#drabbles bribery

[sizzlingcloudmentality]

for me?

Frank Castle x f!reader | wc ~1.7 k | explicit, mdni | ao3

summary: Frank's lap is the best place for dry humping and being fingered

warnings: no y/n, barely any plot except ✨they are fwb and in denial✨, making out while sitting in Frank's lap, dry humping until it's not, fingering (f receiving), Frank talking you through it, finger sucking because it's me, squint and you miss possessive Frank, affectionate smacks on the ass, petnames (pretty girl, 1x attagirl 🫦), hand on the throat but just for the aesthetics, pussy pronouns, dm me if I missed any, not beta'd because I'm rebellious

a/n: another drabble for my follower milestone event, thank you nonnie for requesting "and what do we have here?". i just need to ride Frank so bad, blame this month's ovulation. 😩 a big thank you and a smooch to @guiltyasdave for literally sitting with me while I was writing this 💛💛💛

There were too many feelings for something casual. For something to just take the edge of.

“You're needin’ me too much, pretty girl,” Frank says when he rests his head in your lap.

“We shouldn't meet this often, just makes things complicated,” you say when you put your stuff in a drawer he has emptied out for you.

“Can never make you happy,” he whispers against your forehead before he places a lingering kiss there.

Maybe you both turned blind to the obvious. Or just got comfortable in the coziness of your ignorance. Whatever it is, neither of you wants to stop playing pretend. Just friends. Just casual. No big deal. We can stop anytime, you both say, like addicts lying straight to themselves.

“Don't need you,” you murmur and climb into his lap.

“Don't need you either,” he replies, gruff voice polished all soft in the crook of your neck.

“Just want you.”

“Mhmm,” he hums, his hands roaming up your thighs to your ass and he pulls you deeper into his lap. Wanting you to feel him.

You learned quickly that there were hardly any boundaries for Frank's hands. What they wanted to break, they broke. What they wanted to rip open, they ripped open. What they wanted to touch, they got to touch.

“Frank,” you whine quietly, pushing back into his hands, dragging your lips up his neck and along his jawline. Whining again when his dark scruff burns on your lips. Yelping when he smacks you and kneads your stinging flesh.

“I know, pretty girl,” he mutters into your ear and nips your earlobe.

He knows. You see it in his eyes the moment before you start kissing. Making out, your hands gripping the backrest of the couch and the back of his neck. He knows you need him. Want him. Not just benefits and friendship.

“Jus’ like that,” Frank grunts, sucking your lip between his. His hands, unbounded in their will to unravel you, start pulling and pushing. Guiding you in your movements when you need no guidance. You let him move you willingly.

He drags you over all the hard parts, belt and bulge. He draws soft sounds out of you, soft and sweet, and he eats them right out of your mouth.

It's leisurely, rolling and rubbing against each other just for the sake of getting drunk on each other, desperate for the other one, hungry for the feeling of hot skin on hot skin. Frank waits until you whine his name, until you breathe more heavily from humping him like a desperate little thing.

He’s patient, he’s able to push his own needs aside, still a soldier, still serving.

“Touch me,” you breathe out with your lips swollen from his nips. Shaky from the relentless back and forth on Frank’s lap.

A finger slips under your top, then two and three fingers. You whine again because it is not what you want. But his nails scraping over your lower back are better than nothing. He shifts, pushes his hips upwards, spreading his legs even wider. He is so hard in his jeans. If you’d care to look down you would see a dark spot in the denim.

If he'd care to look down he would see a dark spot in your short, too.

You press down, in need of more friction when the slick in your panties barely lets you feel any. He grunts, fingers digging into your back and then slipping into the back of your shorts. With a handful of your ass he holds you in place and grinds up into you.

“No. Touch me!”

He grins when you whine again, another breathy complaint coming from you.

“'m touchin’ you, pretty girl. Feel that?”

You do. You feel his other hand slipping behind the elastics and fabric. His fingers connect one spot with another with a tender brush, zigzagging his way deeper into your panties.

“Mhmmm, and what do we have here?” Frank doesn't have to do much searching or probing, he can feel your arousal right on his fingertips.

“Is this for me?” he asks, his nose nudging your chin, making you look at him. “All this wet and just for me?”

You nod your head, unable to put up an act whenever he is like this, so sweet. “Yes,” you breathe softly, “‘s for you.”

“Thought so,” he murmurs, and you can feel each word rumble in his chest.

Frank looks at you, brown eyes flitting over your face. Your droopy lids, your lips ajar the tiniest bit with the tip of your tongue between your teeth. Your impatience shows with how your shoulders tense up. You're holding your breath. Waiting for the impact.

He dips one finger between your folds and smiles when you whimper. He adds a second finger, moves them back and forth, coating you and him with your slick. Curls his fingers, wedged tightly against your entrance.

“Frank,” you whisper and your muscles tighten even more. Ready to pounce. Ready to be pounced.

His hand, the one still on your ass, pulls you closer and onto his two fingers. Joint for joint Frank spreads you open until he's nestled inside you. Knuckles deep with your pussy clenching around him.

“‘s for me, right?” he husks and kisses your moan right off your lips when he pulls you back again with the handful of your ass. “She's just for me? Tell me, pretty girl.”

“Yes,” you whisper, your lips ghosting over his.

His fingers slip back inside you when he pushes you forward again. Frank grunts, satisfied with your answer and your slick walls gripping his fingers. “That's right, pretty girl.”

He's guiding your movements, just like before. Back and forth, letting you fuck yourself on his fingers. Allowing you to bite into the coiled muscles of his shoulder and neck when you want to go faster than he lets you to.

He knows you, knows where to push and rub, when to a third finger, only for a few thrusts, and when to leave you on the edge with just two of his fat fingers stuffing you.

With every tilt of your hip you grind against the heel of his palm, every cant bringing you closer. You tighten and clench, your hands grab for anything that is Frank. His arms or chest. Knowing he doesn't mind it when you forget about being gentle, when you can't really be anything else but gentle. Just desperate and aching, just for him.

“Need me so bad you gonna cum.”

It's not a question. It's a simple fact. Stated with a low hiss when your nails leave small halfmoon imprints on the taught skin of his arms.

What his hands want to break, they'll break. They will ruin and wreck as they please. And so it's three fingers again with the next thrust. Buried inside you, all the way to his calloused knuckles. Making you whimper and your pussy squelch.

“Gonna cum on my fingers? So needy for me you gonna cum all over my hand?” he asks, voice just as breathy as your moans.

Your eyes lock with his for a moment, and if your cunt clamping down on his three digits isn't already proof enough of how close you are, the look on your face is.

He curls his fingers, almost hooking himself inside of you, right where you need it and where only Frank manages to reach. You start rocking against his palm, pinned down by three fingers and just enough range of motion to rub your clit against his hand, coated with your arousal.

“Jus’ like that, pretty girl. Take what you need. Make yourself cum for me,” Frank groans and moves the hand from your ass up, higher, squeezing whichever of your curves he passes on his way to your neck.

And while you fuck yourself stupid on his fingers he gently wraps his hand around your throat.

Holding you up just slightly, holding you in place, holding you close to him. Holding your gaze.

Seeing your face twitch while he feels your cunt twitch. Seeing your eyes roll back when he changes the angle of his fingers and pushes into deeper, just a little bit, just to let you feel the stretch of his knuckles.

You moan his name one last time before you cum. A feral expression is edged into Frank's face now. The last thing you see is his tongue wetting his lips, then your vision turns white.

This is the part he loves most, seeing you letting go, just for him and only because of him. He loves the way your brows pinch together with each wave of your orgasm, loves the way you lose control of your body and are just held together by his hands.

“That's it, pretty girl,” he praises between his own groans, feeding you each one of them, right into your opened mouth. “I got you. You're doin’ so good for me.”

He's rubbing the heel of his palm to your sensitive clit until you start squirming.

“Frank, it's too much,” you whine, but Frank is not yet loosening his hold on your throat. He's still holding you in place, right where you belong. In his lap.

“Thought you wanted me to touch you? Ain't that right?” He chuckles, all rough and warm, like his hand between your legs, but then eases up. “Attagirl,” he murmurs and distracts you from pulling his fingers out of you with a harsh kiss.

A kiss that gets sweeter the moment a finger slips through your lips, followed by a second. You moan at the taste of your pussy, sucking Frank's digits deeper into your mouth.

“You're too greedy, pretty girl,” Frank says and pulls his fingers back only to lick the third one clean himself. “You're too needy, told ya.”

You roll your hips, knowing exactly that he is painfully hard.

“You're looking pretty needy, too, y’know?” you smirk, rocking against his bulge once more. Your move elicits one of his reluctant grunts from him.

“We gotta stop doing this,” Frank huffs, his hand already going from your neck to his belt buckle. “Ain't gonna end well.”

“Too many words,” you chide, working his fly open. “Too many clothes.”

You push your hand into his jeans, his cock hard and hot in your palm.

“Is this for me, Frank?”

thank you for reading, let me know how you liked it. i'd love to get some feedback on my first Frank fic <333

drabbles bribery masterlist here

general masterlist here

dividers: @saradika-graphics

[brandwhorestarscream]

Can I have concubine Megatron pregnant with Optimus Prime babies? Pretty please?

Babies? As in, plural owo? Don't mind if I do! Twins upon ye!

...

A fine silver bowl is set down in front of Sunstreaker. Steaming, thin violet liquid, awaits him. He picks it up and holds it to the light, scanning it over critically. He gently swirls it, inspecting the way it interacts with the dishware. No suspicious coloring, no clouding on contact. He raises it to his face and wafts some of the steam toward his nose. No strange scent either. Finally, he raises it to his lips and drinks it down, slowly, one swallow after another til he's downed the whole thing.

He sets the testing bowl down, and bows low over the table. “This dish is free of poison and safe to eat.”

Beside him, Sideswipe does the same, reporting identical results, “There's no poison. It's safe to eat.”

