#( v; sugar and spice. )

[read-write-thrive]

the dead boy detective agency main four are a polycule on various points of the aromantic/asexual spectrum (in addition to their various sexualities), with the various side characters playing the roles of parental figures or talking stages. thank you for coming to my ted talk

[kosmical]

i cant believe ive been doing artfight for six years. im so fucking old (< literally just turned 18)

[ihavevisions]

bi-in-parties Varian, anyone?

[13xwishes]

You should always wear my clothes.

𝐋𝐈𝐅𝐄 𝐈𝐒 𝐒𝐖𝐄𝐄𝐓𝐄𝐑 (𝐁𝐔𝐓 𝐀𝐃𝐃 𝐒𝐏𝐈𝐂𝐄.) || Accepting

For @thuganomxcs || Eclipsed!Gigi

Gigi knew they shouldn't try touching anything in Yusuke's room, let alone wear his clothes. But they couldn't help but eye that green and orange jacket that was hanging on the chair. Whisp was asleep for once so there was nothing to stop their curiosity.

They figured it would be too big on them, but Gigi didn't think it would hang off their shoulders so easily. They were looking at themselves in the mirror, playing with the sleeves when they froze at the sight of the owner watching them from the corner!

Gigi had the decency to be bashful while started rambling, fumbling badly while failing to take the jacket off.

But hearing Yusuke's words make them blush harder than a certain demon fox's hair. They only thing they could do what hide their face in the sleeves.

Later on at night, Gigi refused to say anything about it to Whisp no matter how many times she asked!

[trashmouth-richie]

𝐬𝐮𝐠𝐚𝐫 𝐨𝐧 𝐦𝐲 𝐭𝐨𝐧𝐠𝐮𝐞 — eddie x fem reader (7.1k)

summary: 2011– your roommate drags you to a frat party and ditches the second she sees the guy she’s been fucking. left by yourself, you meet someone by accident, someone who isn’t in the fraternity��

warnings: smut, underage drinking, p in v, unprotected sex, grinding, dancing, eddie is trying to be cocky but he’s just awkward and silly

notes: i had a blast deep diving back into my hs and college days to reminisce with this. i hope if you were growing up during this time you can giggle along with me. love youuu oooh! also i hid some easter eggs in here (they’re not hidden at all)

The basement was steamy, and not in a ‘oh it’s a little warm in here but more like, every single person is drunk off their ass and the walls are sweating’kind of way.

College was everything you’d hoped it to be and more.

Your roommate, Kenzie was the type of girl who had an ‘open closet’ policy letting you wear her clothes almost more than your own. You weren’t too keen on sharing a dorm room with a girl you’ve never met before, but thankfully—you had gotten lucky. 

You had heard the horror stories from your older sister about her terrible roommate freshman year and you worried for most of the summer that you’d strike the same type of fortune. It wasn’t until you got a friend request on Facebook and a cheery little message : 

[Kenzie Walmen 2:07 PM: heyyyy roomie (;] 

that you knew you had nothing to worry about. 

She was from the west coast in sunny California, that bright western sky seeped deep into her personality. Kenz was sun kissed and bright haired, pretty ocean dipped eyes to give her the All-American type of aesthetic that most girls wished for. And maybe it was her laid back disposition, or her thrill for living it up and every hour of the day— that landed you here tonight at Delta Kappa Sigma. 

It wasn’t your scene.

You weren’t shy or new to getting drunk, you had even been so brave to take the occasional hit from a homemade bong in your neighbors dorm a few times, but the frat parties were known for their out of control Project X style of getting shitfaced. 

And something about guys with too much testosterone and too much Adidas cologne made your skin crawl and not in a good way. 

“Prints always look weird on me,” you grumble into the mirror eyeing your curves in a leopard lace tank top and black skirt, “is it too much?” 

Kenzie adjusts her off-the-shoulder top, adding a bit of shimmer powder to her exposed shoulder, “absolutely not, if anything it’s not enough.” Neon feathers decorate her bouncy curled hair as she eyes you in the mirror, “add that silver chunky necklace, and you’ll look bomb.” 

She was right, the necklace really pulled the entire look together, and if it were Halloween weekend you could even pass as a Spice Girl or maybe Snookie. 

“Sooo, is Steve gonna be there tonight?” You ask elongating the vowels in the aforementioned name, followed by some kissy faces and porn worthy moans. 

Kenzie rolls her eyes, a dusting of pink warming her cheeks, “yeah… about that. He said he has a “surprise” for me when I get there, so if I disappear, I’m just with him, okay?” 

“Wait wait wait—” you protest, holding a death grip clutch on a bottle of UV blue. “We aren’t even at the party yet and you’re already planning on ditching me?” 

— 

And that’s what got you here, a little more than drunk, holding a piss warm Green apple flavored Four Loko to your mouth, leaning against the corner basement wall in hopes to maybe disappear, wishing you were anywhere but in this cesspool of basement. 

The “DJ” (a frat guy wearing neon glasses with bars across them, scrolling through an ipod and a playlist more than likely named ‘Get Crunk’) was playing Kid Cudi, again. Everyone was screaming along to the chorus like he personally wrote it for them and their experience at college. A headache was brewing behind your eyes as the beat thumped loudly into your chest and radiated to your temples. 

Kenzie left almost immediately upon arriving. Swooped up and tossed over the broad shoulder of Steve the minute he answered the door. You laughed and shook your head, imagining how she was probably face down in navy cum stained sheets by now. 

The hours she spent on her hair and makeup went to waste, only being seen by the dead catalog eyes of Playboy’s finest from their pinned positions on the walls of Steve’s shared bedroom. 

Another sip from the overly carbonated beverage has you shuddering, the fiery ripple of fruit flavored [vomit] alcohol scouring through you like lava, causing your face to screw into a disgusted look.

How can people drink this shit? 

Your bladder screams at you to break the seal, demanding to find relief, immediately. The black lights were zero help in disguising if there were any doors that might lead into a bathroom. Pushing from the wall and taking the last hot sip from your drink, you navigate your way to the stairs. 

A table holding lone solo cups in formation from a forgotten beer pong game is now the proud owner of your empty can.

Weaving through the jungle of fist pumping douchelords and tipsy sorority girls making out for risqué facebook pics labeled [*~Freshman Y3ar!~*] you finally emerge from the sweaty pits of fraternity hell and climb the beer stained steps to the main floor. 

The monotonous beat from the music thumped a little less loudly up here, as if the noise was absorbed by the maroon colored carpeting and the oak cabinets in the foyer. 

The house was dated, decorated with a clash of orangey dark wood mixed with emeralds, dark reds and gold. As if this house was based out of Tuscany instead of midwest nowhere— complete with the rubbery fake fruit and vines that stood solely to collect dust. 

You had never been here before and didn’t know where in the hell to start looking to find the bathroom, and like Alice, you figured you might as well try every door knob in this type of Wonderland. 

The first door you peeked into looked like it was a formal dining room, but instead sat a television on the great oval table blasting obnoxiously loud as a pornstar moaned ripples of “pleasure” through her pink pout. Above her was an extremely tanned guy rocking a set of hard abs, thrusting in a slow rhythm that didn’t match her orgasm. 

A snicker slips from your lips and you gently pull the door closed with a small click, loud whoops and whistling from what you could only assume were a couple of frat guys erupt behind the door.

Watching porn together. 

You’ll have to add that to your growing list of things you didn’t know about the brotherhood behind a fraternity. 

The second door looked more hopeful as it was adjacent to the kitchen area. Upon nearly peeing down your leg, you were shocked stupid when you yanked the door open to find a closet housed with cleaning supplies. 

What the fuck? 

How could a frat house not have a bathroom? 

Your bladder squeezed in on itself and you were certain you couldn’t hold it any longer. Just short of giving up on this quest of relief and going back to your dorm, a gaggle of girls run down the steps leading to the top floor, where you could only assume the bedrooms were. 

“…why are frat bathrooms always so fucking dirty?!” 

Bingo.

Hustling up the never ending carpeted stairs, your bladder was on the brink of exploding as you shoved past a wooden door with a paper sign that read, “no jerking off in the shower!! pipes are clogged!” 

Your sandals clapped along the sea foam tiles floors as you slipped into one of the many metal stall doors. With a swift hike of your skirt up to your middle and pull of your panties, you were finally able to pee. 

A choir of angels sang the HallelujahHallelejuah chorus as you went and you sighed in relief that you had made it. 

“..yeah yeah, okay asshole,” a loud voice sounded from just outside the bathroom door frame, “you still owe me from last time,” the voice now echoed as it hit against the tiles and cement block walls, “no, payment is cold hard cash buddy, I don’t care if you have to dip into your trust fund.”  

A pair of black docs stomp into the tiled bathroom, nearing the stall you were in. There's no way he’ll come to this stall. 

“Tell daddy that you need more money for polos or Jordan’s— I really don’t give a fuck, but you need to pay the fuck up.” 

But as fate would have it…and in your hurry to get to the toilet before pissing all over yourself… and forgetting to lock the door in your haste… the stall door swings wide open— revealing a very bottomless you, to a pair of very wide dark, deer-in-the-headlight eyes. 

A beat that feels like an eternity passes, his hand is choked against his belt in a yank to unthread it, his phone wedged between his shoulder and ear. Your hands fly to cover yourself the best you can, panties still at your ankles, skirt still around your midsection. 

It’s all yells and screams with this random guy stumbling over himself dropping his phone on the ground and spewing, “Shit! Sorry! Sorry!” and you yelling for him to shut the fucking door already. 

His apologies don’t stop as he pulls the door closed, and from the other side of it as you pull up your underwear and adjust your skirt. 

“I swear! I didn’t think anyone was in there! I promise!” 

Your face burns in embarrassment as you contemplate melting into the floor and becoming one with the poorly aimed piss stains and the dirty grout. As good as that sounds you still have to leave, you still have to pass the guy who just saw your bare vag and you still have to navigate your way out of here. 

His phone lays face down on the floor, and you pray it isn’t broken for his sake. You pick it up, flipping it over to see that it scathed by with just a fine crack from one corner to another. His screen saver is a picture of a group of guys in a skatepark in the dark, smoke billowing thickly to cover their faces as they stand on the boards, the one with dark longer hair is shirtless, and painted with tattoos. 

“Shit,” you breathe quietly, “your phone is cracked.” 

You can see the shadows of his feet pacing back and forth but when you speak they stop, “oh..,” he mumbles, clearing his throat a bit, “umm, yeah, no biggie it was broke like that already.” 

“You sure?” 

“Yeah— hey, if you wanna slide that under the door I can um, let you ..ahem.. finish up in there.” 

Shit. Duh he needed his phone, and you were just holding it hostage in here as your shame hung thickly in the air. God this might really couldn’t get any fucking worse.

A deep breath in through your nose, you fake a mask of confidence and open the stall door. 

You hadn’t gotten a good look at him when he barged in on you, but now in the fluorescent dust covered light you dared to look a little longer at him. 

Long locks of honeyed brown locks fell onto the tops of his shoulders, covered with a green plaid flannel that hung open showing his neck and a flick of dark lines from a tattoo hidden under a black band tank top. His eyes were just as brown, round and flocked with a grove of thick lashes. Clearly he was the shirtless one in his background picture. 

He smiled sheepishly, pulling his jaw taunt as he averted his gaze to the toe of his boots, noticing your hand stretched out before him to give him back his phone, he glanced at your face, skimming his hand over your palm.

“Thanks— uh…” he started, shifting his weight to lean back against the many rows of sinks, “sorry again, I promise I don’t normally walk in on ladies using the facilities.” 

His eyes met yours and you instantly felt a heat run to your throat, his lips were impossibly plump as he drew them into a tight smirk. 

Fuck are those dimples? Of course they were. God he’s so pretty. 

You smile, “normal people lock the stall, but I was in a hurry… well I was lost!” you exclaim in a huff, fully hands on hips annoyed, “why the fuck would the bathroom be on the top floor?” 

You asked him incredulously like he should know. But on second thought…

“uhh… I dunno,” he shrugs, sliding his phone into the front pocket of his light wash colored jeans, not even looking at the broken screen as he leaned back again, “I’m not exactly an architect.”  

“But you live here?” you question, turning on the sink to wet your hands, “haven’t they ever thought of putting even a half bath on the main floor?” 

He rumbles out a laugh that makes your cheeks tingle, your buzz still in full force, “nah, you got it all wrong, I’m not a member of the ‘fraternity brotherhood of Alpha Mega Steroid’”, he jokes with air quotes, smiling wide when your lips tick up at the ends. “But I am a frequent guest, of sorts…”

This guy seemed to be one of those people who can make a nun blush, witty and dripping with a sexual charm that radiated from him like a ray of fucking sunshine. And fuck that grin of his. You’re in trouble. 

“Ahh, okay,” you banter back easily, shaking your hands to dry them since there were no paper towels in sight, “which one is your boyfriend? Let’s see I know.. Kyle? I think is his name, reddish hair, kinda feminine hands, or are you fucking Steve because I gotta say, I think my roommate might be giving you a run for your money right now.” 

Eddie’s eyes light up, a quirk in his brow as he asks, “Blonde girl? Kinda naive, head over heels for that mop of perfectly styled hair? Shit, what’s her name…Kelly? Kitten? She’s your roommate?” 

Of course he would know her, Kenzie knows everyone, and seems to leave a kind of impression on people that you envied. As bright as she shined, you were the shadow behind her. 

“Yeah,” you say, not hiding your annoyance, remembering how you got into this predicament in the first place. 

Eddie looks just as pissed as you’re feeling, “Oh, Stevie boy and I will be having words later on his lack of tact. They’re the reason why I was out wondering the halls like a fuckin’ ghost in a haunted mansion.” 

He takes note that you’re in the same boat he’s in but in your case, it’s a little worse, being a girl alone in a frat house never ends well. 

“I’m Eddie, uhh…designated dealer,” he says in almost a whisper, “for the deep pocketed asshoels full of daddy’s money.”

You connect a few dots, realization hitting hard in your frontal lobe from conversations you’ve kind of listened to from Kenzie about Steve. 

“Ahh, okay… now that you mention it, Kenz has talked about you before. You’re Steve’s old friend, Munson? I thought she meant like a forty year old or something.”

He laughs, loud and belly rolling like, “nah, minus a twenty from that. Steve and I are just close friends ‘s all… and no, not boyfriends.” 

You laugh then, all bubbly and light hearted that has his own skipping beats. Saying your name, he repeats it, a little grin on his face that he tries to hide, “mm that’s cute.” 

“Cute?” you question, an eyebrow raised as you fold your arms in on themselves, poking a hip out. 

“Yeah… cute,” he says standing fully and peering down at you, “your name is very fitting for you.” 

You roll your eyes playfully at his flirty words. Even though your stomach is somersaulting at the way his eyes seem to drip from heaven when he looks at you, your cheeks heating beneath his gaze.

“Is this the part where we exchange our hometowns and majors, because I’d rather get run over than do that right now.” 

Eddie chuckles, “oh yeah, well I’m actually here on an athletic scholarship.” 

“Really?” you question, eyebrows cocked in disbelief. 

“Yes!” Eddie jokes back, trying to bite back a smile, “if you must know it’s for Tennis, but please don't bother me for an autograph. I'm just trying to be a normal guy tonight.” 

“Noted.” You giggle, admiring the way this banter is coming so easily, maybe it was the liquid courage taking over or the fact that he was actually fun to talk to— either way, this night is starting to take a turn for the better.

“So, what does a Tennis star/designated rich boy drug dealer usually do at these kinds of things besides bursting in on girls using the bathroom?” 

He smiles, dipping his chin and looking at you through those impossibly thick lashes. Pushing off the sink he asks, “Sell a little here and there, sometimes dip into my own stash…what do you usually do at these things?” 

“Well,” you tease, twisting on the ball of your foot and heading towards the door out to the hallway, “I’m not usually at these things.”

“Ohh my god,” Eddie preens in his best valley girl/ Kourtney Kardashian impression, “you’ve never been to frat party!?” 

You smile, at his stupid joke, “Noo, I haven’t actually. Kenzie drug me out for a little pick me up after we bombed our History midterm, to…y’know— live it up— YOLO, all that.”

“Okay okay, letting off some steam after the stress of class, I get it...school was never a cake walk for me either.” 

“Yeah! But then your friend snatched her up, and since I don’t know anyone here… I was doing a very impressive wall flower guise, until my bladder interrupted that… and then a guy barged in on me in the bathroom.” 

Eddie stalks towards you, his eyes roving over your body, “Well… now you know me, soo Miss Lady Wallflower,” he cracks, “shall we descend to the basement and keep this party going?” 

His infectious smile stretches wide, practically ear to ear and you find yourself grinning just as wide, trying to twist your lips to at least hide your enthusiasm a little bit but goddamn— something about the way those dimples compliment the fucking christmas twinkle in his eyes.. ugh. 

He was trouble. The kind you had always craved but never dabbled in. But when in Rome…

“Lead the way.”

—

Eddie had made a pit stop in the large kitchen before returning to the basement. 

“Now sweetheart,” he purred, fishing around the shelves, of a pantry, moving cans of food and bags of chips, “I didn’t plan on drinking more tonight, but I’m not gonna let you drink by your— aha!” 

Eddie stands upright, brandishing a large box of saltine crackers. Your eyebrows furrow in response and he bows low, puts his hand inside the box, “I present to you, Stevie’s not so secret hiding spot,” pulling out his hand, his fingers are wrapped around a bottle of Burnett’s Vodka.  

Your eyes widen with devilish glee as you smirk, “how did you know it’d be there?” 

Eddie unscrews the cap and puts it to his lips for a long six second pull. 

You weren’t watching the way his throat bobbed and gulped when he swallowed each burning swig. Nope, not at all. You definitely weren’t memorizing each valley of cords and muscles as a single drop fell to his sharp chin and jaw. Never, not you!

And you weren’t holding your breath right along with him only breathing when those fucking glorious thick lips popped clean from the mouth of that bottle… his lips shiny from the bitter alcohol like a gloss you desperately need to lick clean. Yeah… no. that was not you…

So it’s only fitting when he speaks hoarsely and clears his throat that you are snapped back to the moment, your core keeping its own pulse. 

“He’s been keeping vodka in the same box in a food pantry since we were in high school, guy is the most unoriginal bastard I know,” he shrugs, wiping his lips with the back of his hand, and you can’t help but almost pout in the wasted opportunity. 

His eyes meet yours and they look just as hungry as you were feeling. He smirks crookedly and you practically flatline from the depth those molasses colored eyes hold. He moved first, inching towards you like a wolf stalking its prey, your pretty chapstick smile daring him to come closer. 

But the fuse between you is snuffed out cold as a crying girl erupts from the basement steps, her gaggle of friends helping calm her down as they leave the house. 

Eddie shakes his head and clears his throat as if he was just as bothered by you as you were of him. Turning towards the fridge he asks, “I’m sure they’ve got some Sunny D you can chase this with if that’s cool?” 

—

The basement proved to be in the same situation you had left it in: hot, sweaty, sticky. 

“Fuck,” Eddie breathes hotly behind you, loud enough to hear him above the music, “it’s like a furnace down here, no wonder that girl was crying.”

You lead him to the corner you were tucked in before, your drink still sitting on the beer pong table. By the way he is standing you can tell that this really isn’t his scene either, but after a while of passing the vodka and orange juice back and forth between you, he seems to loosen up a bit. His shoulders relax as his back leans against the wall next to you. 

Eddie’s words slurring together as his stories became more and more animated, and you giggle along, never taking your eyes off of him. Completely enamored. 

Your stomach burned with a flurry of butterflies when a few of his clients came up to him to buy, each more nervous than the next. Eyeing you suspiciously, questioning if you were some sort of a narc. 

Eddie stepped ahead of you, his shoulders squared and chest out to casually announce that you were cool and were with him. 

You didn’t know that he was waiting for you to object to it, to shove away from him and call him a pig for even assuming that you’d ever be seen with the likes of him besides in the dark, but you never did. 

Hours pass and the music just gets worse. Wiz Khalifa starts singing about colors and Eddie looks at the crowd of people grinding and rolls his eyes. 

The alcohol has you feeling tingly, a buzzing of flirtation sparks your blood and you are closer to Eddie than ever, the smell of his musky cologne and laundry detergent invade you.

Like any drunk girl, you start getting antsy, a little more touchy, and a lot more feely. Standing around isn’t cutting it anymore and you want to move, toss your hair back to some cheesy song, want to feel those hands you’ve been staring at all night run along your body as your hips move against him. 

Running your forefinger along the inside seam of Eddie’s flannel shirt, you look up at him through your lashes. 

