More time to work at this next task. 

An heir. 

And as he moans into your skin, his mouth finding yours, you dig your heels in, keeping him sheathed deep. Tearing away the laurel crown and abandoning it somewhere on the floor, you ran your fingers through his hair to soothe him as he buried his face into your neck, recovering.

“Wife,” he whispered. 

“Husband,” you countered.

“Get the blade.”

It wasn’t a command. He didn’t command you. It was a request. 

So as he sits up on his knees, you lean down to collect the blade, offering it to him hilt-first.

He shakes his head, a soft, lazy smile on his face. “You. Here.” He presses a ringed finger to the inside of his thigh, skin pale, untouched by the sun. Soft.

You hesitate. “I don’t want to hurt you.”

He shakes his head, gripping your wrist. He holds himself out of the way to avoid any incidental nicks, and waits, watching you. 

He gasps as the sharp blade splits a small bit of his skin and vibrant red blood drips down his leg, staining the marital bed, as promised.

You get up, finding some bits of cloth that get torn into strips, and you create a band of linen around his thigh, patting his leg once you’re finished.

“Was it worth it?” you ask, a grin already spreading across your lips. 

“My Empress, why do you ask a question you already know the answer to?”

[sturns-mermaid]

SUBMITTING TO AUTHORITY 3

other parts here | proofread by me | chris ver

im not responsible for what you consume on the internet, read at your own risk!

🖤 wc: 1.1k | divider @bernardsbendystraws , @inklore

Previously on submitting to authority… 

After a few moments, you caught your breath, still feeling him twitch from inside you, your hands moving his hair from his sweaty forehead. “Did you almost call me mommy?” you tease, seeing his eyes snap open and the flustered look on his face. “N-No, why would I say that?” he stutters, nuzzling into your hands like some touched starved puppy. You giggle as his hesitation kisses his pouty lips once more. “You’re laughin’ at me,” he mumbles into the kiss, feeling your tongue glide against his.

WARNINGS: sub matt x mean dom reader, shy matt, ceo/boss x employee, face sitting, use of good boy, slut, etc. degradation

You sit at the conference table waiting for Matt to arrive. He was late again. This was the third time this week. He was late for a very important meeting. Ever since you gave him employee of the month and the promotion, he had been slacking, and you were pretty sure he was seeing some other girl who worked in the office. Management had hired her, and she was always standing near Matt’s cubicle. It made you so angry, how dare she stand there? More so, you hated how she always pranced around the office in her short skirts, batting her eyelashes at everyone.

You wouldn’t care if she was flirting with any other of your employees, but Matt, of all people. He was yours, and you wouldn’t let some puppy dog-eyed bitch steal him from you. After a dreadful long moment of sitting with the other employees and the higher-ups. Matt stunts inside the meeting room, your eyes glued to him, a cocky smirk plastered on his face. And to your dismay, who is walking right in behind him, the only new hire? Are you fucking serious? You wanted to pounce on that bitch and bite her head off, but you let out a deep breath and stayed calm, pulling out your chair and nodding for Matt to come and sit by you.

Which he usually did, considering he would always get a hand job under the table when the meeting got too boring.  Matt, however, had his eyes glued on her and followed her around like some lovesick puppy sitting next to her on the other side of the table. Your jaw clenched watching him and her whisper to each other and giggle. Having had enough, you abruptly stood from your chair to finally begin the meeting. “Hello, everyone. I’m glad you’re all here, even though some people do not know how to keep track of time,” you said, glaring at Matt and the girl who both paid no attention to you.

The meeting went on as you tried to keep your composure and pitch your idea for better management and whatever else you had in mind. Matt and the girl whose name you couldn’t remember for the life of you continued whispering to each other. You could tell her hand was inching towards his thigh.

“Matthew!,” you shout, causing him to jolt from his chair, his face flushed as he met your stern gaze. “Do you have the notes I faxed over to you?” you questioned, watching as he fumbled through his clipboard. His eyes widened as he flipped through the pages, breath hitching. “What’s the matter?” you question, walking over and snatching the clipboard from him, flipping through the various pages of pictures he had secretly taken of you. You had no idea when he took these, maybe when he would sit under your desk?  You hand him back the clipboard, chuckling as you watch the new hire scoff, cross her arms, and sulk in her chair.

