#I’m rich I’m rich I’m so so so so rich

[morganbritton132]

Tommy spent so much time curbing or covering up the geekier aspects of Steve so they didn’t spend high school stuffed in a locker. He did a good job. Everybody thinks Steve and - by extension - Tommy are the coolest people in school.

But it does kill a little part of Tommy when they overhear some nerds talking about comic books. He will see Steve perk up right before he remembers that they don’t like that stuff anymore and dim again.

Seeing Steve after their friendship ended is always a little hard but he has to smile a little when he walks into Family Videos to a heated debate where -

“No, no. You’re wrong,” Steve is saying. “You marry Batman. He’s rich. You fuck Superm- you obviously fuck Superman. He’s an alien. You don’t want to sleep with an alien??”

“You don’t want to sleep with Wonder Woman???”

“I didn’t say that! I’m just-“

[rowan-no-rizzz]

Blood Between Us

The Target Changes

Part 3

ׂ╰┈➤ Damian Wayne x Female League of Assassins Reader x Platonic Batfam

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‧₊˚ ⋅* ‧₊

WARNINGS: Violence, assassin themes, manipulation (emotionally and caused by the league), trauma, kissing, language.

‧₊˚ ⋅* ‧₊

𖤓

Taglist: @1abi @itsmossy @imdeloulou @invinciblewaffles @adorabluesposts @koigeidi @miraclebun @disillusioniary @chikenuggetrat @justiceforquentin @sashabearsstuff @gothamwing @ilovvesleep @ch3rrvreds @halfbloodwriter @midnightecko @midyiderit @senatorpadmeamidala

Jason dropped the encrypted case on the worktable with a casual grunt.

“Found her again,” he said.

Damian’s head snapped up. “Where?”

Jason peeled off his gloves. “Underground depot. Penguin’s crew was dealing League tech. She got to it before I could. Mostly didn’t kill anyone. Surprisingly.”

Bruce stared at the case. “And she let you live?”

Jason raised an eyebrow. “She didn’t exactly save me either.”

“You engaged her alone?” Damian demanded, stepping forward.

“Relax,” Jason said, smirking. “I didn’t ask her out.” Suddenly stiffening at the awkward memory.

Tim looked up from his monitor. “What was she doing?”

“Retrieving something,” Jason said. “Fast. Clinical. She was colder than a Gotham alley in January. Not a flicker of emotion. Like Damian but without the weird superiority complex. I actually enjoyed her presence.”

“That's rich coming from you,” Damian muttered.

“Did she say anything?” Bruce asked.

Jason hesitated. “Nothing useful. Except one thing “Don’t compare her to Damian”.”

That drew a strange silence. Damian looked away, jaw clenched.

Dick leaned on the table, thoughtful. “So we know she’s still acting on League orders.”

“Yeah, and she’s good at it,” Jason muttered. “No hesitation. No fear. No weakness.”

Tim frowned at the screen. “She’s not like the others we’ve faced from the League. She’s smarter. More calculated. But there’s something else.”

Damian didn’t speak.

Because he already knew.

The next night you stood silently in a collapsing alley, hands still bloodstained from the two guards you’d left behind. Another loose thread tied off.

The League’s enemy list was shrinking.

You’d been ordered to eliminate a Falcone informant. Instead, you intercepted a file that revealed a deeper breach, someone in the League was selling information to the Batfam. The order had changed: track the mole, even if it meant walking into enemy territory.

You didn’t like Gotham.

Too loud. Too dirty. Too personal.

You dropped into another alleyway, when suddenly

“Hey, stranger.”

You didn’t stop. “Jason.” You said coldly as before.

He followed casually, helmet tucked under one arm. “Thought I’d find you again. You’re predictable.”

You glanced at him coldly. “You’re not.”

“Aw, I’m flattered.”

“I wasn’t trying to compliment you.”

“You’re still kinda cute when you insult people,” he mused.

You turned to him fully. “I could snap your trachea before you blink.”

Jason blinked. “Still cute.”

From the rooftop above, Nightwing landed in a silent crouch.

“Hey,” Dick called down. “You two done flirting or can we ask you a few questions?”

You exhaled, irritated.

“You’ve been following me.”

“More like trying not to lose you,” Dick replied, dropping beside you. “You’re fast. Not as fast as me, though.”

“I’m not impressed.”

“That’s okay,” he said with a grin. “Most people are. You’re just playing hard to kill.”

You raised an eyebrow. “I’m playing to finish a mission. Not entertain children.”

Tim dropped down next, hood up and fingers poised over a device. “We don’t want to fight you.”

“Then stop following me,” you said.

Damian arrived last, sword across his back, but said nothing. He stood a few paces behind, watching you like he didn’t know if he wanted to protect you or stop you.

You didn’t even look at him.

Jason broke the tension. “So. You wanna tell us why the League’s in bed with Falcone?”

“They’re not,” you said flatly.

Tim tilted his head. “Then what were you retrieving?”

“None of your business.”

Dick offered a smile. “You know, most League assassins don’t let people live once they’ve been seen. You had Jason, you could have killed him. So why didn’t you?”

Jason nodded. “If you wanted to, you could’ve carved me up like takeout sushi.”

You glanced at him. “I still can.”

He smirked. “There it is. That charming murder glare.”

Dick gave him a light elbow. “Stop flirting with trained killers.”

“She’s only mostly trained.”

“I’m fully trained.”

“Oh, I know.”

The banter was thin, but it made you hesitate.

Why were they treating you like something human?

You turned to leave.

“Wait,” Damian finally said.

You paused, your back to him.

“I need to know what Ra’s is planning.”

You looked over your shoulder slightly, eyes sharp. “Still trying to outsmart your grandfather?”

“I’m trying to stop blood from being spilled.”

“That’s what you said before you left.”

Silence.

“You never gave me a reason,” you said. “You just left.”

“I didn’t think I owed you one.”

“Now you do.”

You vanished into the shadows, leaving the five of them in stunned silence.

Jason exhaled. “Okay. Soooo what now?”

Tim looked at Damian. “You really screwed that one up.”

Dick nodded solemnly. “Yep.”

Damian just stared after you, the weight of something old tightening in his chest like rope.

[holybibly]

Unholy thoughts of the day, sugar bunnies: Mingi wants you to sit on his face, and when he says ‘sit,’ he means you should fucking choke him with your sweety, puffy little pussy.

Or Mingi believes that his face is your lawful royal throne.

‘Come on, doll, sit on my face.’ Mingi’s fingers roughly dig into your plush thighs as he pulls you closer to his handsome face. His dark fox eyes grow heavy and glassy with lust when he sees how wet and ready you are for him, and his tongue automatically sticks out of his mouth, warm and soft, waiting to touch your swollen, glistening from arousal labia.

When your pussy is close enough, Mingi slowly slides the pointed tip of his thick tongue along your slit, tasting you. He murmurs in approval as a rich drop of your sweet juices rolls down his throat. “Come closer, my doll. Straddle my face. I want you to choke me with that sweet, fat pussy.”

With your eyes closed and your lower lip between your teeth, you lower yourself hesitantly until your cunt is pressed firmly against his luxurious, sensual mouth. Mingi purrs like a huge cat, burying his face even deeper into your crotch until the tip of his nose rubs against your swollen, sensitive clitoris and the moist inner side of your thighs brushing against his cheeks.

Mingi moans lustfully at the sensation of your silky, wet pussy pressed tightly against him. He takes several deep, greedy breaths, feeling your rich creamy scent, which makes you blush wildly. Such filthy and slutty acts by Mingi make you squirm slightly in your place from embarrassment, which only makes you smearing your juices all over his's mouth, cheeks, and chin. He moans indistinctly beneath you and slaps your buttocks hard as a warning, so that you would stop moving and not interfere with him feasting on your pretty pussy.

Without wasting another second, Mingi insistently pushes his tongue into the slippery warmth of your tiny hole, beginning to lick you indiscriminately from the inside, like a starving beast, as your divine essence begins to flow freely into his throat.

‘Mingi!’ You squeal, involuntarily pressing your pussy harder against your boyfriend's hot, insatiable mouth as his long, skilled tongue hotly caresses your quivering walls before slipping out of you and devoting all his attention to your quivering, petal-like folds.

He licks you thoroughly, exploring every detail with his tongue and lips, not missing a drop of your arousal. You're so fucking delicious, like pure honey, and the only thoughts that flash through Mingi's mind are how good it feels, how fucking amazing it tastes. He wants to dive completely into this nectar called you and drown in it, suffocate in your pussy and die happy.

More, he needs more.

His large hands roamed all over your body, gripping your hips and squeezing your soft, fleshy buttocks roughly as he pushed you back and forth, encouraging you to grind against his face and bringing you closer to orgasm.

Your vision clouded with stars as his tongue explored every inch of your sensitive core, fucking your narrow, delicate hole and and nuzzling his nose into your clit as you completely lost yourself in pleasure.

'Mingi, baby…' you moaned loudly, your eyes rolling back in pure, burning pleasure. “I’m close, so… hmph…Please!”

Your sentence is cut off by another deafening moan as Mingi starts sucking your hole harder, his plump lips practically enveloping your entire tiny cunt as his huge palms squeeze your hips harshly.

Mingi wants you to come. He wants you to squirt your nectar all over his face. His eyelashes fluttered and a look of bliss crossed his fucked, beautiful face as you finally let it go, letting your orgasm completely consume your entire body, squirting profusely into his mouth and all over his face.

You squirmed in his arms, trying to slide off him, but he held you tight and licked up every drop until there was almost nothing left.

When Mingi finally let you pull away, you noticed the smooth remnants of your mucus lingering on his cheeks, chin and mouth. Noticing your gaze, Mingi licked his swollen, flushed lips shamelessly, looking you straight in the eye and lewdly smirking as the last drops of your cum disappeared in his tongue.

'How about another round, doll? I guess I haven't tasted your pussy enough.'

[queen-of-gotham]

Spoiled? Well Loved.

Synopsis: in which you Rich!Reader spoils her lover.

Featuring: Bruce Wayne, Dick Grayson, Jason Todd, Tim Drake, Duke Thomas, Damian Wayne, Clark Kent, and Wally West

Notes from the Batcave: for ✨this✨ request. Everyone in this writing is of age ❤️

Bruce Wayne

It’s not often someone out-Bruces Bruce Wayne, but you do. Private jets? Already waiting. Gala fashion? You commissioned designers. Batmobile upgrades? “Consider it my contribution to Gotham.”

“Are you seriously trying to buy me a satellite?”

“No. I’m buying us a satellite.”

Bruce raises a brow. The corner of his mouth twitches upward. You’re dangerous in the best way, and he loves it.

He doesn’t need your money, but he adores how fiercely you care for him. And when you need something? He will outdo you. This becomes an ongoing battle of who can spoil who harder. Gotham has bets.

Dick Grayson

Dick is grateful, but also a little shy about being spoiled. He grew up with nothing but a train car, the. The luxuries of being a Wayne… but, he’s always been fiercely independent and even as an adult he’s used to giving more than receiving. The first time you surprise him with box seats to a sold out sporting event or fly him to his favorite city for a surprise rooftop dinner, he’s all bright eyes and crooked grins.

“You rented out the whole aquarium for our anniversary? Babe, you realize I would’ve been happy with takeout on the couch, right?”

“I know,” you smile, “That’s what makes this fun.”

He may protest a little, but you will catch him showing off the bracelet you had made just for him at some Gala event because it matches your initials and he can’t stop glancing at it.

Jason Todd

Jason acts like he doesn’t care about the expensive gifts. He’s been burned before, and part of him still sees lavish gifts as something people dangle in place of affection. (Looking at you, Bruce.)

“You didn’t have to buy me a Ducati,” he mutters, running a hand through his hair.

“I wanted to,” you say simply, “And because it’s matte black. Like your soul. Pluuuus you can take me for rides, I can be your backpack.”

He laughs despite himself, and takes you for a ride immediately. (On the bike 😏)

You spoil him in little ways too, customized holsters, designer boots that don’t make noise when he lands, first edition books with personalized annotations. The only time he panics is when you call him your biggest luxury.

Tim Drake

Tim tries to act unfazed, but you have a terrifying talent for knowing exactly what he needs. You upgraded the Batcomputer’s AI interface as a “birthday gift.” You replaced his broken coffee machine before he even complained. You even ordered the exact chair he tested once in Switzerland because he liked the lumbar support.

“This… this is the tech from that startup that isn’t even public yet.”

“Mmhm. It’s in your name now.”