“I’m assuming you’re not one to dance to a club remix?” 

Eddie watches your finger stroke up and down, your knuckles barely grazing his abdomen, but the small touch sending electricity to his spine. 

He leans into you, following your lead and pinching the hem of your skirt between his large fingers “you’d assume correct, the music I listen to is a little more head bangy than this.” 

“So,” you say coyly, pulling him towards you just a fraction more, “what you’re really saying is that you can’t dance.” 

Eddie scoffs, throwing his head back, his throat sticky with sweat and the hair by his ears wet and curling into ringlets, “oh I can dance my ass off honey, taught Channing Tatum everything he knows.” 

His hands find your hips, and you almost lose the little bit of confidence you have gained when the warmth of them seeps through your shirt, his blunt nails skimming your skin in small strokes.

“Do these little white lies masked as dorky ass pickup lines work for you?” Your hands are on his chest now, the black light illuminating each letter of his Deftones shirt to sparkle like snow beneath your fingers. 

“I don’t know,” he whispers into your ear, pulling you tight against him so your chest is pressed into his, “you tell me.” 

The music changes and a throwback song  

comes on, one you haven’t heard in years. 

“Guess you’ll have to show me those moves, because in typical drunk girl fashion… this is my song!” 

You grab Eddie’s hand and stomp to the middle of the floor, pulling him along with you until you’re shoulder to shoulder with other drunk and sweaty college kids. 

“Get low?” Eddie asks from behind you, his mouth dangerously close to the shell of your ear as his hands land heavy on your hips, “seriously?” 

Leaning your head back so your lips could reach him you talk loud enough just so he can hear you, “stop talking and fucking dance with me already.” 

“Goddamn…” he groans when you finally push your body fully back into him. 

It’s sloppy and horribly uncoordinated the way your drunken hips move beneath his hands. You’re both swaying along with the music, trying like hell to match the rhythm of everyone else around you. But in the tiny square footage you have in this cluster fuck of a space, Eddie has all the right moves. 

His palms are pressing you tighter into him, making sure you can feel just how hard he is, how hard you are making him. 

Courage and a few prom night dances under your belt have you dropping low and coming up slow, your skirt fanning out the tiniest bit as your knees are bent to the ground.

And Eddie is practically thanking God himself when you run the fattest part of your ass up his body, on the bunched denim by his shins, skimming the barely there fabric of your skirt against the hole in his knee, and finally up where he desperately needs your body the most. 

When you come back up he moves your hair from the side of your neck, his lips puckering around your earlobe as he nibbles lightly, “spin around so I can see you.” 

He groans again when you shake your head and laugh at his dismay, as much as he is turned on and bothered you are too, but the power of keeping him like this, teasing him with your body— turned you on even more. 

You snake your hands upwards seductively, landing daintily at the nape of his neck, twirling the wet tendrils of curls round and round pulling gently. Eddie hisses through his teeth, his hands roaming freely from your hips to your ribcage running them along the length of your sides, bruisingly hard. 

One minute you’re facing away from him, eyes closed in pleasure as he roves over your body, his lips pressed to your neck, and in the next he’s spinning you around so that you’re face to face— eyes locked on eachother, the heat and the alcohol and the endorphins are too much to handle. 

Your once labored breathing snuffs out to nothing when he leans in with licked lips his eyes fixated on your mouth. Standing. Staring. Staring and standing. You’ve had enough of this cat and mouse game. 

“Fucking kiss me alrea—”

His mouth with its plush pillow lips slam into you. He tastes like tart orange juice and a bite of alcohol. Like the way a summer day would taste if it were bottled up. He licks into your mouth and you whine for more of him, clutching onto his neck and pulling him further into you. 

When you break for air it’s loud, smacking lips and lapping tongues, tilting your heads to line up perfectly. When you twist yours again, Eddie holds onto your neck angling it just so with a glint of trouble in those whiskey eyes as he dives into the supple skin at the column of your throat. 

Sucking, swirling— his tongue is hot against you and you’re clutching onto his shoulders, your nails digging into the pilling fabric like he was the only thing keeping you Earthbound. 

You wiggle in his arms, squealing and whining out but he’s holding you tightly against him, moaning words into your neck that you can’t hear above the music. Then he’s on your mouth again, working you into a fit. His big veiny hands move along your back, grabbing your ass softly, then work up to wrap in your hair or lightly scratch at the inch of skin between your skirt and your tank top. 

Doing your own little damage to him, his shirt is shoved up over his chest, your fingernails trailing down his tattooed skin. A rise of goosebumps following in their tracks, and he stops kissing you to suck in a breath, your smile on his lips as you laugh and he whispers a breathy ‘fuuuuck’. 

Your fingers trail down to his waist band, tickling his skin as you suggest an idea with your eyes, one that you’re certain he would understand.

“C’mon,” he mouths, gesturing his chin to the exit as he slowly begins to pull you from the dance floor, up the stairs and into the kitchen area.

Eddie knew what he wanted. Knew it the second you walked out of that stall with that sweet fucking smile on your lips, shy and coy when he called your name cute, like you weren’t at all used to the type of attention he was giving.

And maybe you didn’t want this with him. Maybe you were a: ‘fuck-me-in-the-dark-so-I-won’t-be-embarrassed-by-being-seen-with-you’ type of girl, but you did dance with him, you laughed at his stupid jokes, stuck by him almost all night, but still he needed to be sure. 

He thought maybe in the brighter light you’d change your mind about what you wanted, what you needed from him, but you surprise him when you cling to his side, going up the steps, and backing into a wall pulling him with you by his shirt needily when you reach the top.

“D’ you uh..wanna get outta here?” he slurs, almost sleepily, his bangs fucked up beyond belief, his hair drenched and sticky with sweat and humidity, lips swollen red.

“My dorm isn’t far,” you say, looking up at him through your lashes running your finger along the waist of his jeans, “across campus.” 

Eddie chuckles, “fuck…” he sweeps a thumb over your pouted lips, groaning as he bites his own. “I’d crawl to fuckin’ Alaska for these, honey.” 

Your cheeks burn sweetly from his inebriated compliments. And even though you’re tipsy and so is he, you feel an odd sort of comfort with him—one you haven’t experienced before. 

“Let’s go then,” you whisper into his ear, “I want you inside me.” 

That did it for him. 

Eddie was all but running with you across the campus green, but not before taking off his long sleeved shirt and placing it over your shoulders murmuring how it was freezing and you’d probably get sick. 

Your combined laughter ricocheted off concrete forums and neatly trimmed grass. Passing by the fancy Chemistry Lab building, the Art Museum, the Med School and finally to your painted black brick dorm building: “Wheeler Hall” 

“Here’s home,” you sing out, placing your key into the door and pulling on the steel handle. 

The Wheeler Dorms were the newest addition to the college town. Named after a family that was killed in an accident back in the 80’s or something… you didn’t really remember what happened. 

The side door you had come in through was closest to your room, 011, on the first floor, again, the universe being kind to you. 

“Never been here before,” Eddie said looking around with wide eyes, “any of the dorms actually.” 

You smiled upon unlocking your room and entering, hanging up your keys on the command strip hooks by the door. Whatever confidence he had back at the party is now deflated a bit once he realizes just how different the two of you are. What the hell was he doing here? You’re in college, he’s only here because he deals. 

“Uhh..?” he questions, eyeing the lofted bed, “you know I was joking about being an athlete, right?” 

You giggle and toss your purse onto the futon, “relax, that’s Kenzie’s bed, mine is the shorter one.” 

“Oh thank fuck,” he practically sings letting out an over exaggerated sigh as he plops down on your futon, eyeing the leopard throw blanket, “I may look like a suave Casanova but I’m about as agile as Mr. Bean.” 

Laughter fills the room and you click on a lamp throwing the room into a cozy ambience as you slip off your sandals and sit on your bed, leaning forward, “you’re way hotter than him.” 

Eddie blushes a bubble gum pink sheen, using his still damp and unruly hair to cover his face, “keep being sweet on me see where it gets you.” 

“Is that supposed to be a threat, or a promise?”

“Oh baby, I don’t make threats, not to a girl that’s like you.” 

“Like me?” 

“Yeah you,” he deadpans, standing up and waltzing towards your bed, crowding you in, “funny, sexy, and by some greater power— digs me… at least I hope.” 

“I’m not the type of girl to bring a guy back to my place, Eddie,” you nearly whisper, putting a finger into his dangling necklace and pulling him forward, “you’d be the first.” 

Eddie places his hands next you on the bed, “like your first? Or just here in college first, I’m cool with either I just— are you sure you want this? I can leave if y—”

Cutting him off you kiss him, but not like the heavy kisses earlier when you two were making out like you were each other's oxygen masks, this one is sweet, like melted  sugar on Eddie’s tongue. 

“You talk too much,” you say with a warm smile, wrapping a finger around his curled ends of hair, “no more of that, just kiss me.” 

“Yes ma’am.” 

Eddie wraps his arm around your waist and shifts you up further into the bed, laying your head on a pillow his body pressed into yours. He takes his time with you, kissing your lips then your jaw, working his way down your neck to where the bruises he’s already sucked into your skin were painted. 

Your moans and little breathy sighs have him hard against his zipper, his hips bucking into the tiny fabric of your panties that’s covering up that sweet pussy he got a glimpse of earlier. 

His shirt is somewhere on the floor, you had pried it off of him between locked lips and groans of having to move your lips from his that earned you a throaty laugh from him and the sexiest eyes that drove into you with an intense ferocity. 

He lowers further down your body, kissing every inch, moving your tank top out of the way to eye your orange bra, his mouth between your cleavage, moaning about how orange is now his favorite color. 

Eddie’s everywhere all at once, a hand traveling up and down your thigh, from the crux of your knee to the waistband of your skirt, the other hand is popping your tits out from that new found favorite colored bra of his —smiling wickedly at your peaked nipples. 

You moan lustful bliss as his tongue circles each one, giving equal attention to both, “you like that?” he asks.

“Feels so good,” you whine, “more, please.” 

Eddie smirks with your nipple between his teeth, “don’t have to ask me twice.” 

You weren’t a virgin, but holy shit you felt as if you had never had sex before, well never sex like this. Eddie teased you with his fingers, his thumb rubbing your clit while his fingers pumped inside of you, each curling inward towards a place nobody has reached before. 

He groaned with his bottom lip tucked between his sharp bite rubbing his achy cock through his jeans when you pushed your skirt down laying there in a matching orange lacey thong, bedazzled on the hips. 

“Would it be corny if I say you look like a Goddess?” he asks sheepishly, pinching the stretching fabric around your hips, “because… wow.” 

You bite your finger as if you were really thinking hard on this, hiding a smile, “you’re too much, Munson.”

“Too much?” he scoffs, pulling down your panties and settling himself between your legs, “you haven’t even seen my dick yet.”

You sit up, tits out and naked from the waist down, “well by all means, show me.”

“Greedy girl,” Eddie smirks, “did you bring me here just to get me naked? I’m appalled!” 

You move to your knees, sitting upright a bit so your face is level with his. You kiss him softly, moving to his neck and sucking just right to pull those deep moans from him that make your knees shake. 

Feather light touches skate along the expanse of his chest, working down down down until you’re undoing his belt, thumbing open the button on his jeans and yanking down his zipper.  

When your hand slides between him and his boxer briefs,  Eddie hisses, watching you pump him slow and tight. The feel of your smooth palm against his velvety shaft makes him almost cum right there and then, it’s been awhile since the last time. 

But you’re not hesitating or questioning yourself and he isn’t either. It’s almost fluid like a rocking wave the way Eddie lays you down, a team effort to swiftly shove down his jeans so you can finally feel eachother where the desperation is needed most. 

Legs hiked over his hips, he lines himself up with your gummy slicked entrance. It’s a deep and achy stretch for you, a vice grip for him. The lazy gasping moans you both emit are drawn out, yours practically breathless. 

“Holy fuck,” you breath into his mouth as he peppers you with kisses. He drags his hips out at a measured pace, pushing in just as unhurriedly, enjoying the way your body adjusts, cuffing him like a glove. 

Eddie breaks away from your lips to watch your bodies join together, moaning your name as he presses his forehead on yours collecting your mouth with his. 

“Shit…This okay?” he asks earnestly, nipping at your ear. 

You nod in gasping silence, your eyes rolling into the back of your head as he speeds up. Your hands are skimming down his bareback, pressing him further into you with every thrust, begging him for more. 

He snakes a hand between you, rubbing circles in your puffy clit as he thrusts harder, trying to get you there before he loses all control. “Want you to feel good sweetheart, fuck— keep making those pretty little noises, you’re squeezin’ the hell outta me.” 

And he does. You cum hard around him, your walls fluttering and pulsing so fast you practically black out from the mixed pleasure of his fingers rubbing your clit and his cock stuffed in deep. 

His name falls from your lips in tiny little whines and he bucks into you a hard and final time before he groans, holding onto your headboard for support as he’s bottoming out, stringing rope after rope of hot spend inside of you. 

“Baby,” he whispers, “God—” he stops cold, realizing what he just did and what he didn’t do. “Oh shit, fuck fuck fuck! I didn’t pull out, I'm sorry! I’m so fucking sorry!

You laugh wickedly, your body shaking beneath him at his worried panicked face. 

He’s a babbling, out-of-breath mess, “’s not funny! I just got caught up in the moment and you felt so fucking good and I’m still a little dru—”

“Eddie, it’s fine,” you say, holding his cheeks with both hands squishing them together so his lips pucker like a fish, “I’m on the pill.” 

His face is still squished together when he speaks, “oh, well… okay.” 

“You’re fine,” you coo, coaxing him down from the ledge of regret and self hatred, “I—” you lean up and kiss him square on the mouth, licking into it and sliding your tongue against his, “I liked it.” 

His eyebrows disappear into his bangs and before he can open his mouth to speak you’re pulling him onto you kissing him deep and needy. 

The two of you end the night that way, him holding you, your hands in his hair, kissing so much your lips are chapped— never getting enough. Legs entangled together like a weaved basket. You fall asleep before he does, your little huffed breathing making his skin damp as you curl further into his chest. 

Wonder if Verizon is open tomorrow? He thinks when he remembers that his phone is definitely broke from it landing on the bathroom floor—but he’d never tell you that. 

He also wouldn’t tell you how he was supposed to go back to Steve’s tonight because they were leaving to see another old friend in California for the weekend— or how they needed to be at the airport by 2 AM for a 4 AM flight.  — or that Eddie was Steve’s ride because he lost his license in July. 

Nope.

He wouldn’t tell you any of it. None of that seemed to matter when you were sleeping so cute on his chest like that. 

When late morning comes you’re at it again, this time you’re riding him on the futon, slow like a twangy country song his hands rocking your hips. When you both finish you drag him to the showers, pumping some expensive shampoo into his hair and giggling when you tell him to be quiet so you won’t get caught. 

Steve called Eddie’s phone all night, and all morning, sending duplicate texts of rage, wondering where the fuck he had gone. 

Eddie silences the last call from Steve as you’re getting dressed, wearing a black pair of yoga pants and a zip up hoodie. He smiles when you offer to comb his hair, grabbing your wrist to pull you onto his lap kissing behind your ear. 

His voice is low, soothingly sweet and minty from your toothpaste as he asks, “can I take you to breakfast?” 

[lust4nero]

Sugar ‘n Spice, Turn Off the Lights

Sub!RE6!Leon x Dom!F!Reader

word count - 1.4k

tags - MDNI, not proofread, porn with plot (kinda?), BDSM, cock cages, leg humping, collars, leashes, marking, begging, overstimulation, submissive re6 leon kennedy, whimpery and needy leon kennedy, masochism, cock tease, p in v, cunnilingus, premature ejaculation, multiple orgasms, light cock stepping, dom/sub

Leon is one of a select few of the highest ranked agents in the newly-established Division of Security Operations. Through his heroic feats and courageous exploits into BOW-infested locations, he’s rightfully earned the respect of peers and politicians alike. He’s the president’s formidable sword, an icon that rookies look up to but little do they know who and how he really is behind closed doors. It’s assumed that he’s in charge at home as it is at work but it couldn’t be farther from the truth.

Leon is one of a select few of the highest ranked agents in the newly-established Division of Security Operations. Through his heroic feats and courageous exploits into BOW-infested locations, he’s rightfully earned the respect of peers and politicians alike. He’s the president’s formidable sword, an icon that rookies look up to but little do they know who and how he really is behind closed doors.

Everyone that knows him is also aware of you as his wife, a framed image of you kept in his work desk. He doesn’t hesitate to bring you up in conversations, either to shower you with praises and adoration or to use you as an excuse for missing out on after-work drinks in town. Leon wasn’t one to shy away from showing everyone that you’re his, always keeping a hand around your waist when you walk together outside or running his fingers up and down your spine when standing in line for something. It’s assumed that he’s in charge at home as it is at work but it couldn’t be farther from the truth as he’s currently naked on the floor of your dim bedroom, sensitive and desperate to cum; your foot is pressed firmly against his caged cock, the poor thing straining against its metal confines. His hands are behind his back, his fingernails digging into his palms to stop himself from grabbing on to your leg and humping his poor cock.

“Such a good boy for keeping this on for 2 weeks,” you coo as you dig your heel into his aching balls. You’re like a goddess as you lean down and sneer at him, cackling at the delicious torture you’ve put him in.

“T-Thank you, mistress…” He still has it in him to be polite, such a cute puppy.

You press down harder, knowing Leon loves it most when the line between pain and pleasure blurs. He whines and whimpers, shivering underneath your foot; his confined cock kicks beneath the sole of your foot, the reddened tip drooling more precum. Satisfied with the display of submission he’s been putting on for you so far, you take your foot off and set him free.

“You’re my good puppy, aren’t you Leon?” You ask whilst petting him, ruffling bedraggled blond strands even more.

“Y-Yes,” he breathily responds.

You move your hand to cup his face, a thumb stroking his pink cheeks. He nuzzles into the warmth of your touch, eyes closed as he soaks up the gentleness you’re showing to him as a sign that he trusts you with whatever you wish to do with him.

“Then hump my leg,” you command. “And don’t stop until you’ve cum two times.” You punctuate your words with a tug to his hair, eliciting a whorish moan from a mess of the man beneath you.

“Ma’am yes ma’am.”

Wasting no time, he clung to your leg and began madly thrusting. He expected to last a little longer but his sensitive cock barely lasted for more than 20 seconds, his milky essence painting your skin in a goop of white.

“Sorry, ‘m sorry,” he whines through the overstimulation. His hips stutter though that does not stop him from his frenzy.

“It’s okay baby, you were always a pathetic mutt anyway.”

This time, he manages to make it past a minute before shooting his second load. He leans against your leg, catching breath but you know he’s far from tapping out– his cock’s still hard.

“Can I please be inside you now, mistress? Please?” he asked so sweetly, looking up at you with glossy eyes and pouty lips. “I’ve– I’ve been good, haven’t I…?”

You already know the answer to his plea but you pretend to think for a moment, keeping him on his toes.

“Go crawl to your collar.”

If he was a mutt, his tail would’ve been wagging madly as he crawled on all fours to the black leather collar laid at his bedside table.

The accessory fit snugly around his neck, perfectly suiting your submissive husband. You settled in bed, slowly inching back to the headboard whilst tugging on the leash as Leon crawled up to you. Besides the lust-induced haze evident in his stormy blue eyes is adoration and unquestionable love; he’d die for you– kill even, if worse comes to worst. He’s loyal to a fault for his darling wife, that’s no question; if she commands him to jump, he’d ask how high. Sure, you terrify him sometimes especially when you’re pissed off, but that’s fuel to the fire you set in his loins– he’s got a penchant for intimidating women.

“You know what to do next, pup.” You command, emphasizing your words with another strong tug.

He doesn’t need to be told twice, parting your legs wider to make space for himself as he settles in between. Leon dives tongue-first into your sopping heat, lapping up your juices at a mad pace; his feverish tongue is a temperature contrast to the cold air of the room, making you all the more sensitive. His stubble adds a prickly sensation as he moves to press wet kisses at your clit before giving a particularly harsh suck.

“Fuck, Leon. J-Just like that,” you encourage him. “You feel so good…”

You push his head closer to yourself, muffling a needy whine from him. As he nipped and licked, his whimpers grew louder and much needier. He wanted to see you come undone, locking eyes with you as he humped his terribly hard cock against the mattress for stimulation while he sucked.