Across the table, the noble concubine of Kaon looks somewhere between relieved and exasperated. “Finally.” he sighs, immediately grabbing the nearest goblet and raising it to his mouth. He drains the whole thing in a very un-concubine-like manner, but then, when has Megatron ever acted like a concubine?

Beside him, Damus giggles, reaching for his own cup, though he's much daintier as he sips. He's tucked under Megatron's arm and leaning against his side, or more specifically, leaning against his belly. It's heavily distended, hugely swollen even though he's just barely passed the halfway mark through the carrying cycle. He's expecting twins, though not split sparks. The first children Optimus Prime has sired, and he managed to spark him up with two. No wonder his belly was so large, and no wonder he always seemed to be starving.

“Oh-!” Suddenly, Damus squeaks in surprise. He sets his silver chalice down and turns toward his carrier, leaning to rest his cheek against the curve of his midsection. “They kicked at me!”

The orange youngling pivots his body so his chassis is pressed flush against him, raising his right arm to gently drape over his tummy. He nuzzled his cheek against the warm protometal, humming softly. Despite his exhaustion, Megatron can't help but smile, gently laying one servo on Damus's helm. “They do seem to kick you a lot, don't they?”

“Yes!” He practically squeals, looking overjoyed. “Mr. First Aid says it's because they enjoy my company!”

He allows himself a fond chuckle. My, how far Damus has come, he thinks. Gone is that sickly, meek child from before. He's blossomed into such a lively youngling, it does his spark at good.

On his other side, there's another kick, and he grunts in discomfort. He feels the sparkling on the left fluttering around, before he's treated to another punishing jab. He hisses in pain, because it feels like their wiry little foot is jabbing directly into his waste tank. He shifts his weight, rubbing just over his son or daughter in an attempt to persuade them to move. They do, but then a tiny limb punches directly into his fuel tank and he gags suddenly.

“My Lord?!”

“I'm fine,” he waves a dismissive servo, though accepts the empty bowl Soundwave immediately offers for him to spit it into. “They're just- hgk-!”

Damus makes a worried noise and gently pats at him. Soundwave takes his glass to set aside, and Megatron growls in frustration. He needs to stand up. He gently shoos Damus off of him and, bracing one servo on the armrest for balance, pushes himself to his pedes. His back strains and his knees ache, but at least it gets the sparkling's foot to stop poking his stomach. There just wasn't room in there for both of them plus his internal organs! He felt fit to burst, and by Primus, he's so sore! Distantly, he wonders if he wreaked this sort of havoc on his own carrier's body. If he ever sees him again, Megatron will have to apologize.

“Mother?” Damus looks worried, blinking large optics up at him. “Are you…?”

“Fine, fine,” he sighs, trying not to let frustration seep into his voice. He's so hungry, but they make it hard to eat. Even when they're not kicking him directly in his fuel tank, they take up so much room everything feels compressed inside. Eating too much too fast makes him nauseous. He heaves an irritated sigh, shifts his weight again, and beckons for his amica. “Soundwave?”

“Yes? What do you need, Lord Megatron?”

“Will you make me some more of that tea?”

“Right away.” the blue mech turns on his heel and quickly makes his exit. It was a simple, easy brew that he'd nursed throughout all of his own carrying cycles, and it always made his unborn sparklings settle. It seemed to help Megatron too, though not for as long.

“Anything we can do?” Sideswipe is frowning softly, and Sunstreaker has his arms folded, face pinched with worry. “You want us to get you a heating pad or anything?”

“Anti-nausea incense? I think Ratchet has some in the medical wing.”

“N-”

Suddenly, there's a knock on the door. The yellow adolescent dips his helm and immediately goes to answer it. “Yes? Oh, hello Frenzy. Back already?”

“Yep! Hey, boss?” He leans around Sunstreaker to catch Megatron's attention. “The Prime's here to see you. Uh… alone.”

Megatron can't help but sigh. Now? Why now? He just wants to fuel in peace, but there's no denying his conjunx entry. “Show him in. Everyone, dismissed.”

While the twins move to escort Damus out and Laserbeak soars after Frenzy, Megatron takes another miserable glance at the spread. Plenty of fine fuel and fancy dishes prepared for their afternoon meal, and though hunger is gnawing on his insides to the point of pain, just swallowing in that moment makes him feel queasy. Ugh.

Optimus arrives within a klik, and the second he steps foot through the door his face splits into a gooey, exuberant smile. “There they are~” he coos, practically skipping across the room, both servos immediately coming up to hold his mate's belly. “Hello, my sparklings! Hello in there, it's daddy! Daddy's here to see you, yes he is!”

He kneels down to press the side of his face over the baby bump, gently rubbing as he coos nonsense at their unborn sparklings. “How are my sweet little celestians today? Are you being good to your carrier? Are you? I bet you are, such good sparklings, oh yes you are!”

Megatron, feeling rather petty, takes a step back and folds his arms. “For your information, your spawn won't stop kicking me!”

Hilariously, the Prime is undeterred, shuffling across the floor on his knees with a soft, gentle expression. “Oh, bitties, bullying your poor mother? Come now-”

“Get off the floor,” Megatron grumbles. “You look ridiculous.”

“So be it,” he shrugs, entirely nonplussed. He is not ashamed. Speaking to them in the womb was good for their development, and he already loved them so much, how could he not take every opportunity to gently pat at them and whisper sweet nothings? “How are you, my love?”

“Ugh. Nauseous.”

That, at last, gets the Prime onto his pedes again. “Oh, my apologies. Here,” he gently sets one hand at his concubine's elbow, the other at the small of his back. “Let me help you, please, sit down-”

“No,” he groans, though doesn't pull away. “Sitting makes it worse.”

“It does? Oh, my,” Optimus carefully rubs up and down his back. “I'm sorry, is there anything I can do for you?”

“Yes, as a matter of fact." Megatron grabs the Prime's wrist, guiding his palm onto his belly. “Now don't move. “

“Ah…?”

“They never kick when your hand's there. If they settle enough I can finally eat.”

Optimus's finials droop softly. Yes, that was true; it'd been true throughout the entire pregnancy. He had run all the way to the inner palace when he got the news that their sparklings had kicked for the first time. Megatron had brightly informed him that they had become active seemingly overnight, and he had rushed right over to feel. Stars in his optics and practically glowing with pride, he'd gently cupped his belly only for the sparklings to immediately stop. He'd been far too excited to be saddened then, but even after several lunar cycles and hundreds of attempts, they stubbornly refused to kick at their sire.

Ratchet said it didn't mean anything. Soundwave was convinced that his presence made them feel calm, though Megatron had taken his time before sharing that with him. “Oh, stop pouting,” he gently flicks his mate's nose. “You put them at ease, and that puts me at ease.”

The concubine heaves a sigh of relief and rubs a particularly sore spot on his back. Like magic, the twins have stopped their incessant barrage. He still feels full, bloated even, but without them constantly kicking his internal organs, he feels like he might actually be able to eat without gagging. Reaching past Optimus, he grabs his previously abandoned goblet, raising it to his mouth. He sips slowly, taking shallow swallows, but nothing comes back up. Another sigh of relief as his tanks settle, and he drinks a bit more freely. “Ah…”

“Is that better?” Optimus looks so hopeful.

“Indeed.”

It's funny, how a single word of confirmation has his whole face lighting up. He looks so pleased with himself, just so happy to be helping.

Soundwave returns soon after, bringing the hot drink Megatron had asked for. It's like a balm, banishing any stubbornly remaining discomfort, and at last the two of them sit together. Optimus keeps one servo on his belly at all times, just as he asked, sometimes tenderly stroking or patting at it, other times simply lying still. His protoform is smooth and excessively warm, evidence of the two sparklings he's currently carrying. They make quiet, casual conversation, and the Prime wishes he could stay forever. The very last thing he wants is to return to his office with a veritable mountain of work waiting for him. He'd much rather stay here, with them. Megatron looks exhausted, and perhaps a bit cranky, but carrying really suits him.

Or, maybe Optimus just really enjoys the look of him carrying their children, but still. In his humble opinion, his favorite concubine had never been more beautiful. Overwhelmed with affection, he leans down to kiss his belly, then once again presses his audial to it. If he tunes his hearing to it's highest sensitivity, he can detect the gentle thrum of Megatron's internals. He's not sure what, if any, of the sounds might be their precious sparklings, but letting himself indulge his imagination makes his whole body feel warm. Primus, he loves them, all three of them. More deeply than he's ever loved anything else.

...

You will never convince me that Optimus isn't one of those expectant dads that is always cooing baby talk at the baby bump. He's so obsessed and he's so excited to be a sire. He'd lie in bed with Megatron for hours and just cradle hiis belly between them if he could 🤭 I hope you enjoyed!

[lbibliophile-sw]

Favouritism

Also on AO3 @foxquinweek - day 2 (alt): "You know you love me." @clonefandomevents - Corrie Guard Bingo: coffee

“I love you.”

“Are you talking to me or the caf?”

Fox eyes Quinlan over the rim of his cup, the silence stretching long.

“On the one hand, this is better-than-usual caf. But on the other, you brought it for me. Tough choice.”

Quinlan saunters around to lean against the back of Fox’s office chair, draping his arms over his shoulders and nuzzling at his neck.

“Can I perhaps assist you in making that decision?”

“Seducing a Republic officer? Shame on you! And while I’m on duty. No, I’m afraid the caf must win my love today.”

Quinlan just laughs.

[blocky-tides]

you are a big blog to me and a wonderful mutual I treasure dearly <3

💞💞💞

[angrythingstarlight]

Malyshka should be happy to accept Bucky’s money when it relates to showing up her nemesis - Keaton. Maybe a PTA fundraiser and Bucky generously donates the most

Pairing: Mafia!Bucky x Reader

WC: Drabble

CW: Mentions of smut. Bucky being insatiable for you. Hints of a corruption kink.