He doesn’t even realize he’s falling in love until one day he wakes up in a five star hotel with your hoodie on, you beside him in his, and a custom latte on the tray beside him.

Duke Thomas

Duke is used to being the responsible one, so when you start spoiling him, buying him custom sunglasses, flying you both out to music festivals, decking him out in tailored suits… he’s floored.

“You got me VIP passes to Black Cat and Childish Gambino?”

“Just wanted to see you smile, babe.”

You’re his soft spot. He’s your prince. And while he teases you about being “extra,” he also shows up to events looking fine as hell in the outfit you styled for him. “You’ve got taste,” he’ll say with a wink.

Damian Wayne

Damian pretends he doesn’t like it, but he so does.

You gift him a baby goat once. Another time, you name a racehorse after him. He raises a brow and says, “A proper war horse would have been more practical.”

But the next time someone asks about his weekend?

“My beloved acquired a champion filly in my honor. Her stride is unmatched.”

You also regularly upgrade his fencing gear with lightweight alloys and subtle design details only he notices. He never thanks you directly, but he secretly keeps every note you leave in his sword case.

Clark Kent

Clark is flustered. You show up with tailor-made suits (indestructible fabric, of course), donate massive sums to the Daily Planet’s investigative journalism wing, and buy his mom a new farm truck with a big red bow.

“I can’t let you do this-”

“I already did. Just say thank you and let me spoil you, Smallville.”

You make him blush. Every time.

What gets him the most isn’t the gifts, though. It’s how you never treat him like a charity case. You spoil him because you love him, and that makes him melt.

Wally West

Wally lives for it. He thinks it’s hilarious and hot that you spoil him, and he’s fully leaning into the bit.

“This is my ridiculously wealthy partner who just bought me 400 protein bars in bulk. Aren’t they dreamy?”

He never stops cracking jokes about it, but he’s also deeply, sincerely touched by every thoughtful gift. You help stabilize his metabolism with science backed supplements. You get him friction proof suits in custom prints. You build a closet for his snacks.

He’ll still pick flowers off the sidewalk and call that his gift to you, but when he shows up wearing the gold watch you gave him and calls you “my greatest indulgence,” your heart does backflips.

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[deirdreskye]

Commercial I would produce as an advertising executive:

Mr. Clean is trade, but not the scary kind. Not the kind you blow in the backseat of a Ford parked behind the Saint Paul Episcopal at four in the morning. It's been a long time since you were seventeen trawling Craigslist in your shoplifted Target dress. You're a grown woman now. You’re not that girl, and he's not that guy.

He doesn't try to get you to put out on the first date, or the second. Not even the third or fourth. But the fifth? Well, now you’ve gotta have him. You slip up and call him ‘daddy’ but he just rolls with it, real smooth. “Dirty girl,” he growls, and now you’re digging your acrylics in his shoulder. He can take it. “That’s my dirty fuckin’ girl.”

He’s ex-Navy, blue collar, not rich but he’s got his shit together. Stays at the trailer park down Dryer Street. It’s nice inside, cozy and neat. Man’s got better taste than all the other bachelors in their mid-forties you’ve tangled with. Bi, which is fine. Not exactly out and proud, but he never treats you like a secret. You wake up in his sheets and here he comes in that tight white T-shirt with a plate of bacon and eggs and a glass of OJ just for you. Tells you he’s got his VFW buddies coming over later to shoot the shit over some beers but it’s just a matter of fact, doesn’t have the ‘so you better get going’ sting to it. But you go home anyway, ‘cause it sure as shit doesn’t sound like fun. He gives you a ride and mom doesn’t think to ask where the hell you’ve been the past two days.

So you’ve been seeing him the past couple months now. The man’s so easygoing when you’re with him you feel like you can let your guard down for the first time in Christ only knows how long. Soon enough you’re tangled in his big arms every Friday and Saturday and you’ve got him watching Survivor and I Love New York with a big bowl of popcorn, a glass of wine for you and a can of Miller for him. You don’t need to watch how you laugh with him, or the way you cough or clear your throat. He doesn’t give a shit how you sound. Maybe he’s too good to be true, but you don’t care. He just makes you feel so safe.

‘Til one night you drive to the Love’s down the road, the one where you pick up Marlboro Lights for yourself and Pall Malls for mom. This time there’s a new guy at the register. “You a dude, or what?”, he says, right when he rings you up. Fuckin’ hick asshole. It’s been a minute since you got any of that bullshit and it puts you in a funk for the rest of the week. A real bad funk.

And now you’re damn near black-out drunk in his bathroom, puking your guts out, crying ‘til your eyes sting. You feel disgusting. Ugly. Damaged goods. Just a fuckin’ tranny. That’s all you’ll ever be.

But all you can choke out between the heaves is, “I’m a mess, I’m such a fuckin’ mess.”

"Messy’s fine, babygirl. I can handle a mess. Let’s get you cleaned up.”

[sarcasticmothwrites]

Oh, and there’s also the thing where if you have certain kinds of problems they do the equivalent of telling you that they *won’t* help you unless you double your income. I have a coworker who needs knee replacement surgery and can’t get it unless she loses weight. Which is extra difficult considering that *she needs a knee replacement* so doing most exercise is agonizing.

But now they have GLP-1s, which are like magic weight loss drugs! Now fat people have no excuse! Except that they cost hundreds of dollars and aren’t covered by insurance. Except that if you stop taking them, the weight comes back and then some, just like every other diet and drug. Except that there are zero long-term studies about the safety and efficacy of people taking them at these doses (approximately double the established dose for diabetics - GLP-1s are the sudden miracle drugs because they were about to have the patent expire from their original use case). I’m old enough to have seen several generations of magical fat-burning whatever appear, prove to be dangerous/deadly, and vanish again, remaining only as a cautionary tale for fatties trying to lose weight “the easy way,” the fatphobic equivalent of a get-rich-quick scheme. In reality, it’s closer to a Ponzi scheme, where only a special few get the much-touted benefits while everyone else loses their retirement savings and goes back to living paycheck to paycheck while their doctor continues to suggest getting rich as the solution.

i’ve started looking at weight and health the way i look at class and income and it really puts a lot of things into a new perspective.

let me explain: in america at least, the lower class have significantly worse health outcomes, even when accounting for other factors. just being poor is enough to make your overall health worse. we don’t know that being fat makes your health directly worse, like the data just isn’t there, but for a moment, pretend it does.

imagine going to the doctor with a health problem and the doctor looking at your chart and saying well, this problem will be less severe if you go up an income bracket. have you thought about becoming rich? it would really help. start by saving a little money every month.

ridiculous, right?? very few people successfully go from working class to rich, it just doesn’t happen on a large scale in society. maybe for a time you pick up some overtime hours, spend a little beyond your means, and appear rich. but eventually you burn out, your car needs to be repaired, and you return to being working class.

we do have this data: only some people can successfully lose large amounts of weight, and only a tiny fraction of people who lose that weight actually keep it off for more than a year. telling people to lose weight for their health is just absurd because they almost certainly can’t do it any more than they can double their income for their health.

and yet i see it everywhere. a little poster in my work breakroom tells me to improve my blood pressure by losing weight! a psa on the radio says you need to take care of your heart by losing weight! we can’t even conclusively prove that weight is the cause rather than just correlated with a lot of these problems but here it is offered anyway: have you tried being rich?

[wildflowersandvibranium]

✷ My Superhero ✷ [Drabble]

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Fem!Reader

Summary: A movie date to see the new Superman turns into a reminder that your real-life superhero—cape or not—is Bucky Barnes.

Word Count: 900+

Content: Light suggestive content (kissing/makeout session in a public theater) Mild language , Fluff and romantic teasing , Brief jealousy and possessiveness (playful, not aggressive)

a/n: emptying out my drafts <3 credit for idea was based on this post!

masterlist -- requests/inbox open!

You had talked about it for weeks now. The new Superman movie was finally out, and it wasn’t just any Superman. It was the one—rebooted , fresh-faced , square-jawed , with perfect hair and height you could probably climb right up.

Every single preview and trailer so far had made your heart do that stupid little skip , and every single time , Bucky had grumbled something under his breath about CGI muscles and cheap capes.

Which was rich , considering your boyfriend was built like a superhero.

“I still can’t believe I got you to agree to this,” you chirped , bouncing on your heels as you both waited in the long line for concessions.

“I agreed under one condition,” Bucky replied, eyeing the unnecessarily expensive menu above the counter. “You let me get popcorn and a giant drink.”

You smirked. “Done , soldier. That slushie’s bigger than my head though. You’re not gonna share?”

He turned his blue eyes on you and raised a brow. “You think I’m drinking "very berry strawberry blast" or whatever that thing is? No thanks. I’ll stick to my Coke Zero like a grown-up.”

You giggled as he finally reached the counter. The kid behind it looked barely sixteen and definitely overwhelmed. Bucky, despite being broad-shouldered and eternally intimidating to anyone under the age of 30, was surprisingly patient with the boy.

“One large popcorn, extra butter. Coke Zero. And… the berry-blast for my girl,” he added with a soft smile , jerking his thumb back at you.

The teen nodded , stammering--a little star struck as he typed it in.

You leaned in and whispered, “Don’t forget the candy.”

“Already got it,” Bucky said, revealing the hidden pack of sour gummies in his coat pocket like a magician pulling a rabbit from a hat.

“You’re ridiculous,” you laughed.

“And you’re cute,” he shot back, smug grin and all placing a quick kiss to your head.

✷

Ten minutes later , you were both seated in the plush back row of the theater , drinks in cup holders , popcorn balanced between you , your legs slung over Bucky’s lap like it was the most natural thing in the world.

You’d been dating for just under a year , but sometimes it still felt new—exciting in that way where your heart beat faster for no reason, where your palms got warm when his hand found yours in the dark.

He kissed your temple just before the previews rolled.

“Let me know when you’ve had enough popcorn,” he murmured, “I’ll finish it off.”

“Bucky, you always finish it off,” you whispered back eyes not leaving the now playing previews.

“That’s love , sweetheart. Me sacrificing my cholesterol for your entertainment.”

You snorted and turned toward the screen completely as the lights begin to dim.

✷

Halfway through the movie , things got a little out of hand.

It wasn’t your fault—really. He had his arm around your shoulders, you had leaned into him, and somehow, his hand had migrated to cup your cheek. Warm. Large. Teasing. You turned to whisper something about the CGI cape physics being off , and then suddenly his lips were on yours.

It started soft. A slow brush. Then a little firmer. He tasted like soda and sugar and something distinctly Bucky.

You pulled back, grinning against his mouth. “We’re gonna get caught.”

“It’s dark,” he muttered, his hand pinching your cheekbone lightly. “And I can’t take you drooling over some blue-eyed alien anymore.”

You laughed, curling a hand around the nape of his neck, pulling him back to you. “Jealous, Barnes?”

“Heck yes, I am.”

He kissed you again—deeper this time. Messier. Like he was nineteen and trying to impress the girl in the back of the theater. Like he wasn’t a hundred and-something and fully aware that making out during a Superman reboot was peak romance cliché.

You loved it.

The movie went on mostly ignored after that. You stole kisses like popcorn, one after another, barely able to wipe the stupid grin off your face.

✷

Outside, the summer air was warm and electric, the neon glow of the cinema sign flickering above your heads. Bucky reached for your hand as you walked to the car, his thumb tracing circles across your knuckles.

“So,” he said, bumping your hip playfully. “Was it everything you hoped for?”

You stretched your arms over your head, sighing dramatically. “Mmm. Superman was very heroic. Very strong. Very noble. And that jawline…”

Bucky groaned, pulling his hand away.

You laughed immediately. “Oh, come on , he’s fictional!”

“Fictional, my ass,” Bucky muttered. “Blue eyes, dark hair, super strength, military ethics , sound like someone you know?”

“Wow. So humble,” you teased, stepping in front of him and poking his chest. “You comparing yourself to Superman now?”

He caught your finger in his hand and gently tugged you close. “You were the one practically swooning the whole time. I’m just reminding you…” He lowered his voice, eyes serious but soft. “You’ve got the real deal. Right here. Flesh and blood. No cape.”

You tilted your chin up, smirking. “So what you’re saying is—you’re my superhero?”

Bucky leaned down, brushing his lips over yours in the softest, surest way. His breath was warm against your mouth when he whispered, “Dang right I am.”

You melted, absolutely melted, into that kiss. Then smiled into it.

“Good,” you whispered back, “because you’re my favorite superhero.”

Bucky pulled away just enough to look at you, his grin smug, his cheeks flushed.

