#what's michaelangelo good for?

[enthusiastic-nim]

Cowabunga, Dudes!

[seagull-scribbles]

Turtles of Time

<prev [2/7] next>

[iced-souls]

Remember this idea?

OH MY GO GUYS LOOK GUYS ITS A REGULAR LOOKIN AH MAN!!!

WOAHHHH can’t believe i did this TODAY, and definitely not like month or so ago and forgot to post! Hahaha!!!

I had a part 2 planned, so stayed tuned maybe for that

[spacevixenmusic]

Source: Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles [2005]

[p1astr81]

very random but could you do one where reader is a ferrari heiress and her and oscar have a secret thing going on and they try to see each other during race weekends (with some fluff please)

This was a bit angstier than I anticipated 🙈

Y/n Ferrari. A name that carried status wherever she went. A name that came with expectations.

One of those expectations being to not fraternize with the enemy. Which was easy.

Until he came along.

Sauntering into the paddock with his stupid floppy hair looking like a prince that just walked out of a Disney movie. And his ridiculous laugh that sparked humor in other people even when nothing was funny. And his chiseled face like it was crafted by michaelangelo himself.

It all started as genuine hatred between you two, kicking off after he nearly crashed Charles out.

“Touch one of my drivers again and I swear to you Piastri-“

“Oh, sorry. I didn’t know the trust fund princess ran the team.”

You scoffed. “Are you the pot or the kettle?”

“What?”

“I’m calling you a hypocrite.”

But it slowly turned into a playful banter.

“Where’s the princess off to this time?” He called out to you as you passed him as he was exiting his hospitality.

“Wouldn’t you like to know, Prince Charming?”

His brows raised at the new nickname. “Calling me handsome now?”

“No you idiot. I’m making fun of your ridiculous hair.”

“What? Should I cut it then?”

“Absolutely not.” You looked horrified at the idea.

A smirk curled his lips. “Ah, so you like it then?”

“Ha! Only in your dreams would I ever like anything about you.” You didn’t let him get another word in, walking off too quickly.

And then the banter slowly turned into tension.

“That dress is going to have a lot of eyes on you.” Oscar commented, taking note of your bright red sun dress with a low v-neck.

You hummed. “Eyes like yours?”

He shrugged. “I’m just saying.”

“Saying I look good?”

Oscar shook his head. “Whatever the Ferrari princess wants.”

And the tension soon transitioned into a restrained pining.

Your paths crossed after taking the grid photos for the 2025 season. “Your hair looks… slightly more put together today than it usually does.”

He felt like an object of study under your gaze. “Careful, that almost sounded like a compliment.” He chuckled.

“I think it was.” A pause, then, “It looks good.”

Oscar froze. Then swallowed, and found his words again. “Did someone put you up to this? Charles? Lewis? Was it Ollie? Are you feeling okay?”

You laughed. A genuine laugh. “No, no one put me up to this, and yes I’m feeling okay.” You laughed again.

Fucking hell, Oscar enjoyed that sound. It made him feel like he was walking on clouds. This was dangerous. “Okay,” he started and wavered. “Thanks.” He muttered.

You took note of the blush on his cheeks, but you didn’t mention it. You sure as hell made sure to get him flustered every time you saw him, though.

And then the pining turned into… something. A situation of sorts.

You rushed into his room in the hospitality, tearing the hood off your head.

He was on you in seconds. Hands wrapped around your waist and his lips devoured yours. “Did anyone see you?” He rasped into your mouth.

“No, I don’t think so.” You confirmed in a whisper.

His hands slipped under your hoodie and he tore it over your head. He paused, caught off guard by the low-cut shirt. “God, you’re unbelievable.”

You grinned, shoving his shoulder. “Ah, c’mon charming it’s just a bit of cleavage don’t lose your head.”

He ignored your teasing, picking you up by the waist and carrying you over to the small sofa. He let you fly from his arms and you hit the cushions with a dull plop. He kissed the exposed swell of your breasts, sucking on the skin.

“Quit! Someone will see there!” You yelled in hurried whispers, and gave his head a small push.

He pulled back, gazing up at you with a dazed look in his eyes. “Good. Maybe then everyone else will stop trying to make moves on you.”

He dipped his head again, but before his lips could attack your chest-

knock, knock, knock. “Osc! Do you still have my charger?!” Lando shouted from the other side of the door.

Oscar’s eyes went wide, as did yours. You both swapped glances between each other and the door.

Say something, you mouthed.

“Uh, yeah.” He hesitated. You wanted to face palm yourself.

“Great! can I have it back?”

He looked to you in panic. You gave him a look that basically said, ‘this is your problem now’.

“Uh, yeah.” He grabbed the white cord while you did your best to hide.