AN: Written on my phone, unbetad.

Part of the Bumblebee series and follow up to this piece.

"Really?" Bucky stares at you, his brow raising in unabashed shock. "You're going to let me do this for you. No 'its too much Bucky and I'll handle it myself'? I can do things my way?"

He had an entire speech prepared to convince you to do things his way. If that failed, plan B involved bribery and even bringing Bee into the conversation to sway you.

Instead of delving into his finely crafted speech on why you should let him spend an obscene amount of money on your PTA fundraiser, he's speechless. The irony drifts over him before dissipating into a warm, pleased feeling at your next words.

"Yes. You can go all out Bucky. I want to crush her and her smug know-it-all attitude. She's lucky I'm not interested in her position or I'd take it from her. Since she wants to play with me, let's play. Keaton's not going to win another damn thing while I'm around."

If you weren't mid-rant, you'd notice that your mobster is getting harder by the second. You'd definitely notice the fiery, heady glint darkening his blue eyes. The smirk pulling at his lips as he encourages you. "What else do you want Malyshka?"

He loves you like this, passionate and vengeful, it makes him want to do filthy, filthy things to you.

He can't stay away, his long legs eat up the space between you, his bottom lip caught between his teeth as he reaches for you.

"I want her to know that she'll never beat me and there's not a damn thing she can do about it. Spend whatever you need to make sure she knows what we're capable of Bucky. And I—"

He doesn't hear the rest of what you're saying, the only thing on his mind is which way is he going to take you first. Eat you out on his desk, fuck you against the wall, bend you over the couch.

Bucky cradles your face in his hands, lips descending on yours and he feels your words taper into a desperate moan. Pushing you against the wall, one large tattooedd hand drops to your thigh and he brings your leg up, pushing his full weight into you—desperately trying to get even closer to your soft, lush curves. An insatiable need to be inside you winds through his veins like a shot of whiskey.

He pulls his mouth away just enough to murmur 'you can have as much as you want Malyshka' before his lips crash into yours and he lifts you off the ground. His hands curving under your thighs, holding in you place as he effortlessly carries you to his desk.

"You can have everything," he groans into the side of your throat, nipping the soft, sensitive skin. As much as you fucking want.

You're not sure if he's talking about the money or him. It doesn't matter. You know Bucky is going to give you both.

[artytaeh]

𓆸 ֗ ˳ DRABBLE : [ meschinità ostinata ] 𔓘

theodore is a man of patience, or at least that's what his reserved behavior hints at. obviously, everyone has a limit; if you made your moodiness his problem, then he'll make his annoyance yours. it's only fair, right?

taglist : p in v, hinting towards theodore being a brat tamer. no further descriptions because i don't ruin surprises. obvious +18 content; read at your own risk.

"you're not stopping, are you?" the thick italian accent doesn't cover for the clear tease within his tone, a breathy chuckle leaving theodore's lips, as his hand smacks another slap to your asscheeks: "come on, tesoro; you have a lot to apologize for, don't you?"

one would have thought that, from the way theodore seems oh so patient with his girlfriend, that any annoyance would be sucked up, forgiven and forgotten. although theo is a good boyfriend... he's also a slytherin, and slytherins rarely forget resentments without a good bribery, you know? like a serpent, theo cunningly waits for the right time to strike.

in a more rational part of your mind — since everything else seems to become too blurry and white out.from the pleasure that keeps poking on that sweet spot, again, and again and again —, you ponder about regret.

should you have been impatient this afternoon? no, it wasn't fair to push your pettiness and moody behavior onto theodore, especially not when the italian was just trying to smoke his afternoon cigarette, hopefully to expel some accumulated stress, from this week's assignments.

do you regret it? not exactly.

how can anyone regret anything, if the outcome is theodore nott under you, blue eyes piercing into your soul with the cockiness of who knows what he's doing — gaze dispersing from your fucked out expression, only to stare in marvel at the way your chest bounces with every. single. movement. of your hips? oh, he's loving this.

theo loves your bratty side.

it's not a secret either. why do you think he likes the sassy ones? the comebacks make him laugh, and theo definitely laughs harder when he gets you so tired and fucked out of your attitude, that not even a huff of annoyance he gets out of you.

and he's working in that direction.

well, it's more accurate to say that he's making you work for that.

his hand lazily settles on your hip, caressing the skin already tainted with darkening fingermarks; so what? it feels so damn good to be inside you, it always has theodore muttering in italian—cursing and praising, depending on his tone, you've learned from pure experience. the other one, as if to taunt your attempts of scolding his unhealthy habit of smoking, holds a cigarette between his index and ring finger.

you know, the ones he used to impatiently prepare you for his cock, still wet with your slick. theo loves to feel you drooling for him, already fidgety and sensitive when he slips inside you — or, in this case, having seen you sink onto his painfully hard erection. the heaven's view, he swears.

taking a drag from his cigarette, theodore ponders whether you deserve an incentive, or to have him being mean with you. weren't you so smart earlier?

his fingers bruise the skin on your hipbone yet again, this time thrusting up for a harsh thrust, contrasting with this slow rhythm you're providing. theo scoffs, "seriously, is this your way to apologize for your bitchy behavior? dai, amore, non deludermi."

as if it's that easy to make your body work faster; it's already uncomfortable to be in this position, especially overwhelmed from his fingers!

not that theo cares about that, anyway.

another harsh slap to your asscheeks; a raise of his left eyebrow, and you know that he's losing his patience: "don't make me do it for you, dolcezza. i'll rip manners out of you."

and as delightful as that sounds, you're not sure if you could take that sort of overstimulation today. not when you're already like this, even less when theodore is savoring the idea of bullying your pretty lips and sensitive core.

so, hands falling for support on his abdomen, you do your best to ignore the aching on your thighs — perhaps you should do this more often or exercise? — you force yourself to lift your hips, only to slam them again until theodore is so deep inside you, that your clit makes a wet mess of his groin. theodore fucking loves that, expelling the smoke from his lips with a breathless chuckle, head tilting back to the headboard.

yeah, mattheo is probably sleeping in the common room tonight.

not appreciating the lack of response, zero empathy towards the effort you're already doing, theodore sneaks his free hand amidst the mess of your hair. his fingers tangle between your locks, until his nails lightly scratch over your scalp and tug you closer to him; a demand from him that feels ridiculously good to you. his free hand moves the cigarette away from his lips, and taking the chance of your gasp from the extra tug on your hair, theodore blows the burning smoke to your lips; inside your mouth. taunting how much you dislike this vice of his.

nicotine swirls between your tongues as they meet; that, however, isn't the reason why you crawl back to him everytime.

theodore nott is a drug of his own.

perhaps he decides to be nicer now, sloppily exchanging slow kisses with you, letting his hips roll upwards to pursue his orgasm.

"non puoi nemmeno essere una vera troia," theo is so close to you, that the movement of his lips, pronouncing each foreign word, brush against yours, creating a tingling sensation that only adds to the notion of being cursed and insulted—at least, that's what your intuition tells you.

his hand blindly abandons his cigarette on the ashtray, keenly aware that you can feel—and taste—that acid smell of tobacco and cigarettes, less considerate than he usually is about your irking over it. his fingers grip your jaw, his thumb squeezing your cheek as his other fingers do the same, not even letting you moan from each sharp thrust that kisses your cervix.

"cazzo, it makes me want to laugh at you. you talk, talk, talk my ear off," even breathless, theo seems to have too much to say; it should be embarrassing, really, if his disdain didn't make your inner walls clench tighter around his thickness. "and can't even own your bitching afterwards. didn't even properly apologize; maybe you don't deserve this, huh?"

it takes a moment for you to understand the implication there, too distracted by the toe curling sensation of being repeatedly filled up. it's when theodore stops, resting on the mattress once more and giving up on the fluid movement of his hips, previously bouncing you on his groin, that your eyes widen with disbelief. seriously?

at first, you think about calling him out for his pettiness.

but it's the smug look and smirk that makes you want to sob instead, dignity crumbling to ashes, reborn as despair to finally cum. please, please.

his hand lowers to your neck, fingers curling around your throat, even though there's not much of a threat there. it's a loose grip; not even properly holding it, a simple squeeze that feels rather gentle, more like he's mocking you, in a way.

the worst is that theodore isn't even being mean. no, this is him having fun; if he was being mean, he'd be teasing you about the first semblance of frustrated tears, and you'd have to cry for it.

picking up the pieces of any strength left, the smartest choice is to surrender yourself, hopefully calming down the fire that burns within theodore's temper to slowly sneak into his good graces again. your hips move — unable to exert the tired muscles of your thighs — grinding helplessly against the firm muscles of his groin, the movement enough to rip out a low groan from theodore, appeased that he won't listen any whines from you, for now.

"brava ragazza," comes as a praise; before the compliment gets over your head, his free hand slaps your thigh, "go on. use me like a toy, carina, cum on my cock."

yeah, this would be a long night.

[wheneclipsefalls]

Tawtute Sickness (A Precious Drabble)

Pairing: Adult Ao'nung x Hyperfeminine Human Reader

This one shot is from the Precious series. It can be read alone but reading the Precious origin story gives a better experience and context.

Summary: There is still so much that Ao'nung does not understand about Sky People so with your cycle running off track, he is in for quite a surprise.

Warnings: MDNI, explicit talk of menstruation, talk of blood, hormones, hurt/comfort, misunderstanding, dominant Ao'nung, interspecies relationship, aged up Ao'nung, crying, self doubt, insecurity, protective Ao'nung, swearing, PMS, sexual themes, etc.

A/N: This is just a random little fun something I thought of when I was on my period. Nothing like a silly fantasy to help one cope:)

Adult Ao'nung pic by @cinetrix

Another cramp rolls through you mercilessly. With a groan you stuff a handful of stolen popcorn into your mouth. Surrounded by a small parade of stuffed animals atop your bed and drowning in the charm that is Mr. Darcy, there is no better place to take refuge. Your period has sprung into action earlier than expected but you’re proud of how things have been handled. 