“Um...It must be my personal clipboard instead…” he trialed off biting his lip nervously. You slammed the clipboard down on the table in anger causing him to gulp his hands squirming to take it before anyone else saw what was inside. “Do you think this is some kind of joke?” you leaned down whispering into his ear your hand coming up to tug on his earlobe. “N-No, I-” you yanked him again causing him to whine. 

The meeting dragged on as you had to improvise.  “Matt, will you meet me in the office?” you ask tugging his sleeve and stopping him from walking out. His face is still flushed, nodding feverishly at you as he makes his way out of the conference room. You pull him inside your office, pushing him against the door and grabbing a handful of his tie. “What was that?” your voice laced with dominance as you watched him squirm under your touch.

“I-I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he replies stumbling over his words. You yank his tie, pulling his face closer to yours, eyes scanning his features. “Don’t play dumb, why are you hanging out with some cheap slut?” his clammy hands raise in surrender his eyes panicking as they search your face. “You’re so dumb baby, what did you want my attention?” you whisper into his ear, a shiver running down his spine. 

Matt pov 

Yes. She had been ignoring me all week, too busy with her important duties. I would stop by her office every morning after grabbing her coffee, making sure it had exactly three sugars and one pump of cream. She never even thanked me, or looked up from her computer, always typing away. I always knew how she liked her coffee, and how no one else in the whole office would ever get her order right. “You’ve been ignoring me…” I admit my voice coming out softer than I intended.

She pulls back her features, softening for a split second before her gaze turns dark. “So you think you can flirt with someone to get my attention?” she asks, tugging my tie once more, this time harder. It’s not like I was interested in the new hire, I didn’t even know her name, and she always smelled like cigarettes, I just wanted her to look at me. 

Reader pov 

“You think acting like a slut will get you anywhere?” You ask, tugging Matt’s hair as you sit on his face. His body sprawled over your desk, things scattered on the floor as your hips glided along him.

“Fuck, you could’ve just asked…” You trail off, moving your hips faster. His tongue plunged in and out of you as you practically rode his face. “Mm, such a pathetic boy.” you coo at him, your thighs clamping around his face. His hands roamed your body kneading your breasts as you continued trying to reach your release.” I said no touching!” you exclaim swatting his hands away.

  Loud moans and the sound of your desk scraping against the floor echoed through your office, along with Matt’s muffled whines. His lips closed over your clit as he sucked hard throwing you over the edge, feeling your release approach. “Fuck, such a naughty boy. Making me come” you panted as your release filled his mouth, making him gag and causing his eyes to water. 

“I’m sorry,” you whispered as he sat on your desk and you stood between his legs, your thumb stroking his cheek. “I’m sorry too,” he whispered, hands moving to your waist.

“You’re such a good boy for me, I’m just not used to affection, is all” you whisper kissing his pouty lips. “Come here baby,” you coo pulling him into a hug. “Don’t pull that shit again, got it?” you say pulling back and fixing his tie. He smiles at you his cheeks still red as he quickly presses a kiss to your lips, pulling away and meeting your gaze.

tags: @itsmaddielouis @oliviasthatgirl @brianna-grace12 @scorpio1205 @submattenthusiast @courta13 @mattsplaything @conspiracy-ash @anyaa2s @hazedsturns @eclipsturns @sofia-is-a-sturniolo-triplet-fan @immaqulate @t0riiiis @heartsonlyforchris @blushsturns @hearts4werka @mattsbows @sweetshuga @leoslaboratory @pair-of-pantaloons @riasturns  @lezleeferguson-120

a/n: whew, anyways who wants me to tie him up next fic??

[stellamarielu]

question tag game

thank you to my loves @mushgloomz & @letsgobarbs for the tag, love y’all forever and ever

Do you make your own bed?

every single morning. one of my favorite things in life is coming home to a cozy made up bed at the end of the day

Favorite number?

i don’t really know if i have one… let’s go with 4

What's your job?

i’m a high school english teacher. i spend my days trying to pass on my love for literature to a bunch of 17 year olds who would rather be at lunch

If you could go back to school, would you?

i’m actually going back to school right now! very thankful that life has allowed me to continue my education (even if i sometimes prioritize writing smut on the internet over my schoolwork oops)

Can you parallel park?

not even a little bit, but as a girl living in a big city, i try my very best and that’s what matters

Do you think aliens are real?

i mean i feel like they have to be right?