He opened the door just enough to poke an arm out.

“What’s that about?” Lando asked in reference to the cracked door. “You got a girl in there or something?”

“No!” He answered far too quickly. “I’m, uh, I’m naked.” He covered.

You heard lando laugh. “Alright, mate.”

You both let out sighs of relief when the door clicked closed.

“You’re helpless under pressure if it’s not out on the track.” You shook your head.

And when he asked you out, options for a date location were very limited.

“I didn’t know where to go that we wouldn’t be seen so…” he gestured to the homemade full-course meal laid out on his dining room table.

You smiled. “I didn’t know you could cook, charming.” You took the chair he pulled out for you.

He shook his head. “That damn nickname.” He muttered, sitting across from you.

“You don’t like it? I think it suits you.”

“I know, because of my hair.”

You tilted your head at him. “Well, that is a factor.” You conceded. “But I think your pretty face lives up to the name too.”

His face flushed immediately, and he let out a nervous laugh. “Didn’t you say you’d only call me handsome in my dreams? Am I dreaming now?”

You shook your head. “Maybe you’ve hexed me.”

After that, it became official. Now both of you were concerned with not getting caught.

Singapore was scorching hot. Even inside the lobby of the Hilton as you tried to collect more towels for your room.

As you waited at the front desk, you felt a hand slide across your back. Not a lot of pressure to the touch, just… there. You jumped, ready to fight, but you gasped when you caught the eyes of the perpetrator. “Oscar! I didn’t know you were staying here!” You cheered in hushed tones, glancing around for prying eyes.

He looked just as happy to see you. “I could say the same.” He laughed. “What floor?”

“Five.” You answered.

“Two.”

You let the silence float between you. “I could-”

“Yes.” He anticipated your proposal. He had since the moment he caught you. He was just waiting for you to say it.

You smirked at his eager reply. “I’ll take my towels back to my room and I’ll see you then? Just text me your room number.”

Oscar nodded as the lady came back with three towels in her hands. You gave Oscar a small smile as you parted.

Too focused on you, he’d forgotten the reason he came down to the lobby in the first place. Awkwardly, he shuffled from the front desk and to the elevators.

Shit. His room was a mess.

He frantically threw things in his suit case and shoved stuff in the closet. Three hurried knocks landed on the door just as he zipped the suitcase closed.

“Hey,” he greeted, red in the face and slightly panting from all the running around. He waved you into the room.

Finally alone, you stand to your tip toes and place a sweet kiss on his cheek.

It wasn’t enough for him. He held your face in his hands, capturing your lips in his. It wasn’t hungry nor hurried, but a tender reminder that you belonged to each other.

“I’ve missed you so much.” You confessed with a soft exhale.

“You just saw me earlier?” He wasn’t stupid. He knows what you meant by that.

You shook your head, taking his hand and leading him to the bed. You kicked off your shoes and stepped from your leggings. You went for his suitcase and unzipped it, ignoring his protests. “I know you, Os. I know you’re not this clean.” You chuckled, gesturing to the spotless floors.

Plucking one of his shirts from his suitcase, you took off your own shirt and replaced it with his. The covers of the bed welcomed you, as did the embrace of his arms. You snuggled your head into his chest. “This. This is how I’ve missed you.”

The next weekend you attended was Abu Dhabi. Safe to say, you were both having intense withdrawals.

Oscar more than you.

You stared at the messages, guilt pricking your skin. Your sweet Oscar. Cast to the side because of your own fears.

After qualifying had long passed, you sought him out. The paddock was relatively empty by then, only the few stragglers of team personnel. Your hospitalities being right next to each other’s was certainly an advantage, one you used to its full extent. You sat outside, scouting for Oscar. You jumped up when you spotted him, quick feet making your way over before he could spot you.

When you reached him, your fingers closed around his wrist and dragged him between the buildings and around the back. There were no cameras. No people. Just solitude.

He looked drained from the day. “I’m sorry.” You blurted. “I love you. You know that, don’t you?” You took hold of his hands. “I’m just so afraid of him breaking us up.” You shook your head.

Oscar pulled you to him, wrapping his arms around you. He held your head against his chest. “Of course I know that.” He stroked your hair. Dull nails scratched your head. “Like you said, there’ll be a time.”

You pulled back enough to see his face. “I want it to be soon. Like maybe during break?” You suggested. “You’re right. I don’t want to keep living in secret.”

“What?” He panicked. “I don’t want to force you to do this if you don’t want to.”

You shook your head repeatedly. “No I want to do this.” Your eyes darted around, and then, “actually I want to do this now.”

“Wait what?”

Oscar didn’t get a response, you were already dragging him.