It had taken copious amounts of bribery to convince Norm to deliver an excuse to Ao’nung as to why you can’t see him for a bit. Although double his age and even in possession of an Avatar body, Norm has always crumpled slightly under Ao’nung’s presence. Even as his visits have become more frequent at the outpost. The sight makes you giggle, no matter how hypocritical that is considering you too were anxious in his company for the first few weeks here. 

Despite the time that has passed since feelings were shared between the two of you, there is still a level of intimidation and intensity that comes with Ao’nung’s visits. He is never shy when it comes to sharing his opinions. Half the time it is hard to tell what will come out of the Metkayina male’s mouth next. Although, there are ways to identify the mischief that dances in his ocean blue eyes before. 

And neither is he bashful when it comes to sharing his particularly ravenous intentions with you. You would not be able to count on both hands the amount of times you’ve tried to swat his hands away while the two of you are in public. Not that it deters him. Even in the extreme heights of embarrassment you can’t resist the wonders that he bestows upon your body. Always leaving your heart pounding at your rib cage and red face tucking under his chin afterwards. 

So in a way, you can’t blame Norm for never growing accustomed to Ao’nung’s company.

Regardless, the alibi has been sent and you’ve foraged for the proper snacks and feminine supplies to get your through. Now all that’s left to do is tuck into your room like a locked away princess in a tower and survive the next five days. Everything is going according to plan despite the sudden arrival of ‘Aunt Flow’. And in a few days you will be back snuggled in the impressively bulky arms of a certain Metkayina male. 

With a sigh you snuggle deeper into the plush surface. Despite the risk of stains you’ve allowed yourself the luxury of wearing one of your favorite pajama sets. It’s a dusted pink shade of silk that reminds you of the vintage film Sleeping Beauty. With the soft trim of purple lace along the sleeve and shorts hem, you feel like a delicate princess waiting to be rescued. Perhaps a foolish and even childish way to cope but it’s easier to get through the pain when you blur the harsh lines of reality into that of day dreams. 

However, it seems reality will not be kept out for long.

Or at least, Ao’nung won’t be.

You hear his pounding footsteps before he even reaches your hallway, the faint echo of Norm’s protests doing nothing to stop that determined rhythm. Norm scatters away once Ao’nung has pushed your door open, with a little too much force that makes you cringe. It’s an under evaluation of his strength luckily and not rooted in any real malice. Not when his eyes now narrow at you with a playful reprimand as his tail swings. 

“What have I said about avoiding me, precious?” He clicks his tongue, hands atop his hips as you scramble further under the pillows and stuffies. 

You feel foolish for thinking this plan would work but now that Ao’nung is here you are ready to do whatever it takes to conceal your embarrassing condition. 

“Not to.” You cake the tone over with sweet innocence and an even more tooth rotting smile. As always it’s done with a certain level of hesitancy, your nerves getting the better of you when his bulking frame is taking over your doorway. Still, you’ve learned there are special ways to soften Ao’nung’s composure. 

He takes a few strides into your room, effectively prompting you to scoot back further towards the headboard. 

“Hm, so then why is my precious sevin tucking away from me? I’m starting to think you crave some discipline, paskalin.” That sharp curve of a devilish smirk looks stunning along his turquoise lips. And like the true traitor she is, your pussy flutters at the sight. 

It’s not fair for him to waltz in here with bedroom eyes and chest still adorned with a hunting harness and weapons. Not fair when your body is literally punishing you for not being pregnant and Ao’nung offers himself up on a silver platter for your nature’s carnal desires. And especially not fair when pieces of those curling strands have fallen from his bun and lay across his collarbones to leave drops of salt water. 

You are in no state to be making plans. And definitely not finding ways to coerce the stubborn prince away from something he wants. 

“I’m just not feeling well, Ao’nung. Didn’t want to make you sick.” 

Ao’nung scoffs at the idea, borderline offended that you would even consider that a possibility. With your delicate state it seems laughable to him that you would be capable of passing on any sort of sickness to him. 

“Such a fragile thing.” He steps forward with the roll of his eyes. “Do not worry, I will-”

His sentence cuts off as sharp as the jagged rocks on the westside. Now at the foot of your bed, his nostrils flare visibly. Your stomach tangles in despair, already anticipating where this is going. 

“You’re bleeding.” He states, dark tone barely giving you a chance to register his words before he is rushing to your side. Ao’nung crawls onto the bed without  a passing concern for the screeching of the bed frame under his weight. Within seconds his large frame is towering over your own smaller body until you are wedged into the corner.

“No it’s nothing really. Well I mean I am bleeding but not in the way you think…or well it’s…” The rambling doesn’t reach his ears, ocean eyes searching over every inch of you to find the injury. Trepidation settles at the looming embarrassment that threatens to follow as you desperately squeeze your thighs together. 

Fighting against Ao’nung massive hands that clutch your shoulder and hips to turn you is useless but you can’t resist trying. And then his eyes snap downwards and with it your last shred of hope signed away. A look of utter horror contorts over his face as he stares down at the thin shorts just barely covering your panties. 

A beat of silence ensues. 

Face now the shade and temperature of a raging bonfire you struggle to think of a response through the fog of humiliation. 

“How…” The sound is barely choked out from his lungs. It’s a rare sight to see Ao’nung speechless, every ounce of playful banter wiped clean. And if the circumstances were any different, as in not having that dread painted across his face at the reveal of your bleeding vagina, then you would be tempted to enjoy seeing the mighty male so caught off guard. 

His fingers dig into the flesh of your plush hips. It’s clear that his head is struggling to come back online and process what devastating news he has uncovered. 

“Well you see-” Your voice unfortunately seems to snap him out of whatever daze he has been in, his body moving into action before you can even finish your sentence. 

“I will take you to my mother.” Perhaps the most terrifying sentence Ao’nung could say as he starts trying to pull you into his arms. Embarrassment bleeds into panic. A sense of anxiety bounces between the two of you as he rushes to scoop you up and bring you to the healer’s tent and you grasp at anything to keep from being met with the most intimidating woman on the planet in this condition. 

“No wait! Ao’nung it’s fine. I’m fine.” It’s not much use when he already has your wiggling figure dragged to the end of the bed with just one hand around your ankle. It traps you underneath his body in one swoop. 

“You are bleeding.” Ao’nung reiterates, sharp canines coming to show with a slight hiss. “Mawey tawtute, she will know what to do.” He nods firmly, but there's a crack of hesitance in his voice. As if the reassurance is really there for himself than anyone else. You’ve never seen Ao’nung so serious before, nor this panicked. 

Your pleas for release mean nothing as he quickly gathers you into his arms. Panic and humiliation work in tandem to wrestle you into a state of utter panic. And working more on instinct than real thinking you do the one thing that will grant you freedom.

You grab a fistful of curly hair and yank. Hard. 

Dropped back onto your plushy bed as Ao’nung lets out a pained hiss you scramble for the one place you might be able to hide. It’s painfully obvious and stereotypical but your closet is the first and only place you can think to escape the handsome male. The door bangs shut, encasing you in the darkness surrounded by frilly dresses and tickling lace. 

You grasp the handle with all the determination your exhausted body can muster. Ronal is a wonderful healer and exquisite leader but quite literally the last person on the planet you would want to witness your embarrassing, very stupidly human, condition. It’s likely that similar to her son she too would not know about human menstruation. 

It’s gross. You feel gross. Your entire body aches and as Ao’nung starts to yank on the other handle tears are already welling up in your eyes. From what emotion exactly you haven’t the faintest clue but the weak reaction brings a pit of annoyance into the mix too. Because of course all it takes is your concerned boyfriend who is just trying to help, to put you into another crying fest. This would be the third one this morning. 

It seems that whatever god created humans was far less kind than Eywa who at least had the decency to keep women from suffering monthly in the name of procreation. And with that thought in mind, anger comes to intertwine as well. 

“Ao’nung stop! I’m not injured!” A rough shout that is anger more directed at your current situation than hands that now swing the door open. 

The Metkayina male however is more than peeved now too. He isn’t about to take no for an answer as he hooks a thick arm around your midsection to pull you out. 

“Stop struggling.” He growls. 

You're halfway to the doorway of the bedroom and Ao’nung is anything but deterred by your babbling about how it is normal, just a tawtute thing. So your mouth makes a decision before your brain can approve it. 

“It’s because I’m not pregnant!” A shout loud enough to echo down the outside hallway and freeze the Metkayina prince in place. 

What a stupid thing to say. A terrible terrible mistake, you decide as you wiggle out of his grasp to glance up at his face. Now having rendered the male speechless twice in five minutes you feel slightly guilty. And humiliated. Along with disgusting, angry, tired. In fact you may as well feel every emotion under the sun with the way your chest squeezes painfully. 

“I’m not hurt. I’m not in need of healing. It’s called menstruation. Yet another wonderful thing about being a human woman. Where my stupid vagina decides to bleed every month because there is no fucking baby in me!” Your screeches make Ao’nung’s ears pin back, your chest heaving with the effort as tears rocket down your cheeks. You can’t find it within yourself to care that this is the harshest language Ao’nung has ever heard from you. Not when sobs are already crawling up your throat and tears blurr the view of the towering male before you.

The same male that is beautiful beyond belief. The same that has somehow found some interest in you. And now the same that has yet another gross reason to rethink being with a human. 

“So no I’m not hurt but I am…am…” Trembling lips crumble into a pout. Ao’nung’s tail curves. “I am miserable. Cramping. Tired. So fucking sad because this is the seventh time I’ve watched Pride and Prejudice because I can’t find the other earlier remake of it. And angry because I’ve already ruined a pair of pink panties. The ones with the clouds…that…that took me hours to make and…and I’m so disgusting!” Ao’nung’s eyes are blown wide enough to push his hairless brows into his hairline. “There’s blood everywhere! And I fucking hate it! And…and..my sleeve got caught on the doorknob earlier-”

Strong arms gently pull you until your cheek meets the warm skin of his abs. That simple action is enough to break the dam barricading your emotions. Now in a full meltdown, you paint his swirled skin with your tears and the racketing sobs fill the room sporadically. It feels nice to have something to hold onto, small fingers squeezing his hips as you break down. 