“Holy shit,” you breathed as you gripped his blond tresses harder and rocked his face against your pussy. “S-shit, baby– I’m going to cum–”

Your words only spurred him on, getting his face even more soaked and glistening with your essence. As you reached your high, he dug his nails into your thighs as he licked and drank every single drop you had to offer to him. Your husband twitched and whined, reaching a release of his own as his sensitive cock dribbled out pathetic spurts, it’s a miracle that he’s still able to cum.

“Let me fuck you mistress,” Leon begs as he kneels, trembling hands resting on his thighs. “Please, it hurts so bad… wanna cum again…”

He glances down at his cock twitching against his abdomen, a steady flow of pre flowing down the shaft. The sight is nothing short of sinful, promiscuous even; his hair is rumpled, face glossy with your cum with his pink lips curved into a pout as he caresses his hard cock, cupping his balls.

“You’ve been such a good pup for me,” you drawl. Still attached to your leash, he stumbles forward when you pull on it. “So I guess you can fuck me good, puppy.”

Crazed by the idea of finally being able to shoot his load deep inside you, he pulls you closer by your knee and lines himself up at your entrance with trembling hands.

“Make it fast or else I’ll change my mind,” you complain.

“Yes, master.”

He notches his spongy cockhead at the entrance, slowly pushing in until you locked your legs around him and made him go all the way in.

“Ngh–! Sweetheart, w-wait…” he whimpers as he needily clutches at your hips to calm himself down. He’s so sensitive, he’s sure that he isn’t going to hold on for much. “Might cum fast, don’t wanna…”

Leon’s words die at his throat, replaced by a high-pitched whimper, as he feels your walls tighten around him. Driven by uncontrolled lust and the need to cum deep inside you, he hovers above your body and starts plowing deep; each thrust is punctuated with a squelch and thud of the headboard against the wall, finally accompanied by your moans and his crazed whimpers.

“You’re so good to me, Leon– shit– this cock’s all mine,” you breathily whisper to him.

“Y-Yours,” he stutters. “All yours– ah!”

You press kisses to his Adam's apple that trails to the side of his neck until the sweet spot behind his ear, nipping at his ear lobe. Letting your possessive side out, you bite and mark up the pale skin of his neck with reds and purples before soothing the spots with your moist tongue.

“Baby, I can’t– I– shit–! I’m going to cum, gonna cum,” he rambles as tears stream down his cheeks. “Ngh–! Ah…–”

He’s only able to give 2 more thrusts before his hips stutter and twitch, pulling you closer to himself as warm ropes of his sticky release paint your walls. He holds you tight, keeping his cock inside you despite the overstimulation that borders on pain.

“Did you cum, sweetheart?” he asks while he catches his breath.

“No,” you hiss. Despite his embarrassment, blood fills his cock and he’s sporting another hard-on in no time.

NOTE - i'm not seeing a lot of submissive leon fics, especially older leon, in here or on ao3 so i decided to waste my time writing this to satiate the 5 thirsty people in need of seeing leon get slutted out. i was supposed to post this on my birthday like 3 days ago but i was too damn busy and tired so yeah -_- i'm not rlly having any ideas for fluff on the main blog so i'm going to breathe some life in here for now :3 also, i found this game called 'The Wolf Among Us' earlier and it's honestly so interesting!! like the story and the adult spin on fairytales is a cool concept and i'm hooked (started watching a playthrough from 11 years ago...). anyway, that's it and thank you for reading my fics!! this is also up on ao3 under the same title <3

[a-loaf-that-likes-to-draw]

I got jump scared by this three weeks ago :] AND, I GOT INTO THE FANDOM A FEW MONTHS AGO! NOW SPAMPAI IS OFFICIALLY ONE OF MY FAVORITE PEOPLE ON THE INTERNET! Love their art :]

NOLI TIMERE (THE DEFINITIVE SPOOKY CRK AU MASTERPOST)

Here u go have concrete evidence of the creepy spooky ewwww au existing (I decided to move it to my main acc bcs i really like all my stuff in one acc man)

FAQ, reference lists and links under cut

—————————

LINKS:

Chapter 1 - Breathless Flowers - Contemplation - Startled -

-Beast Cookie Designs

-Ancient Cookie Designs

-Ancient Cookies Study

-Illustration 1

-Illustration 2

FAQ:

-What is this AU?

Noli Timere is a psychological-based horror comic/manga centered around the relationships between the Beasts and Ancient Cookies, and how their actions affects the Kingdom as a whole. The Ancients are only trying to help the Beasts to change into what is called ‘good’, but they don’t see it that way, literally and figuratively….

-Who will be involved in the story?

Characters such as the Beast Cookies and Ancient Cookies will be involved. It also opens up to White Lily Cookie’s story arc as one of the main protagonists. Other side characters such as the Legendary Cookies, Super Epics, Epics, Rare and Common Cookies will play a part in different chapters.

-What does ‘Noli Timere’ even mean?

It means ‘Do Not Be Afraid’ translated from Latin. I just think it’s neat.

-When will this AU be updated?

Literally whenever I finish it, which will happen at random as I’m working on a FNAF animation project at the same time. Most of the time it’ll be at 6 am/pm Asian time.

-When does this AU take place?

Shortly before Golden Cheese’s demise.

-What tools are used for my art?

A very normal 4b pencil, eraser, sharpener that constantly breaks and a 30 cm ruler

-Who is the main character in this AU?

Although the story is based on the Beasts’ POV, the character to tie it all together is White Lily Cookie.

-Is old art before development considered canon?

Some, but those were only takes before I had the idea, so some might be inaccurate.

About Fanart:

-Is it allowed?

Yes. Absolutely. Go crazy :) But just be aware that no ships will be present in this AU.

About Asks:

-Go ahead and ask, but make sure not to spam and keep everything in one post. You can send gifts and stuff there.

Reference list:

[brittle-doughie]

Resending this because my request probably got itself to the shadow realm :v

Y/N: *Sighs* I don't know Mystic Flour Cookie and Eternal Sugar Cookie...I just want a strong man...handsome...will protect me at all cost...and be there for me when I need them...and I just don't know who I can choose...

Burning Spice Cookie, Shadow Milk Cookie and Silent Salt Cookie fighting for Y/N's Love in the background getting eachother almost killed in the process too but unfortunately Y/N is Oblivious

(May I request your POV of the continuation of this? :3)

Y/N Cookie: “I just don’t know, girls. I feel like I’m making the toughest decision in my life. Those three have wonderful traits unique to them, it’s hard to choose…”

Burning Spice and Silent Salt start kicking at Shadow Milk curled up on the ground as he inhumanly screeches.

Y/N Cookie: “Shadow Milk makes me laugh, his puppet shows never fail to make me smile. He’s always wanting to see my cute smile, in his words…”

Burning Spice is yelling as he’s kicking and hitting the floor, trying to squirm out from Silent Salt, who’s sitting on his back to keep him pinned to the ground. Shadow Milk is laughing as he paints on Spice’s face.

Y/N Cookie: “Burning Spice with his strong muscles and unmatched fiery passion about the things he likes to do…”

Shadow Milk and Burning Spice keeping Silent Salt’s head in the sink as they try to make them soggy, Silent Salt flailing their fists all around in a bid to break free.

Y/N Cookie: “Silent Salt with their mysterious air around and how they can convey their feelings with so little words, it’s captivating…”

The three Beasts straight up boxing each other violently-

Y/N Cookie: “I just don’t know who to choose…”

[ramp-it-up]

Baby Cakes & Tough Guy

Summary: You co-own Baby Cakes Bakery with your bestie Monica Rambeau, direct competition for the Bucky Barnes and Sam Wilson owned Howling Commando Baked Goods. And now you are competing head to head in The Best in Brooklyn Bake-Off. You're sugar, spice and everything nice and Bucky is... Grumpy. Can you sweeten him up, or is he going to make you into a sour puss?

Word count: 5.3K

Pairing: Baker!Bucky Barnes x Baker!Reader;

Sam Wilson x reader, & Monica Rambeau x reader (platonic)

A/N: This is inspired by the #BuckyBarnesBirthdayBingo by @avengers-assemble-bingo. This fulfills the square: Bakery AU, and has completed my card. I don't know if you could tell, but I have had an absolute BALL with these prompts. And this one was especially fun. Let me know what you think! Please reblog, comment, and like!

Warnings: 18+ Only, Minors DNI. Read at your own risk. All errors my own. Angst. Grumpy Bucky, rustic baking, baking competition, mutual pining, rivalries, undeniable chemistry, Bucky’s an ass, but he makes up for it, oral (m/f receiving), sloppy blow job, praise kink, nipple play, orgasm denial, raw p-in-v, creampie, reference to eating the groceries, possessive Bucky. 😁

I do not have a taglist. Please follow @rampitupandread and turn on notifications to learn when I post! 😘

I Do NOT Consent to my work being reposted, translated or presented on any other blog or site other than by myself.

-----

The first time you ever saw Bucky Barnes, he was scowling at a sack of flour like it personally offended him.

You adjusted your Baby Cakes apron and bit back a laugh.

“This is gonna be fun,” you murmured as you set up your station in The Best in Brooklyn Bake-Off tent in Prospect Park.

“Fun?” 

Monica snorted from beside you. 

“Babe, this is war. Do you even know who that is?”

You glanced over at the very grumpy man two stations down. His broad shoulders strained against a black apron that read Tough Guy, and his arms were crossed like he’d rather be anywhere but here. His biceps popped as he folded them tighter. 

Damn. 

And then his sharp blue eyes flicked to yours. You definitely got caught staring. Bucky’s scowl deepened and you suppressed the urge to stick out your tongue.

“Should I?” you asked Monica, arching a brow.

She leaned in conspiratorially. 

“That’s Bucky Barnes. Co-owner of Howling Commandos Baked Goods. And you know they’ve been stealing our customers with their ‘no-frills, real-deal, rustic baking’ nonsense.”

You rolled your eyes. 

“Oh no. Not rustic baking,” you mocked.

“I’m serious!” 

Monica flapped a hand. 

“Foodie blogs won’t shut up about them. And he and his partner, Sam Wilson, act like they’re too cool for anything frilly.” 

She air-quoted dramatically. 

“AKA us.”

You shrugged. 

“Guess we’ll have to prove them wrong.”

But as you turned back to your ingredients, you felt it, that distinct sensation of being watched. And when you glanced up again, Bucky was still looking. 

Not just looking, but assessing. 

Outright staring.

Then, at the last second, his mouth quirked in the faintest smirk. A silent challenge.

Your stomach flipped. 

Yes. This was going to be interesting.

—

Bucky was already regretting this.

The second Sam convinced him to sign up for this competition, he knew it was a mistake.

"Dude, it’s good exposure. Plus, imagine the free marketing when we crush everyone else."

Bucky had reluctantly agreed. But now, standing in this tent, surrounded by pastel-colored mixing bowls and way too much cheerfulness, he was rethinking everything.

Especially when he saw you.

You.

You, with your too-bright smile and sugar-dusted cheeks.

You, adjusting your apron, hands moving with the ease of someone who loved this. 

You, already chatting with the other contestants, laughing like this was a Saturday morning bake sale instead of a competition.

And the worst part?

You were good.

He hadn’t tasted a single thing you’d made yet, but he could tell.

By the way that you measured your ingredients with confidence.

By the way you scanned your recipe, fully in control. 

By the way you smiled like baking was fun.

Sam elbowed him.

“Dude. You’re staring.”

Bucky grunted. 

“Sizing up the competition.”

“Yeah? Or are you just into her?”

Bucky fixed Sam with a glare.

“She’s the enemy.”

“If that’s what you need to tell yourself,” Sam snorted.

Bucky clenched his jaw and turned back to his station.

This was just a competition.

Nothing more.

—

You never expected this when you signed up for The Best in Brooklyn Bake-Off.

Stress? Absolutely.

Flour in your hair? Without a doubt.

A full-blown panic attack over an underbaked sponge cake? Practically guaranteed.

But Bucky Barnes?

Never in a million years.

And yet, there he was, the grumpiest, scowliest contestant in the history of televised baking.

"Are you serious?" he muttered, watching as you carefully piped pink buttercream onto your cupcakes.

You glanced up, blinking adorably up at him.

"What?"

He jerked a thumb at your apron, enjoying the view as he eyed the logo printed across your breasts. 

"Baby Cakes."

You flashed a proud grin. 

"That’s our bakery."

His scowl deepened. He already knew that. He was there for your introduction.

Of course, you would own a place called Baby Cakes, a bright, pastel-colored bakery specializing in mini cupcakes and love-themed treats. It was the exact opposite of his and Sam’s Howling Commandos Baked Goods, where everything was dark wood, bold flavors, and exactly zero sprinkles.

"Figures," he muttered.

Bucky told himself he didn’t like the way you smile. That the sound of your laugh wasn’t cute as hell. 

And that was a problem because every time you smiled at him, it got that much harder to pretend he didn’t love it. And every time you laughed, it became difficult as hell to not laugh with you.

And the way you looked. He took the opportunity to appreciate your generous curves, and the way your thick curls hid your cute as a candy button face as you were concentrating on what you were doing.

The thought popped into his head that wanted to taste you.

Where did that come from?

He cleared his throat as you finished piping, straightened up, and extended your hand. Bucky hesitated, then took it grudgingly. 

Your name rolled easily off your tongue, warm and inviting. He uttered his in return, then slowly extracted his hand, swiping the bit of frosting you left behind onto his finger.

And then, he licked it off.

You shouldn’t have found messy hands sexy. But watching Bucky Barnes taste your buttercream, his tongue swiping slowly over his fingertip? 

Yeah. That definitely did something to you.

You let out a small hum before you stopped yourself.

Or was that a moan?

His blue eyes flicked up, knowing, teasing, and challenging you.

"Way too much sugar," he muttered, backing away as he took note of your dilated eyes.

He thought about your reaction to him and almost tripped over Sam while trying to look cool. You bit your lip to hold back your laughter as he stormed back to his station, looking like an actual thundercloud.

Sam clapped him on the shoulder, shaking his head. 

"Man, you’re screwed."

And for the first time in his life, Bucky wondered if maybe Sam was right.

—----

Day after day, you and Bucky clashed.

He rolled his eyes at your sprinkles. You teased him about his obsession with “serious” baking. 

But somewhere between the macaron challenge and the lightning round, something shifted.

One night, after a particularly brutal bread challenge, you found yourselves alone in the kitchen. The others had gone, but you were still cleaning up when Bucky leaned against the counter, watching you.

“You surprised me today,” he said gruffly.

You glanced over at him, raising a brow. 

“Because I made a decent brioche?”

He smirked, just a little. 

“Because you didn’t let the stress get to you.”

You scoffed. 

“I did cry a little behind the fridge.”

That almost-smirk softened into something dangerously close to a smile. And you almost swooned at how handsome he was.

“You care about this. That’s… kinda cool.”

Your heart did a funny little flip.

Bucky should have walked away. Should’ve ignored the way you looked at him like he wasn’t the grumpiest asshole in the tent. 

But he didn’t. Instead, he reached out, swiping a bit of frosting from your wrist.

“Lemon?” he guessed.

“Vanilla bean with a hint of lime,” you corrected.

He licked it off his finger, his blue eyes never leaving yours. You grew warm as you noted the twinkle in those true blue eyes. 

You began to wonder if he did it on purpose, if he knew how it affected you last time.

He nodded.

“Not bad, Baby Cakes.”

And just like that, you knew that maybe grumpy, scowly Bucky Barnes wasn’t such a tough guy after all.

——-

By the fifth day of the competition, tensions were high.

And not just the who’s-going-to-win-the-grand-prize kind of tension. 

No.

This was something else. Something hotter.

Which is why, when you snuck into the kitchen after hours to squeeze in some extra practice, you weren’t even surprised to find Bucky Barnes already there, leaning against the counter, arms crossed, his black apron slung over his shoulder like he owned the place.

“Seriously?” you sighed, setting down your mixing bowl.  “You couldn’t pick another time to lurk in the shadows like some kind of kitchen goblin?”

The corner of his mouth twitched, the closest thing to a smile you’d gotten from him all week.

“Funny. I was about to say the same thing to you.”

You rolled your eyes and grabbed a whisk. 

“Well, I was here first.”

“No, you weren’t.”

You huffed. “I was in spirit.”

That did it. 

Bucky let out something suspiciously close to a laugh, a low, raspy sound that sent an unexpected shiver down your spine. Shaking it off, you started working, pouring flour into a bowl and focusing on your batter. 

Or at least, you tried to.

But you could feel his eyes on you, staring at you intently. After a few minutes, you glanced up, exasperated. 

“What?”

“I didn’t peg you for the burning-the-midnight-oil-so-you-can-win-the-competition kind of intense.”

"I’m not usually," you admitted, nudging a stray bit of flour with your foot. 

"Just… nerves, I guess."

He pushed off the counter and strolled over to you.

"You’re gonna dominate this competition, Baby Cakes. You’re good.”

You blinked. Did Bucky Barnes, the king of scowls, just compliment you?

Your brow furrowed. 

“Is this some kind of mind game? Because if it is, I’m not falling for it, Tough Guy.”

He shrugged, and this time, he smiled. A real one. Just a flicker, but enough to make your pulse trip.

“No games. Just calling it like I see it.”

You were incredulous.

“You do know I’m your biggest competition, right?"

"Yeah.” His eyes searched your face.  “And I still meant it."

Something in your chest tightened. And it was bad. Really bad. Because for the first time since this competition started, you weren’t sure if you wanted to beat Bucky Barnes.

Or kiss him.

You mentally rattled off all the reasons why that was a terrible idea, but before you could get through them, his voice cut through your thoughts.

“I can hear your brain going, you know.”

You gasped, half-thinking he could actually read your mind.

“You’re an over thinker,” he said, quiet but certain, like he already knew you.

“And your worst habit is scowling at my cupcakes like you're judging them,” you teased, desperate to steer the conversation somewhere safer.

Bucky laughed again. 

“I am judging. Too much frosting.”

You were ready to fire back, but the moment your eyes locked, the words caught in your throat. The dim kitchen light softened him. Made him look less guarded, more real. His sharp blue gaze flicked over your face, lingering on your lips just a second too long.

The air between you shifted, heavier than before. The only sound was the faint hum of the refrigerators and your own heartbeat pounding way too fast.

You gaped at him. 

"Well, you!... I mean, do you, um…,"  

You cleared your throat and looked around at everything else in the tent except Bucky.

"You have a favorite moment from the bake off so far?"

Bucky studied you for a beat, then smirked. He was making you uncomfortable. How interesting. He wasn't alone in this infatuation.

"Yeah."

You waited, expecting him to say something about his caramel tarts or his perfect sourdough. Instead, he took a step closer.

"It was the first day," he murmured. 

"When you walked in with that ridiculous pink apron and told the judges your bakery was called Baby Cakes. I remember thinking…" 

He shook his head. 

"Damn. I’m in trouble."

Your breath hitched.

"Bucky…"

But before you could say anything, before you could do anything, he stepped back, shoving his hands into his jeans pockets.

"Night, Baby Cakes," he said, his voice rough.

And just like that, he walked away, leaving you standing there, your heart racing, brain spinning, completely and utterly ruined for him.

—

After that night, everything between you and Bucky changed. You still bickered. Oh, did you bicker. But now every jab carried a tension that coiled tighter with every glance.

"Too much sugar, Baby Cakes," he mumbled during the pastry challenge, his voice low as his sharp eyes raked over your cherry almond tart with disdain.

"Too much salt, Tough Guy," you fired back, swiping a taste of his dark chocolate sea salt ganache before he could stop you.

He froze as you licked the spoon clean, your tongue sliding across the curve with deliberate precision. His eyes darkened, his jaw tightening as if he was wrestling with something he couldn’t name.

Oh.

“That’s debatable,” he finally managed, though his voice came out rough, almost strained.

You smiled, thinking you might have a lot power.

And then came the announcement that made your stomach flip. The dreaded Team Challenge.

"You’ve got to be kidding me," Bucky groaned when the producers called your names together.

"Oh, come on," you teased, bumping his arm with a grin you hoped looked more confident than you felt. "You’re gonna love working with me."

"Doubt it," he grumbled, but the twitch at the corner of his mouth betrayed him.

The challenge? A three-tiered wedding cake, elegant and sophisticated. 

A perfect harmony of flavors, the producers said. In reality, it felt like a recipe for disaster.

Your styles clashed like oil and water. You craved delicate piping and romantic floral details; Bucky wanted bold flavors and sharp, clean lines. 

Hearts versus hands. 

Sugar versus salt.

But somewhere between rolling fondant and whipping buttercream, something shifted. 

He steadied your hands when your piping wavered, his warm fingers brushing yours just a little longer than necessary. You softened his scowls with quick jokes, your laughter breaking through the walls he tried to keep firmly in place. 