“Dang right I am,” he repeated, throwing an arm over your shoulder as he led you to the car.

And you were sure of it—no cape, no laser vision, no perfect jawline could compare to Bucky Barnes.

Your favorite superhero. Always.

-end

Comments , Reblogs , Likes and Requests are always loved!

(although if you liked this fic please consider reblogging so it can reach a wider audience)

They let me know that you are enjoying what I'm publishing and gives me motivation to write more and more! :33

[heldbybarnes]

Okay but bucky tying reader up just so he can go down on her for hours. no penetration, no touching him—just his mouth, a vibrator, and his god-tier stamina. he’s addicted to her

*clutches pearls*

Warning: explicit sexual content 18+, oral (f receiving) orgasm denial, vibrator use, bondage, dom/sub dynamics, praise kink, mild begging

----------

“I’m not gonna fuck you tonight.”

You blink up at him, chest rising and falling fast, wrists already bound above your head to the headboard with soft silk ties. “Wait—what?”

“I said,” Bucky murmurs, climbing between your legs, “I’m not gonna fuck you. You don’t get my cock. Not tonight.”

He kisses the inside of your thigh once. Then twice. Then bites just enough to make you gasp.

“You’re gonna lay there like my pretty little meal,” he says, dark voice rich with sin, “and let me take everything I want from you.”

Your pulse kicks.

“But—what about you—”

“Not about me.” His hands—one flesh, one metal—slide down your thighs, parting you open like you’re a gift he gets to unwrap slowly. “You don’t get to touch me tonight. You don’t get to ride me. You don’t even get to look at me when you come.”

You’re already soaked.

“You’re gonna close your eyes,” he whispers, lips brushing just above your mound, “and take every fucking orgasm I give you.”

He holds up the vibrator — a slim, rose-colored thing he’s already charged, tested, memorized the settings on. His thumb flicks it on. The quiet hum is menacing.

“Hours,” he promises.

You try to push your legs together, but his shoulders are already settling between them.

“Bucky—”

“Ah ah,” he interrupts. “No whining. You asked what it was like when I really let go. When I stop holding back. This is what it looks like, baby.”

He drops the toy beside him and licks a long, slow stripe up your slit.

And then it begins.

At first, it’s slow.

Teasing.

He kisses like he’s got time. Like he’s not in a rush to get anywhere, because he’s already home. His hands keep your thighs spread wide, thumbs rubbing soft circles just to keep you relaxed.

He sucks your clit into his mouth gently, just enough to make you arch. And when you try to chase it, he pulls back and grins.

“You taste unreal, sweetheart.”

Your fingers curl against the ties.

“I could live here,” he breathes against you. “Never leave this pussy. Just eat you for breakfast, lunch, and fuckin’ dessert.”

Then he flicks his tongue fast, just once—sharp—and you squeak.

He hums, satisfied. “There’s that sound.”

After the first orgasm, you’re gasping.

After the second, your legs start to shake.

By the third, you’ve already forgotten your name.

He doesn’t stop.

He doesn’t stop.

“You still with me, doll?” he murmurs, sliding the vibrator between your slick folds.

You whimper, already twitching.

“I know,” he coos. “Sensitive. That’s the point.”

He holds it there, humming low and steady, while his mouth returns to your clit—tongue working in messy circles, slow at first, then faster when he feels you tense.

You break again.

Your thighs tremble. Your eyes squeeze shut. Your mouth drops open but no sound comes out.

And still—still—he doesn’t stop.

At some point, you start begging.

“Please—Bucky, please, I—I can’t—”

“Yes, you can.”

“I’m—s’too much—”

“You can take more,” he says calmly, darkly, like he’s in church and you’re the altar. “This pussy was made for my mouth.”

He flattens his tongue. Sucks your clit again. Moves the toy slightly—just enough to drag the vibration against that sweet, aching spot inside you that makes your hips jerk.

“You’re perfect,” he groans, half-drunk on your taste. “So goddamn perfect. Can’t stop. Don’t wanna stop.”

He licks you through another orgasm, and another, and another—until your voice breaks, your thighs quake, your throat aches with his name.

“Say it again,” he murmurs. “Tell me who makes you come like this.”

“You—Bucky, fuck—you do, you—”

He kisses your thigh sweetly. “Good girl.”

You lose track of time.

All you know is the sheets are soaked. Your hair’s stuck to your forehead. Your wrists are burning and your whole body buzzes.

You feel like a live wire.

Like the edge of a scream.

And still—still—he’s going.

His mouth glistens with you.

His beard’s wet.

His fingers trace shapes on your hips while he presses the vibrator deep again, like he’s mapping constellations on your skin.

He murmurs praises like prayers between each wave:

“So beautiful like this.”

“My favorite fucking thing.”

“God, I love this pussy.”

“You taste better than heaven.”

When you finally sob his name—beg—he stops.

Just for a second.

Just to look at you.

Tears in your lashes. Lips swollen. Body wrecked.

He smiles. Soft. Worshipful.

“You’re mine,” he says, kissing your knee.

“All mine.”

And then?

He starts again.

[sparklestormandsoda]

Hi hi!!! Love your work!! Would it be okay to request g.p Rumi, Mira and Zoey, separate x Female reader wanting to ride them for the first time.. yet nervous so asking them to guide her and talk her through it? If it's too much, maybe just Rumi?

yurr

18+ as it contains smut

Rumi:

You're straddling her lap, fingers nervously gripping her shoulders. She’s already hard beneath you, her hands resting warm and steady on your hips like she’s anchoring you to the moment. Rumi looks up at you with that soft, patient gaze—like she’s not going anywhere until you're ready.

“You sure, baby?” she murmurs, voice low and soothing. “You don’t have to rush this for me.”

“I want to…” you whisper, voice shaking a little. “I just... I’ve never done it like this. I want you to talk me through it. Please.”

Rumi's hands squeeze your hips gently. “Okay, angel. I got you.” She kisses your jaw, her breath hot and slow against your skin. “Take a breath for me.”

You do, trembling slightly, and she hums in approval.

“Good girl,” she says, voice rich and low. “Now, just hold on to me. I’ll guide your hips. You go slow. Real slow. I want you to feel every inch of me.”

You nod, swallowing thickly, and begin to lower yourself. Rumi keeps her eyes on yours, her grip firm but encouraging.

“That’s it. Just like that. You’re doing so good. Can you feel me stretching you?” Her voice turns slightly huskier. “You look so damn beautiful like this.”

Her praise doesn’t stop as you sink down, shaky thighs locked around her waist. She rubs your back soothingly, whispering, “You’re taking me so well, baby… ride me at your own pace. I’ll be right here.”

Zoey:

Zoey lies back on the sheets, her pretty face flushed, hair fanned out like a halo. She watches you crawl onto her lap, your hands shaking slightly as you position yourself above her.

“I want to try it,” you whisper, biting your lip. “I want to ride you... but I’m nervous. Can you... help me?”

Her expression softens instantly. Zoey reaches up, cradling your cheek. “Of course I will,” she whispers. “We’ll take it slow. I’ll tell you everything, okay?”

You nod, and she holds your waist gently, her thumbs brushing your skin like it’s sacred.

“Start by grinding against me first,” she says, voice barely above a breath. “Just feel me... don’t go all the way yet.”

You do, and she lets out a soft gasp. Her hands encourage your movements.

“See? That’s perfect. You’re doing amazing. When you’re ready, sink down a little more. I’ll guide you, baby.”

Her words come soft and breathy, filled with love and need. “You’re so warm... gods, you feel perfect around me. Just let me hear your voice, okay? Let me know what you need. I’ll give you everything.”

Her praise melts your nerves, and you move with more confidence, guided by her quiet moans and whispered reassurances.

Mira:

Mira watches you with a smirk that slowly fades when she sees how nervous you are. You’re sitting on her lap, hands on her chest, looking down at where her length brushes your entrance.

“You really wanna ride me for your first time?” she murmurs, brushing a strand of hair from your face. “Damn, baby. That’s bold.”

You give her a shaky smile. “I want to… but I don’t really know what I’m doing. Can you tell me what to do?”

The teasing disappears completely. She kisses you softly, cupping your jaw. “Yeah, baby. I’ll talk you through every second.”

Mira runs her hands down your thighs, slow and comforting. “Start by grinding on me, just a little. Get used to how I feel.”

You move, shy and slow, and she bites her lip.

“Fuck… yeah, just like that. God, you’re already so wet for me.”

You let out a soft sound, and she hums, her voice turning more affectionate.

“Okay. Now hold my shoulders, and let yourself sink down. A little at a time. I want you to feel good, not rushed.”

She groans as you lower yourself, guiding your hips. “You’re doing amazing, baby. That’s it. You take me so well.”

Every moan she gives is followed by praise. “So pretty riding me like this. You’re a natural. Keep going, just like that. I’ll take care of you.”

ya girls broke and living off of monster energy so anything in general helps- Buy me a coffee <3

lmk if you wanted to be added to my kpdh taglist! private message me as comments get lost in notifications

kpdh taglist: @spookyanxiety, @forgetfulsmols, @notheroverthinker, @rumiskimbap, @halle5s. @jellyofthefishes, @tundra1029, @zanystarfishpanda, @dinosaur-hehe, @amishreyac, @insomniyuuh, @driedmangoslices6, @sydforreal24, @sra7riddle-malfoy, @tsukimoon-chan, @theselilwonders, @tickle-monnster, @pandafuriosa60, @marcylated, @atomic-babomb, @stxr-lilac, @allaji, @homo-arsonist, @etcherrie, @ludwigvonbaethoven, @all-things-lilac,, @sweetcici-123, @doodl3b3ans

[f1withespresso]

controversially young and pretty

✎ — michael schumacher x model!reader

✎ — summary: You have been showing up at Grand Prix as a guest of the Ferrari team and people are starting to wonder why you are suddenly present at every Grand Prix and spending your weekends in Monaco. Little do they know...

✎ — radio: based on this request that was submitted. had a bit of a rough time coming up with things but I love a little WAG au and i love SMAUs in generel soooo... hope you like this one!

✎ — warnings: age gap, SMAU, use of [Y/N][Y/LN], rumors

yourusername posted a story

📍Monaco, Monte Carlo

liked by scuderiaferrari, mickschumacher and 1.935.681 others

yourusername Monaco, mon amour ❤️ thanks for having me @/scuderiaferrari 🥂

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scuderiaferrari Grazie for joining us this weekend! 🏁❤️ #MonacoGP

username1 literally what i imagine when i picture “soft life”

username2 wait you like F1??? i just fell in love again 😭

username3 this is the most elite photo dump I’ve seen all season, the yacht to pit lane pipeline is lethal I fear🔥

username4 YOU ATE also red is so your colour

username 5 ferrari hospitality suits you babe 😌👠

username6 new wag unlocked??? 👀

username7 no bc how do i become you

username 8 she said: I’m a motorsport girl now and wiped the floor with everyone else there

username9 Ferrari posted you… my girl is officially IT

username10 rich, gorgeous, and a paddock pass?? i’m so jealous it hurts

📍Barcelona, Spain

liked by scuderriaferrari, charles_leclerc and 2.359.356 others

yourusername and that's two in a row 🏎 thanks barcelona x 🍷💋

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scuderiaferrari Always a pleasure to have you in the paddock ❤️🐎

charles_leclerc 🔥 

username1two races back to back?? you’re not just visiting as a celeb guest anymore 😭

username2 charles AND lewis in the likes and one of them has to say something cause we’re spiraling

username4 this account is slowly becoming a very well-dressed paddock diary

username5 how do i get your life. like genuinely.

username6 y’all i’m not saying she’s dating one of the ferrari drivers but… okay i am saying that

username7 everyone saying she seeing lewis but this feels so not-his-style… unless ferrari pr made him 👀

username8 honestly i thought it was carlos but now he’s not even on the team anymore??? WHAT’S GOING ON

username9 the soft launch of something is reaching levels of sophistication previously unimagined

username10 her stylist deserves a raise and a constructors' trophy

📍Monaco, Monte Carlo

liked by mickschumacher, lewishamilton and 2.935.356 others

yourusername love to spend the weekends like this ☀️💋

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username1 girl, that’s not a rental yacht.

mickschumacher ☀️🍒

liked by yourusername

lewishamilton 👀 

username2 you know you’ve made it when your soft launches involve luxury vehicles and yacht decks

username3 you don’t just accidentally end up back in monaco between races unless someone very rich and very involved in f1 wants you there

username4 lewis doesn’t date. charles is taken. carlos ain’t at Ferrari no more. who she with?? 😭😭

username5 my theory: she’s dating someone at ferrari but it’s not a driver. maybe like a team exec or idk… charles’ brother??