Minutes. Hours. Years. There is no recalling how long the two of you spend in that position as you unleash every torturing feeling from your chest. What you do know is that those large hands drawing up and down your back eventually soothe those sobs into small hiccups and then finally into short sniffles. 

“You’re not hurt.” Ao’nung checks again, calmly breaking the silence. 

“M’not hurt.” You mumble against his skin, soon thereafter mourning the loss of contact when Ao’nung carefully shifts you backwards. Disappointment does not linger for long, however, when a set of turquoise thumbs brush away the tears falling over your cheeks. 

Although his expression appears to be nothing related to anger, it’s difficult to decipher what exactly the Metkayina prince is thinking. A part of you wishes to not even venture to guess but that train of thought has already left the station. Another wave of embarrassment floods as you imagine just how ridiculous you must look at this moment. Eyes blotching and red as you cry over a simple natural process that is nothing in comparison to that of which the Na’vi go through to maintain everyday village life. Hiding away from your boyfriend in a sea of stuffed animals and stuffing yourself with popcorn as your way of throwing a pity party all while Ao’nung is still dressed in his hunting gear.

No doubt he has been up since dawn. Fulfilling both physically and socially draining duties to keep the clan running smoothly, in preparation for his time of reign. Ao’nung is everything you are not. You knew it within the first few minutes of meeting him. Perhaps he is not always the most patient or humble, but he is brave. And tough. Oh so mighty and resilient in taking on whatever Eywa throws his way. 

How much worse do you appear when coming from that perspective? Still dripping in salt water and spear leaning against the doorframe, what compels him to want to spend time with a whiny thing like you?

“Stop crying.” Large hands bracket the sides of your head as he works to keep up with the dropping tears. 

And you wish you could. 

You wish you could be more like the mighty warrior in front of you. Years have proven you to be nothing more than a small child that can not let go of her toys. Drowning in day dreams as your silly way to cope. 

That truth spins despair back into full swing. You feel even more guilty when Ao’nung pulls you back into his embrace, because who are you to warrant such affection? It’s clear that he deserves someone so much more and yet you selfishly accept the feel of his strong arms encircling you because it makes you feel safe. Because it allows air to properly enter your lungs again at a normal speed. 

When Ao’nung takes a knee to match your eye level, you twist to veer away from those crystal-like eyes. The Na’vi doesn’t give you much of a chance as he manhandles you back into place,his tongue clicking in disapproval, so he can look you over properly. 

“My poor tawtute.” He coos at you, as if addressing a lost juvenile creature without its mother. “Mawey, oeyӓ paskalin.” [Calm, my dear]  And before your brain can register the sweet nectar of his words, larger lips are pressing against your own. The light flutter of your heart is recurrent as he patiently works to deepen the kiss. It’s different from those that fill your passionate nights of lovemaking. Ao’nung patiently pulls you into that bliss until you are melting against him. 

Heavy eyes stall in opening once Ao’nung has pulled away. 

“Bring your mask.” Ao’nung intstructs abruptly. 

“What?” 

He has already risen to full height, a large hand resting along your spine to urge you towards the door. Unbothered by your confusion, he takes a well needed sip of air from his own dangling mask. When he does catch a glimpse of your expression he pauses before a smirk tugs at his lips and his tail bats playfully. 

“And your bunny of course.” He eyes the discarded toy with lips pulling back just enough to reveal sharp canines. “You will feel better once you are home.” 

And suddenly you are no longer confused. It should have been obvious, this most recent topic of argument between the two of you. No matter how fascinated Ao’nung is by your well decorated room he stops at nothing to coerce you to abide in his marui. He has been caught more than a few times even openly smuggling things from your room in the scheme of planting it in his home like bait for his prey. 

“Ao’nung no. I can’t come over tonight. Not like this.” 

Those hairless brows knit together as he sweeps over your frame once more. It’s clear he finds no flaw in your condition that would prevent you from letting him steal you away to his home. 

“And besides I have everything I need right here.” You scramble back over to your bed and begin explaining the little nest you have created for yourself. “Pillows for the perfect position, stuffed animals, snacks, and in another twenty minutes Mr. Darcy is going to confess his undying love for Elizabeth.” It’s clear that the last indication is lost on him as he follows your point towards the small tv. 

It’s not his first time observing the thin rectangle that plays moving pictures but it still manages to catch his confused attention each time. His lips curl back and faces squints with an utter look of disgust. The fact that the characters speak in Sky People language never helps to spark an interest for him. 

“I’m fine right here, Nung. I promise.” Your soft smile when you perch to sit atop the covers is only met with a scowl. The difficulty in explaining this to Ao’nung is yet another reason you had originally planned to hide away alone until this nightmare had blown over. “Go back to your duties. I’ll be happy here.” 

And that is the tipping point for Ao’nung. What is meant to come off as reassurance instead has his hairless brows pinching together and large hands settling over his curved hips. 

“You’re staying here for mester darsee.” It’s difficult to take his misplaced anger seriously when he struggles to pronounce the few English words. 

“No, Ao’nung that is not-”

“Fine. I will stay.” His massive body is already climbing onto your poor bed before you have another chance to protest. He continues to mutter under his breath. It’s a messy sprawl of annoyed curses and something about you not needing a Mr. Darcy. The giant Na’vi pouts even as he pulls you close to curl his body around yours. 

It’s wrong to keep the future Olo’eyktan to yourself like this but watching him sulk like a giant cat is too amusing to pass up. And then there is the comfort that comes with having Ao’nung wrapped around you like a dragon protecting his hoard, so you decide to be selfish. 

His curls tickle the back of your neck and a large hand spans over your abdomen. As he rubs soothing circles into your lower stomach you swear the heat and motion alone is better than the battery powered heating pack. The cramps don’t evaporate away but they settle into something more bearable, especially when your favorite scene finally comes onto the screen and you snuggle closer to your ridiculous lover. 

Slowly throughout the movie Ao’nung’s hand come to explore south into territory that would have Mrs. Bennett passing into an early grave. That confident exploration is a stark contrast to the simple touches exchanged between your favorite characters, but it holds the same passion. The same tension that has your thighs clamping together in defense against his devious fingers. 

You can feel the way his lips curve into a smirk against your ear. Period hormones are your sworn enemy as you are caught between fighting him off in sheer embarrassment and finally letting his hand slip underneath the band of your pretty shorts. 

“Don’t worry, oeyӓ tawtute. Next month I will do better.”

The sudden comments has you taken aback. .

“Do better at what?”

“Giving you my baby.” He casually states, unbothered by the way you freeze and struggle to take in oxygen. “This Sky Demon sickness won’t come for you when you are filled with my seed.” 

And like a silent promise, his thumb swipes over your lower stomach just as his fingers breach the band of your panties. 

I hope you enjoyed this little musing. I can't wait to carry out some of the other plans I have for these two. If you enjoyed it too please please let me know. I can't tell you enough how much hearing your feedback and comments means to me (anonymous or not).

[andersonsgf]

Natasha Romanoff Masterlist

One Shots:

The Life You Deserve: When Natasha is selected to mentor you in the Red Room, she will do everything in her power to get you both out. (fluff, angst)

For the Coffee: Natasha doesn't feel like she's fitting into the new lifestyle she has acquired at SHIELD, but you show her that her way of living life is normal, and she wants to live it with you. (fluff)

Puppy Love: You and Natasha were the definition of 'opposites attract', sometimes she forgets that until you do something extra cute. (fluff)

Sure You Aren't: Fun at Auntie Lena's house :) (fluff)

Coded Disagreements: Both you and Natasha grew up in organisations that trained you to be assassins and you grew to be close, what is in store for your futures? (fluff, angst)

Spicy Paintball: Along with Kate Bishop, you use bribery against your girlfriend and her sister, though it doesn't end up going exactly to plan. (fluff)

You Are Mine: The aftermath of a jealousy explosion. (angst)

A Promise: When visiting a ghost of Natasha's past, she feels overwhelmed and you will be there to keep her afloat. (fluff, angst)

Silent Comforts: You'll be there for Natasha when she's struggling in silence. (fluff, angst)

Come Home: Your entire life is turned upside down when you discover a book of the supernatural, propelling you into days of horror just before Halloween. What or who is causing the curse? - Spooktober

Making Up: - Part 1.5: Even when your insecurities succeed in getting the better of you, Natasha is always there. (comfort)

5am: Sometimes, the only thing you need to help you sleep is her. (comfort)

I'm Tired: Your roommate is one annoying individual and you haven't managed to sleep in months. After reaching the end of your tether you have been reduced to taking the next resort, bunking with a stranger. College AU. (fluff)

Championships: Natasha is your biggest supporter (fluff)

Fluffy Pyjamas: Natasha has always been terrified of her past catching up with you, and it's scary when it can potentially become a reality. (fluff)

Sniffles and Sneezes: Sick fic (fluff)

Don't Get Angry: You and Natasha save each other, over and over. (angst)

Experience: Natasha isn't the best at trying to date people, the lack of practice can make her come across in a way she didn't mean to, and now she's gotta try and fix it on the spot. (fluff, angst)

Drabbles:

Actual Children: When Natasha introduced you to her sister she had no idea that you would be two peas in a pod. (fluff)

Captivating: When everyone else makes you feel invisible, Natasha always makes sure that you feel seen. (fluff)

A Handful of Fries: Eating can be a struggle, but Natasha is fighting for you. (comfort)

A Pool of Betrayal: Group pool day brings all sorts of shenanigans. (fluff)

Incorrect Quotes:

[20-th-centurygirl]

jude bellingham masterlist !

navigation main masterlist

drabbles/headcannons:

bf jude who...

what jude's like in bed 18+

alphabets:

nsfw alphabet 18+

full fics:

never yours to have - he was never yours but it didn't stop you from wishing he was

work for it - jude is determined to prove you're different to other girls

it's always been you - falling inlove with your bestfriend is no joke

watching you watching me - working out together leads to a different kind of workout 18+

mirror - jude makes the most of the mirror in his bedroom 18+

distraction - jude distracts you while you're trying to have a relaxing night 18+

lazy days - a lazy day with jude always results in something inappropriate 18+

bribery - there's only one way to get jude to come shopping with you 18+

domestic - a night with just you and jude

waves - a walk on the beach reunites you and your ex

mini fics:

golden boy - the hours after jude's first ballon d'ors

mistletoe - jude catches you under the mistletoe

insta aus:

mystery girl - everyone wants to know who jude's girl is

down bad - jude being down bad in his girlfriend's comments

bambi - jude's nickname for you causes a stir

celebrity crush - jude's very public attempts to bag his celebrity crush

texting with jude:

part 1 part 2

[mi55delulu]

[9:56 p.m.]

pairing: lawyer!jungkook x lawyer!fem reader

cw: fluff, mature language, banter, established relationship, mentions of domestic violence, inaccurate depiction of law bc do i look like a lawyer? 😭 written in lowercase and also, unedited … boo me.