You moved like you’d been baking together for years, finding a rhythm that felt natural.

When the final timer buzzed, you both stepped back, staring at your creation in awe.

Three tiers of vanilla bean sponge cake, layered with a tart blackberry compote and tangy lemon curd, wrapped in pristine white fondant. Gold dust kissed the edges, while delicate sugar roses cascaded down the sides like a fairytale.

It wasn’t just good. It was breathtaking.

For the first time, Bucky turned to you without his usual smirk or scowl.

“Nice work, Baby Cakes,” he murmured, his voice low.

“You too, Tough Guy,” you whispered, your heart racing at the way his eyes lingered on you.

The judges swooned, declaring it the best cake of the show. You and Bucky won the challenge.

Without thinking, Bucky picked you up, arms wrapped around your waist and spun you around. The broad smile on his face disappeared as you slid down his body back to the ground.

Both of you cleared your throats and went opposite ways out of the tent, as Monica and Sam shared a look.

Later that night, after the cameras stopped rolling, you found yourself outside by the catering table, sneaking an extra slice.

"Thought you’d be sick of it by now," Bucky said, leaning beside you, his presence close and warm in the cool night air.

"Never," you grinned, licking a dollop of frosting off your thumb before realizing how much attention he was paying to the movement.

“Although,” you added, suddenly self-conscious, “I should probably stop sampling the wares. My jeans are struggling.”

You looked away, cheeks warming, thinking about how you had to jump to put your jeans on, but when you glanced back, you caught him looking. Not just at you, but at your ass in your jeans.

“Looks like a productive struggle,” he muttered, his voice dropping into a husky timbre that made your pulse skip. “Don’t change a thing, Baby Cakes.”

Bucky licked his lips, his gaze trailing back to your mouth, and before you could process what was happening, his thumb brushed your lips, swiping away some frosting. 

And then he kissed you.

It wasn’t rushed or frantic. It was slow, deliberate, like he was savoring the moment, savoring the essence of you. Bucky tasted like buttercream and something more flavorful, something with more depth. Something like him. 

His lips moved against yours with knee-weakening confidence, one hand sliding to the small of your back, the other cradling your jaw. 

When you finally pulled away, breathless and dazed, you couldn’t stop yourself from murmuring, "Not bad."

He chuckled, his breath warm against your skin.

"Not bad at all."

The kiss felt like magic, like folding sugar into butter, like the perfect meringue gaining its peaks. But then reality came crashing back.

“Well, well, well!”

You and Bucky sprang apart, both turning to see Monica standing there, arms crossed and eyebrows raised.

"Uh," you stammered, feeling your stomach drop.

Bucky rubbed the back of his neck, looking anywhere but at Monica.

"So, are you two, like, together-together?" Monica asked, her tone dripping with amusement. 

"Or was this just a ‘we made a wedding cake and got caught up in the moment’ thing?"

Your mouth opened, but nothing came out. Bucky beat you to it.

"We’re not together," he said firmly, his tone leaving no room for argument.

Ouch.

You fought to keep your expression neutral, but Monica’s raised brow told you she wasn’t buying it.

"Riiight," she drawled. "Well, if you were together, you’d make a killer duo. That cake? Best one I’ve had in a long time."

She sauntered off, leaving you standing there, cheeks burning and heart pounding for all the wrong reasons.

"Listen, Baby Cakes," Bucky started, his voice tight, but you held up a hand.

"Nope," you said quickly, your tone sharp. "It’s fine. We’re here to bake, not… whatever that was."

His jaw clenched, but he nodded stiffly. 

"Right. Baking. That’s what we’re here for."

Later, at the bar celebrating with the crew, you avoided him entirely, but you felt his eyes on you all night.

“Bucky’s over there looking like someone stole his candy thermometer.”

You glanced at him over your shoulder and found him watching you moodily. You rolled your eyes and turned back to your drink.

“He’ll be aight.”

Monica shook her head.

“Ya’ll are two hard heads, but that’s one of my business.” 

When Monica left you alone, you thought about what happened earlier. How embarrassed you were when Bucky denied anything between you. And now here he was, moping around because you wouldn’t speak to him.

Too bad, you thought bitterly. Bucky blew his chance. You weren’t about to let yourself get hurt again.

But deep down, you couldn’t shake the question: Why did that kiss feel like the start of something?

At first, Bucky told himself he’d dodged a bullet. You were too bubbly, too happy, too... everything he wasn’t. It would never have worked.

But as he watched you laugh with everyone else, refusing to look his way, something felt wrong.

Wrong like a cake that collapsed in the oven.

Wrong like he’d measured something incorrectly and couldn’t figure out what.

He saw it in your eyes.

In the way your shoulders stiffened when he denied anything between you.

In the way you brushed flour off your apron aggressively.

Bucky fucked up.

And now, all he could think about was how to fix it, because for the first time in years, he was craving a little sugar to balance his spice.

—-

The next morning, before filming started, Bucky found you in the prep kitchen, alone. You were at the counter, rolling out dough with a little too much force, your shoulders tight, your jaw clenched.

"That dough do something to offend you, Baby Cakes?" he asked, leaning against the counter, hoping the teasing tone would draw out the usual playful spark in your eyes.

But you didn’t look up.

"Just getting out some aggression," you muttered, your hands moving with sharp, angry precision.

Bucky exhaled, frustration building. He wanted to fix this. He wanted to be better at saying the right thing, but years of being tough and closed-off made it hard for the words to come.

So he said nothing.

Instead, he did what he knew best.

He baked.

When he came back to himself, baking became his real therapy. A time and space for him to really work out all that he had seen and done.

A chance to create instead of destroy.

Silently, he worked at the station next to yours, kneading dough, measuring ingredients, and whisking with deliberate care. You pretended not to notice, but as the warm scent of cinnamon, vanilla, and caramel began to fill the air, it became impossible to ignore.

Finally, he slid a small plate toward you, a delicate pastry, golden brown and still warm.

"What’s this?" you asked, eyeing him suspiciously.

"Sticky bun," he said, shifting on his feet. "Made it the way you like. Soft in the middle. Extra pecans."

How did he know that? Monica.

Your lips pressed together, but the flicker of interest in your eyes gave you away. He'd done his research on you. Breaking off a piece, you popped it into your mouth, and immediately sighed.

It was perfect. Gooey and rich, sweet but balanced.

"Okay," you admitted, trying to keep your tone neutral.

"This is dangerously good."

Bucky’s lips curved into a small, tentative smile as he watched you eat.

"I was an ass yesterday," he said softly, his voice low and rough.

"I didn’t mean to… Look, I panicked. I wasn’t trying to hurt you."

You put the sticky bun down and turned to face him fully, meeting his eyes with a steady gaze.

"Then what were you trying to do?"

His tongue swept over his bottom lip, his brows furrowing like he was weighing each word carefully.

"I guess I thought if I said it out loud, it’d be easier to ignore how much I want you," he confessed, his voice raw and unguarded.

"Didn’t work."

Your stomach flipped. You swallowed, suddenly too aware of how close he was standing, of the heat radiating from his body. Of how he seemed to be holding himself back at the moment.

"You want me," you said slowly, almost testing the words.

Bucky nodded, his gaze unwavering.

"Yeah. And I know I’ve gotta prove it now. Because I fucked up.”

His blue, blue eyes shone with sincerity. And something else.

“I fumbled a beautiful, talented, sexy woman like you."

You let the silence stretch, let him sweat a little. Then, with deliberate slowness, you broke off another piece of the sticky bun and pressed it to his lips.

For a moment, he hesitated. Then, he opened his mouth, taking the bite, and sucking the tips of your fingers into his mouth and licking between them as he did, eyes on you the entire time. The gentle pull of his lips sent a thrill down your spine. And the vulgar promise of his tongue had heat pooling low in your belly. 

Your nipples hardened, and a fresh wave of arousal swept through you, dampening your panties.

"G-good start," you murmured, your voice husky. "But it’s just a start."

A slow, wicked smirk tugged at his lips at your stutter.

"Then I guess I’ll just have to keep sweetening you up," he drawled, the heat in his gaze making it clear he wasn’t just talking about baking.

But you weren’t letting him off the hook that easily. For the rest of the day, you kept your distance, not too far, but far enough to make him feel it. Enough to make him yearn for you.

Bucky turned into an absolute softie, sneaking you little treats between takes, making sure you had the good whisk before grabbing his own, brushing a hand against your lower back, warm finger splayed wide, when he passed behind you, murmuring a low "behind" that sent shivers racing across your skin.

Monica noticed, of course.

"You’re making him work for it," she said approvingly as she piled buttercream onto a tray of cupcakes.

"I’m not–"

She shot you a knowing look. "Girl, please."

Fine. Maybe you were. Maybe you liked watching Bucky struggle his way through this. Maybe you liked seeing the grumpiest man in the competition try to charm you with sugar, spice, and smoldering glances that left your pulse skipping.

They announced you as winner of the competition and Bucky inclined his head at you, a real smile on his face.

And that night, he took it a step further.

------

When you came back late to the brownstone after staying out with the others, you found something waiting for you on the kitchen counter.

A cake.

Not just any cake, your favorite. Fucking Monica.

It was carrot cake, three perfectly even layers of moist, spiced goodness, slathered with smooth cream cheese frosting. Tiny sugar pearls lined the edges, and an intricate sugar carrot sat on top.

You blinked, your heart skipping a beat.

Bucky stood off to the side, leaning against the counter, arms crossed, biceps popping. He was still in his apron, his face serious, but his blue eyes searched yours, a flicker of uncertainty behind them.

"Took me all damn night," he said gruffly.

You stepped closer, still processing.

"You made this?"

His jaw ticked, like he was bracing for impact.

"Had some help from Sam," he admitted.

A loud snort came from the doorway.

"Some help? Try a lot," Sam called as he trudged up the stairs. 

"Give him a break, Baby Cakes, so he can stop behaving like a lovesick idiot every time you walk into, or out of a room. Or basically all the time."

Bucky ignored him, his attention fixed on you.

"Lovesick?" you asked softly, your voice barely audible.

He sighed, rubbing a hand down the back of his neck.

“Yeah. I uhhh…”

Bucky looked so cute in that moment, the most vulnerable you’d seen him.

"I need you to know that I see you," he said, his voice low and steady.

"I see how much heart you put into your baking. How much you care about this, about everything." 

He paused, his Adam’s apple bobbing. 

"And I see that I hurt you, and I hate that."

You stared at him, at the raw emotion in his eyes. Slowly, you picked up a fork and took a bite of the cake.

It was perfect. Moist, spiced just right, and the frosting was tangy and smooth.

"Damn you," you muttered, your voice thick.

"That bad?" he asked, a flicker of amusement breaking through his tension.

"No," you huffed. "It’s amazing."

His lips twitched. "Good."

Setting the fork down, you stepped closer until there was barely an inch between you. His breath hitched as your hand pressed against his chest, the heat of him seeping into your palm.

"You really want this?" you murmured. "Us?"

Bucky didn’t hesitate.

"Yes," he said firmly, his voice steady. "I do."

Your fingers curled into his shirt, tugging him closer. He leaned in, and this time, when his lips found yours, it wasn’t gentle. It was fire, slow at first, then smoldering.

But then Bucky groaned against your mouth, a sound that sent shockwaves through you, and the heat increased. He kissed you like he’d been starving for it, like you were the only thing that could satisfy him.

You pulled him closer by his shirt and his hands slid past your waist, gripping your ass like he was grounding himself, like he was making sure this was real.

You broke the kiss just long enough to gasp, “Bucky,” but he swallowed whatever you were about to say, and lifted you onto the counter in one fluid motion.

You barely had time to register the cold marble beneath you before his hands were everywhere, skimming up your thighs, gripping your hips, and tracing fire along your skin. You hooked your legs around him, dragging him closer, until you could feel his hard cock in his jeans, letting you know just how much he wanted this, how much he wanted you.

“Your room or mine?” he rasped, his voice thick with need.

“Oh God…” 

You struggled to think through the haze of arousal clouding your mind. Your room at the back of the house was tucked away from everyone else. 

“Mine.”

Bucky kissed you again, his lips curling into a smirk. 

“Smart cookie.”

You giggled softly as he lifted you off the counter, and the two of you tried, and failed, to make it to your room quietly. By some miracle, you managed to shut the door before his hands were back on you.

"I've not been with anyone in over a year. Still get tested every six months."

Bucky's voice was sexy; what he was saying was even more so.

“But tell me to stop if you don’t want to do this,” he rasped against your neck. 

You tilted your head back, offering more. 

“Don’t you dare.”

A low growl rumbled from his chest as his mouth crashed back onto yours, his tongue sweeping past your lips with a hunger that left you breathless. His hands slipped beneath your shirt, fingertips skimming your tight nipples and drawing shivers in their wake.

He pulled back just enough to lift the hem of your shirt, his blue eyes searching yours. 

“Can I?”

You nodded, but he shook his head, his jaw tight. 

“Need you to say it.”

You stepped back, peeling your shirt off yourself, a teasing grin on your lips. 

“How’s that for consent? I want you tonight, Bucky Barnes. Got tested last month and I have an IUD. You can fuck me raw if you want.”

His breath hitched, his eyes darkening with raw, unfiltered desire. 

“Jesus,” he murmured, his hands spreading over you like he was memorizing the feel of you. “You’re perfect.”

His blue eyes glowed as he wrapped one hand around your neck, his thumb resting on your pulse point, making your heart flutter. 

You lifted his shirt and ran your fingers over his stomach and abs, exploring his warm skin as the kiss intensified even more. 

You reached for his shirt, sliding it up to reveal taut muscle and smooth skin. Your hands explored him, tracing the lines of his stomach as the kiss deepened.

You were aching for him. 

When his mouth moved lower, tracing hot kisses down your neck and between your collarbones, a soft moan escaped you. He didn’t stop there, his lips finding your nipples through the lace of your bra. The wet heat of his tongue teased you mercilessly until he unhooked the clasp.

“Bucky,” you gasped, your pussy clenching as his lips closed around your bare nipple. He suckled urgently, his hand massaging the other, and the pleasure shot straight to your core.

When he knelt in front of you, tugging your jeans and panties down, you gasped as you looked down into his shining blue eyes.

You stepped out of them and almost immediately, and he used his thumbs to spread your pussy lips open. He pressed an open-mouthed kiss to you there.

“Been waiting to taste you, Baby Cakes,” he said, his voice a low rasp.

“Oh, fuck,” you mewled as his tongue parted your folds, licking a slow, deliberate stripe up your slit.

Bucky lifted one leg onto his shoulder and you arched against his mouth, gasping when he laved your clit and licked up the wetness collected in your slit.

“Mmmmm. Delicious,” Bucky’s eyes glinted up at you.

He groaned in satisfaction.

“Sweet, with just a hint of spice… just like I thought.”

You pushed Bucky’s head back to where it was meant be.

“Stop talking and eat me, Barnes.”

His chuckle vibrated against you, and then his tongue found your clit, sending a sharp spike of pleasure through your body. He licked and sucked, working you like it was his life’s purpose, and every flick of his tongue pushed you closer to the edge.

“Fuck, Bucky, I’m gonna…”

But he pulled back before you could finish, leaving you trembling and desperate. You barely had time to protest before he stood, kissed you hard, and moved you to the foot of the bed.

Clothes hit the floor in a blur, and when you finally looked down, his cock stood proudly between you. You sat down on the bed, and you were face to face with the most beautiful penis you’d ever seen.

It was long and thick and heavily veined with a large perfectly shaped head. Your mouth watered, and you looked up at him.

“Need to taste you now, Tough Guy.”

You leaned forward and licked him from base to head stopping to suck on it, relishing the tight flesh in your mouth, then slurped the pre-cum dripping from his slit. Then you pulled off, jacking him with the lubrication of your saliva.

“Tangy, yet surprisingly sweet. A piquant–”

Bucky cut you off by shoving his cock as far down your throat as he could. You moaned around him, adding to his pleasure. 

You looked up at him and his eyes were incandescent. You didn’t break eye contact as your throat constricted around his hardness, your mouth dripping with spit. Your eyes stung with tears, but you kept pushing until you were choking around the base of his big dick.

Bucky watched you with fascination, his hips involuntarily pushing shallowly into your mouth. 

“Christ. You’re gonna fucking ruin me,” he rasped. “So good. So perfect. But I knew you would be.”

You moaned at the praise, pulling off of him, long strings of fluid connecting your mouth to his delicious cock.

“Who knew that Baby Cakes was such a Dirty Girl,” he purred, eyes ablaze.  “Need to fuck you now, sweetheart.” 

You whimpered and leaned back as Bucky leaned over you and slid into you in one slow, deliberate thrust. You swore the world stopped spinning.

“Fuck, Baby…” 

His forehead dropped to yours, his voice trembling as he filled you slowly, completely. Your body arched, your nails digging into his shoulders as you reacted to the stretch.

“Bucky…”

“Look at me,” he murmured, his gaze locking with yours.

“Wanna see you.”

And then he moved, each thrust hitting you perfectly, dragging moans from your lips. After finding the technique to make you crumble around him, his control slipped, his movements grew frantic, desperate, and it was heaven.

“You’re mine,” he growled, his hands gripping your hips hard enough to bruise. “Say it.”

“Yours,” you gasped, your body tightening around him. “Always.”

Your climax hit like a tidal wave, pulling you under. Bucky followed with a ragged groan, burying himself deep as he spilled into you.

When the world settled, he pressed a lazy kiss to your jaw, a smug grin tugging at his lips.

“Told you I’d win… you over.”

You huffed a breathless laugh, running your fingers through his damp curls.

“Asshole.”

His grin widened.

“Is that what you want me to taste next?”

His eyes flicked down your body.

“Seems to be lots of buttercream down there…”

“Bucky!” you yelped as he reached for you again.

—-

Did you like it? Let me know!

[chxncinth]

Sugar and Spice

pairing: jealous dom bf!jeno x fem!reader

plot: you never would have thought that an innocent evening out to your favorite restaurant in the city would lead to your boyfriend punching the living daylights out of a man and then driving back home to fuck you to edge of your wits, but here we are.

genre: angst, fluff, smut (MDNI!!!)

warnings: p in v, vibrators, oral (m. receiving), no protection (wrap it before you tap it!), choking, slight manhandling, mirror sex, bondage, breeding kink, creampie, facial, overstimulation, squirting, daddy kink, nicknames

wc: 2.6k

notes: yeah… idk what happened here but i’m back!

With a hint of a smile playing on his lips and a hand on the small of your back, Jeno led you to your usual table in the corner of the restaurant.

You took your seat in the chair he pulled out for you, thanking him softly. He sat down across from you and took your hand that was resting on top of the table, running the pad of his thumb across the back.

A relaxing dinner was just what needed now, especially after a long day at your work. Good for you that you just so happened to have a boyfriend who was always lucky. Jeno had called the restaurant just 15 minutes before you two started the drive downtown and somehow managed to secure your table even on a busy Friday night. You have no clue how he did it but you definitely weren’t complaining.

A waiter came to your table and the two of you ordered a bottle of red wine along with some canapés to start off while you continued to browse through the main courses. 

The light orchestra music in the background was the perfect accompaniment to your conversation about your week. Just as you were beginning to talk about how one of the partners at your law firm had received a DUI case and had pushed you to take care of it despite the hefty pile of cases on your desk, a man came over to your table.

“Hi,” he said, ignoring Jeno and only looking at you. A sleazy smile took over the stranger’s face. “I saw you walk in from the other side of the restaurant and couldn’t help but notice how beautiful you look. If you want, I can definitely show you a better night than this guy.” He finally addressed a seething Jeno with a slight tilt of his neck. 

Jeno abruptly stood up, facing the man. “Hi. You must be blind because I’m the one she’s here with, not you. So do us all a favor and get your tiny dicked self back over to your own table. She’s not interested.”

You were simply amused at that point, enjoying how jealous Jeno got over you. He was usually so put-together and polite that seeing this side of him every so-often had detrimental effects on your body— you could already feel the heat building down there.

The stranger scoffed and eyed your boyfriend up and down. “Man, who the fuck are you talking about? The lady can speak for herself.”

You dryly looked up at him and tilted your head. “The lady says you’re too ugly,” you said and then scanned his body, zeroing in on his crotch. “And too small.”

The man’s eyes flared with anger and he took a step toward you, hand raised and open, ready to slap you. “You bitch—!” 

You flinched but he was promptly cut off by Jeno landing a punch to the side of his face. Your eyes widened and after a moment of stunned silence you finally stood up to hold onto Jeno to make sure the situation didn’t escalate anymore. The man stumbled slightly and groaned but before he could do or say anything else, Jeno grabbed your belongings and dragged you out of the restaurant to your car. 