“No, wait. Like right now?” He panicked.

“Yes.”

Jesus, he was about to die and he only gets thirty seconds to prepare.

Hand in hand, he trailed behind you as the cool air from the Ferrari hospitality welcomed you. Your father was there, talking with Charles. He had yet to see you.

“Papa?” You called, standing in front of him.

He turned, brows furrowing when he saw Oscar. And then his eyes went wide when he saw your interlocked hands.

“I’m dating Oscar. And I’m happy. He makes me happy. And I know he’s not Italian or a Ferrari driver, but I think being with someone who makes me happy is better than both of those.” You rambled in English, ensuring Oscar would understand.

Your father looked between the two of you. The silence stretched, making Oscar more nervous by the second.

And then Charles started laughing.

“I know. Everyone has known for months. You guys aren’t as sneaky as you think you are.” Your dad spoke, clapping Oscar on the shoulder and squeezing him. “I’m just happy it was him and none of the others.” He smiled.

Oscar let out a heavy sigh of relief, earning a laugh from your dad.

[weirdly-specific-but-ok]

Pt III good omens but i STILL SOMEHOW haven't watched it (and i'm increasingly passive aggressive)

i'm now basically held hostage adopted as mascot by this fandom. it's fine i'm fine *SIGNALS FOR HELP DESPERATELY*

Alright fuckers I swear this time I'm going to get some shit right. Without further ado, here's my third attempt at a good omens summary:

Everything everywhere is queer all at once

Angel Aziraphale and demon Crowley on earth likey each other

The car is a bentley and it is BLACK not silver and everyone is very upset about this. my bad yall it was reflecting light therefore i guessed more silver than black but I'm not Anish Kapoor take your black.

Then it is yellow, and aziraphale likes it. crowley preferred the black because he's a flamboyant emo.

God is a deadbeat absentee parent and you are all children of divorce.

There's a naked archangel and they cause problems for the husbands somehow. By being naked? By being an archangel? By being at their doorstep? Who knows not me

They were actually married for 6000 years, they just are the last to know about it.

Crowley is on fire. Like, he's slaying for sure, but also he is literally on fire, like Aziraphale's bookstore.

The actors like I said before are Michael Sheen and David Tennant but this is the place where I finally admit that I don't actually know who is whom. I'm going to assume Michael is Aziraphale because Michael sounds angel-y and David is Crowley because uh Michaelangelo made David and was gay for him.

Terry Pratchett is not fictional.

He co-wrote the book with @neil-gaiman, who IS fictional, because he does not have social media. Several of you have assured me that he is in fact a fandom inside joke. I like to think he would be proud of me.

They adopt a preteen and Crowley gives him bad advice.

At some point a baby was delivered to someone and was exchanged for the son of Satan. Idk if the baby is the preteen, or the son of satan is the preteen, or neither. This could be a fanfic, I have no way of differentiating the fanfic from canon on tumblr, except that the canon is weirder.

Crowley does not go down a chute. He goes down a telephone cord after making himself microscopic to pole dance on a pin with shroom-induced backgrounds.

During this his stage name is Disco Tony. Get it king go slay you're making better life choices than I am tbh.

Aziraphale is a biblically accurate angel, and you have all gone to extensive lengths to prove this to me. I understood nothing, but there you go.

It's all very queer, just like the fandom.

Crowley is a retired demon but he still sins by breaking the speed limit.

They eat at fancy restaurants and bicker but like in a sexual undercurrent way.

Crowley gives Aziraphale a private dance that is not a lap dance, it is an apology dance, but not in a kinky way, until it is.

Their haircuts keep changing and range from 'this is acceptable and gay' to 'i let a drunk chimpanzee take gardening shears and a blowtorch to my hair'

It's all ineffably queer my good fellows

Everyone keeps trying to convince me Neil Gaiman is the villain yeah no guys I know it's really you. Y'all be like 'SEASON TWO BROKE ME' and then you're making headcanons to make it sadder yeah I see you mmhm.

There is a final fifteen. It is sad. What is it? No one told me.

The demon turns goats into crows and the angel turns them back and then children are turned into newts (does the angel turn them back? who cares not yall) and the demon was the snake in the Eden garden and everyone's furry game seems to be on point.

There are a rather lot of children. I have not seen them. But I am assured they are there. They are, guys. I assume they were turned into the alcohol Aziraphale and Crowley drink or something.

There was an apocalypse plotline. It was averted. It is not important. You don't talk about plotlines in this fandom, no sir.

Crowley doesn't want to go to heaven. Aziraphale is sad.

The kiss is not nice, just like this fandom. It is queer, just like this fandom. It is sad and desperate and masochistic, just like this fandom.