—

“how could you?!” you slammed the newspaper down onto jungkook’s desk. he peered up at you through his glasses, unsurprised at your reaction. the headline of said newspaper read: superstar mingyu suspected of cheating on korea’s sweetheart somi in amidst of domestic violence trial.

“i knew you played dirty, but this is a new low for you, jeon jungkook.” you sneer, pacing back and forth in his office. he watches you, eyes never leaving the way your skirt hugged your figure.

“well, did he not? the pictures on your phone from the paps tell us otherwise.” jungkook leans back in his leather chair. he looks good like this — hair slicked back neatly with a couple of strands framing his forehead, tie loose around his neck, and sleeves rolled up on his forearms to display his tattoos he’d usually cover in the courtroom.

you and jungkook were from the same cohort in law school. the best students in that year, always neck and neck when it came to your coursework. though, jungkook had one thing that you lacked: charm. he was always able to persuade the judge and jury at the very last minute.

in school, you both learned the three simple rules of persuasion: ethos, pathos, and logos. you liked sticking with the facts — logos. after all, the law is above all and justice is only proven in the court. jungkook, however, played his cards using tactics that swayed hearts. it frustrated you, but it always gave him the upper hand. things haven’t changed much from school now that you were both associates in the top rival law firms in korea.

you continue, “it doesn’t justify the abuse—” “alleged.” jungkook interjects with a smile.

“—he sustained from your client! for all we know, there was no overlap.” you palm your forehead and rub your temples to ease the forthcoming migraine.

jungkook stands up and comes around his desk, “baby.”

jungkook swayed many hearts in the courtroom, but he only had one heart in mind. you were a tough case to crack, but that’s what he loves about you. so headstrong, so smart.

he chased you down after every mock trial to offer a drink after another one of your losses against him. it’s a common practice for law school students — work hard, play harder. like clockwork, you’d hold up a hand to decline respectfully. but after you’d won in an exceptionally hard trial, you finally accepted his offer to drink. that was the turning point for your relationship in the coming years with him.

he corners you against his desk, arms caging your sides as he leans in to kiss your cheek while making his way down your neck. if you were truly upset with him, you wouldn’t have let him near you, let alone touch you like this.

“i’m sorry.” he means it, doesn’t like upsetting you, but he also hates losing big profile cases. he reckons you’re the same given with how you barged into his office. it’s not the first time and his secretary has given up trying to stop you.

“fuck you,” you scowl, to which jungkook answers with a nod against your neck, “keep this shit up and i’m going to postpone the wedding date. also, you’re sleeping on the couch tonight.”

“i’ll make it up to you after the trial, okay?” he kisses up your jaw.

“that’s bribery, jungkook.” you lull your head to the side, too tired to continue this argument with your fiancé.

“all’s fair in love and war.”

—

a/n: hehe was this okay? thought i’d drop off something small to kickoff 2025. lmk if i should continue these lil timestamp drabbles or if you’d prefer longer fics. if you like longer fics … you’ll rarely hear from me since my lil pea brain takes a minimum of 10 business days to write 1k words LOL anyways, have a lovely day

[handsome-strangers]

Y/N meets a handsome stranger on an airplane.

Warnings: Yandere, Non-consensual Touching, Intimidation, Bribery, Groping In Public, Almost getting caught, Short Drabble, Non-gendered Y/N

This content is intended for readers 18+

🥩🥩🥩🥩🥩🥩🥩🥩🥩🥩🥩🥩🥩🥩🥩🥩🥩🥩

The airplane cabin hummed with the quiet murmur of passengers settling in for the long flight. Y/N sat by the window, engrossed in their phone. They didn't notice the tall, handsome stranger who took the seat besides them. The man shifted in his tailored suit as he settled in.

As the plane taxied down the runway, Y/N's eyelids grew heavy, and they drifted off to peaceful slumber. The stranger's large hand extended out, crossing over the divide of the row's armrest. His fingers came into contact with Y/N's leg, softly rubbing the thin fabric of their pants and feeling the softness of their thigh. His touch was long, relaxed, experienced. It traveled upward, inching closer to the apex of their legs.

Suddenly, Y/N woke with a quiet start. Their eyes widening as they realized what was happening.

"W-wha?? Why are y-you. S-stop," they whispered, their voice barely audible. Their clammy, desperate hands tried to lift the man's strong hand. The stranger only clamped down harder, his grip unyielding.

"Relax," he murmured, his voice low and smooth. "Don't make a scene."

Y/N's heart pounded in their chest as they tried to signal over to a stewardess for help. They found one of their hands now caught in the same tight grip. The stranger quickly forced a hundred-dollar bill into their hand. Y/N looked up in confusion, watching the soft, yet piercing gaze of the stranger.

"Take it," he said, his voice firm. "It's yours."

Y/N tried to push the money away, but the man only gripped their hand tighter, his fingers digging into their skin and closing their tiny first around the bill.

A stewardess approached, her smile polite and professional. "Is everything alright here?" she asked, her eyes flicking between Y/N and the stranger.

The stranger's other hand snaked over, gripping Y/N's hand and concealing the hundred-dollar bill within it. He squeezed in a show of false comfort.

"My partner would like some water," he said, his voice softly carried a cheery lilt. "And I'll have a glass of scotch, please." Turning back to his side, he pulled out more money and gently pressed a few bills into the stewardess' hand.

"Darling, don't worry about it. I got this." he said turning back to Y/N. His smile never wavered, but his eyes could tell stories. The man gives them a hardened stare that caused them to drop the money once clenched in their shaking hands.

"Go ahead and put your money away," The man's chizzled jaw set, just a fraction. Y/N's eyes filled with tears as they tried to speak.

"U-um p-please, Ma'am-"

"-They're just a nervous flyer," the man butted in. He slowly extended his hand and brushed away a tear from Y/N's cheek. "Aren't you, Sweetheart?"

The stewardess nodded, her smile never faltering, and walked away to prepare their drinks. As the stewardess walked away, the stranger leaned in closer to Y/N, his voice low and smooth.

"There, there, no need for tears, right? I can make all your problems go away." His hand slithered back down to their leg, his grip firm but not painful. The man could feel trembling beneath his touch, and it sent a thrill through him. He pulled out his wallet and slipped out another hundred-dollar bill. Gathering the fallen cash, he then pried open Y/N's hand and folded their fingers around it.

The man then leaned in close. Y/N felt his sharp nose at their temple. His voice came out low, "Keep this, for your trouble. I'm a very wealthy man. I can make your life very comfortable, or very difficult. It's your choice, Sweetheart."

He signaled for the stewardess to hurry with their drinks, his eyes never leaving Y/N's, his large body still caging in theirs. "Now, let's have a nice, quiet flight, shall we? No more tears, no more fuss. Just you and me, enjoying each other's company." His smile was charming, his voice persuasive. He knew they were scared, but he also knew they were trapped. And he intended to keep it that way.

[sizzlingcloudmentality]

boys like you

Frankie Morales x Benny Miller | wc ~1.3k | explicit, mdni | ao3

summary: a movie night gets steamy, Stallone means making out, basically no plot

warnings: mlm, homophobes might feel a slight tingle in their panties, established relationship, dry humping, finger sucking, cumshot, oral, petnames (baby, pretty boy), a dash of dirty talk and praise, Spanish (guapo=handsome, mírame=look at me)

a/n: my follower milestone drabble for @qunariagenda, thank you so much for asking for some FishBen!! I chose the movie nights prompt (but the guys are pretty good with their hands, so I'm giving myself a half point for that). I hope you like it! and special thanks, as always, to @guiltyasdave for the beta and hype 💛

songspiration: boys like you - tanerélle (i LOVE her, check her out)

With Benny it has always been about his hands and fingers. Plucking the strings of his guitar, at night when they were deployed in some sandy hole or wet ditch. Punching some opponent straight in the face during a fight. Holding a gun. Pulling a trigger. Fighting for his life with his hands trying to crush a windpipe of someone who's been declared as their enemy. Cutting up herbs and meat for a legendary BBQ. Pulling women onto the dancefloor and feeling them up with a boyish grin that lets him get away with almost anything. Pulling Frankie in for a kiss, fingers splayed on his nape.

Like right now.

Both of them haven’t paid much attention to the movie they wanted to watch. Something with Sylvester Stallone, which always means making out. Because they know all of Stallone’s movies, like the back of their–

“–hand,” Benny mutters, not even completely breaking away from the kiss. “Give me your hand.”