The two of you got in and you immediately turned to him to make sure he was ok. Aside from a small cut and swelling on his knuckles, he seemed to be fine. You became surprised when he suddenly pulled his hand away from yours and started driving back to your house. His face was stony and his fist was closed so tightly that his knuckles were turning white. 

“Baby—“

“Not now.”

You took the hint and remained quiet for the rest of your drive, staring down at your hands that were still slightly trembling after the events. You had been scared even though you knew Jeno would never let anyone hurt you.

When you arrived home and walked inside, ready to grab a quick snack and put the night behind you, Jeno grabbed your arm and dragged you into your bedroom. He closed the door behind the two of you, pushing you down onto the bed with one hand and pulling off his tie to throw it onto the ground with his other. He stood in front of you and unbuttoned his shirt halfway before he let out a sigh, running his fingers through his hair in anger.

“Fuck baby, I’m still so mad… can’t believe he tried to fucking hit you,” Jeno said, leaning down and pulling you in by the back of your neck so that your lips could meet in a bruising kiss. “You’re mine and only mine. No one else’s, isn’t that right?”

You whimpered softly and nodded, hand moving up to tangle into his hair as his own moved down your body and spread your legs open to rub you over your panties. 

“Didn’t even get to try these out tonight, huh?” He said, talking about your panties. They were special— vibrating ones— that Jeno had gotten for you and the two of you had a plan to try them out tonight only for it to be ruined. “That’s fine, we can try them out now.”

Your eyes widened as he stepped backwards and opened your locked drawer to pull out some rope. 

“Jeno, please—“

“Strip for me princess. Quickly.”

You decided to not go against his orders tonight, your brain too tired to deal with his usual punishments. You pulled the dress and lacy bra you were wearing up and over your head and threw the both of them onto the ground. Jeno smirked in satisfaction at your compliance and moved towards you, taking your arms and tying them together tightly behind you. 

He then grabbed the remote from his pocket and clicked down on it once. The sudden vibrations had you gasping, body shaking at the intensity. 

“God, I would’ve given anything to see you like this at the restaurant. Eating your food and sipping on your wine while trying so hard to act like you weren’t on the verge of cumming for me. Lay down for me baby.”

You took a deep breath and laid down on your back, staring as your devilishly handsome boyfriend took a step towards you, unbuckling his belt. You moaned softly and closed your eyes, the vibrations from your panties leaving you right on the edge of your orgasm, but not enough to tip you over. 

“Come on baby, cum for me. Then I’ll let you have whatever you want.” Jeno outstretched his hand and slowly trailed his fingers from your stomach up— chest, collarbones, neck, chin— he left a burning sensation along your skin and you couldn’t help but moan louder, begging for more of anything he was willing to give you. He smiled in response, enjoying effect he had on you. Jeno leaned down to nip your neck, alternating between small licks and bites, just the way you liked it. Suddenly you were hurtling towards your climax, gasping at the intense feeling. You came for him just as he captured your lips in a kiss, your broken moans of pleasure being swallowed up by him greedily. He wanted it all. 

You smiled dazedly once you came down from your high and then looked at your boyfriend to see that he was still clothed. The intense feeling of want rushed back to you. “Jeno, please… need your cock.”

Jeno grinned as he fiddled with the zipper of his pants, pulling them down along with his boxers so that his cock sprung up and slapped against his abs. He was extremely hard, the veins along his cock so prominent that you were salivating just at the thought of him being inside of you eventually. You sat up slightly and leaned forward to let a glob of spit fall onto his cockhead. Jeno groaned and grabbed your hair in his fist to pull you further forward. 

“Fuck baby, is my good girl gonna suck me off? You just came for me and now you’re gonna let me take your throat?” he said, tilting his head back with a smirk as he watched how desperate you were for him. He loved this, the control he had on you in the bedroom, the way you would let him do anything to you because you knew it would lead to mind-numbing pleasure. 

You nodded brokenly as you stuck your tongue out, the muscle tracing along his veins and then eventually closing your mouth around him. He grabbed onto your hair and pulled your head towards him, his cock pushing further into your mouth. You tried to relax to take him in deeper and tried your best not to gag. 

“God, all of your holes are so wet and tight princess,” he grunted out while he used his hand that was fisted in your hair to continue to move your mouth along his dick. “All for me. Gonna cum on your pretty little face and then you’ll lick it up, won’t ya?”

You moaned and bobbed your head up and down in a nod, desperately fighting against the ropes that restrained your hands. Jeno used you as much as he wanted, thrusting in and out of your mouth. The mental image of all of his cum painted on your face was enough to push him to the edge and he pulled you off his cock as he started to use his hand to cum. 

“Gonna cum for you baby, don’t waste it yeah?” 

You hummed and closed your eyes as you opened your mouth. Jeno groaned as he came, strings of his cum falling all over your face, some of it even landing in your hair and on your tits. You swallowed what landed in your mouth and grinned dopily at him when your tongue flicked out to lap up some drops.

“Please fuck me, Daddy,” you say, eyelashes fluttering up at him. Jeno grins and moves to take off the ropes around your wrists amused with how much you needed him. You immediately pull off your soiled panties and toss them to the side. 

“Is one orgasm not enough for you Y/N?” he asks as he pushes you to lay down on the bed. He crawls towards you and fists his cock slightly— he was hard again. 

“When has one ever been enough for me? Wanna take your cock and cum all over it,” you gasp slightly as he lines himself up with your sopping wet entrance and pushes in slowly, the stretch from just the tip burning in the most delicious way possible. 

Jeno smirks and leans down to whisper in your ear as he bottoms out, barely giving you a chance to adjust before he’s pulling out and pushing in again. “I’ll let you do that and I’ll give you all of my cum as well. Gonna get you nice an’ round an’ full of me, how’s that sound princess?”

There’s no way you can respond to him because Jeno starts fucking into you at what could only be described as an animalistic pace. The headboard hits the wall loudly with each thrust and your nails are scratching all over his back, trying to hold on for dear life. Jeno growls and pushes your legs up move next to his ears. He loved fucking you in a mating press, the position letting him fuck you as deep as possible. Jeno grunted as your hand trailed down to touch your chest, pinching and pulling on your nipples for extra stimulation. 

“Fuck baby, you look perfect for me like this,” Jeno groaned at the sight of you. Your makeup was completely ruined from a mixture of his cum and your tears and your mascara left black tracks along your cheeks. Your lips were parted in a perfect ‘O’ as Jeno repeatedly fucked into you deeper, his balls slapping against your ass. 

Jeno suddenly pulled out from you, causing you to clench around nothing and whimper at the loss. He pulled you up and carried you over to the dressing table, flipping you over so that you were lying on the surface and could see yourself in the mirror. 

“Needed ya’ to see how perfect you look for me,” Jeno said as he pushed back inside of you and continued fucking into you as if he never stopped. Your head started to droop down, but Jeno didn’t let it, his hand coming up to close around your neck and keep your head up. “Nuh-uh baby, gotta keep lookin’ at yourself. Keep lookin’ at me fuck you.”

You let out a scream at a particularly hard thrust. It made you see stars, head dizzy from the amount of pleasure you were being given in such a short amount of time. “Ngh, Jeno baby… please!”

“Please what princess? Wanna cum already?” His hand around your neck tightened slightly, cutting off some of your oxygen supply and making you feel even more lightheaded in the best way possible. All of your senses became heightened and you nodded frantically as you felt that familiar ball of tension in your lower stomach grow tighter and tighter with each thrust. 

“Alright baby, you’ve been so good all day. Cum for me.”

You screamed as you came, your orgasm being one of the most intense ones you’d ever had in your life. Jeno fucked you through it and groaned as you continued to twitch and unconsciously clench tighter around him. You looked down to see that you hadn’t just came around him, but you had squirted everywhere. Now it made sense why that orgasm was more earth-shattering than usual. 

“God, Y/N, you make it so hard to stop fucking you,” Jeno said as he kept thrusting into you, letting go of his grip around your neck in order to grab your hips and piston himself in and out of you. You let out a combination of screams and moans at how overstimulated you were but Jeno didn’t stop his thrusts. He was determined to cum in you. You let your head drop down onto the surface of the dressing table, mouth falling open and drooling as your moans never stopped.

“Mm, Daddy, gon’ cum again!” Your noises fell in line with Jeno’s as his thrusts got sloppier and sloppier. His hand sneaked around your body and he started to rub your swollen clit in time with each thrust. 

“I’m cumming with you baby. Gonna paint your pretty pussy walls white with my cum,” Jeno grunted into your ear as the two of you fell apart again. His cum shot into you as you gripped around him impossibly tighter. 

As you came down from your highs, your eyes drooped and Jeno carried you over to the bed, still in you. He pulled out when he laid you down on the bed, watching the mixture of both of your cum drip out of your puffy pussy. He scooped it up with his fingers and gently pushed it back in, fucking it in slightly while he looked up at you.  

“Don’t let a drop go to waste, yeah? I told you I was gonna get you all pregnant for me and I can’t wait baby.”

You giggled softly and with the little energy you had left in you, your hand moved up to comb through your boyfriend’s hair. “I can’t wait either.”

Jeno grinned, grabbing your hand and pressing a kiss to your knuckles.

He stood up and walked into your bathroom to grab a towel that he wet in the sink. He came back and started to wipe your body down, knowing that you wouldn’t be able to move any more. 

“Let’s get you cleaned up and then we can sleep, ok?”

You nodded, a smile on your lips as your eyes gradually fluttered shut, feelings of warmth and happiness floating around in the air.

[ankababy]

Also In That Another Universe…

Niragi x reader

Part 2 of In Another Universe bc y’all wanted more of them, so I granted the wish. Started writing a cute bathtub scene and it ended in sex, sorry.

cw. MDNI, unprotected p in v(please use protection y’all), happy sex(? if that’s a thing), bathtub sex, nicknames(“sunshine” and the overuse of “baby” bc they’re corny and in love and cute), loving relationship, reader not shutting the FUCK up because she’s sugar spice and everything nice

Also in that another universe…

The bathroom was fogged over, mirrors blurred with steam. The bathwater was a little too close to boiling, the kind that makes your skin turn pink and your brain go floaty. It was perfect—at least for you.

For Niragi? Not so much.

He was sitting across from you in the tub, long legs bent under the water, arms resting behind him like he was just barely tolerating the situation. His jaw was tense, like he was trying not to say something snarky about the temperature, and the tips of his ears were flushed—not from embarrassment, just from borderline boiling alive. But he didn’t say shit.

Because you liked it this way.

You sat facing him, legs tangled lazily between his, skin glowing and damp, eyes bright even through the haze. Your hair was twisted up in a loose bun, but he liked it more than anything that took you two hours and a YouTube tutorial. You were bare—nothing on but water and heat and that calm little smile that said you were in your element.

“So I started taking those biotin gummies I told you about.” you said, swirling the water absentmindedly with your fingers. “The strawberry ones? They’re amazing. When I was a teenager I ate a whole box in a day but they didn’t have to wash my stomach or anything. Might try to do it again.”

Niragi grunted. It wasn’t anything really, just to tell you that he’s still listening.

“I went out with the girls yesterday.” you said, dipping your hands under the water again, letting them skim up your legs. “We saw this little boutique in the plaza, right next to that coffee shop we sometimes go to. And they had this gorgeous lingerie set in the window. Like, satin, black, sheer, all strappy. I loved it.”

His eyes flicked up, finally interested. “And?”

You shrugged. “Didn’t buy it.”

He squinted. “Why the fuck not?”

You smiled at the way his voice dipped—that mild disbelief that you denied yourself something he would’ve killed to see on you.

“It was expensive.” you said. “And it’s not like I need it. You never care what I wear.”

He blinked. “Yeah, ‘cause I’d fuck you in a paper bag.”

You kicked your foot under the water, hitting his thigh. “You’re such an asshole.”

You were so soft in moments like this. So open. Talking about nothing like it mattered. Because in a way, it did. You didn’t need anything more.

And he liked that.

He liked that you didn’t demand these big, emotional conversations every time you were alone. You didn’t want to dig through his trauma, or beg him to pour his heart out over dinner. You just wanted to be with him. Here. Now. In too hot water, talking about vitamins and lingerie and whatnot.

The water sloshed softly as you moved again, shifting forward a little, your knees brushing his. Your skin glowed in the low light, beads of water catching on your collarbones, the curves of your shoulders, sliding down between your breasts. You didn’t notice. You weren’t trying.

That was the thing, you were never trying. You were just this. Bare and unbothered and golden with affection, talking to him.

His eyes tracked you—always watching, always on you. You talked. He didn’t. Not really. But his knee pressed against yours. His foot slid along your leg. One hand slipped under the water to rest against your thigh, fingers spreading.

It was his body that did the loving. His touch, not his voice.

“Your piercings.” you said, scooting in closer, water rising with the shift. “You ever tell me why you got them?”

His brow lifted. “They’re piercings, not ancient runes.” he said dryly.

“I know.” you said, reaching forward, fingers brushing the silver thing in his eyebrow. “But still. You had to pick this one, right? That’s a choice.”

He tilted his head but didn’t move away. Your touch was featherlight, tracing the metal, the line of his brow bone beneath it. You leaned in, face close to his, studying the way it glinted in the foggy light.

“You look good with it.” you murmured, thumb brushing over the silver. “A little mean.”

“That’s the goal.”

You tapped his cheek gently. “Asshole.” Then your eyes dropped lower. “Tongue.”

He raised an eyebrow at the “ask,” then he opened his mouth and poked his tongue out for you before drawing it back in almost immediately.

“Still there.” he said. “Why?”

You leaned forward, completely unbothered, elbows on your knees now as you stared at his mouth. “No reason. Just… you don’t show it a lot.”

“I don’t do party tricks.”

“You could if you wanted to.” you said. “Bet someone would love to see that silver ball roll across your teeth.”

“You volunteering?” he asked, giving you a look.

You laughed, light and warm, then kicked him gently in the side with your foot under the water. “No.” you said, smiling.

Your fingers trailed down from his brow to the line of his jaw, then under his chin, tilting his face up slightly. You weren’t trying to seduce him. Not really. You were just curious.

“Did it hurt?” you asked softly, fingertips just under his lip now. “When you got it?”

He shrugged. “It’s a needle in your tongue. Hurts like a bitch. Then you can’t eat for two days.”

You smiled, because he was so bad at admitting pain in an actual serious way. Like it made him less. Like softness was poison. But then there he was, letting you touch him this gently, letting your legs tangle with his. And you knew the truth, even if he didn’t say it.

“You’re such a baby.” you said sweetly.

He pinched your thigh under the water—just a little. Enough to make you squeak.

Your hand moved to his chest, tracing the line of his collarbone, the faint scar you always meant to ask about but never did. You let your palm rest there for a moment, flat against the thrum of his heartbeat. Slow. Steady.

“You look tired.” you said quietly.

“I am.”

“You should sleep.”

“I will.”

“When?”

“When you do.”

You didn’t say anything to that. Just slid a little closer in the water, so your knees pressed into his side and your arms hooked around his shoulders.

Your cheek rested against his, warm and wet, and you breathed in the scent of soap and heat and him.

“You’re not so scary.” you whispered.

His hand came up under the water, slid around your waist, fingers splayed on your lower back. Tight. Holding. Still no words. But he didn’t need them. He never did.

Your fingers moved over the side of his neck, brushing damp hair behind his ear. Your touch was slow, casual, familiar—the kind of intimate that didn’t ask permission anymore. He just let you, eyes half-lidded, like you weren’t completely rearranging his chemistry with every soft word and inch you inched closer.

“Your skin’s all flushed.” you murmured, tilting your head. “I knew it. You hate this. You’re dying in here.”

His jaw flexed. “It’s fine.”

“You’re boiling.”

“You like it hot.”

You laughed, leaning in so your chest brushed his, nipples dragging wet and lazy over his skin beneath the water. “Thank you.”

You moved again, water sloshing around your thighs as you straddled him without warning, knees bracketing his hips, the tip of his cock brushing up along your inner thigh where the water shifted. His hands making themselves comfortable around waist out of instinct. One slid down, fingers curling under your ass, dragging you flush against him.

You smiled, pressing your mouth to his jaw. Softly, once. Then again. Then his cheek. His temple. You didn’t rush it. You kissed the side of his mouth next. Then again, slower. This time, he turned his head just enough that your mouths brushed fully. Not quite kissing. Not pulling away, either.

Your hands curled behind his neck, pulling yourself in closer. You shifted your hips just slightly—not to start anything. Just to feel him. The way his cock stiffened under you without effort. The way he held you tighter with that one hand under your ass, gripping into the flesh like he couldn’t help it.

“You always touch me like this.” you murmured, rocking just a little in the water. “Even when you don’t say shit.”

“I am saying shit.” Niragi said lowly, his thumb tracing over your hip. “You just don’t listen.”

You reached for his face again, thumbs brushing over his brows, down his cheeks. You kissed his mouth—longer now, with tongue, wet and deep and slow. His tongue piercing brushed yours, sudden, making you moan into him.

That seemed to hit something. He pulled your hips down harder, chest flush with yours now, water rising against your torsos, sloshing between you as his mouth moved rougher. Still not fast. But more.

Your hands moved to his hair, tugging gently, your knees tightening around his waist. You let your hips grind down on him, not enough to push things over, but enough to make a point. To let him feel it. Your laugh bubbled out of you, sweet, echoing off the tiled walls as his hand slid down your spine, wet fingers splayed low across your back. You let out a little shriek, the delighted kind, as you jolted at the sudden heat of his palm groping lower again.

“Hey!” you giggled, squirming in his lap, the water sloshing up over the edge of the tub. “Don’t grab me like that if you’re not gonna do something about it!”

He smiled, eyes lazy, head tilted against the edge of the tub like he wasn’t being driven crazy by the way you rocked your hips against him, slowly, teasingly, water slipping and sliding between your bodies.

“Keep talking.” he muttered, low and flat, his fingers sinking harder into your ass, pulling you tight against his cock. “Let’s see how long you last.”

“Oh my god.” you laughed again, shoulders shaking as you leaned into him, wrapping your arms around his neck, still riding that line—not quite fucking, not quite innocent. Your body rolled over him in slow, playful waves. “You’re so mean to me. You know that?”

“Yeah.” he said, “And you love it.”

“I do.” you said sweetly, kissing the corner of his mouth again. “I love you so much, you asshole.”

He let you kiss him, let your mouth linger there, and then again on his jaw, his ear, your soft breath warming the side of his face. Your legs tightened around his waist as you rocked your hips again—this time slower, deeper, dragging your slickness over the length of his cock beneath the water. The feeling was muted, wet and warm and perfect, the steam curling around both your bodies as you moved.

You pulled back just enough to look at him again, hair clinging to your shoulders, water dripping off your chin. You looked happy. Really happy. Glowing in that way that had nothing to do with the light or steam—it was you. That deep, real happiness that came from being with him, even when he barely spoke, even when he gave nothing but his hands and the hard weight of his cock under you.

“You feel so good.” you whispered, biting back another breathy laugh as he shifted his hips just slightly, grinding up into you, slipping in a bit. “You’re always so—fuck, shut up.”

He didn’t reply, but the muscle in his jaw twitched. His hand gripped your ass harder. Your eyes fluttered. Water sloshed and spilled over the edge of the tub with every grind of your slick skin on his cock, not even in you yet—just sliding through the wet mess between your thighs, rutting against the underside of you like your body couldn’t wait for more.

One hand slid up to your waist, while the other dipped lower, under the water, rough fingers sliding between your thighs, teasing where you were swollen and soaked for him.

You shrieked—a high, shocked sound of joy—and slapped his chest with a wet smack.

“Asshole!” you giggled, clinging to him, thighs trembling around his waist.

“Mhm.” he replied flatly, dragging his fingers back through your folds, middle one circling slow and firm around your clit now, not teasing anymore.

You whimpered, face buried in his neck, voice trembling between laughter and something rawer, almost crying now from how good it all felt.

Then, he stopped. Grabbed the base of his dick, guiding you up.

“…Oh.” you whispered, still smiling, still panting. “Wait—oh.”

“Sit.” Niragi told you, voice low.

You held his eyes. You could’ve made a joke. Something about being a good girl, or asking please, or teasing him one more time. But you didn’t. You just sank down.

The stretch knocked the air from your lungs.

Your mouth opened in a silent gasp, fingers digging into Niragi’s shoulders, your chest trembling with the sound of it. Your laughter was gone now—not lost, just tucked behind something bigger. You were swallowing him inch by inch, slow and perfect, your eyes fluttering shut as he filled you.