username6 just a reminder: she had dinner with the schumachers after monaco GP 👀

username7 soft-launching your sugar daddy with a luxury weekend in monaco is a move tbh

username8 one of you said “what if she’s dating michael schumacher” and i haven’t slept since

📍Maranello, Italy

liked by scuderiaferrari, lewishamilton and 3.752.461 others

yourusername it was "bring your girlfriend to work day" at Ferrari last week 💋❤️

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scuderiaferrari 🐎❤️🏎

username1 NO TAGS. NO DENIAL. SHE SAID YES AND???

username2 the soft launch is now a hard launch and i’m not emotionally ready

username4 everyone crying in the comments like she’s not just living your dream

username5 “bring your girlfriend to work day” is so NASTY when the work is being michael schumacher 😭😭😭

username6 you know what? they’re two grown adults. i’m just mad it’s not me

username7 just a reminder that michael schumacher is trending in 2025 because of this woman HER POWER

username8 the age gap is insane

username9 everyone’s spiraling and she’s just out here playing ferrari dress-up with a bf who owns the damn team

username10 okay but imagine this being your villain origin story if you’re the ferrari comms intern

yourusername posted a story

yourusername i guess this is my life from now on

[98oceans]

◜ ͡ ◝ SISTERLY BONDING 𓎢𓎟𓎡 OT6

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀her eyes are so intense, she’s ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀trying to blow us up with her mind

�� ✿֔ᮬ ( 𝒐𝒏𝒆𝒔𝒉𝒐𝒕 ) 𖹭 katseye ot6 x f!reader ✴︎ fluff, crack ── reader is yoonchae’s older sister, the kats are scared of her in a good way. from this request. a little lara x reader sprinkled in there because why not. read in light! / word count : 88O+ / ( masterlist )

yoonchae hadn’t expected anyone in her family to be there—her parents were busy, and most of her friends were drowning in schoolwork.

unfortunate timing, really.

so when she caught a familiar h/c girl in the front row, she nearly fumbled the chorus for touch.

y/n sat with one leg crossed over the other, leather jacket draped around her shoulders, gaze fixed on her sister.

even from the stage, she was magnetic. strangers nearby couldn’t help sneaking glances at her—she had that kind of presence. her baby sister, on stage, looking cooler than she ever remembered—when had that happened?

when the crowd started chanting, y/n finally joined in. her voice wasn’t the loudest, but smooth and clear enough to make the girl in front flinch in surprise.

when the chants switched to yoonchae’s name, she cupped her hands around her mouth and roared it like a war cry.

yoonchae nearly lost her composure mid-choreo. her sister—usually untouchable and unbothered—was yelling like a crazed fangirl in the front row.

after the performance, the girls gathered backstage, surrounded by friends and family. yoonchae barely heard the chatter; her eyes searched for one person.

y/n arrived not long after, a bouquet of her sister’s favorite flowers in one hand and her phone tucked into the waistband of her low-rise jeans.

the second she stepped foot backstage, yoonchae ambushed her with a bone-crushing hug.

“you said you weren’t coming!” yoonchae beamed.

“and miss your first big stage? not a chance. work can wait.” her voice was low, rich, the kind that lingered in the air after she spoke.

yoonchae bounced on her toes, clinging to the bouquet. “well? how’d i do?”

y/n’s lips curved into a knowing smirk. “honestly? i was shocked— i thought, there’s no way that girl killing it on stage is the same one who got grounded for skipping dish duty.”

not far away, daniela nudged manon, who had been silently staring.

“who’s that?” she whispered.

manon followed her gaze. y/n’s dark hair framed her face perfectly, smoky eyeshadow making her sharp gaze even more lethal. cropped top, leather jacket, and jeans low enough to flash the edge of designer boxers—she was the kind of pretty that made your stomach flip and your brain forget words.

“her sister, i think,” manon murmured.

“.. she’s scary pretty,” daniela said, almost in awe.

manon just hummed, because “scary pretty” was exactly right.

megan cleared her throat, and y/n’s head snapped toward the group. the shift was immediate—her posture straightened, arms crossing over her chest in a way that made the leather jacket slip slightly down her shoulder.

the air got heavier.

“oh.. that’s not—” sophia muttered.

“oh girl, who is you?” megan teased, though her voice wavered slightly.

“i’m your grandmother. show some respect,” y/n deadpanned, only breaking when yoonchae swatted her arm.

“kidding,” she said, voice dipping into a soft laugh. she extended a hand, nails painted deep red. “pleasure to meet you all. yoonchae’s talked about you. and seeing you live was.. impressive.”

lara was the first to step forward, her hand brushing y/n’s as she shook it. the contact was brief, but enough to make something flicker across her face.

up close, y/n’s gaze was sharper, her smile softer but deliberate—like she knew exactly the effect she had.

“all good things, i hope,” sophia said, forcing a laugh.

“ehh.. questionable, but funny,” y/n replied, her eyes not leaving lara’s for a beat longer than necessary.

when yoonchae left to grab water, the room’s energy shifted.

y/n tilted her head, her voice smooth but carrying weight. “so. you’ve all been taking care of her?”

“all of us,” sophia said quickly, spine straightening.

“bedtime?”

“10:30,” daniela answered. “past midnight only if we’re filming or on break.”

“sick during promotions?”

“nope. she takes vitamins before leaving the dorms,” megan confirmed.

“allergies?”

manon perked up. “ha! trick question—she doesn’t have any.”

y/n gave a slow, approving nod, like a queen granting a favor. “good. you’re all doing fine.”

relief rippled through the group.

as the tension eased, lara caught herself staring again. y/n noticed—of course she did.

she leaned back slightly against the wall, arms still crossed, and let her gaze meet lara’s in a way that felt deliberate. a small, knowing smile played on her lips.

“you usually this quiet?” she said, tone low and smooth. “or are you observing?”

lara blinked, caught off guard. “oh—uh, yeah, i guess.”

“i like that,” y/n said casually, like it was a compliment and a challenge all at once. “means you catch things other people don’t.”

manon and daniela exchanged glances, silently screaming, while lara tried not to combust on the spot.

y/n finally smirked and pushed off the wall, breaking the tension with a teasing, “just know, i’ll always be her favorite unnie.”

“i beg to differ,” megan said in a heavy british accent, though her eyes flicked to lara, who was still visibly flustered.

before anything could escalate, yoonchae returned, sipping her water with a snack in hand.

“what’d i miss?”

“nothing,” daniela said too quickly. “but your sister’s.. cool. we should bring her to america.”

yoonchae flicked her hair dramatically. “she got it from me.”

“.. i’m older than you,” y/n said flatly, smirk tugging at her lips as she felt lara’s gaze lingered just a second too long.

�� ✿֔ᮬ ( 𝑛𝑖𝑘𝑖 𝘵𝑎𝑙𝑘𝑠 ) 𖹭 this is so cheeks i’m sorry 🥀 i have such bad writers block right now but hopefully you guys enjoy this nonetheless🥹 fashion killa and hello will be posted soon TRUSTT

[cinder-stella]

𝙏𝙝𝙞𝙣𝙠𝙞𝙣𝙜 𝙖𝙗𝙤𝙪𝙩 𝙥𝙝𝙚𝙧𝙚𝙢𝙤𝙣𝙚 𝙙𝙧𝙪𝙣𝙠 𝙆𝙚𝙣𝙩𝙤…<18+ NSFW>

it’s hot when a man loves your natural scent

The windows are slightly cracked open, letting in that late summer breeze. Sunlight is stretching long across the hardwood floors, glinting off of the now-spotless dining table.

You’re exhausted, spent and over it but finally done.

Your hair is tied up in a claw clip, there’s a clean towel thrown over your shoulder and your body is still warm from a day spent scrubbing the baseboards and wiping fan blades like you were possessed. Your playlist stopped an hour ago and you’ve collapsed on the couch with a tall, cold glass of water, remote in hand, watching Sex and the City while your dog pads upstairs for his own break from civilization.

You're wearing one of Kento’s older, oversized t-shirts and a soft pair of shorts. Everything smells faintly of lavender, vanilla and fresh linen—your hands especially. You’d planned to shower right after this episode or just until your legs stopped feeling like wet noodles.

On screen, Carrie is spiraling…again. She’s telling Aidan she needs space after begging him to take her back not even two episodes ago.

You sigh. “She’s so unserious.”

Then you hear the jingle of keys and the soft click of the door unlocking. You don’t move, just tilt your head, eyes still half glued to the tv screen.

“Hey,” you call, voice hoarse from not speaking for a while, lips pressed against the rim of your glass.

Nanami steps inside, already loosening his tie.

“I’m home,” he calls back then pauses in the doorway, abruptly.

That smell. Warm fabric, floral soap, the mild scent of dried sweat and skin. It curls into his nostrils like a hook.

Obviously you don’t notice this.

He takes in the living room. The sunlight cutting across the floor, the shine of the now pristine baseboards, the open window filtering in birdsong and breeze. Then his eyes land on you. Your legs draped over the couch. That oversized shirt that once fit him properly, now falling soft over your frame like it belongs there.

His gaze drops to the curve of your thigh.

“I see you survived,” he murmurs, voice low.

You snort. “Barely. I think I lost a layer of skin from all the chemicals.”

He sets his keys in the bowl by the door and walks in slow, eyes lingering. “You smell like a hard day’s work.”

You squint at him. “That bad?”

“No,” he says, stopping just behind the couch. “That good.”

You tip your head back against the couch cushions, one leg idly bouncing. “I stink,” you announce with full confidence. “Like a gym sock.”

Nanami hums thoughtfully, stepping around the couch so he can see your face. “I disagree,” he says, undoing the top button of his shirt. “You smell…home-y.”

You wrinkle your nose. “That’s not sexy. That’s how people describe old apartments.”

He smirks. “That’s funny. I’m incredibly turned on right now.”

You scoff and cover your face with the towel still slung over your shoulder. “You’re sick.”

“I’m just being honest.”

He leans over slightly, palms braced on either side of you on the back of the couch, close enough that you feel the warmth of his body against the crown of your head. You peek out from under the towel. He’s looking down at you, eyes darker than before.

“I don’t get how you could possibly be turned on,” you say, quieter this time. “I’ve been cleaning all day. I’m sweaty. Like, undeniably so.”

He bends a little closer. “It made me lose my train of thought.”

You blink up at him. “Yeah, so I assume that you’d be thinking…open more windows and air this bitch out.”

He flung his head back and let out a deep, rich laugh. “Never. Don’t be silly.”

“Oh.”

He still hasn’t touched you but your skin’s already prickling with heat. Something’s shifted and you can feel it. The air’s thicker. His gaze is heavier, sweeping over you—the slightly damp edge of your collarbone. The soft shine of your thighs.

“I’ve been thinking about you all day.”

Your lips part, a sarcastic response on the tip of your tongue but then his fingers trail down your shoulder, slowly grazing the towel and pushing it aside. His knuckles skim the side of your neck.

He mutters something under his breath.

“Huh?”

“I can smell you from here,” he says again. “It’s driving me insane.”

Your heart beats hard. You’re not sure what emotion to even feel right now. “Ken…”

“I’m not kidding,” he murmurs, fingers sliding under your jaw, coaxing your head back so he can look at you properly. “You’re so warm and soft. You smell like the inside of our bed. Like skin and clean clothes and sweat and lavender and I—”

He stops himself. His throat bobs. Then, he leans in and kisses you. It’s soft at first, only the press of lips. But it deepens quickly. His hand cups your jaw. His thumb brushes your cheek. He groans into your mouth like he can taste the heat rising off your skin.

When he pulls back, his voice is filled with need. “Sit back.”

You blink. “What—?”

“I’m not asking.”

You do as he says, scooting further into the cushions. He kneels in front of you, settling between your legs with slow precision. His hands coast over your calves, up your thighs, stopping at the hem of those little shorts. You can see his pulse jumping in his neck. How much he’s trying to control his breath.

“I’m gonna taste you,” he says, eyes locked on yours. “Exactly like this. Before you shower. Before you do anything else. I want it the way it is right now.”

You open your mouth like a fish out of water. As if anything coherent would come out.

His fingers slip under the waistband and you lift your hips instantly. That’s all the consent he needs.

(∩˃o˂∩)♡

He peels your shorts down slowly, like he’s unwrapping his favorite treat. They hit your ankles and you kick them off without thinking.