Can you drive a manual car?

hell no

What's your guilty pleasure?

i fuckin love shitty reality tv. like the worse the production value, the better. getting high and watching love is blind after a long day heals me in ways i cannot explain.

Any phobias?

uh the only thing i can think of is my irrational fear of ET- like the little alien from the hit 1982 film, been terrified of that dude since i was a child

Favorite childhood sport?

i played volleyball until i was like 16, i quit bc i wasn’t competitive enough. i just wanted to play for fun but the intensity of high school sports here in america stressed me out too much

Do you talk to yourself?

non-stop. but if i’m having conversations with my dogs does it really count??

Tattoos?

i don’t have any tattoos bc i’m 99% sure i would pass out while receiving one. anytime a needle touches my body i’m a goner. but maybe one day!

Favorite color?

orange

Do you like puzzles?

i have a portable puzzle table sitting in my coat closet right now… i fuck with puzzles heavy.

tagging just a few of my favorite people but just know i'm fighting the urge to tag everyone i know as usual… @acatnamedpusheen @ti-yuh @sephines @bragiedfili @ohhoneypascal @cuppajoel @likesomeoneinlovee

[hot-on-my-watch]

An "Always the Grown-Up" Rant

I know that a lot of fans are angry at Moffat and Gatiss for a lot of things, and most of all for Season Four.

I personally am mad at them for a few things. Mostly things that I can easily let slide given the immense enjoyment I've had and continue to have from their BBC Sherlock series.

But THIS FUCKING LINE!!!

A woman's wedding ring is dirty even though the rest of her appearance is carefully curated? I'll handwave it and maybe google when we started using soap.

Man wears same large thick coat outdoors in all seasons? Fine. It's England. And I have an old (autistic) friend who actually does this.

John's eyebrow says that he hasn't rung his sister, and Mary's a bread baking disillusioned Guardian reader with a secret tattoo? Hahaha why not?

Sherlock has to use his incredible mind over matter to restart his heart but also "it was surgery"? Bit much, but I'll overlook it. For you.

Evil genius simultaneously hacks every screen in the country? Eh, ok.

Secret island prison? Sure. Let Sherlock live his pirate fantasy. Let John point his gun at someone. Let Moriarty play Queen while dramatically disembarking from a helicopter.

Predicting multiple terror attacks at lightspeed from Twitter? Well, we've come this far.

I do not watch Sherlock for 'slice of life' realism and dear lord I hope no one else does. I do not WANT realism. I want to forget that I am vast majority bedbound and that people are out there having coffee and going for a pint and working at normal jobs with payslips and lanyards and spreadsheets. And generally speaking, BBC Sherlock has helped a lot with that!

But WHAT THE ACTUAL FUCK were they THINKING WITH THIS LINE???

SERIOUSLY?!?!?!

Sherlock is barely a fucking grown-up on his own, but I'd allow it. Especially after the "baby" jokes John, Lestrade and he himself have previously made at his expense.

But COMPARED TO MYCROFT?!?!

WHAT. THE. ACTUAL. FUCK. LADS?????

WERE YOU HIGH? WERE YOU OUT OF YOUR GODDAMN MINDS? WHAT THE FUCK???!!!

See, after I first heard this, I quickly recon headcanon-(is this a thing? Is there a name for this soecific thing?) -ed it into Mrs Holmes the mad genius being completely out of touch with the social reality of her children- especially as she's been so harsh to Mycroft in this scene and not massively had to look after adult Sherlock herself. Because, y'know, Mycroft was doing it!

Then I complained about it on Reddit.

To my HORROR, another user told me that Steven Moffat had said in an interview that it was meant to be taken as true. But y'know, we're all just randoms on the internet and people get things wrong.

Then another user told me they theorised that Eurus had reprogrammed her parents to favour Sherlock, which is an interesting theory.

But clearly in the script, everyone... including Sherlock and Mycroft... just quietly agrees.

What....

What is the reasoning for this?

I know some will say "mate, welcome to all of season four" or even "three and four" or all of it.

I know some people consider Mycroft a bully, but I really don't. Certainly not after the scene on the plane and the 'Redbeard' reveal.

I'm open to persuasion though. If anyone has any thoughts on this, feel free to share! I might well not agree, but I won't attack you either.

Or the writers. But again, if I ever end up trapped with them in a lift or some such... I WILL have questions!

/rant.