“Holy shit—” you breathed out, head falling forward. “You’re—oh my god—fuck.”

You rocked. Just once. Deep. Slick and hot and full. And then again, hips circling, water rushing between your bodies, both of you soaked in heat and steam and each other.

“I should be asleep right now.” you said, half-laughing, even as your voice shook with the way he filled you. “But no. I’m here. In your lap. Getting fucked stupid. Because I’m so nice.”

“Shut up.”

“And you,” you said, leaning in, kissing his mouth hard, slow, wet. “are in love with me.”

His hips bucked up into you at that—a sharp, involuntary thrust. Your moan caught against his lips.

“Tell me.” you giggled, mouth open against his, voice dissolving into a moan as your pace picked up. “Tell me I’m the best thing that’s ever happened to you. That my pussy’s made of—of fucking heaven, and you’re—”

He slapped your ass—hard. You yelped, cried out—the sound turning into a squeal of laughter. Because even when he barely spoke his body was yours. He was yours. And in that bath, soaked and steaming, choking on your own moans, laughter, and his cock—you never felt more loved.

You dropped your forehead to his shoulder for a second, laughing softly into his skin.

“Rude.” you giggled, voice thinner now as your hips started to find a rhythm, not too fast, but deep enough to make your thighs shake a little. “Is this why you won’t talk? You’re scared you’ll say something nice?”

He shifted again—not answering. Just driving you harder onto him with both hands, cock thick and firm and stretching your walls so good.

“I think,” you gasped, barely able to shut your lips, voice breaking into another shriek-laugh as his hand slapped lightly at your thigh under the water. “I think you’re secretly the sweetest man alive and you just don’t know how to deal with it.”

“Jesus.” Niragi muttered. “Shut the fuck up.”

You laughed, a soft whimper mixed in, arms tightening around his shoulders as you buried your face against his neck, rocking harder now. “I wooooon’t.”

He just pulled you tighter, harder, his mouth brushing your shoulder as you sunk down onto him again and again, the sound of your water sloshing echoing through the room as your body worked with his like you were made for this. Your head tipped back, moaning softly, hair stuck to your temples, your smile still breaking through all the pleasure on your face.

You looked like heaven.

Niragi looked like he was losing it.

You giggled again, high and breathless, as his palm smacked lightly against your thigh under the water again—not hard, not even really meant to hurt. Just a little bite. A little warning.

“Hey!” you gasped, grabbing at his wrist. “What the hell was that for?”

He smirked, eyes half-lidded, his other hand squeezing a firm handful of your ass under the water. “You were talking too much.”

You shrieked as you rode him, laughing hard now as you swatted at his chest, water splashing up between you both. “You love when I talk too much!”

He tilted his head, lips twitching—and god, that little twist of a smile was so rare it made your heart squeeze. “Do I?”

“You do.” you grinned, leaning in closer, nose brushing his. “You just like acting like you hate it. Like you’re too cold and serious for this much affection.”

You reached out and flicked his nipple under the water, just because you could, and he flinched back an inch with a scowl.

“Do that again and I’m drowning you in this tub.”

You burst into laughter, full and unrestrained, even as you felt each inch of him slide into you again and again. Your laugh was so happy, so real.

He just leaned forward—the tiniest shift—and kissed you. Hot. Quiet. You moaned into it, giggling again even as your tongue slid against his. You were too soft to be taken seriously, but your hips were still rolling slow and sweet onto his cock.

He groaned under his breath, and you felt it in your belly.

You pulled back from the kiss, breathless and shining, and pinched his cheek just to annoy him.

“Baby.” you said dramatically. “I’m gonna fall in love with you all over again if you keep being this sweet.”

“I literally just slapped you.”

“And it was so hot!” you laughed, pressing your face to his neck, biting gently at the skin there, sucking a small mark that made his fingers clench in your flesh.

“Jesus.” he muttered, but his hands slid over your back anyway, fingers spreading across the curve of your ass and squeezing until you gasped.

You retaliated immediately, slapping his chest—not hard, more like a playful thump with your palm. “You’re such a dick.”

“You’re riding it.” he said, deadpan.

You lost it at that. Giggled so hard you had to drop your forehead to his shoulder again, your entire body shaking as you choked on laughter. “You are so stupid, oh my god—”

He gripped your hips hard, shifting under you so the thick head of his cock dragged right up your walls just perfect.

You froze a little at that, breath catching. Then exhaled slow, eyes fluttering open, mouth parted as your hips rocked forward just once in answer.

“Oh.” you whispered, voice soft, awed. “Oh, fuck.”

You felt high on it. On the heat, the slick grind of his cock trapped between your folds, the sheer weight of him under you, arms holding your ass so tightly, like you’d vanish if he didn’t. Gripping your ass with both hands again as you lifted your hips up, pulling out of you, dragging you forward so your clit rubbed hard over the ridge of his cock, trapped beneath you and rock-fucking-hard. You cried out—not from pain, not even pleasure, but from the sheer shock of it. The friction. The heat. The way your whole body flinched and then melted into his, flushed and frantic and still giggling.

“I hate you.” you gasped, curling your fingers in his hair, tugging just enough to make his head tilt back.

“You wish.”

“No.” you said, grinning so hard your cheeks hurt, breath ragged against his mouth. “I do. I hate you. You’re such a fucking bully.”

“Uh-huh.” His hands were everywhere now—slippery and tight, gripping the backs of your thighs, the curve of your ass, squeezing and slapping and pulling you over him again and again. “That why you’re whining like that every time your pussy rubs up on me?”

You made a noise. Not a word. Just a desperate, shocked moan that fell right into a laugh again, a giggle that shook through your spine as you collapsed against his chest.

“Shut up.” you whined, voice muffled against his shoulder. “You’re so fucking rude.”

He kissed the side of your head.

Quick. Like a reflex. Like it didn’t mean anything. Which meant it probably meant everything.

You pulled back a little, mouth still open with another laugh about to fall out, but he caught it this time. His mouth met yours like he was tired of letting you do all the kissing. It wasn’t sweet. It wasn’t slow. It was teeth and tongue, his little tongue ball sliding against yours like ice in whiskey. His hand came up to your face and grabbed your jaw—firm, fingers pressing into your cheeks just enough to hold you in place. To make sure you felt every inch of his mouth moving against yours while you felt every inch of his dick slip back into you. And you moaned into it, high and helpless and happy as hell. Because even when he was like this—especially when he was like this—he was yours. Yours to touch, to tease, to climb on top of in the bath and laugh in the middle of sex and kiss until you were dizzy with it.

“You’re gonna make me pass out.” you whispered into the kiss, completely honest.

“Then stop bouncing like a fucking rabbit.”

“I can’t.” you whined dramatically, rolling your hips before continuing the up and down motion just to prove your point. “You feel too good. I’m not built for restraint. I’m built for—ah, fuck—”

He’d shifted his hips again, pushing up into you slow, trapped and pulsing and perfect between your swollen walls. Your whole body jerked with it, hands grabbing at his shoulders, breath cracking apart.

“Fuck, fuck—fuck—”

He felt you clenching around him. Heard it in your voice. The way your moans were getting breathier, shakier. He felt that you were getting close, so he asked, “Just from this?”

You grinned through it, eyes wild and shining. “Yeah, actually. Because you’re fucking perfect and I love you and—oh my god—keep—fuck, just like that—”

Your laugh cracked open mid-moan, breath catching on the way out as your hips stuttered. Water splashed up against the sides of the tub, crashing over, dripping from both of you onto the floor you’d definitely have to mop later—not that you cared. Not now. Not when his cock was buried so deep inside you, stretching you wide, heat pulsing between your thighs like you were made to take him.

You rocked your hips again—not graceful, not teasing anymore. Just needy. Desperate to keep him there. Desperate to feel everything, even if it was too much.

“I can feel you in my stomach.” you breathed out, eyes wide and glassy, voice still warm, high, full of awe. “Jesus Christ.”

Niragi was flushed now—chest pink, neck red, a single drop of water trailing down the side of his face. His hands clutched at your hips. He was still—but barely. His cock throbbed inside you with every shift of your body.

You ground your hips in a slow, deep circle, your mouth parting at the pressure, the perfect stretch of him, your voice falling to a breathless whimper.

He made a sound in his throat—low, strangled. Something he almost swallowed.

You leaned in, mouth brushing his ear, your hair wet and clinging to your back, your tits pressed to his chest, nipples grazing him every time you moved.

You bounced, rocked, deeper, little gasping moans slipping from your lips as the water sloshed high around your torsos, every sound obscene and wet and perfect.

You laughed through a broken little cry. “God, you always try to be so in control, huh?”

His hand smacked your ass again—a slap dulled by the water that made you cry out and laugh, the water rippling from the movement.

“Fuck—” you moaned, panting, clinging to his shoulders. “You really don’t like being talked back to, do you?”

“You like running your mouth when you’re this full.” he muttered—low, tight.

You smiled down at him, breathless, flushed, a little wild. “I like you.”

He looked at you—really looked. Eyes heavy, pretty, mouth parted, cock twitching inside you like he might fall apart any second.

And it was beautiful.

You leaned forward and kissed him, slow and deep, letting your moans melt into his mouth. Your hips never stopped moving—rolling now, tighter, faster, grinding down until the friction was just enough to make your legs shake.

Your body went tighter, your breath shorter. You were trembling.

“Shit—baby—fuck.” you gasped, voice breaking. “I’m—fuck, I’m gonna—”

He grabbed your hips, slammed you down—once, hard—and held you there, full, stretched, completely pinned. You screamed—a bright, raw sound, halfway between a sob and a laugh as the orgasm hit you like a wave.

Your body snapped, your back arching, hands scrambling across his shoulders, thighs squeezing around him as your whole body trembled with it. You came hard, mouth open in a silent cry, tears pricking the corners of your eyes from how full, how deep, how perfect it felt. You came on him like a sunbeam—laughing into it, gasping, shuddering, clinging as your whole body went tight and flushed and overwhelmed. Your head dropped to his shoulder, voice sweet and broken against his neck.

His hips snapped up, just once, hard and fast.

Your whole body jolted.

“Fucking hell—” Niragi growled, his sweet voice cracking for the first time that night, rough and vulnerable and real.

You barely had time to look up, eyes fluttering, lips parted—before he was pulling you down, fucking up into you in short, brutal thrusts, his hands bruising on your ass now, and every time he bottomed out, you cried out again.

He grabbed your chin with one wet hand, forcing your eyes to his.

“Smile for me.” he said—voice wrecked. “Come on, sunshine.”

You beamed.

And that was it.

He came hard—buried inside you, pulsing deep, his jaw tight, hips stuttering as he emptied everything into you with a low, broken moan that he barely let escape. His arms wrapped around your back, holding you tight, fucking you through it until you were both spent and shaking, tangled together in the fading steam, water lapping at your sides like waves crashing against wreckage.

You stayed there. Still in his lap. Still full.

Still smiling.

Always smiling.

You kissed his cheek, soft and slow, your lips brushing the corner of his mouth. “Told you I’m the best thing that ever happened to you.”

He didn’t answer.

But his arms didn’t let go.

And that was all the confirmation you’d ever need.

~

Steam clung to your skin like silk as you stepped out of the bathroom, warm towel wrapped around your chest, still damp and flushed from everything. The hallway lights caught the shimmer on your legs, your collarbones, the smile that just wouldn’t leave your face no matter how bruised your hips were or how jelly your knees felt.

Niragi followed close behind, towel slung low on his hips, wet hair dripping onto his shoulders, eyes already half-lidded in that post-release haze. He looked a little ruined—and not just because you’d ridden him into the fucking earth. He always looked like that around you, actually. Like having you around was too much and not enough all at once. Like you were messing with the steel trap of his brain just by existing.

His hand landed on your waist like a reflex. A small one, maybe. But it lingered. It always did with him. His knuckles dragged along your side, catching the edge of the towel, fingertips brushing the swell of your ass like it wasn’t even intentional.

You looked up at him, lashes wet, lips bitten pink. Smiling. Always fucking smiling.

“You’re such a boy.” you whispered, giggling under your breath. “Touchy and mean. You gonna let me get dressed or just keep groping me until I melt into the wall?”

He raised a brow. “You wouldn’t complain.”

You kicked him. Soft. Barefoot. Just a little jab to his calf. “Still mean. Even after I made your eyes roll back.”

“Hm.”

“What was that?” you asked, voice syrupy and warm, your arms winding around his neck.

His hand slipped to the back of your thigh. Squeezed. No words.

You grinned. Kissed his cheek. “Yeah. Thought so.”

You pulled away then, the towel barely hanging on as you made your way into the bedroom, humming something tuneless and girly under your breath. You were already moving on—body buzzing, giddy, your head somewhere between love-drunk and just dumb in love. You peeled your towel off and let it drop to the floor, rifling through the drawer he’d long ago cleared for you, even though he still pretended he hated having your “shit everywhere.”

(He didn’t. He liked it. You knew.)

You tugged on a pair of soft, pale panties and one of Niragi’s shirts—oversized, worn, smelled like detergent and him. It hit mid-thigh and practically swallowed your shoulders. You loved it. You always picked the one he’d just worn the day before. It made him insane.

“You’re not gonna wear your own clothes?” he asked from the doorway, now shirtless, towel discarded, sweatpants halfway up his hips.

You turned, all cheek. “You like me like this.”

He said nothing. But his eyes dragged over you—legs bare, hair dripping, soft and sweet and wearing his shirt—and you saw the way his jaw flexed. He came up behind you before you could say something smart, hand landing heavy on your hip again like he couldn’t help it. You were warm. Always warm.

You beamed.

He let you go when you turned to crawl onto the bed, laying back like a little goddess, all glow and legs and bare thighs, kicking your feet in the air like the picture of bliss.

Niragi climbed in after you, already sighing like your presence was going to kill him—like your brightness was both a blessing and a chronic fucking headache. He laid beside you, arm slung over his eyes, pretending to ignore you, but you caught the way his free hand rested just close enough to touch your thigh if he needed to.

You kicked him.

He didn’t move—didn’t open his eyes—but his fingers brushed your thigh once. Soft. Intentional.

You leaned over, kissed his cheek again, voice sweet. “Love you, too.”

Yeah, he was horrible. Closed-off, cold, didn’t like people, didn’t like noise, didn’t like talking unless he absolutely had to—but you were an exception. You were light. You were sugar and bare feet and the smell of soap and the hum of the city outside and your laugh in his ears when everything else felt like a fucking war.

And him? He was just the asshole lucky enough to get all of you.

Plus the sheets were a little wrinkled, the air smelled like his body wash and the faint trace of sex still floating in the steam left over from earlier.

Your feet was bare, hair still wet and curling where it wanted to, his shirt falling off one shoulder and bouncing around the bed like the mattress was your playground. Your legs were tangled in the sheets, your phone was abandoned somewhere near the pillows, and you were kicking at him again—half-hearted, bratty, toeing his thigh until he huffed and finally caught your ankle with a death grip.

“Stop.”

You just grinned. Bit your lip. Tilted your head with that knowing, irritating, irresistible look that made him want to kiss you and strangle you at the same time. “I’m not doing anything.”

He tugged your ankle, dragging you toward him, until you let out a little squeal—high and breathless—falling onto your back with your leg still in his grip, head thrown back against the pillow, laughing.

“You’re holding my leg.” you pointed out, smile splitting your face. “You’re so weird about touching me. Always saying you don’t care, but then your hands are on me.”

He didn’t look up from your leg. But his grip didn’t loosen either. “You’re soft.”

“And you’re emotionally constipated.”

His eyes did flick to you then.

You blinked, sweet as ever. “What? I’m in psych. I can diagnose you with that.”

“Pretty sure that’s not a real disorder.”

“Not officially.” you said with a little shrug, rolling onto your side and propping yourself up on your elbow, the leg he was holding bent slightly at the knee. “But if it was, you’d have it. Classic symptoms, blunt affect, low empathy presentation, defensive sarcasm, obsessive work habits, clearly compensatory. And that’s just what I picked up today.”

He squinted at you.

You smiled wider. “Also you’re mean.”

He smirked at that—barely. “You’re meaner.”

“No.” you said, crawling toward him now, dragging your sheet with you. “I’m good. I’m an angel. Ask literally anyone.”

“No.” he muttered as you finally reached him, straddling his thigh without asking and tossing your arm across his chest like you owned it. You leaned in, rested your chin on his chest, right over his heart.

“You don’t let people in. Because every time you did, they either left, or hurt you. You got used to silence. You got used to fighting your way through everything alone, even if it meant getting kicked around a little. And now that you have someone—someone who loves you soft and silly and stupidly—you don’t know what to do with it.”

His jaw ticked.

You kissed it.

“And that’s okay.” you whispered. “I don’t mind figuring it out with you. I’ve got time.”

He finally looked at you—eyes heavy, jaw tight, guarded in that way that made you ache for the boy he used to be. The one who got picked last. The one who had to get sharp and cold just to survive.

“You’re fucking strange.” he said eventually. Voice low.

You grinned, warm and gentle and annoying. “So are you.”

His hand slid back up your leg, palm dragging over your thigh. You didn’t stop smiling.

You pressed your cheek to his chest, right over where his heart beat a little too fast, and let the silence stretch out—soft and easy now.

You traced circles on his chest.

He rested his hand on the back of your thigh.

You didn’t need to say more.

You already knew.

So yeah, this was your relationship. It didn’t make sense, not on paper. People didn’t really get it when they saw you two together. Not really. You were all softness and warmth, eyes lit up with curiosity about the world, voice like a song even when you rambled about nonsense, which was often. You were the kind of person strangers smiled at on the street. The kind of girl who remembered birthdays, brought snacks to study sessions, stopped to compliment people’s nails and outfits even if you didn’t know them. Kind. Gentle. Smiley. Lovely.

Niragi was horrible. The guy who barely looked up when someone walked in a room, who got irritated just by existing around other people for too long. He was the walking embodiment of don’t talk to me, and half the time he looked like he was one eye twitch away from throwing someone out a window. Hell, even his compliments sounded like complaints.

But then there was you.

And something about you just fit.

It shouldn’t have worked—but it did. Only because of you, honestly. You were the bridge. The reason he learned how to breathe when the world made him feel like he was drowning. It was you who opened the door to his apartment and made it feel like home. You who pulled him out of his own head when the self-loathing got too loud. You gave softness without asking him to be soft, gave love without conditions, gave affection without asking for it back in equal measure—because you knew he didn’t know how to love like that yet. But he was trying. God, he was trying.

And it showed in the quiet ways.

The way he kept your favorite snacks stocked in the kitchen, even though he claimed he didn’t eat junk. The way he always pulled your phone charger closer to your side of the bed before you even realized your battery was low—though that was because his insecure side made him look at your phone at all times—The way his hand never didn’t touch you, even in silence, even when you were arguing, even when he didn’t say a word for hours. There was always a hand on your thigh. An ankle hooked around yours under the sheets. A palm resting on your lower back as he passed behind you in the kitchen.

That was his love. Not big words. Not loud declarations.

Just presence. Just touch.

And you accepted that. You loved him like it wasn’t hard—even though it was. Even though Niragi was frustrating and complicated and built from the ruins of too many years spent hurting in silence. You loved him even when he didn’t love himself. Maybe especially then.

Because you saw it. You saw him.

The kid underneath the scowl. The man who kept the armor on because no one ever made him feel safe enough to take it off.

Until you.

He still didn’t say much. But you didn’t need him to. You’d lie in bed with your head on his chest, rambling about school, or the dream you had, or a TikTok someone sent you, and he’d just listen—quiet and grumpy and pretending not to care—but you’d feel his thumb stroking lazy lines on your shoulder, or his nose nuzzle against your damp hair, and that was all you needed.

You could love for the both of you.

At least, until he learned how.

But sometimes, he surprised you. Like the time he texted you “wear that thing from last week,” out of nowhere, which made you laugh in the middle of your seminar. Or when he leaned into you one night, unprompted, face buried in your neck, and whispered, “Don’t leave.”

He never said shit like that. Never admitted to needing anything. But that night? He said it like it hurt.

You didn’t tease him. You just kissed the side of his head and said, “Not going anywhere,” like it was the easiest promise you’d ever made. Because it was. You weren’t going anywhere. Not when you’d spent all this time peeling him back, cracking open the shell he thought was a fortress and finding the soft, scared, loyal soul underneath. Not when every day with him felt like a victory—a tiny, hard-earned, precious victory.

He was still fucked up. Still stubborn and angry and quiet.

But with you? He was good.

And no one could touch what you two had. No one could understand it. That didn’t matter.