The air hits your bare skin and you shift instinctively, pressing your thighs together. “Ken, wait—”

His hands slide up, firm and sure, gently parting your legs again.

“You can tell me to stop,” he says, voice steady. “But don’t lie to me.”

Your breath catches. “Lie about what?”

He leans in, nose trailing your inner thigh, just above the knee and breathes in deeply. “That you don’t know what you’re doing to me right now.”

You go still and he presses a kiss there, then another, trailing closer. He’s so slow with it you almost forget to be embarrassed, until—

“I can smell you already,” he murmurs. “So sweet.”

Your body jolts. “Oh my god.”

“Mm,” he hums against your skin. “This is no one’s fault but your own.”

His mouth finds you with aching need, lips parting against you, tongue slow, hot and focused. There’s no hesitation. No dramatic groaning or porn-star theatrics. Just a low, barely-there sound of satisfaction, like he’s been craving this all damn day.

You gasp.

His hands are firm on your thighs, keeping you open and guiding the rhythm. He licks deeply, then softer. Like this version of you is a delicacy he hasn’t had before. And he likes it. It’s a rhythm that convinces you that he literally wants you dead.

“You’re shaking,” he murmurs, mouth still wet against you.

“I haven’t eaten anything since, like, 12pm,” you breathe.

He laughs. It's low, warm against your clit. “Guess we’re both starving.”

His hips rock subtly against the edge of the couch as he continues licking and slurping. You glance down, dazed. There’s that telltale strain in his slacks. The growing damp patch at the front of his briefs, darkening the fabric.

You freeze. He doesn’t notice. Or maybe he does and doesn’t care.

Your voice is barely audible. “Kento…”

He looks up at you, lips swollen, face flushed.“Yes?”

“Are you…” You swallow hard. “Are you leaking?”

He blinks slowly, as if he just remembered he's got pants on.

“Yes,” he answers, plain and clear. “I am.”

You stare.

He reaches up, thumb brushing along your inner thigh. “I’m going to make you cum,” he says softly. “And then I’m going to fuck you—if you’ll let me. If not, I’ll sit in it. I’ll sleep in it. I don’t care. But I need this.”

You swear you have tachycardia.

He lowers his mouth again, more urgent this time and you stop thinking entirely.

(∩˃o˂∩)♡

He doesn’t stop until you’re falling apart in his hands.

You finish with a shaky moan, legs trembling, breath caught in a gasp. He keeps his mouth on you through it, tongue moving in slow, grounding strokes until your body stops jolting and your fingers slip weakly from his hair.

You barely notice when he finally pulls back. But you do notice the way he just…stays there. Kneeling. Breathing like he’s been underwater.

When you look down at him, his face is flushed, his mouth is wet and his eyes are blown wide with desperation.

“I need to be inside you.”

He says it like a confession.

You swallow. “Well you didn’t let me shower so might aswell…”

His gaze drops to your thighs again. Then rises. “I don’t want you to.”

You shift on the couch, suddenly aware of the stickiness, the flushed state of your skin, the faint tremble still working through your legs.

Then he leans forward, pressing his forehead to your knee. “Thank you.”

You have no clue what the hell is going on but you’re not complaining.

He rises from the floor slowly like it physically hurts to be away from you and starts undressing in practiced movements. Shirt. Belt. Slacks. His briefs stick slightly when he pulls them down, darkened with precum. And he groans quietly, out of pure relief at finally being out of them.

You glance down because duh.

He’s hard and flushed. The most mouth watering, delectable, show-stopping sight.

His jaw tightens when he sees you looking.

“Condom’s upstairs,” he says, voice rough. “But I don’t—I don’t want to use it. Not tonight.”

Your heart jumps.

He swallows. “We can. I will. I just…” His jaw tightens. “I want to feel everything. Just you. Nothing in between.”

You don’t answer right away. Not because you’re unsure but because that kind of honesty deserves a breath.

It’s not reckless. You’ve been with him long enough to know he’s careful. Long enough that you’ve done this before but not like this. Not with him looking at you like that. Like he needs this down to his bones.

“Is that okay?” he asks. “If not, I’ll get it. I mean that.”

You nod. Slowly. “Yeah,” you say, voice quiet. “It’s okay.”

He exhales, sharply. It’s filled with gratitude.

And then he presses your thighs open, settles his weight above you, cock in hand, lining up. He rubs the head through your slick slowly, watching your face the whole time. Your breath catches.

When he starts to push in, he curses under his breath. He quietly groans, sliding deeper, inch by inch.

“You feel so good. So warm,” he pants. “I missed this.”

He bottoms out with a shaky gasp. His hips stutter. His eyes squeeze shut. “Always so fucking perfect for me.”

You whimper.

He leans in and kisses you. Its messy and distracted. Then he starts to move.

He fucks you like he means it. Deep, slow and steady. Like he’s not just chasing release but trying to bury something inside you. Every thrust lands like he’s trying to press his whole body into your ribs.

Your thighs wrap around his waist without thinking. He’s buried in you, panting softly against your cheek now, body braced like he’s losing his balance.

“I can’t pull out,” he says suddenly, almost to himself.

You freeze.

He pulls back just far enough to look you in the eyes. “I don’t want to.”

There’s no teasing left in it. No ego. Just truth. His brows are drawn tight, his jaw clenched like the idea of leaving you empty physically hurts.

“Can I?” he asks, voice raw. “Please.”

And my lord, the way he says it.

You nod. “Yes.”

His mouth instantly crashes to yours as he starts to fuck you harder. Still deep and focused but desperate now. Every thrust feels like he’s pouring himself into you. His breath stutters against your skin, his body shakes.

He’s so close. You can feel it in the way his muscles lock. The way he sounds.

“Gonna cum,” he gasps. “Gonna cum inside you, fuck, I need to—”

You tighten around him almost involuntarily. He groans your name, hips pressing flush as he spills inside, burying his face in your neck like he can’t handle the weight of it. You feel all of him—the throb, the warmth, the way he stays pressed so deep it aches.

He doesn’t move for a long time.

Just breathes you in.

Then, quietly, “…I’m obsessed with you.”

You can’t help but giggle. “Yeah, I can tell.”

[imnotjustreadingg]

heyy! i'm so addictive to your story 😍

for the Tony X reader (yess for doing it) can you do a low maintenance reader with the very super rich Tony Stark and he's always so surprised she's with him for love and not for money ???

executive privileges

a/n: thank you so much, and sorry if i'm replying late. hope you like it!!!

The elevator doors open with a soft ding, and like a hurricane in a three-thousand-dollar suit, Tony Stark strides out onto the floor of the Stark Foundation’s headquarters. Latte in one hand, sunglasses still on indoors, and his attention locked squarely on the woman typing behind the front desk. “Miss Y/L/N,” he drawls, voice smooth like aged bourbon, “you look criminally underpaid for someone with that face.” You don’t look up. “Morning, Mr. Stark.” “Morning? It’s ten-fifteen. I’ve been up for hours, changed the future twice, and still had time to admire your... formidable work ethic.” He leans casually against your desk, latte lifted like a prop. You arch a brow and finally glance at him. “I’m sorry, was that before or after the press conference where you insulted three senators and declared yourself the sexiest man alive?” “Technically, I didn’t declare anything. Forbes did.” He smirks. “But thank you for reading the headlines. It’s sweet.” You return your gaze to your monitor. “It’s my job to track your public disasters.” “Ouch.” He feigns a wounded look, overdramatic as ever. “Cold. I like that. Keeps me on my toes.” You sigh, turning your chair fully to face him now. “Tony, I know you flirt with anything that breathes and has a security badge.” “Wrong. I flirt with you. The rest? Just background noise.”

You narrow your eyes, unsure whether to roll them or actually blush, which annoys you. Because you know who he is. Genius, billionaire, playboy, philanthropist with a superiority complex the size of Manhattan. But then again, you’ve seen him at 2 a.m., still in the lab, helping fund prosthetics for wounded veterans. Quietly. No headlines. Just... him. There’s something under all the bravado. A man trying. “You’re a walking HR violation,” you mutter.

The door to your apartment hadn’t even been fully closed when your heart snapped in two. It was the laughter you heard first. A woman’s, too familiar, too close. Then his voice. And then the sound you’ll never be able to scrub from your memory. The unmistakable rhythm of betrayal coming from the bedroom you paid half the rent for. You didn’t scream. Didn’t cry. You just... stood there. Took one slow, numb step back. Then another. And when the door shut behind you, it was like the universe slammed it shut for good. Behind the door, you now ex boyfriend trying to call your name.

You just needed a place to breathe. A place where everything didn’t feel like it was crumbling. You didn't expect him. Tony was at the workbench, arc reactor dim under the fabric of a black t-shirt, jacket tossed on a chair. His brow furrowed over some prototype... until he looked up. And saw you. “Y/N?” You froze halfway into the room. The hallway light caught the redness in your eyes, the tremble you couldn’t hide anymore. You were still wearing your work clothes, now wrinkled and hollow-feeling. You hadn’t even changed. You couldn’t. You left too fast. Tony stood up slowly, something unreadable crossing his face. “Hey. What happened?” You shook your head. Tried to laugh, but it broke halfway up your throat. “Guess I caught my boyfriend having a very neighborly moment with the girl next door.” Tony blinked. Then his jaw tightened. Visibly. Hands fisting for a second before relaxing, barely. He walked toward you slowly, not touching, but close enough that you could feel the concern coming off him in waves. “Tell me you punched him.”

You let out a sharp, bitter exhale. “Didn’t even say anything. Just left.” He tilted his head. “Classic. You always do that. Quiet exit, no scene. Very noble, very... emotionally repressed.” You cracked a small, painful smile. “I didn’t know where else to go,” you whispered. “I've seen you hold this whole place together for months, with a smile, while dealing with me, with press, with board members who have the emotional range of a teaspoon.” He paused. “You're allowed to fall apart too, y’know.” That was it. The dam broke. He didn’t say anything when you burst into tears. Just moved forward and wrapped his arms around you like he knew. Like he’d been waiting for this moment not to gloat, not to rescue but to be there. You cried into his chest, and he held you, one hand gently stroking your back, the other just holding tight.

You woke up sometime past dawn, cocooned in Stark Tower luxury cool sheets, the faint hum of arc technology embedded into the very walls, and the smell of... coffee? You blinked. Definitely coffee. Also, the room was empty. You sat up slowly, heart still heavy but mind clearer. And as your feet touched the soft rug, FRIDAY’s voice echoed politely through the quiet.

“Miss Y/L/N is awake, Boss.”

There was a pause, then the sound of footsteps approaching. A knock at the door soft, hesitant. Not like the Tony you were used to. “Hey,” he called, voice low, muffled through the wall. “I, uh... I didn’t want to assume I was allowed back into my own bedroom. Are you decent? Emotionally or otherwise?” A beat. “No pressure. Just checking.” You pulled the blanket tighter around your shoulders. “You can come in.” The door opened, and there he was. Tony Stark, in a worn MIT shirt and flannel pajama pants, hair sticking up like he’d only just gotten out of bed. Which, as it turned out, he had. Handsome He stood in the doorway, scratching the back of his neck. “I, uh... slept in one of the guest rooms. Didn’t want to crowd you.” You looked at him, surprised. “You gave up your bed and your coffee machine?” He grinned, stepping in and handing you a mug. “You underestimate how invested I am in your emotional stability. Plus, I wired the machine into the hallway. It’s mobile now.” You sipped, sighing softly. “Of course it is.”

Tony sat on the edge of the chair near the bed, leaning forward, forearms resting on his knees. “How are you feeling? Still want me to have that neighbor arrested for crimes against taste and basic humanity?” You smiled faintly. “That’s... sweet. But unnecessary.” He nodded, quiet for a moment. Then, more serious: “I meant what I said. Last night. About you deserving better.” You met his eyes. “You really didn’t have to stay.” He shrugged, avoiding your gaze now. “I kind of did.” Silence stretched between you. Comfortable, but filled with something. Unspoken things. A shift. A possibility. You tilted your head, watching him. “Why?” you asked. Tony finally looked up. And for once, no joke followed. No mask, no deflection. “Because when someone matters, you don’t leave them alone to fall apart.” He stood up suddenly, like he’d said too much. “I’ll give you space. There’s clean clothes in the guest closet. Take whatever you need. Or stay as long as you want.” You didn’t stop him from walking to the door. But before he left, you said, softly, “Tony?” He turned back, one hand on the doorframe. You hesitated, then smiled. “Thank you.”