Something about this big guy and his low voice make Frankie cave, always. Especially when Benny sounds so sweet, needy, already sucking Frankie’s bottom lip between his teeth and tugging on it. Like he can’t get enough. Maybe he really can’t get enough.

Frankie holds out his hand, the one he reluctantly pulled away from Benny’s hair, and a dazed smile spreads on his face when Benny rubs his cheek into his palm.

The smile turns into a bitten lip when Benny starts guiding their intertwined hands down, along his neck and the rumpled tshirt, slow, so damn slow over his stomach, flexing his muscles because he knows it makes Frankie twitch in his shorts, and then down the front his sweats. 

Rubbing. Pressing, making Frankie’s fingers wrap around the thick outline of his hard cock.

“You feel this? Feel how hard I am for you?”

Benny tightens his grip around himself and Frankie's hand, tentatively palming himself, groaning when he gets back on top of Frankie. Slotting so perfectly between the thighs of the older man and trapping his hand between their bodies, between their straining cocks.

“Say it, Morales,” Benny murmurs, his voice honeyed and scraping before he gently nips on Frankie’s earlobe.

“Dios, I feel it.”

He gasps, the air knocked out of his lungs when Benny cages him in between his arms and starts grinding against him, against his hand, against his own hard-on. Frankie can’t move his hand, all he can do is feel how Benny rolls his hips back and forth, pushing the whole length of his clothed cock over Frankie’s palm and further until he feels Frankie’s finger curl over his balls.

Benny grunts with his face hidden in the crook of the other man's neck, then pulls his hips back and slowly pushes forward again. The same pace Frankie likes to set to feel Benny writhe and plead. Faster, oh god, baby, please, just a lil’ faster. He never goes faster. Nice and slow ‘till the end.

Frankie knows that there will be no faster for him tonight. It’s just this. Torturously slow. High friction. Back. And forth. Back again. Until one of them starts cussing and begging. 

He gives in. Pinned down under Benny’s body he surrenders. Next time it will be his turn again. 

“Guapo,” Frankie moans softly, answering Benny’s movements with his own, canting to feel more. “So pretty for me.”

Benny chuckles, breathlessly, burrowing his flushing cheeks deeper into Frankie’s shoulder. Perhaps there’s a stutter in the ebb and flood, his back and forth. 

Back and forth.

“Mírame.” An order, a loving one. Frankie’s free hand tugs on Benny’s hair until their eyes meet. Blue framed with strawberry blonde, flecks of gold littered over his skin, all over his body; Frankie knows this, familiar with every freckle his love has.

“Pretty boy,” he says, tongue and lids heavy, weighted down by the heat and longing between them.

Benny’s hips stutter again, every praise making him lose his rhythm. Flustered that Frankie can still make him blush like he makes the girls blush.

“Stop it,” he mutters but soon is silenced by Frankie thumbing his bottom lip. Hips snap forward, eyes widen, Frankie’s thumb pushes between Benny’s lips.

The muffled moan resembles the one that fills their four walls whenever Benny is nestled between Frankie’s legs to make them both forget about their day. Lips puckered, tongue lapping, hollowed cheeks. The same praise.

“So good for me. Just like that, baby…”

Frankie sets the pace now, pushing his finger deeper into Benny’s hot mouth and pulling back out. Benny’s movements mirror Frankie's, the back and forth, faster now because he can’t tell his needs apart. His mouth is needy, his cock is, too. Both messy, both leaking.

Frankie knows the look on Benny’s face, he’s gone, chasing release, grinding himself against the heel of Frankie’s palm, moaning around his finger, drunk on the man beneath him.

“Gonna come for me?” Frankie purrs, just as close but not ready yet. “Gonna let me feel how desperate you are, hm?”

Benny whines, spit sticking to his beard when Frankie replaces his thumb with his index and middle finger instead. Nodding his head and ignoring the tingle in the back of his throat when he sucks the fingers deeper into his mouth.

“Already making a mess for me…” Frankie tuts, relishing in Benny’s rutting growing sloppy. It’s not even back and forth anymore, just desperately canting into Frankie’s hand, now that he found the exact spot that will send him over the edge.

“That's it. That's my pretty boy. Show me, I wanna see you.”

He hooks his thumb behind the waistband of Benny’s sweats and with the next movement they are getting tugged down enough for him to understand. Frankie’s fingers slip from his mouth when Benny sits back on his heels, pushing his sweats and boxers down just enough.

It doesn't take much for Benny. Just a few hasty and hard strokes and the sight of Frankie licking his lips and pulling his shirt up to bare his stomach, and he is spilling all over his fist and Frankie’s exposed skin. 

His whole body jerks when he pulls his hand away, a shaky laugh escaping him when he hears Frankie mutter a gorgeous.

“You always get me with those damn praises,” Benny huffs softly and unceremoniously pulls down the other man’s shorts. 

Frankie's cock springs free, leaking, sensitive from the grinding and humping, his balls, heavy and full, already tight and tucked high. With that boyish smirk of his, Benny slots between Frankie’s thighs again.

The flat of his tongue moves up, from Frankie’s balls over his cock and through the sticky happy trail, relishing the moans and the hand in his hair and the taste of his cum mixing with Frankie’s. Benny grins, like a cat that got cream, and licks up his own spent before he finally, fucking finally, wraps his lips around Frankie’s sensitive tip.

The fingers in his hair tighten when Benny starts bobbing his head and hollows his cheeks again. And before Frankie can start uttering out his praise, Benny reaches up and offers his still sticky fingers to him.

Two, then three fingers get sucked into Frankie’s mouth with a low moan. Hips snapping in the same rhythm as the fingers get pushed between his lips. A steady back and forth.

It has always been about Benny's hands and fingers. Plucking on Frankie’s heartstrings or the drawstrings of his shorts, curling around his cock, carding through his hair at night.

Or holding hands while he makes Frankie come in his mouth. Cupping the man’s jaw with licked clean fingers. Caressing his cheek when he pushes himself up so they can share a kiss and their flavors.

“That was nice,” Benny whispers, sucking the last bit of salty taste from Frankie’s lips.

“Yeah, it was.” Frankie smirks, wiping the corner of Benny’s mouth with his fingertip. “Should we start the movie over?”

every time someone likes queer content a homophob gets horny in public. help them out, support queer artists!

also: let me know how I did with my first ever attempt at FishBen, preferably with words, thanks! 🫶✌️

follower milestone drabble masterlist here

general masterlist here

dividers: @saradika-graphics

[m0chi-1n-4-frog-disguise]

heyyyyy i saw you just followed me (i can be tachigin anon hehe)

would you be willing to do hcs or drabbles of atsushi, dazai, kunikida, tachihara and nikolai with a fem desi/indian reader? like how would they interact with their s/o’s culuture, if/how they would celebrate festivals, and mayyybe even how they would react to seeing her in traditional clothing for the first time?

you can take out or add whoever you want!! hope ur doing well :3

-🍁🌸

★ Desi/indian fem!s/o

Characters: Atsushi Nakajima, Dazai Osamu, Tachihara Michizou, Kunikida Doppo, Nikolai Gogol

Format: headcanons, I'm trying to be as close to canon as possible

• « "I just saw you followed me" if you're the person I think you are my soul might ascend-

It's my first ask ever too ! So I'll try to do something good, had to do some research and I hope it matches your expectations, please correct me if I made any mistakes, Shall you be the first anon of my anon list? 🌷»

—🐸

Atsushi Nakajima:

NOW- listen my boy is a sweetheart, he doesn't know how he managed to have you absolute queen in his life so best believe he's gonna try to be worthy of you

He is very much worthy already but he won't believe it soooo

He'll try to do some research to impress you, learning about festivals and such

I feel like he'd try to learn the recipe of your favorite dish —listen at some point you probably cooked some chazuke for him and it's his way to repay you—

I feel like his favorite festival is Diwali [festival of lights] ???

Dazai —being a little shit— will probably give Atsushi some false misinformation about your culture for funsies tho, if he notices the weretiger's will to understand your traditions.

Tho please don't judge him too hard if he ever sputters nonsense, it is easy to stumble on misinformation on Google about cultures [Google almost ended me when I was studying japanese mythology. It sent me to a video game website. I'm still not forgiving.] Just grab his hands and sit him down and explain to him why he's wrong and correct him

As for you trying on any traditional outfit, whether it would be a Sari, an Anarkali, a Lehenga Choli or even a Salwar Kameez the reaction would be the same, he'd go bright red, losing his mind over so much beauty ! If you guys have been in a relationship for a while he'd shyly ask if he can match with you, now it depends on your reaction to that answer, and then he'll overthink it for days,

His thoughts: "it didn't sound disrespectful did it ?? Ugh why did I ask that?? Maybe she doesn't want to ?? I mean, I'm japanese- but it would be nice to dress the same and- UGHH SHUT UP NAKAJIMA- WHY DID EVER SPEAK?????"

Dazai Osamu:

I hate this man so much idk if I wanna punch or kiss him

So ummm, how did you manage to land a stable relationship without involving bribery that itself involves suicide? I'm curious

I'm sorry, I'm sorry-

He probably actually knows a thing or two about your culture, if he didn't he'd educate himself

And yet he would purposely make some stupid ignorant comments just to get a rise out of you

I hope you aren't sensitive, if you're with Dazai

This man is a menace to society, he makes you watch does horribly cliché movies with a smile, please punch him 🙏

It's all fun and games until you pull up with the traditional look, Dazai would suddenly go very quiet

He has that 👁️👁️ look

He isn't judging rn, however he doesn't really have any smart comment or joke for now, the only thing occupying his brain is how pretty you are

Kunikida Doppo:

You fucked up his ideals. That's all- that's the hc

Listen I BET in his ideals it went "In 4 years, will meet a beautiful japanese woman" poor naïf man, not even four months and here's this gorgeous indian royalty.