It was strange. Messy. Half broken. And perfect. In your own weird, private, beautiful way.

You ran the tip of your hands along his chest softly, his hand sliding up your thigh automatically, and you let out that soft little hum of contentment he always pretended not to love.

And for a guy who never smiled in photos, never laughed at parties, never liked much of anything—Niragi swore, sometimes, he could feel himself smiling, just under the skin.

Just because you were there.

~

It was early.

Too early for how warm the bed was. You were already dressed—tucked and sweet and ready to take on the day. Your hair was done, lip gloss perfectly glossy, tote bag full of color-coded notebooks and your headphones tucked into the pocket with a little granola bar you didn’t even really want. You were standing at the foot of the bed, adjusting the strap of your bag, and Niragi was half-curled under the blankets, shirtless, hair messy from sleep—that unfair kind of messy that made him look beautiful. He had one hand behind his head, but the other? Gripping your wrist. Firm. Relentless.

“You’re gonna make me late.” you warned gently, not pulling too hard. “C’mon. I have class.”

Niragi didn’t even open his eyes all the way. Just squinted at you. “Skip.”

You scoffed. “I’m not skipping abnormal psych to lay in bed with you all day, you caveman.”

“Your loss.”

You tried to pull away again. His grip tightened.

“Baby.” you whined, a little. You didn’t mean to, but it came out soft and full of air, because you were always weak in the morning. Especially when he touched you like that.

He just dragged your wrist down until you stumbled a little closer to the edge of the bed, until your knees hit the mattress.

You laughed under your breath, leaning on the bed with your free hand to balance yourself. “I’m better than everyone, baby. Can’t let them get ahead now.”

His hand slid from your wrist to your thigh. He squeezed. “Come prove it.”

“You want me to be late and be your whore this early?”

“Exactly.” He reached with his other hand, tugged your bag right off your shoulder and tossed it to the floor. “Stay.”

You bent forward, nose scrunching as you kissed his cheek. “You’re literally the worst.”

He looked smug, all sleepy and stretched out under the blanket, eyes half-open but still devouring you like breakfast, like he’d pull you under the covers and make you forget your own name if you stood there a second longer.

You pulled away, trying to grab your bag. He grabbed your wrist again.

“Baby.” you said, exasperated.

“What.”

“I need to go.”

“No you don’t.”

You made a soft sound, part frustration, part laugh. “You’re just horny and lazy.”

“Mm.” he said, tilting his head. “And you’re better than whatever stupid thing you’re about to learn about.”

“I’m a psych major.”

“Exactly.”

You glared.

He didn’t blink. His thumb stroked your inner wrist.

You leaned down again, lips brushing against his just barely. A sweet kiss. “You’re not keeping me hostage in your bed, sorry.”

“You’re not even sorry.”

You giggled, finally pulling free again, though you had to reach way too far across the floor to grab your bag.

Niragi watched you the whole time. Watched you straighten up, adjust your skirt. Watched the way your necklace shimmered against your throat. Watched your glossed lips pout slightly as you checked your phone. You looked like the epitome of light. Sweet and bright and put together. So girly it was unfair. It was a fucking miracle you ever gave him the time of day.

You turned, standing near the doorway of the room now. “I’ll see you later, okay?”

Niragi didn’t say anything. Just leaned back into the pillows, stretched, lifted a hand lazily—and flipped you off.

You blew him a kiss.

That was your relationship.

You, glowing in the sunlight, cheeks pink and bag bouncing on your shoulder, laughing on your way out the door.

And him, grumpy and hard to love, trying to drag you back to bed because he didn’t know any other way to say I miss you already.

And god, did it work.

Because the second the front door clicked behind you and the cold of the hallway touched your skin, you just… stopped. Froze there, blinking at the dead silence beyond the apartment walls. And then, like the dumb, in-love little creature you were, you exhaled something close to a groan, dropped your head back against the door, and turned right the fuck around.

You shoved the door open, tossed your coat somewhere near the wall, your bag thudded against the floor, and your shoes didn’t even make it past the threshold before you were squealing—actually squealing—on your way back down the hall.

“I hate you!” you shouted, all breathless glee, skidding into the bedroom. “I hate you so much, oh my god!”

Niragi’s head lifted from the pillow just enough to see you launch yourself across the room. His lips quirked—just barely—as you jumped back into bed with enough force to bounce the mattress.

“Changed your mind?” he asked, deadpan.

You were already crawling under the covers, the hem of your skirt bunched up around your thighs. “You ruined me! This is your fault!”

“I didn’t do shit.”

“You ruined me!” you repeated, dramatic as fuck, wrapping your arms around his bare chest and smooshing your face into his neck. “I was ready! I was cute! I was gonna be productive!”

He snorted. Full-on this time. Tried to stifle it behind his hand, but you heard it.

“Don’t laugh.” you mumbled against his skin, voice muffled. “You’re toxic. You’re the reason I can’t be normal.”

“Good.” Niragi muttered, rolling to press you deeper into the bed. “Normal girls don’t moan the way you do.”

You let out a scandalized little gasp and kicked him with your knee. He caught your thigh instantly, gripped it and pushed between your legs again like his body was wired to know exactly how to make you stop fighting.

“Baby!”

“What?” he murmured. “You came back. Don’t act like I’m the problem.”

“I am the problem.” you said, like a confession. “I’m obsessed with you. Like sick. Mentally unwell. I literally smelled you on my coat just now and had to come back.“

His hand slid up your back under your shirt. Not urgent. Not impatient. Just there—skin to skin, warm and steady.

“I’m not sorry.” he whispered.

“I know. I hate you.”

“You already said that.”

And he was right—you had. Said it a million times. Said it even now, curled against his bare chest, his hardened cock pressing firm against your thigh through his pants, his hand up your shirt, his mouth brushing your collarbone. You said it all the time, because you knew he didn’t take it to heart.

But the truth was obvious.

You weren’t thinking about your textbooks. You weren’t thinking about your schedule or your attendance record or your meticulously highlighted calendar back at your place.

You were thinking about Niragi.

His piercings. His face. His style. How tall he was. The low hum in his throat as he kissed your shoulder and palmed your ass like he had nothing else to do today but love you the only way he knew how—with his hands, with his body, with his unbearable, addicting, asshole self.

You wiggled closer to him, if that was even possible.

There will food be in the kitchen if you get to that. Warm sheets here. Your charger on the nightstand. Your toothbrush in the bathroom. Your bra on the floor. His shirt on your back.

And Niragi.

That was the whole list.

What else could you possibly need?

You shifted your face on him. “Baby…”

“Hm?”

“Your dick’s poking me.”

“Yeah.” Niragi said, not even pretending to be sorry. “Been poking you.”

You lifted your head. “You’re so annoying! I came back here to cuddle and you’re—baby.”

He blinked, completely unaffected. “Not my fault.”

You dropped your head with a groan, kicking your legs under the covers like a tantrum but still staying wrapped around him like a baby koala.

“It’s like sleeping next to a loaded gun.” you whined, rubbing your face against his collarbone. “I can’t even be sweet to you without getting dicked up.”

“That’s not a complaint.”

“It is a complaint!” you insisted, voice muffled now. “I’m trying to be a good girlfriend. I came back to snuggle you and now I’m thinking about—” You paused. Pouted. “About stuff.”

“That’s all you.” Niragi said simply. “I didn’t say anything.”

“Because you don’t have to. Your dick’s doing all the talking.”

“Good. That one’s smarter than me anyway.”

You snorted so hard you actually slapped his chest, light and playful, which only made him pull you closer, one hand sliding lower to squeeze a handful of your ass as if to prove the point.

“I hate how cocky you are.”

“You don’t. You love it.”

“No, I love you. The cockiness is just, like…” You paused again, scrunching your nose. “…part of the starter pack.”

Niragi’s fingers squeezed your ass again. “That mean you’re gonna take care of it?”

You whined. Slapped him again, this time on the arm. “You’re gross.”

“You’re the one rubbing your thighs together like a slut.”

“Baby!”

“Tell me I’m wrong.”

You couldn’t. You wouldn’t. Because it wasn’t his fault, really—it was your own. Your fault for being such a sucker for him in the morning. Your fault for wearing this skirt. Your fault for crawling into his arms like you didn’t know exactly what you were doing. And now here you were, legs tangled up in his, skin warm, brain stupid, mouth dry.

Still smiling.

Still blushing.

Still so damn sweet, even when he was driving you crazy.

Niragi leaned in suddenly, mouth at your ear, voice low and beautiful. “We don’t have to do anything. I just wanna hold you.”

You melted, instantly, which only made you more annoyed. “Don’t say it like that…”

“Like what?”

“Like you’re sweet now.”

He huffed out a quiet laugh, kissed your cheek, and rolled you over so you were flat on your back, tucked beneath him. Not heavy. Not crushing.

“You are sweet, though.” you whispered, breathless again. “Even when you pretend not to be.”

He kissed your shoulder.

Then your collarbone.

Then the underside of your jaw.

“I’m not sweet.” he muttered into your skin, so in the mood. “Just obsessed with you.”

“Oh.” You blinked. Heart thudding. “Well… okay then.”

That was all you could say.

Because yeah. His dick was still poking you.

But his mouth was soft, and his hands were steady, and your world was warm and stupid and safe, right here.

So yeah—you’d come back for that.

You’d always come back for that.

[sugarcreambiteskingdom]

May I have the five beasts x male reader who is one of them and has the power to create plants and such before his corruption he was always pressure by the witches and his advisors to be perfect always have a smile on his face make beautiful flowers and plants bloom always no matter what never allow to do what he truly wants to do force to be the perfect cookie with a perfect smile and until he snap and become a beast he use his plants to torment and terrified the one who always pressure him to be perfect and he say finally no longer have to be perfect I will go my own way I own nothing to those worthless cookies or the witches now they will all see what else can I do as he has huge creepy smile on his face as his laughts evilly as his plants attacks the cookies and earthbread and completely takes over even his appearance change to one he prefers he use a rose on his head then he becomes a beasts it has teeths and will turn into a huge rise monster by reader command headcanons please

Cream Oreo Cookie: This reminds me of a movie I once knew but I can't remember it :v

The First Ancient Cookie's:

Light Milk Cookie:

He was worried about you and was...upset with the witches and how they treat you

He doesn't appreciates the Witches pushing you to use your powers 24/7 just because you we're a powerful Ancient Cookie you still need rest

He would always makes excuses for you so the witches would let you rest

He will be there for you to comfort you if you ever needed it

Spice Cookie:

Seeing you tired and overwhelmed with work was enough to annoy The Herald Of Change from the Witches decisions to treat you like a lowly worker which never fails to BOIL his Jam

He would always so called "kidnap" you so the two of you can chat and relax in his temple

He makes sure you eat well and drink a lot and rested a lot by giving you a ton of food, drinks, blankets, pillows, stuff animals to cuddle with

Salt Cookie:

He disapproves with all of the Witches antics and how they use you

Your just a Cookie for The Witches sake! Just because you have a crunchy and hard dough doesn't mean you still can't break from exhaustion

He would also like Spice Cookie will "kidnap" you to get some rest

The two would go on for walks, or read a book under a tree or just enjoy the peacefulness of everything and relax

Plain Flour Cookie:

She has heard all of your wishes for peace and relaxation under a tree by a hill far away from your duties

She is always there to listen and give you advice

She also does not agree with the Witches Wishes of your time to give all of your energy and power of "Life" as they all say

If you ever need someone to cry your heart out she is here for you do not worry

Ephemeral Sugar Cookie:

Why would the witches force such a handsome Cookie like yourself to manual labor?

Okay maybe Manual Labor is a bit too much but it kind of looks that way from her eyes!

A Handsome and Magnificent Cookie like yourself should rest and have time for yourself to instead of letting yourself get over work like this!

She would always visit you and give you clouds to use as bed or pillows to rest on and relax alongside her!

She will wrap her wings around you as you sleep and at times hide you from the Witches so you can go and sleep for atleast 9 Hours or so

BEAST COOKIES:

Shadow Milk Cookie:

THIS, THIS IS THE REASON WHY IT WAS AN AMAZING IDEA TO LEAVE THE WITCHES BEHIND

This was there fault not yours...

If they weren't so pushy maybe this wouldn't have happened

But that's okay!

Now we can all have fun with our powers and use them for our OWN entertainment and not THE WITCHES

Burning Spice Cookie:

He was so glad that the two of you finally decided to leave those witches expectations and create your own fun

He would ask you to battle with him and spar just to see how strong you've gotten

He'll make sure to not burn your beautiful plants or work of art during those battles since he knows that you still love your plants and won't want for them to be burnt into dust even though you can always make some more

So basically he just uses his axe to cut through it

Silent Salt Cookie:

They had enough of the witches and how they treated you

So let's see what they think about the new you?

Causing chaos from left to right

You and Silent Salt Cookie we're an amazing team at the battle field

You would throw those wretched Cookie's up high to the skies as Silent Salt Cookie slice them off

Even though he doesn't talk now unlike the past

He would always bring you a head of a Cookie with it's head full of your favorite flowers in it to show his affection towards you

Mystic Flour Cookie:

The Witches always Take and Take and Take and Take

But now there's nothing to give and that's how Mystic Flour Cookie felt which is why she understands what you we're going through

Those greedy Cookie's wants there wishes to come through to the point they would crumble eachother

While the Witches never gave any care about you and how much work they weigh on you

So why not let them see how can one of the purest of Cookie can turn to the most bitterness ones

Eternal Sugar Cookie:

It wasn't fun or funny at all anymore seeing you all hurt and sad and stressed out from the witches

But seeing you now destroying those witches creations made her so damn happy for you

She even decided to join you in this masquerade of yours

She will never leave her little Cinnamon Roll behind to make all of this Cookie's Suffer!

She wants to have some fun too

Oh how she enjoyed it spending time with you with no Witches to interrupt your bond!

How Fun!

[presleyvinyl]

⋆˙𝐔𝐍𝐃𝐄𝐑 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐓𝐀𝐁𝐋𝐄˙⋆

tags/warnings: stepdaddy!EP/stepdaughter!reader, age gap, teasing, p in v sex, creampie, lap riding, daddy kink (is it really a daddy kink if it's your step father?), (mild, maybe implied?) overstimulation, reader is of legal age ♡ smut is where cut starts♡

Your bare foot slid slow and sly under the dinner table, tracing the curve of his calf beneath his slacks. You knew better than to push him like this—not here, not now—but you couldn't help yourself.

Elvis sat directly across from you, knife and fork paused just an inch above his plate of roast chicken and mashed potatoes. He was mid-laugh with your mama, that lazy Southern drawl curling off his tongue like molasses. But the moment your toes graze higher, just beneath his knee, his voice dips off, eyes flicking toward you.

“You alright, honey?” your mother asked, as she glanced up at him between bites.

Elvis cleared his throat, gives her a slow smile. “Y-Yeah, darlin’. Jus' bit a jalapeno, s’all.”

You press a little harder, curling your toes around his leg now. He doesn’t look at you, but you can see it in the tight clench of his jaw, the way his grip stiffened around the silverware. That’s when his hand slipped under the table, catching your ankle firm but quiet, halting you in place.

Your mama kept talking. Elvis held your foot tight, fingers tense, thumb tracing small circles—warning or promise, you’re not sure.

But the way his thumb lingered? It wasn't a scolding. Either way, you continues to inch your foot up higher and higher, right toward his groin where once your foot met his groin, he let out a low growl of sorts, digging his fingers into your ankle.

The chair scraped back suddenly, your foot falling out of Elvis' grasp just a moment before, as Elvis got up, "I uh- Imma get some coke," He muttered, eyes remaining on you.Your mother nodded, as you then spoke, "Could you get me one?" You asked, fluttering your lashes

Your mama gave you a sharp look, cutting right through the moment. “Now, sugar, you’re more than capable of gettin’ your own drink. Don’t you be relyin’ on Elvis for everything.”

Elvis was literally grabbing a Coke off the fridge shelf behind him, but your mama’s words held the final say. You let out a soft, exaggerated pout, batting your eyes as if it was the biggest injustice in the world.

“Well, alright then,” you murmured, standing up slowly from your chair, every inch of you still feeling the heat from under the table. You glanced at Elvis, who gave you a small, tight smile.

You trailed behind him into the kitchen, the quiet scrape of your bare feet on the linoleum the only sound between you two.

You grabbed a Coke from the fridge before turning around and Elvis already had you pinned against the fridge, his brows knitted together and fingers digging into your wrists, "Now what in the hell do ya think her doin'?" He sneered, the tip of his nose brushing yours.

You blinked up at him, lips parted in a soft little “o” as if you had no idea what he was talking about. Innocence painted across your features like a mask. “Doing? I was just tryin’ to get a drink, same as you,” you whispered, your voice all sugar and wide-eyed sweetness. “Did I do something wrong, Elvis?”

His grip on your wrists didn’t loosend. If anything, his fingers pressed tighter into your skin—not enough to hurt, but just enough to remind you who was in control. His eyes, that deep stormy blue, narrowed as they scanned your face.

“Don’t play dumb with me, lil' girl,” he growled, low and slow like thunder before a downpour. “You were damn near rubbin’ up on me under the table like it meant nothin’. You think that’s somethin’ a good girl does?”

Your breath caught, chest rising against his as he leaned in even closer, his hips just shy of pressing fully against yours. His scent wrapped around you—warm spice, aftershave, and temptation.

“I didn’t mean anything by it,” you murmured, letting your lashes flutter. “Maybe my foot just slipped.”

Elvis let out a low, humorless laugh, his nose brushing yours again. “Fuckin’ bullshit.” He moved one of your wrists above your head, pinning it lightly against the fridge door, his palm now splayed across your ribs. “Slipped, huh?” he drawled, voice like gravel soaked in honey. “Funny how that ‘slip’ ended right where it damn well shouldn’t’ve.”

You swallowed, your fake sweetness wilting under the weight of his stare. “It was just a game,” you whispered, barely audible. “Ain’t no game, baby,” he said, breath hot against your cheek. “Not when you go temptin’ me like that in front of your mama.”

After dinner, your mama had insisted on doing the dishes herself—said it helped her wind down. You offered out of habit, but she waved you off with a smile and a dish towel already slung over her shoulder. Elvis had sauntered off into the TV room, and you followed, the air between you both still thick with everything unsaid—and everything felt.

The lights were dim, the low hum of the TV filling the room with some old Western he wasn’t really watching. He was leaning back on the couch, one arm thrown over the backrest, his body sprawled like he owned every inch of the space—and you, if he wanted. You sat on the opposite end at first, legs tucked under you, but your eyes kept drifting… down.

His slacks.

They were tight. Too tight.

The fabric stretched just a little too much over the bulge at the front, the aftermath of the kitchen still lingering in the way he shifted, like he couldn’t quite get comfortable.You swallowed. “Elvis,” you said quietly, pretending to keep your eyes on the TV. “You alright?”

He cut his eyes toward you, slow and deliberate. “Do I look alright to ya?” he asked, voice low and sharp, that Southern edge curling around every word.Your gaze dropped again, unashamed now. “No,” you said, lips twitching up just slightly. “You look… tense.”

He leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees, his slacks pulling tighter as he spread his legs. “Then maybe you oughta do somethin’ ‘bout it… since you’re the one that got me this way.”

You didn’t hesitate. Sliding off the couch, you crossed the room with slow, deliberate steps, each one echoing softly against the hardwood floor. Before Elvis could even react, you settled yourself right in his lap, the warmth of his body enveloping you like a secret.

His hands came up almost immediately, resting on your hips, fingers pressing gently but firmly. The room seemed to shrink around you, every breath, every movement magnified in the quiet. Then, with a slow, teasing motion, Elvis’s hips gave a subtle but unmistakable buck against you. You froze, heart pounding as the electricity between you sparked hotter.

“Careful, darlin’,” he murmured against your ear, his voice low and rough, “Mama ain’t got no idea what kinda trouble you’re stirrin’ up.” Your lips curled into a soft smile, but before you could reply, the creak of the front door shattered the moment. Both your heads snapped toward the sound, tension snapping tight like a wire.

Your mama’s footsteps were deliberate, steady—she was coming in.Quick as a flash, you slid off Elvis’s lap, cheeks warming with a flush you tried to hide in the dim light. You stepped back toward the couch, adjusting your clothes and smoothing your hair, pretending you’d just been sitting there the whole time.

Elvis let out a quiet chuckle, shaking his head with a knowing grin.Your mama appeared in the doorway, rubbing her eyes, “I’m heading to bed early tonight, sugar. Y’all just keep watchin’ that TV—don’t let it keep you up too late.”You smiled softly, nodding. “Yes, ma’am. We’ll be good.”