And for a moment, just a moment, you saw him falter. His expression softened, and he gave you that rare kind of smile. The one that wasn’t for the press. Or the world. Just for you. You only meant to stay a night. That turned into a weekend. Then a week. Tony never pushed. Never pried. He didn’t ask questions he knew you weren’t ready to answer. Instead, he just... made room for you. Quietly. And one night, curled under a Stark Industries throw blanket, you realized something unsettling, you didn’t care about his money Or his reputation. You cared about him. The man. Not the suit. Which made it harder to breathe.

You didn’t expect to see your ex boyfriend there. Not in the marble-and-glass entrance of Stark Tower, not with security clearly trying to get him to leave, and especially not with that pathetic, desperate expression on his face. “Y/N-please-just listen to me!” You stopped mid-step, arms crossed, spine straight. The ache in your chest had dulled since that night. Replaced by something stronger. Clearer. You didn’t miss him. You missed the version of yourself who trusted him. Big difference. “Security let him through?” you asked FRIDAY, under your breath. “He claimed to be family. That mistake has been corrected.” the AI replied. You stepped forward, calm and steady. “What do you want?” Your ex looked like he hadn’t slept. Hair a mess, shirt wrinkled like he’d been wearing it for days. “I made a mistake, okay? It didn’t mean anything with her. I was drunk, I was lonely, I was stupid-whatever you want to call it.” His eyes swept you up and down. “But you’ve made your point. You got your sympathy. You’re living it up now, huh? Must be nice running to Stark.” There it was. Your stomach tightened. You kept your tone cold. “I didn’t run to anyone. You threw me out of our life. I just decided not to sit in the wreckage.” He sneered. “Please. You think I don’t see what this is? You’re just like the rest. Trading up. Sleeping your way into a penthouse.”

You didn’t get a chance to respond. Because suddenly he was there.

Tony.

He stepped between you before you could even process it. No suit. No helmet. No weapons. Just Tony Stark. Cold-eyed. Unblinking. And furious. “That’s enough.” Your ex stumbled back slightly, clearly surprised. Tony tilted his head, voice calm. Lethal. “Let me guess. You showed up here thinking you’d win her back with a few fake tears and a guilt trip. And when that didn’t work, you tried insults. Real original.” Your ex narrowed his eyes. “So what, you her new boyfriend?” Tony didn’t flinch. “No. I’m the guy who watched her cry herself to sleep for three nights straight while you played house with the neighbor.” He took a step forward. “You don’t get to insult her here. Not in my building. Not in my life.” Your ex laughed bitterly. “Wow. You’re really playing the hero now, huh?” Tony’s eyes didn’t leave him. “No. I’m just a man who sees what’s worth protecting when it walks into his life.” Silence. Sharp. Thick. Your breath caught in your throat. Your ex opened his mouth then closed it. Tony’s voice dropped to a dangerous quiet. “Now. You’re going to walk out of this building. And you’re not going to come back. Because the next time you even think about hurting her, you’re going to be reminded who she has in her corner now.” Security reappeared, flanking the ex on both sides. He gave you one last bitter glare then let them escort him out. You just leaned into him, forehead against his chest, finally letting yourself exhale. And he wrapped his arms around you like it was the most natural thing in the world. His arms were around you. Solid. Steady. Safe. And your heart was racing.

Maybe it was the adrenaline still pumping from seeing your ex. Maybe it was hearing Tony, Tony Stark, say things no one ever had. Not like that. Not with that fire. That conviction. Maybe it was the way his chest rose and fell, pressed to yours, like he was holding back more than just words. But something shifted. It happened fast before logic could catch up. You pulled back just enough to look up at him. His hands rested on your arms, his thumbs brushing lightly against your sleeves. His expression had softened, but there was something burning just behind his eyes uncertainty, want, restraint. You didn’t think. You leaned in. And kissed him. Soft. Brief. Just enough to let the spark catch flame. Tony froze for half a second, like the idea had short-circuited every neuron in his genius-level brain. Then he kissed you back. Deeper. Slower. Like he’d been holding his breath for years. His hand slid up to cradle the side of your face, thumb brushing your cheek with surprising tenderness. The other arm stayed around your waist, holding you close but not too tight like he was afraid you’d change your mind. But you didn’t. You melted into him. When you finally pulled away, breath shaky, Tony didn’t move. Didn’t smirk. Didn’t joke. Just blinked, eyes flicking between yours. “That was... unexpected,” he said softly. You smiled, cheeks warm. “Are you complaining?” He shook his head. “Not even a little.” Silence stretched, comfortable this time. Familiar. Charged. Then he exhaled a laugh, low and real. “You kiss a guy one time, and suddenly I’m planning out breakfast and thinking about deleting all my dating apps.” Your eyes widened. “You’re on dating apps?” He gave you a sheepish grin. “Technically no. I made a fake profile to test the Stark Industries facial recognition AI. Accidentally matched with six journalists.” You laughed, and Tony stared at you like he wanted to memorize the sound. “I don’t know what this is,” you said quietly. “I just know... I feel different when I’m with you.” He stepped forward again, this time resting his forehead against yours. “Then let’s figure it out,” he whispered. “Together.” And you knew, whatever this was or whatever it became, it wasn’t about the adrenaline anymore. It was about him. And the fact that, somehow, despite everything, he saw you.

Tony was still close, so close you could feel the warmth of his breath brushing your skin. The moment between you had gone quiet, thick with emotion neither of you had dared name yet. And then, with a sly smile creeping onto your face, you leaned in just a little and said, “If you want to buy an island now... I’ll take it.” Tony blinked at you. “That’s what did it,” he grinned. “Not the bleeding heart speech. Not the ‘worth protecting’ line. Nope. You’re just here for the island.” You shrugged, trying to look innocent. “Well, I mean... beach, cocktails, offshore tax advantages. Who could say no?” He tilted his head, amused. “You’re unbelievable.”

Tony leaned back in, lips brushing your cheek with infuriating softness. “I already gave you the Tower. Let’s start there.” You laughed, and he caught the sound with another kiss. This one light, playful, like a promise that the teasing would never end, not if he could help it. And just like that, it wasn’t just adrenaline. It was comfort. Chemistry. The beginning of something that might just be real.

taglist -> @onlyjunisworld @moonlitmorgan @thewitchhofoz @peanutbutt3rcup @overwintering-soldier @thelastbluecookie @chronicallybubbly @staley83 @mistalli @morphoportis @iyskgd @imjusthere1161 @herejustforbuckybarnes @punkprincesskingdom @thursdaylen @asfkoie

[sea-lanterns]

alice who is somehow always horny for a pregnant reader

CW: Pregnant! Reader, mentioned face sitting, fondling, lactation, lactation kink, breast sucking, body worship

Makes sense, Reader gets bigger thighs, breasts, some stretch marks, wider hips, Alice is practically frothing at the mouth for her pregnant wife. All the changes happening to your body make her swoon with every look at you, and even if you’re feeling self conscious because your body is changing so much, Alice is always quick to dismiss those thoughts.

“Sit on my face.”

“Wh-What? Alice, no! I’m a lot heavier now.”

“Please.”

Her image of you does not change because that pregnancy glow makes you even more gorgeous in her eyes. Her favorite thing to do is spoon you from behind in bed and roam her hands across your body, feeling up your hips before sliding her hands up your maternity shirt to grope your breasts. Your breasts are extremely sensitive now that you have a baby in you, so a bit of milk squeezes out and you scold at Alice because even the slightest of touches makes you feel sore.

Alice apologizes, of course. But she knows exactly how to make you feel better by getting on the other side and tenderly latching onto the sensitive buds with her mouth. She promises she will clean you up and soothe the ache in your chest, so you can’t really stay annoyed at her for long when her tongue does wonders on your tits. Besides, all that nutrient-rich milk would go to waste without Alice to drink it…

[sunstone-smiles]

Giggles & Gargoyles: The Giggle Guardian

Author’s note: THE CHANCE FIC IS HERE!!! I’ve never done a reader fic before, so I was debating during the writing process whether I should make it third person or second person, but I ultimately decided to do second person because I wanted it to sound more like the narration in-game! I hope you enjoy!

Series: Date Everything

Characters: Chance & Reader

Word count: 5,260

Summary: Chance is struggling to come up with the ending of a campaign, so you help him brainstorm some ideas; however, your suggestions are targeted towards putting a smile right back on Chance’s face.

---

The last time you played a campaign with Chance, it was a thrilling adventure! A genie on one end, a goblin king on the other, and you made them battle it out until there was only one victor (you teamed up with the genie). Chance sparkled at the end of it all, positively brimming with pride. 

It reminded you of the first time you fell in love with him. That moment of joy that spread across his cheeks when you played a full campaign with him, and he realized someone actually enjoyed one of his creations. That moment when he called you perfect. Just thinking about it gives you warm butterflies in your stomach.

Call yourself selfish, but you want to know what else Chance has in store. What other creations are in his head that he wants to share? Of course, you love him for everything else other than his campaigns—his passionate energy, his giggles, his flustered face every time you call him cute, to name a few—but you love, no, adore his campaigns. Is it a crime you want to know more?

Urged by curiosity, and a want to see your lovable GM, you make your way to your office. When you walk in, you already see Chance sitting at your desk with the D20 right beside his arm. He’s scribbling on pieces of paper scattered around the desk. You see character sheets, sketches, and pages filled with notes. There’s an intense look of focus on his face. You even see some pages crumpled up and tossed on the floor behind him. You know Chance will clean those up later. The mess isn’t what you’re worried about.

Noticing your presence in the doorway, Chance perks his head up, his eyes smiling brightly behind his glasses.

“Hello there, my love!” his voice radiates with delight.

“What are you so busy doing over here?” you ask, even though you most likely know the answer. You slide your hand off the doorframe and make your way over to stand next to Chance.

“I’m working on a new campaign!”

Yep, called it.

Coming up behind him, you lean down and lovingly drape your arms around Chance’s neck. Your heads nestle close together.

“Ooh, can I hear?”

“Why, of course!” Chance beams. “As long as you’re okay with a monologue?”

“I’m all ears,” you rest your chin on Chance’s shoulder.

Chance lights up, then moves a few note pages and sketches of his world into both of your views.

“So… you’re a Guardian of a village that’s rich with magical energy. So rich that even the soil itself can be used as an ingredient for casting spells. All of the energy in the village is ‘pure’ magic, like healing, light magic, and nature based spells. Though, being a place with so much power makes your village a target. To keep any dark forces away, the local spellcasters have harnessed the village's magic to create a protective barrier surrounding it, like a dome, that only the pure of heart can pass through.”

Chance points to his sketch of the barrier. “Recently though, the barrier has been flickering. An outside force is draining the village’s power. In its weakened state, dark forces have been able to push their way through the barrier and attack the village! You’ve been able to fight off the dark forces with ease, but it’s only a matter of time before the barrier completely falters, leaving you and the people to fend for themselves.

“So, you set off to find the source that’s draining the power. After traveling a bit, running into a few battle encounters, and gathering information, you find yourself at a cave. Walking in, you can already sense traces of the stolen magic. There, you find the villain behind it all…” Chance’s description crescendoes. “...And, that’s all I got right now.”

“It sounds great,” you say to the wonderful world he’s created. “You sound disappointed though.”

Chance sighs a little, knowing that you see right through him. “It’s just that I have all this build-up of an adventure, but no pay off. I can’t decide on what the final boss should be. Why are they stealing power, how are they stealing it, what powers or abilities for battle mechanics will they have because of it?” Chance’s head droops a little. “I’m… still trying to figure it out.”

You can tell from Chance’s expression that he’s a bit anxious thinking about this. It’s not that he won’t figure something out eventually—he always does—but it’s the fact that he wants to find an answer now, and the answer just isn’t coming to him.

It breaks your heart to see him this way. There’s only one option to fix this.

You softly smile and pick up your head a bit, your arms still around him. 

“Well…” your pause makes Chance glance over his shoulder. “What if the final boss is… a snuggle monster!” you lower your voice to a playful growl near the end and nuzzle your face into Chance’s neck. The GM scrunches his shoulders to his ears and lets out some of those adorable giggles you were hoping for.

“Stohop, I’m trying to focus!” he says through his wide smile as you pull your face away. “That tickles!”

“I am helping you focus!” you insist.

Chance chuckles, “This is focusing?”

“Yeah! I’m helping you generate some boss ideas!”

“I don’t think a snuggle monster is going to work,” Chance smiles. “Love the enthusiasm though.”