It will be hard to get this man to comprehend that he's falling for you, you have all my respect for actually managing to end up in a relationship with the most stubborn man in all of Yokohama ! ✌️

But once it's settled, he is a decent partner. . . PINKY PROMISE 🌷

The amount of research he does is insane, heck even Dazai would feel bad for sometimes messing it up. . .no actually he wouldn't

If you check out his ideal you may find dates of many festivals marked down on his calendar and planning, even those you may not actually celebrate [festivals vary by religion and location. . .he just marked them all to not miss any]

And if you check your closet you may find a new Assam in your favorite color

Wear it and you'll make him consider adding a "taking a break to admire my partner trying out new clothes" to his planning-

Tachihara Michizou:

I love him so much, it's not even funny anymore, he's a dork oh my stars-

If we are talking pm!Tachihara, he'll try to educate himself- really-

Mostly to impress you

But he does through media 😭

Which is a huge mistake when you look at some representation-

That mistake causes him to sputter absolute BS sometimes, he's lucky you love him

Hunting dogs! Tachihara is so tired, give my- oops I mean our- yeah give our man a break

Being a double agent may mean double salary but is it worth it ?

Please PLEASE let him rest his head on your thighs and you can rant to him about your culture, about festivals, traditions, anything !!

He likes the sound of your voice and he might surprise you with a gift for a festival

His reaction to you wearing traditional clothes? Dare I remind everyone of that one wan scene

"DAMN Gin you look really sharp in a suit-"

He isn't that different with you 😭🙏

Nikolai Gogol:

Ugh- I don't think he'd really care that much

His goal is freedom from any attachment, he doesn't care because to him nationality and cultures aren't that big of a deal

Like okay, your indian, good for you, he's Ukrainian/Russian

Tho if it's really important to you, y'all drop random funfacts about y'alls culture in the form of a game

Just imagine cuddling with your favorite jester but this time you're the one who purrs "Quizz time~"

He'll be more excited than you about wearing traditional clothes, for someone who doesn't care about cultures here he is trying to look for the best outfits for both of you-

I'M CURRENTLY SLEEP DEPRIVED [I'VE BEEN UP FOR 3 DAYS STRAIGHT AND I'M SLOWLY LOSING MY GRIP ON REALITY]

Some parts suck, some are meh, but I don't think I can even think anymore, so I hope it wasn't too shitty 😭🙏

Feel free to throw another ask, my ask box is emptier than my brother's brain-

—🐸

[ao3topshipsbracket]

Is bribery via free fanart allowed/gen

you can do anything you want forever.

which is to say: yes! absolutely! bribe people to vote how you want with doodles or drabbles, promise to write a fic or reveal an amv or something if your ship wins, we love creativity we love encouraging people to make stuff we love the competitive and creative spirit we love campaigning!

[pebblume]

guys i haven’t had time to write in weeks and it’s driving me INSANE. to help cope here are a bunch of percabeth fic ideas i have rattling around my brain that i may or may not get around to writing at some point

annabeth is assigned for cabin inspection and percy slept in (cue speed cleaning and attempted flattery and bribery to avoid punishment). this one is deeply unserious

since we didn’t get it in the show with the spider trap in the tunnel of love i’d love to write some other situation where annabeth gets scared by spiders and percy helps her through it and they talk about their fears 

ok ok. hear me out. pjo tv trio watching the lightning thief musical. i’m normally not into “characters watch their own media” type fics, but i think it could be fun to write while also allowing for some introspection! they’re just experiencing this weird uncanny valley where everything is familiar but it’s so different at the same time and also everyone is singing?? percy laughs at his own jokes of course and grover is a theatre kid so he’s nerding out and annabeth is confused (the only musical she’s ever seen is the wizard of oz) but entertained. i think it could be silly

lovesick au with an extra dose of angst. percy gets accidentally drugged with aphrodite’s love magic (and naturally annabeth is the first person he sees) so now she has to deal with a very clingy percy who's sweet and considerate and would do anything she asked but it's not her percy. like she wanted him to like her back but not like this ;-; happy ending tho obviously

hypervigilance and hyperfixation - annabeth has always had to be aware of her surroundings and never let her guard down (ptsd from her childhood and being a demigod), until this boy comes into her life and now all her attention zones in on him whenever he’s within a 50 yard radius. just a little drabble on all the little things you notice when you’re constantly aware of your crush and how even their annoying habits or flaws become hopelessly endearing

annabeth with glasses would be so cute?? (credit to @vicwritesfic for the idea!). basically just some percabeth moments told through glasses: annabeth first getting them and percy helping her feel comfortable with them when she gets self conscious, annabeth losing them in the lake and percy retrieving them, percy trying her glasses on because i think that’s a universal glasses wearer experience, percy finding her asleep at her desk with her glasses askew and taking them off gently, etc. etc. you get the idea

ok y’all know that saying that’s like “you know you like your crush when they get an awful haircut and they’re still attractive to you”? that’s it, that’s the fic. i’m thinking percy gets an unwilling haircut and he gets all embarrassed because his head is a fuzzy egg now, but annabeth still finds him cute because she's down catastrophically bad. he gets his curls back at the end tho don’t worry!

percy is cursed to be honest when he lies to a god and now he can’t stop telling annabeth how pretty her eyes are and how much he admires her; he can’t even use sarcasm - he’s defenseless! basically an excuse for me to torture percy and make him finally talk about his feelings

post tlt. annabeth ran away again after fighting with her father, but instead of going back to camp she goes to stay with the jackson’s (with the obligatory shows-up-on-their-doorstep-sopping-wet-and-pathetic scene and sally decides to adopt her immediately). it was supposed to be for a weekend, but percy convinces her to just stay until they have to go back to camp (about three weeks) and cute domestic shenanigans (and angst) ensue!

percy just got his driver's license after the titan war and takes annabeth for a ride to montauk to meet grover (she obviously has to tease him about the time he was 12 and crashed a car because he was too busy looking into her eyes). they sing along to their favorite songs and percy gets road rage and they stop for ice cream. basically a chance for them to be normal teens because they deserve it!

pen pal au where percy and annabeth write each other letters during the school year (takes place after tlt). just little moments in their lives told through letters and photos and mementos (sally insists on express mailing annabeth blue cookies after a fight with her parents ofc). it’s not the same as having each other there in person, but it helps with the distance. my way of coping with the hiatus between tlt and SoM ;-;

bi percabeth my beloved!! fic about percy’s bi awakening after reflecting on all his boy crushes (childhood friend, luke, beckendorf, etc). he comes out to annabeth after the war and they have this very touching moment where they talk and hug it out. then annabeth is like “oh also I like girls” “you couldn’t have led with that??” “i didn’t want to steal your moment!”

i've also been drafting out some percy pov chapters to my fics "i miss you like a little kid", "nothing's going to hurt you baby", and "punched in the gut (feels like being in love" so those are in the works!!

phew. and that's not even all of them (i think about them an unhealthy amount). i miss writing these two so much, but i won't really have a chance to breath from my school work until spring break so wish me luck ;-;

as always you can find my finished fics here :3

[angrythingstarlight]

Bumblebee inspo!

So stylish! Was this Bee or Enzo's doing? 😂

Pairing: Mafia!Bucky x Reader, daughter nicknamed Bumblebee

WC: Drabble.

A/N: Written on my phone, unbetad.

Enzo has never worked harder in his life.

He's styled mobsters, socialites, and dignitaries, all while skillfully navigating around their demanding personalities, inflated egos, and time constraints that can turn a simple process into something complicated. He thrives off that. Lives for it. His own ego boosted by exceeding their expectations.

Enzo is the best in this industry. He is the standard. Just ask him. He doesn't follow fashion trends, he creates them.

No one is better than Enzo.

His unrivaled reputation is built on his ability to keep his clients dressed in timeless, luxurious pieces while curating individualized styles that make them stand out from everyone else.

And all his hard work is being tested by a toddler.

She's both his sweetest and most challenging client.

"Ms. Barnes, this material is imported from Varese. I designed and hand crafted this myself. The stitching is immaculate. It goes perfectly with the outfit Donatalle sent over for you. Your Tar–" Enzo presses a handkerchief to his mouth, fighting the bile rising in his throat as he struggles to get the offensive word past his lips. "Apologies. Your Target coat can't begin to compare to this."

He'll never forgive you for taking her to that place.

Bee grins, smoothing her hands down her pink and black jacket. "It's pwetty. Mommy boughts it for me."

That's what she said about the leggings, the shoes and her dress. He's lost every battle. He can't even properly argue with her because Pakhan, her father, will have his head if he upsets the toddler. She's confident in her choices. And stubborn.

Enzo was hoping that particular Barnes trait would have skipped her.

But alas, here he is, resorting to begging and bribery—because he will not let her leave this shop in department store clothes. He cannot have her showing up to fashion week in anything less than an Enzo exclusive. Panic flares up when he glances at her unbothered expression. He convinced Senator Stark to stop wearing tracksuits damn it—he can convince a toddler to wear Versace.

"I will make your Tato another costume if you simply try on the clothes I picked out for you," Enzo states, holding up the jacket he made. Bee already rejected his offer to buy her coat. She said she had enough of her "Papa's monies." He almost wept. Now, his hope hinges on a stuffed dino.

"You makes him two?" She counters, earning a proud smile from Bucky. The Pakhan has been quietly working on his phone, only occasionally chuckling as Enzo becomes more and more frantic.

"Yes," he quickly says. "As many as you want."

Enzo doesn't breathe until she comes out of the dressing room, spins around in front of the mirror, and says she loves her outfit. In the end, it was the shiny, 'pwetty' shoes that won her over.

When the Pakhan and mafia princess finally left his shop to go to the first fashion show, Enzo pours himself a shot of vodka and celebrates his hard-earned victory.

Then it hits him. He still has to dress her for the rest of fashion week. Her outfits need to be on par with her parents. The three of you may be mafia royalty, but you all represent him (according to Enzo anyway). It's a challenge he looks forward to.

He pours another shot, grabs his sketchbook, and prepares for battle.