As she disappeared down the hall, Elvis’s eyes darkened with promise. “Well, now that the coast’s clear…” he whispered, pulling you back toward him again.

Elvis settled back on the couch, pulling the blanket up over both your legs, the soft fabric a thin veil between you and the world. His hand slid under the edge of the blanket, fingers brushing the waistband of his slacks before deftly reaching the zipper and tugging it down just enough to free himself.

You couldn’t help the soft whine that slipped out, breath hitching as the heat of him pressed against you. “Daddy,” you murmured, voice a little needy. “Hurry up.”

But Elvis just chuckled low in his throat, that slow Southern drawl wrapping around your name like a promise. “Now, darlin’, ain’t no rush.”You tried to nudge him, but his hands were firm, steady—he had all the control, and you knew it. The way his eyes darkened when you called him “Daddy” wasn’t lost on you. That single word sent a ripple through him, a shift in the air between you.

His grip on your hips tightened just enough to remind you who was in charge, voice dropping an octave, rougher, filled with something fierce and tender all at once. “Ya got no idea what you just called me, sugar,” he murmured, lips brushing the shell of your ear. “But I reckon I like it.”

You swallowed, heart racing as his touch grew more deliberate, and the quiet room filled with the sound of your shared breaths—slow, heavy, and charged with a longing neither of you could deny.

Using two fingers, Elvis inches your cotton shorts down your legs, followed by your panties which has a little wet spot on the crotch, "Awh, hell baby... Look a'cha, all wet fer Daddy," he cooed, stroking a single finger up and down your folds before finding your hole.

A sharp moan was torn from your throat, which Elvis quicky clamped a hand over your mouth, "Shh... shh.. Can't have y'mama hearin' ya, don't get me wrong, I'd love to hear ya, but yer mama could walk down any second. Don't want her finding ya riding y'step-daddies dick, hm?" He taunted, slipping a single finger passes your lips while his other hand remained near your crotch, finger thrusting back and forth.

After a few minutes of Elvis stretching you, he slowly pulled his finger out of you, a wet sound following. You pulled your lips away from his fingers, panting, "No condom... please, Daddy.."

Elvis paused for a moment, "Hell, sweetheart... Ya really want me ta come inside ya? Fill ya up 'til you can't think, all fucked out and shaking'?" He whispered as he grounded his hips up against you, his cock sliding between your wet folds, you tried to shift down on him, tried to impale yourself on his dick.

"Oh please, Daddy, just put your cock in me..." You begged, feeling his hand trail up your stomach, slowly toward your breasts and grabbing at them tenderly. "Ya gonna get it, don't worry now," Elvis whispered against your ear, giving the lobe a little nip, but being careful of your piercing.

He reached down, grabbing at his dick and giving it a couple of strokes, before nudging the blunt head of his cock against your folds and slowly pushing into your hole until he was fully inside, and the tip of his cock kisses your g-spot, "Oh there we go... All nice n' stuffed." Elvis groaned softly, "Gonna bounce fer me sugar?"

You nodded eagerly, starting to bounce up and down on Elvis' cock and letting out breathy sounds of bliss, your hands placed right on his shoulders. "There ya sugar... Keep holdin' onto me, ain't gonna let ya go." He crooned, running his fingers under your breasts.

He grabbed at your hips, helping you bounce in time with his thrusts he started up, the wet slap of skin on skin echoed lightly in the yellow and black TV room, he bent his head down, biting down on your collarbone, which caused you let out a sob, which you bit down on your lower lip to stifle, you weren't even sure if your mama was still up, doing her skin care or asleep. Either way, you knew you had to be careful.

Elvis' breathing grew heavy over the passing minutes, his hips snapping up into you quicker and harder, "Gonna cum inside this pretty lil' pussy, fill ya up 'till yer leaking all over the sheets of ya bed," he moaned against your throat, kissing the skin and along the center of your throat.

Your legs began to tremble and twitch at the sound of his words, "Please," you whispered, cupping his cheeks and smashing your lips to Elvis' who eagerly kissed back, his large hands found your ass, kneading at the flesh.

"Sh-Shit!" Elvis cursed against your lips, his cock gave one twitch then another before he released inside you, to where his own come leaked around his cock that seeped out of your cunt.

You loaned against Elvis' own lips, your own release following soon after as you came on his cock, your orgasm made you all tired and feel like a puddle, as you slumped against your stepfathers chest, sweaty face pressed to his shirt.

Elvis panted against your neck before he reached down and grabbed the base of his cock and slowly pulled his softening cock out of your pussy that felt all puffy and abused, but of course in the best way possible. "O-Oh... So much, you filled me up so much," you sighed against his chest as you pressed a kiss to his shoulder.

"Yeah... Sure did, didn't I, darlin'"? He chuckled as he pressed a kiss to your sweaty temple, slowly, Elvis helped you off his lap, he disappeared back up the stairs that lead to the kitchen before coming back down with a wet rag, "Here we go darlin'..." He whispered as he wiped up the cum dripping down your inner thighs. "That's a good girl..." Elvis crooned comfortingly.

He grabbed your cotton shorts and panties, slowly putting your panties on first and then your shorts, "Can ya make it up to ya room, okay? Or do ya need me ta carry ya?" He asked.

"Carry me..."

A small smile crossed Elvis' lips before he nodded, Elvis tucked himself back into his slacks, zipping his fly up and taking you into his arms with your legs wrapped around his waist. Elvis made his way up stairs toward your bedroom before placing you down on the comfortable mattress that was covered in cotton blankets, the sheets being silk along with the pillows.

He grabbed a blanket, covering you with it up to your shoulders, he pressed a kiss to your lips, taking his sweet time, "Comfortable?" He asked, "Mhm..." You hummed.

"Good, I'll come back later, gotta go check on ya mama real quick," He whispered as he stood up, patting your shaking thigh before he walked out and slowly closed the door behind him.

You knew he was true to his word. You knew he'd be back, and in just an hour, he was, and he had his arms wrapped around your waist, your back to his chest and the remains of his come still leaking down your inner thighs and onto the silk sheets.

[gh0stlightss]

Hey!

I am not sure if you're taking requests, so I am sorry if I am bothering you. However, may I request a prompt where the reader and Sam are cooking or even baking together? And it's all fluffy and cute but it could turn into some soft sex towards the end. On the countertop too to make it even more "umph", because who wouldn't want the Sam Winchester to absolutely ruin them? Bonus if reader is wearing one of his flannels or his graphic shirts, and either extremely short shorts or just in their underwear.

Extra bonuses if Sam praises reader with sweet nothings. Like, he is so gentle yet passionate with them.

Thank you for your work! Love reading them :)

- 🐭

Thank you so much for the request!! for anyone who cares use this post as a "YES" i am taking requests :)))

I do femreader only, as I am most comfortably writing that, but I could try other things if requested :))

Anyways I loved writing this soooo much I love soft dom sam aughhhh and thank you so much for the request and also thank you so much for your sweet words!! anyways I hope you enjoy this!! —

WARNINGS | MDNI – smut with plot, baking, softdom!sam, subfem!reader, a bit of fingering, praise, gentle to a bit rough, unprotected p in v, cum eating, creampie, soft aftercare. probably missed a few – but enjoy!!

The golden afternoon sun spilled through the windows, painting the kitchen in warm, honeyed light. The air was thick with the sweet, comforting scent of vanilla and sugar, mingling with the faintest hint of cinnamon from the open spice jar on the counter. The batter in the bowl was smooth, velvety, speckled with tiny black vanilla bean seeds—almost perfect, but not quite.

You hummed along to the soft melody playing from the speaker, your hips swaying gently as you whisked. The rhythm was slow, lazy, matching the unhurried pace of the day. A quiet contentment settled over you, the kind that came with lazy afternoons and stolen moments.Sam’s broad frame pressed against your back, his chest solid and familiar. His hands found your hips, fingers tracing slow, idle patterns over the fabric of his flannel—*his* flannel, the one you’d stolen that morning, barely long enough to cover your thighs. The only other thing you wore were those lacy panties he loved so much, the ones that made his breath catch every time he glimpsed them.

His chin rested on your shoulder, his stubble brushing your skin in a way that sent little shivers down your spine. You could feel his smile against your neck before he even spoke. “Mmm. Smells good,”* he murmured, his voice a deep, soothing rumble.

You laughed softly, tilting your head to the side to give him more room. “The batter or me?”

“Both,”* he admitted without hesitation, nuzzling into the curve of your shoulder. His hands slid around your waist, pulling you just a little closer. “But mostly you.”

You rolled your eyes playfully, though your cheeks warmed at the admission. “Sap.”

“Your sap,” he corrected, pressing a kiss just below your ear.

You shivered, your whisking faltering for a second. Sam noticed immediately, his hand covering yours, slowing your frantic movements into something gentler, more rhythmic. His fingers were rough from years of work, but his touch was tender, guiding yours with an easy confidence.

“Gotta be gentle,” he murmured, his breath warm against your skin.

“Since when are you the baking expert?”* you teased, glancing back at him.

Sam chuckled, and you felt it—that deep, delicious sound vibrating through his chest and into yours. His free hand trailed up your arm, fingertips tracing delicate lines along your skin, leaving warmth in their wake.

“Pie, remember?” he said, lips brushing your ear. “I’ve had practice.”

You snorted. *“You made one pie. One. And the crust was—”

“Hey,” he cut in, nipping lightly at your earlobe in protest. “It was rustic.”

“It was a crime against baking,” you shot back, grinning.

Sam huffed a laugh, his arms tightening around you. “You ate it anyway.”

“Because I love you,” you sighed dramatically, tilting your head back against his shoulder. “Not because it was good.”

He kissed your temple, his voice softening. “I know.”

A comfortable silence settled between you, filled only with the soft music and the rhythmic sound of the whisk against the bowl. Sam swayed with you, his body moving in time with yours, turning the simple act of stirring batter into something slow, intimate—a dance just for the two of you.

After a moment, he spoke again, his voice quieter. “You look cute in my shirt.”

You smirked. “I know.”

He pinched your side lightly, making you yelp and squirm. “Brat.”

“Your brat,” you shot back, echoing his earlier words.

“Yeah,” he agreed, voice rough. “Mine.”

His hand slid from yours, coming up to cup your jaw, turning your face toward his. The kiss was slow, sweet—vanilla and sugar and something uniquely Sam. When he pulled away, his thumb brushed over your bottom lip, his gaze lingering.

“Sam..the cookies” you murmured, it was weak, half-hearted, your voice already trembling as his lips found the sensitive spot just below your ear.

“I don't care about the cookies,” he mumbled softly against your neck, words vibrating against your skin as he kissed down your neck, slow and open-mouthed. His teeth grazed lightly, just enough to make you whimper, before soothing the spot with his tongue. “Only care about you.”

You shivered, your fingers tightening around the edge of the counter as he crowded you against it, his body a solid wall of heat at your back. His hands slid up under the flannel-his flannel-palming your bare thighs before gripping firmly, lifting you effortlessly onto the counter. The mixing bowl clattered to the side, forgotten.

“Sam-” you gasped, but he cut you off with a searing kiss, his tongue sliding against yours in a way that made your head spin.

“Shhh, sweetheart,” he murmured against your lips, one hand cupping your jaw while the other trailed down your chest, teasing over the thin fabric of his flannel. “Let me take care of you.”

You whimpered, arching into his touch as his fingers dipped beneath the the fabric, his thumb circling your nipple in slow, torturous circles. His other hand slid down your stomach, slipping beneath and tracing those lacy panties he loved so much.

“So fucking perfect,” he breathed, his voice rough with want as he felt how wet you already were for him. “Always soo..good for me, aren't you?”

You nodded desperately, your hips canting up into his touch. “Please-”

“I know, baby,” he soothed, kissing you again, deep and filthy, before pulling back just enough to meet your gaze. His eyes were dark, pupils blown wide with desire. “Gonna make you feel so good.”

And then his fingers were sliding inside you, curling just right, his thumb pressing firm circles against your clit. You cried out, your nails digging into his shoulders as pleasure coiled tight in your belly.

“That's it,” he praised, his voice a low, sinful rasp. “Let me hear you. Wanna know how good I make you feel.”

You moaned his name, your thighs trembling as he worked you closer and closer to the edge. But just as you were about to tip over, he pulled back, leaving you gasping and desperate.

“Sam!” you whined, your hips chasing his touch. He chuckled darkly, kissing the pout from your lips before nipping at your bottom lip. “Patience, ssweetheart”

Then his hands were on your hips, turning you around to face the counter. You barely had time to brace yourself before he was yanking the flannel up over your ass, his palm coming down in a sharp, stinging slap.

“Fuck!” you gasped, the pain melting instantly into pleasure.

“Such a pretty fucking sight,” Sam groaned, his hands kneading the flesh he'd just marked. “Gonna ruin you right here, baby. Just like this.”

You could hear the rustle of his belt, the sound of his zipper, and then he was pressing against you, his cock thick and heavy between your thighs.

“You ready for me?” he murmured, one hand softly caressing down your neck, making you arch your back.

“Yes—yes,” you begged, your fingers scrambling against the countertop.

“That's my girl.”

And then he was sliding inside you in one smooth, thrust filling you up to the brim, which completely stole your breath.

“Fuck,” he hissed, his grip on your hips tightening as he gave you a moment to adjust. “So damn tight. Always take me so well.”

You whimpered, pushing back against him, desperate for more.

Sam groaned, his lips finding your shoulder as he began to move, his thrusts slow and deep, each one dragging against that perfect spot inside you.

“That's it,” he praised, his voice rough with restraint. “Take me just like that. Fuck, you feel incredible.”

His pace quickened, each snap of his hips sending sparks of pleasure up your spine. One hand slid around to your front, fingers finding your clit again, rubbing tight, quick circles that had you seeing stars.

“Gonna make you come,” he spoke softly in your ear, his breath hot against your skin. “Wanna feel you squeeze around me, baby. Make you tremble while I fill you up.. So...c'mon pretty girl..come for me...be good for me”

It was too much-the stretch of him inside you, the relentless pressure of his fingers, the filthy praise falling from his lips-and with a broken cry, you shattered, your body clamping down around him as pleasure ripped through you.

Sam cursed, his thrusts growing erratic as he followed you over the edge, his release spilling deep inside you with a groan.

For a moment, the only sound in the kitchen was your ragged breathing. The occasional drip of the faucet, the distant hum of the refrigerator.

Then Sam was pressing a kiss to the back of your neck, his arms wrapping around your waist as he pulled you back against his chest.

“Perfect,” he murmured, his voice thick with satisfaction. “You're perfect.”

You laughed weakly, your legs still trembling as he softly pulled out of you, his remains..running down the counter.

The cool surface pressed into your bare skin, a sharp contrast to the heat still lingering between your thighs. Sam stood before you, his broad frame towering even as he softened, his chest glistening with a faint sheen of sweat in the golden afternoon light.

His hands—those rough, calloused hands that had just moments ago gripped your hips with such desperate need—were tender now, reverent. One settled on your waist, steadying you as your legs trembled. The other drifted lower, fingers brushing through the mess he’d left behind, his touch feather-light, almost apologetic.

You watched through half-lidded eyes as he lifted his thumb, glistening with the evidence of what you’d just done. A slow, lazy smirk tugged at his lips as he brought it to your mouth, dragging it along your bottom lip with deliberate slowness.

“Taste,” he murmured, voice rough, wrecked.

You parted your lips without hesitation, tongue flicking out to catch the salt-sweet tang of him. His breath hitched as you sucked gently at his thumb, your eyes locked on his.

“Good?” he asked, though the smug tilt of his mouth said he already knew the answer.

You nipped at his skin playfully before releasing him with a soft pop. “Mm. Needs more sugar.”

Sam barked a laugh, the sound rich and warm, filling the kitchen just as thoroughly as the scent of vanilla still lingering in the air. “You’re insatiable,” he accused, though the way his fingers flexed against your waist so gentle..firm.

You arched a brow, shifting just enough to feel the sticky mess between your thighs. “Says the man who just had me bent over the counter.”

“Well you looked too good..smelled too good” he teased softly, his expression softened, then his thumb brushing your cheek. “You okay?”

You nodded, leaning into his touch. “Mhm. Just… need a minute.”

He hummed, pressing a kiss to your forehead before sliding his hands under your thighs and lifting you effortlessly. You yelped, arms looping around his neck as he carried you away from the counter.

“Sam—!”

“Shhh,”* he soothed, nuzzling into your hair. “Gonna clean you up.”

You huffed, but let him carry you to the sink, where he set you down gently on the edge. He reached for a clean dish towel, running it under warm water before turning back to you. His touch was achingly gentle as he wiped between your thighs, his free hand bracing against your knee to keep you steady.

“You’re ridiculous,” you muttered, even as your chest swelled with affection.

Sam smirked. “Yeah, but you love me.”

You sighed, threading your fingers through his hair and tugging him closer. “Unfortunately.”

He laughed against your lips before kissing you, slow and deep, his hands framing your face like you were something precious. When he pulled away, his eyes were, warm.

And with that you got back to baking..this time no distractions, giggling, dancing and listening to music..

© gh0stlightss . ゜・

@regretdean

[cutiecusp]

Lebkuchen. A König drabble.

👑

"What do you have there, maus?" A sleepy voice broke through the quiet break room.

You hide the bag, hoping he would drop it, and allow you to snack on them in peace.

"N-nothing, König. Go back to your nap." You urge.

Sensing something was being hidden from him, König rouses from the sofa he had passed out on.

"I know you are hiding something, is it a treat?" He asks in a soft tone, almost pleading for a taste of whatever it is you do NOT want to share.

You sigh, pulling the bag out onto the kitchen table. As stealthy as you are, when it comes to food, no one is safe.

"Here." You mock pout, showing him what you brought.

"I went to Lidls and they-"

"LEBKUCHEN?" His voice booms, excitement floating in the air.

"You like them?" You ask, laughing at his childlike reaction.

"But of course! These are when you know Christmas is coming, spiced biscuits, a little wine.. it is my very favourite time of year!" He exclaims, ripping open the packet and eating a few.

"See? This is a moon, and this is a bell, a shooting star..." he carries on, lost in his enjoyment, until the bag is empty.

"Oh, Maus. I'm sorry, I got carried away." He admits sadly, his eyes meeting yours.

"Oh, it's okay. I understand." You say, with a little sad face, before bringing out another from your carrier bag.

"That's why I brought two!" You laugh.

.........

*Lebkuchen, spiced biscuits covered in sugar and chocolate. I like the big bags of pink, white and brown ones ;)

@kaeyasfuturewife @xoxunhinged @muneca-lemon-steppa @gardenof-venus @misshugs @soraya-daydreams @frudoo @renpodz @yesornowaitidontknow @thevoiceinyourheadx @shadowdark00 @rynbeerose @lunamoonbby @incredible-walker @identity2212 @pukbadger @urbimom @corvid007 @wordsfromshona @shadows-empress @m00xy @canyonmooncreations @oniraki @evie-119 @havoc973 @kylies-love-letter @ishipdabands @cmbghost @heckinspooks @midwesternwitchery @eggy-yoke @redzluvvesage @masterclassofescapism @s-a-v-a-n-a-34

[thatlightbluefox]

SUGAR, SPICE, AND EVERYTHING NICE!

These were the ingredients to make the perfect little girls, but Professor Utonium accidentally added an extra ingredient.

Chemical X!!!

Now we have- the strangest little girls..?

After someone in my comments asked if I would make the other PPG and RRBs as monsters/animals (and with the choices of my friends) I may or may not just created a Powerpuff au where chemical X did more than just give them powers

They’re so goofy looking and I love them. These are my kids ausheushshshudu (I love and hate how Blossom basically stares directly at the screen with those eyes)

Basically, The professor was working on studying why monsters existed/came into Townsville, yadda yadda, then accidentally created Monkey Bubbles, Bird Blossom, and Tiger Shark Buttercup

Bubbles is still just Monkey Bubbles! Because she basically started this I didn’t want to change her up too much, so all I changed was her eyes and skin so she didn’t look like Mojo Jojo

Blossom is just a mix of birds, I didn’t know how to add that visual without giving her a beak bc.. that looked weird, so that little V shape on her face is like a beak-thing

Buttercup is a tiger shark, the little stripes on her tail and fin are supposed to show that- and she can’t walk! She technically can but since she’s mostly water dependent (because. shark) she has weaker stability in her legs and spends time in water

How does this work? I dunno. What’s their lore? No clue. Am I doing the RRB next? Hell yes

This is for fun so I might not actually make this an au, but I dunno maybbeee?? I just wanted to show them off