You uncurl your arms from the GM and stand up straight to present a new idea. “Okay, okay. If not a snuggle monster, then how about,” you gasp mid sentence for theatrical effect, “a dragon, who’s draining the village of its pure energy by absorbing it from the villagers themselves! For the way the dragon is stealing the pure magic from the villagers is from absorbing the purest sound of all—laughter!” 

Chance leans back in his seat and crosses his arms, a smile still on his face. “Now you’re just pitching me the idea of a tickle monster, aren’t you?”

Yes, that is exactly what you were thinking.

You shrug. “You could call it that. But picture this! The Guardian walks into the cave and sees the dragon perched on top of a high rock. Their fantastic red scales shimmer with the magical energy they’ve stolen. The dragon takes notice of the Guardian’s presence, turning its large head towards them.”

You extend and arm towards Chance, inviting him into your imaginary scene. “What does the Guardian do?”

Chance’s smile grows into a smirk. You know he can’t resist a good story. He stands from his chair, truly getting into character. 

“The Guardian says, ‘Hark, dragon! I don’t want to harm you, but if you refuse to give back my village’s power, I will have no choice but to thwart you!’”

Your expression lightens, happy to see Chance playing along. Now you have to keep up with him, like two enthusiastic theater kids performing in a game of improv. 

“‘A bold claim Guardian, coming into my home, demanding my power that I have so rightfully stolen! I can see the power inside you too… Yes! You’re just full of the radiant energy they call laughter!’” You pause to add a visual description. “The dragon crawls down from their rock, looking at the Guardian intently as they approach closer with every step, circling him.” Playing up your role, you also approach Chance slowly as you speak.

“‘Enlighten me, Guardian…’” you lean forward on your toes to be nearly face-to-face with Chance, smirking, “Are you ticklish?"

Chance breaks character to let out an embarrassed giggle. He answers as the Guardian, “‘Uh… no. No.’”

You lean back on your feet, then take a step back. “Roll me a deception check.”

“Ha! Easy! My Guardian character has a plus ten in deception.” Chance picks up the red D20 near his papers. “I don’t even have to look at the die to know that it’ll succeed. Watch.”

Chance keeps his eyes on you as he tosses the D20 onto the desk. When he hears that its clatter across the table has come to a stop, he crosses his arms and smirks, never once looking at the die.

“See?” Chance grins.

You on the other hand, seeing the number on the die, also cross your arms and smirk, even wider. 

“Chance…” your voice rises as you say his name, like you're telling him, look behind you.

Now the man’s face drops with concern. “What?”

He spins his head towards the desk, spotting the die. 

It’s a Natural 1.

His eyes widen and his arms fall to his sides in a defensive position.

“Oh no…” Chance turns to you, already incredibly giggly.

You quickly lean forward on your toes again, like you’re about to pounce. “‘Lying to me, are you Guardian?’” You take a big step forward to corner him. Chance hits his back on the desk and leans a hand on the surface. His other hand is in a curled up fist, covering his flustered smile. 

“‘Well, it looks like your fib revealed more than it hid,’” you continue as the dragon. “‘Tell me then, Guardian. Where are you the most ticklish?’” you punctuate your sentence with a poke to Chance’s belly. The man squeaks and throws his hands up to cover his blushing face.

He lowers his hands to peek at you.

“Dohohon’t make me say it!” Chance’s words are coated in sweet giggles.

“‘I won’t make you say it. But this just means I’ll have to find out for myself!’” 

You lunge your hands forward and squeeze Chance’s sides, scribbling into his torso. Immediately, a giggly squeal bursts from Chance and he slams his arms down, curling his head into his chest as bouncy laughter explodes from his mouth.

“The dragon digs their claws into the Guardian’s sides! They’re not inflicting pain though, they’re tickling him!” you narrate like a G&G campaign. “The dragon begins absorbing the energy of the Guardian’s pure heart through their very adorable laughter!”

“HeheheHEY!” he calls out, squirming to the side, “I didn't even gehehehet to rohohoholl initiative!” 

“Oh, right. Well, the dragon gets to go first anyway, no matter what,” you quickly make up the rule.

“Thahahat’s unbalanced! AHA!” Chance cackles when you crawl your dragon ‘claws’ up to his ribs, causing him to fold to his left.

“Are you questioning the GM?” you grin. 

“I thohohohought I wahahas the GM!” Chance wiggles towards the end of the desk. He grips the edge to keep himself standing. “I’m the one whohoho wrote thihihihis story!” he jokes and twists to the side, accidentally leaning too far and losing his hold on the desk. He tumbles to the floor with a thud, landing and facing the ground.

Worried, you quickly kneel down by Chance’s side. “Are you okay, Chance?” you ask as he flips himself over to face you. The worry inside of you subsides when you hear him still giggling. 

He adjusts his glasses and looks up at you with a smile still wobbly from his giggles. “Yeah, I’m fine.”

“Okay, good.” You ease your face back into a warm smile, which then morphs itself into a devious smirk. “Because this boss fight isn’t over yet!” you exclaim with clawed hands that dive right back into Chance’s sides.

He jolts and his joyful giggles return in an instant. “Hehehehey!” he kicks his feet from the surprise attack, but he admires your dedication towards how the show must go on. Instinctively, he begins to curl his knees to his chest, but you put a stop to it by sitting on his legs and becoming a wall between his knees and his torso, allowing you free range to continue your tickle attack.

“The Guardian tries to flee, but the dragon pounces on top of them! Their tickly claws pull the Guardian’s oh so adorable giggles out of them, absorbing their power! The Guardian has disadvantage on their next attack! What is their next move?”

“I-” Chance covers his blushing face, giggling sweetly into his hands. He turns his head to the side as if he was about to bury his face into the floor.

“But the Guardian was too stunned to speak!” you tease. “The Guardian forfeits their turn!”

“Nohoho! Wait!” Chance springs into action. He grabs your wrists from his sides, holding them above him. He tries to stop himself from giggling so he can take a second to catch his breath. “The Guardian grabs a hold of the dragon’s claws, and… and attempts to grapple them, s-so he can negotiate!”

“Hmm, okay then. Let’s do a strength check.” You gently slip your hands from Chance’s and reach towards the desk to scoop up the D20. A wobbly smile and a slight blush across his cheeks still adorn Chance’s features.

You roll the die on the floor beside you. “Ah, a seventeen.”

“Ha ha! Success!” Chance cheers. “So the the Guardian says-”

“Ah! Not so fast, Chance. You still have disadvantage on your next attack, meaning this grapple is at a disadvantage!”

Chance curls up into another bundle of laughter. He covers his red face and flutters his feet behind you. He peeks through his hands. “I forgot!”

You roll the dice again. Looking at the results, you suck air through your teeth. “Oooh, sorry Chance. Looks like a five. Your grapple fails,” you say with your ‘claws’ out and looming over him, already making your partner sputter. 

“Ohohoho no!” Chance giggles in anticipation. Another laughter-filled yelp releases from him when you land on his ribs. His precious laughter returns to your ears as he rolls as far as he can to the side and wraps his arms around his torso, not once trying to shove, or stop you from continuing the game.

You take it as a sign to continue and your slithering dragon voice returns to the scene. “‘Ah! Looks like you still have some strength left in you. Which means you still have a lot of laughter left inside that’s free for the taking! It seems I need to find a weak spot… I ask again, Guardian, where are you the most ticklish?’” You worm your hands into Chance’s underarms, testing a new spot that earns a cascade of fast paced giggles; however, you already know the answer to your own question.

Chance manages to stay in character with a burst of bold dialogue, “‘I am a Guahahardian for the people of thehehehe village! I must stahahahay strong! I’ll nehehever tell! Never!’” 

You could melt right there on the spot at the lovable sight, but you have to keep yourself in character too. “‘Ah, bravery. Foolish really, but admirable. It seems that I’ll just have to find out for myself then…’”

You pause your tickling for a moment to pick up the D20 again. When Chance sees in his peripheral vision that you’ve grabbed the die, he lifts up his head from the floor in a playful panic.

“W-Wait! What are you rolling for?”

“I have to roll if the dragon is able to perceive where you’re the most ticklish,” you smile and poke Chance’s tummy. He flinches forward and giggles.

You roll the dice near your side and await the clack across the floor to end.

“Oh boy…” you say.

“What? What is it?” Chance says in giggly suspense.

You carefully pick up the die between your fingers, holding it in the same position it landed and place it in the palm of your hand to prove that you didn’t move the number. You hold it out to Chance.

Nat 20.

“It’s a natural twenty,” you say with the biggest smirk.

Chance starts giggling wildly again. He holds out his hands in defense over his tummy. “Wait! Wait, wait! Can I roll for persuasion?”

“Nice try, but not against a Nat 20!” Without further delay, you plunge your hands into Chance’s tummy, squeezing and scribbling his most ticklish spot. Chance barks out a loud laugh before his booming belly laughter fills the entire room. This whole time he’s avoided the tactic of shoving, but once his stomach is the target of tickles, he wastes no time trying to playfully nab at your hands or pushing them from his tummy. He curls himself forward, trying to wrestle and get a better grip on your wrists, but another squeeze the little chubbiness on the side of his belly sends him back onto the floor. 

Chance lets out a snort. He covers his face with his hand for a moment, dissolving into the cutest giggles that makes your heart skip a beat.

“Was that a snort?” you forget that you’re supposed to be acting like a villainous dragon, lost as you drink up Chance’s smile. “How cute!” you nearly squeal.

Chance’s cheeks flush even redder beneath his glasses. “Hehehehaha!!! It's- hehehe!! It’s a crihihihitical hit!” he drops his hand down from his face to continue pushing at your fingers.

“Indeed it is!” You return to your role as a narrator. “The dragon, using its keen senses, discovers that the source of the guardian’s power is in his belly! The beast strikes down with their claws, digging, vibrating, swiping into the guardian’s belly to draw out hordes of the purest laughter that’s ever graced their ears!” You scribble your clawed hand at the center of his stomach while also crawling your other hand to his ribs, causing Chance to lift himself forward again as he tries to curl up in a ball.

“‘Mwahahaha!’ the dragon laughs. ‘I’ve truly found the core of your power. And now, your laughter is mine! All mine!’”

Chance grips to your wrists for dear life to hold himself up. “Hohoholy Crit! It tihihihickles!!!” his voice rises in pitch. “Ohohokay! OKAY!!! I’m ohohohout! I surrehehehender!”

Immediately, you pull your hands away from Chance with a smile. Chance slides his hands off of your wrists and plops to the floor. He lies there as he catches his breath and residual giggles trickle from his system.

After giving him a few moments to recover, you gently grab Chance’s arm and help him sit up.

“You okay, Chance?” you check up on him.

Chance puts a hand on his chest as he gets out a few more giggles. He nods, “Yeah. You got me good.”

You can’t help but huff out a little laugh at that.

“So, what happens to the Guardian and the dragon now?” Chance asks. 

“Oh, well,” you think up a quick ending, “Hearing the guardian’s adorable laughter, emphasis on the adorable, the dragon has a change of heart. They released the guardian and learned that there’s no need to take all the laughter all for themself when they can share it and use it for good. The end!”

Chance lifts a brow, a soft smile gracing his features. “What? That’s it?”

“What? You didn’t like it?” you joke.

“The dragon turns good? Just like that?”

“Oh yeah? Well, what do you have in mind Mr. GM?” you purposely challenge him. 

Chance welcomes the challenge. He grins. “Welllll, I think it should go a little something like this.” Chance clears his throat. He moves his arms wide with a grand motion, getting into GM mode. The inflection he uses to narrate his campaigns makes its appearance.

“The dragon is taken aback by the Guardian’s laughter! Has the dragon ever heard something so joyful, so pure before? Perhaps they’ve been missing out. As the dragon reflects, the Guardian is given a chance to breathe and concoct a plan! The dragon goes in for another strike, but the Guardian has a trick up their sleeve…”

Chance picks up the D20 from the floor and rolls it. He smiles at the outcome. 

“Ho ho! And with an eighteen, he succeeds!”

Chance launches himself towards you. You screech and try to turn and run, but he wraps you in his arms and pulls you close to him. You're already giggling as he sits you in his lap, your back facing his chest. Chance adds a few pokes to your sides that make your heart flutter with anticipation.

“Using dirt from his village he keeps in one of his pouches as a material, the Guardian casts a spell, shrinking the dragon to a human size he can finally grapple!” Chance narrates over your shoulder. You can hear the smile growing in his words.

“‘It’s too late, Guardian! I have already drained you of all of your pure energy! It’s mine now!’” you growl, keeping in character.

“‘Then it seems like I’ll just have to take it back exactly how you took mine!’” Chance declares. He wastes no time beginning his tickle counter-attack, pressing his fingers into your ribs and sides. You jolt and a wave of your laughter immediately leaps into the air. You twist and clamp your elbows down, but it does little to help since Chance’s arms are in the way and his mischievous fingers are already skittering in the area.

With your defenses weakened, he repositions his hands under your arms. You squeak from the new tickle spot and kick your legs out.

“Chahahance!” you call his name out through your giggles.

The GM answers you as the Guardian, “‘Who is this ‘Chance’ you speak of? Or what is this ‘Chance’ you speak of? Is it a spell? Oh, you sly dragon! Lucky for me, your giggles’—your adorable giggles, if I may add. Hehe— ‘are disrupting any incantation of a spell, rendering it ineffective!’ You have disadvantage on all of your next attacks.”

“Ahahahall of them?!” you squirm to the side as Chance scribbles a hand to your ribs. 

“Okay, okay. Just your magical attacks,” he provides a compromise.

“Thehehen the dragon tries to use their strength to shohohove the guardian bahahahackwards!” you dig your feet into the ground and lean back, but only slightly to act like you’re shoving him. You didn’t actually want to knock Chance off of you while you both were enjoying this moment.

“Then let’s do a strength check, shall we?” Chance pauses his attack. He holds you up with one arm wrapped around your torso, his hand resting right on your belly. Your giggles quiver just by his hand being perched there.

Chance reaches over to grab the D20. As he does, you steal a quick kiss on his cheek. Chance freezes, and a warm blush quickly follows.

“H-hey!” he lets out a flustered giggle as he turns his red face towards you. “Stealing a kiss from the GM won’t help you get advantage, you know.”

“It was worth it to see you blush like that,” you tease him.

“Flattery will not help you now,” Chance states. “But, it is appreciated.”

Chance continues with the game and tosses the D20 near his side. He reads the number.

“Hmm, okay! With a ten, I’ll say that you push the Guardian off your back, but the Guardian quickly swoops to the side and is able to retaliate!” Chance does as he says, leaning to your left and tickling your sides and belly from there. With another eruption of laughter, you tilt to the side and wiggle out of his lap right onto the floor. You roll onto your back and flail your arms forward as Chance’s tickles follow you down. He straddles his knees above your hips so he’s hovering directly in front of you as he delivers his vengeance.

You opt to wrap your arms around your torso and bat at his hands to change your defensive maneuvers. “‘Cuhuhuhurse you, Guahahardian!’” you try to sound menacing through your laughter, failing even more miserably than the definition of miserably.

“‘Are you trying to put a curse on me?’” Chance says in character. He lets out a soft laugh as his shy self the more he looks at your smiling face. “Or are you trying to use a charm spell on me because… Holy Crit. You’re so cute. Your giggles are making me smile,” he fawns over you with a warm blush. His head tilts to the side as he soaks in the beautiful scene in front of him. Your cheeks flush after hearing his words and you curl your head closer into your shoulder as you sink further into your own giggles.

He could sit here all day, seeing you like this, but he shakes his head out. He’s got a campaign to run. “Right, Chance! Focus!” he smiles to himself. 

He returns to the story, “The guardian is able to knock the dragon onto their back, pinning them to the cave floor. The Guardian has the advantage, but they have to be careful of the dragon’s swinging claws!”

As if on cue, you reach up and successfully get a ticklish squeeze at Chance’s side.

“H-hehey!” he giggles and gently catches your hand. He temporarily pauses his wiggling fingers. “You can’t attack! It’s not your turn yet! Plus, you didn’t even roll to see if you would hit.”

You use the momentary break from the tickles to refill on air. “True, but I didn't have to wait for my turn! I was using my reaction attack!”

“Oh ho ho! Is that how we’re playing it?” Chance’s glasses almost seem to twinkle at the fact that you’re bringing in other G&G mechanics. He lifts his hands from you to stretch his fingers with his palms out, then he extends his arms out to his sides. His fingers wiggle like his own pair of claws and he looms over you like a monster ready to strike.

You curl your arms close to your chest, giggling at his display. 

“‘Do your worst, Guardian!’” you declare. You already ball yourself up tighter after your declaration of war.

“Oh, you’re asking for it now!” Chance smirks like a scheming gargoyle. He plunges his hands into your torso, adding more pressure and quickness to his tickles. He switches from spot to spot, skittering in one place and digging in another. There’s a playful roughness to it that makes your giggles rise and your body twist and squirm.

“The Guardian can see the dragon’s once shimmering scales turning dull. Though, their smile is still as bright as ever. The Guardian can feel his magical energy returning to him, but he needs to find the final source of the dragon’s power that will release the village's magic from their control, and stop the dragon once and for all!”

Once more, Chance pauses and grabs the twenty-sided die. “He does an investigation check…”

Your tummy twirls with giggle-filled gymnastics as you await for the sound of the die to finish its roll. He leans over to look at the number.

You see Chance smile from ear to ear.

“Oh ho ho! And with a natural twenty, he does!”

“Another one?!” you laugh in shock. You see Chance’s hands bounding towards your belly and you frantically try to wrestle, shield, and shove his hands away.

Your words are drenched by giggly anticipation. “Nohoho! Noho! Wait, wait! Cha-AHAHAHAHAnce!” you scream mid-sentence when Chance pushes through your defenses and scribbles his fingers at your belly. You kick out your feet behind him and playfully push at his hands. He keeps one hand on your belly at all times while his other hand travels along your ribs and sides.

“Sorry, my love, but the die has revealed the truth. With an explosion of laughter brought forth from the dragon, the Guardian finally regains the last bits of their magical essence! It seems like the Guardian and the dragon both share the same weakness of their belly being their most ticklish place.”

“My behehehelly is less tihihihicklish than yohohohours!” you claim, pointing at Chance. Your arm immediately clamps down again from fingers wiggling into your underarm.

Chance lets out a shy chortle at your statement. “Fair. ‘But, since we know each other’s weaknesses, dragon, how about we team up? It appears that you enjoy the sound of laughter, so why don’t you use your abilities for good and join me as a protector for the village?’”

“Ahahahand what if I dohohohon’t?” you sass, reaching your limit, yet still taunting your GM.

“Then it’s more tummy tickles for you!” Chance vibrates his clawed hand into your stomach. You screech and swing your limbs wildly again.

“OHOHOKAY! OKAY! CHAHAHANCE- I- I mehehehean, Guahahardian!!! I’m persuaded! Nohoho need tohoohoo rohohoholl!”

Chance pulls his hands away and stops, his smile victorious. He moves from your lap and takes a seat next to your side. He ends his story while you recover and let out your remaining giggles. “And with that, the dragon relents. The pure magic of the village is saved, and the dragon, now an ally of the Guardian, learns to find joy from laughter without actually having to steal it.” Chance pauses, an idea clicking in his head. “The end.”

A stream of excited giggles releases from Chance. “Hehehe! See? Now wasn’t that a more fulfilling ending?” he gently takes your hand in his and lifts you to a sitting position.

You clutch at your stomach, but a short chuckle and your smile show Chance that you’re happy. 

“You gave the dragon more development. I’ll give you that.”

“All thanks to you,” he beams.

“So does this mean you have an idea for the final boss now?”

“Hmm, well sort off.” He rubs a hand to the back of his neck. “The whole ‘tickle monster’ bit will have to be cut, hehe… But, a villain who’s stealing pure magic because they were never able to experience that kind of affection naturally for themselves? Now that’s a strong motivation I can work with!” His words become faster the more he’s excited, “Oh! And maybe there is a dragon who’s a mini-boss that does ally with the party! Maybe they are working for the villain, or maybe they’re a distraction from the true culprit! Ohoho, there’s so many options now that the doors are open!”

You can’t help but smile to see Chance happy and with his creative juices flowing again. It would honestly be hard for you to simply get up and leave him to it after sharing this time with him. You don’t want to leave his side just yet.

“Do you mind if I help you?” you ask politely, knowing that building a campaign is an activity Chance holds near and dear to him.

“Holy Crit! Are- Are you kidding?!” Chance is elated; he puts his hands on his chest. “Yes! Please do! I would love that! I may have to keep a few details hidden for when we actually play, but it would make me the happiest GM to be able to share this with you.”

His reaction makes your heart soar. You gently wrap your arm around his and snuggle close to him. “Who knows, maybe you don’t have to hide those details if we GM as a duo instead.”

“Hmm, now that is something I wouldn’t be opposed to doing with you,” he says in a flirtatious tone. He kisses your forehead, then looks at you with that blush that says, I’m the luckiest man in the world.

Afterwards, you both stand and grab an extra chair, placing it right next to the one Chance was sitting in. You take your seats at the desk and sit shoulder to shoulder with one another. You exchange ideas, discuss different characters, and brainstorm a campaign well into the night that you know for certain is being made with so much love.

[mr-tony-stark]

When the chicken was in the oven and Bucky’s hands were completely freed up for the moment, Tony took the opportunity to tug him close and wrap his arms around him.  He knew that Bucky would need to clean up a little and start making the pasta at some point, but he figured there was at least a little time for cuddling at the kitchen bench.

He smiled and let out a soft laugh through his nose.  “I get it. Well… that’s probably not completely true.  I’ll probably never really get it.  Growing up poor during the great depression forty years before I was even born is pretty fuckin’ removed from my life experience.  But most of the people I meet aren’t as rich as I am.  And when you met my dad for the first time, he was probably worth about $20 to $30 million give or take.  I can’t be too sure but back then, being a millionaire was considered extremely wealthy.  I’m worth over $200 billion.  I don’t even think most people’s brains can process how much bigger one billion is compared to a million.  And honestly, I’d be worth a lot more if I wasn’t funding the Avengers.  You have no idea how much I spend on insurance alone.  Clean ups.  Salaries.  Equipement.  It’s a money sink.  I’d probably be a trillionaire right now if I wasn’t Iron Man.  And I don’t tell you all that to brag, honey.  It’s just facts.  And it’s why I don’t mind paying for dinner and going out.  I could right now, fly you to Paris, we could stay in the most expensive hotel there and eat at the most expensive restaurant and it would be less noticeable to me and my bank account than if you had taken me to a diner for burgers back when you were growing up.  Which is why I don’t quite get why anyone would argue it.  What I get from spending time with you is worth so much more to me than money.  I’ve had money all my life and it’s never been able to buy me that feeling.” 

He kissed him and ran his hands down his hips.  “But I do want you to feel comfortable.  I want you to not feel like you’re not contributing even if that’s not a thought that’s ever crossed my mind.  I really don’t want you to feel like I’m buying your affection or that you owe me.  So if letting you pay for the dates you plan does that, then I’m fine doing that.  Just know, I’m fine not doing it either.  And I’m also fine if you want to plan a date using my resources.  I trust you and I trust FRIDAY to know what I’m okay doing and what I’m not okay doing.” 

Bucky was having a hard time not just melting from Tony’s light touches, it was one thing when they were cuddling or after having sex but just casual light contact for no reason at all while he cooked? He doesn’t know how he’s ever gone without it for so long. He rests his head against Tony’s shoulder as he leans on him, getting the chicken in the baking pan with the tomato sauce and cheeses before moving to put it in the oven.

He knows in the scheme of things, Tony will do a lot more financially for them as a couple than Bucky could ever hope, but he knows that relationships are more than just who has more money and he’s slowly getting used to the idea. He was already coming up with his own ideas for things he could do that weren’t about the money, spending time with Tony in his lab was good for them both because it meant Tony didn’t have to worry about working too much and it was all so fascinating for Bucky even if he didn’t understand everything. The smaller dates would be fun, figuring out dates they could do at home too like movie dates or other ways that they can just spend time together. And the idea of taking him back to Brooklyn, to Coney Island, he loved that idea.

He was just standing up when Tony starts explaining about his property, and his eyes widen as he listens, it seemed like it was never ending. He can’t help but stare at Tony in shock, they had never talked about Tony’s wealth before and he knew he was rich but this was more than he had even assumed. He has to clear his throat before speaking, “Jesus Christ Tony I..I don’t even know what to say. I..not that any of that is bad! I just…I grew up on bases and in tiny ass apartments, living day to day working factory shifts before the war. I never…I’ve never even imagined anything close to all of that,” he admits sheepishly, knowing his reaction was probably embarrassing but he doesn’t know what else he can say.