Aziraphale doesn't want to stay back with Crowley. Crowley is sad.

Season 2 ends. Fandom is sad.

Everyone's sanity is hinging on the promise of a happy ending in season 3. Good luck guys.

Y'all better appreciate this. I can't even boast to my mother about this legacy of mine, hey mum your son has been held hostage kidnapped inducted into a cult adopted by a fandom he's not part of look he's winning at life.

[cigsafterfics]

in the flesh

summary. you watch longingly as your boyfriend marks strangers with permanent inked lines—but you want something more than a tattoo. you want his initials carved in your skin.

pairing. erik campbell x fem!reader

wc. 3.03k

warnings. smut, piv sex, knife play, blood kink, playing with death (not recommended), degradation kink, petnames, jealous!bratty!reader with internalized misogyny tendencies uhh, dom!erik when he’s angry, spanking, fingering, slight dumbification? 18+ only minors do not interact.

The night isn’t getting younger yet Erik has to tend to another, hopefully last, customer who decided to go for a lower back tattoo as if it was a casual spur of the moment afterthought. Yeah, good luck not regretting that in the morning. Maybe you’re being too harsh with her in your head, but tattooing on the lower back region feels a little too intimate for comfort. Okay, you can’t pretend Erik hasn’t seen it all. He’s probably got tons of people, including women, bent over half naked before him every day to get their backs tatted.

That doesn't bother you one bit. However, it only makes you iffy if the girl starts innocently batting her lashes and flirts at your boyfriend who’s just trying to do his job. Many such fucking cases. Erik remains professionally affable and his naturally talkative self. He may tend to overshare, but he knows better than to entertain their annoyingly coquettish pander. Still, that doesn’t stop jealousy from consuming your guts. What can you say? She’s going to be the center of your boyfriend’s undivided attention for the next three hours or so. It doesn’t help that she’s pretty and about your age. Jealousy’s a perfectly justifiable reaction.

“First time?” Erik asks.

“Yeah, kinda scared.” The girl giggles.

You roll your eyes when Erik asks her to pull her pants down further, revealing more skin for him to work with all the while, giving you more reasons to resent this poor girl. “So, you get the gist. Tattoos hurt, they’re undoable—well, sort of. It’s important to me you know what you’re getting yourself into.” He explains with halfhearted concern. Erik then rolls up his sleeves to don his usual latex gloves.

See, he doesn’t need to do the sleeve rolling thing. It’s all to tease you because he knows how much you love his pale, inked and deliciously veiny forearms. He knows they’re worthy of showing off but you personally think they should be reserved for your viewing pleasure only. Not here, not when a girl with underlying motives to steal your boyfriend is around. She doesn’t deserve to see them.

Before you know it, you’re interjecting the scene and the book you’re reading suddenly isn’t that interesting anymore. “Babe, of course she knows what a tattoo is. Otherwise, she never would’ve gone the trouble to come all this way here and get a trashy tramp stamp.” You snap, immediately regretting how it came out. Too harsh. Even Erik stares at you with widened eyes, a silent look that screams what the hell?.

“I mean my boyfriend’s a professional. He manages to make bad tattoos look like works of fucking art. He’s like emo Michaelangelo and your rear’s the Sistine Chapel ceiling.” You quickly retract upon seeing your boyfriend’s reaction, you look at the girl on the table and force a fake smile at her expense.

“Hey, I wouldn’t go that far.” Erik says modestly, stifling a laugh while he sets up the needles and ink. Your ridiculous poetic analogy has charmed him.

However, the girl isn’t as amused. She shoots you a scrutinizing look over her shoulder instead. “I’m sorry, but who are you?”

You open your mouth to reply with an unprompted retort but Erik is quick to step in before fire breaks loose. “She’s my girlfriend. Casual observer when I’m on the clock. She’s good company, usually...” Erik emphasizes the last word while he glances at you intently. Fine, you get the message. Sit pretty in the corner until closing time. Don’t fuck it up and push another customer into rage-reviewing the parlor again because you can’t keep your mouth shut. “When mercury isn’t in retrograde or whatever. You into that shit too?”

“Not a chance. Is she here to solely insult your customers because that’s like, not a good business model.” Tramp stamp girl sneers as Erik starts the mechanical needle. A long dragging buzz emits through the room. The metal music in the background grows more and more palpable as you shoot back daggers in return. “I literally compared your ass to the Sistine Chapel and you still think that’s an insult?”

Erik sighs sardonically when he realizes he has a situation to mediate. “Bet she appreciates that so much, baby.” He says before punching the first needle against the girl’s skin, causing her to groan in pain.

You recognize the sarcasm in Erik’s tone. You deflate slightly. “You’re supposed to side with me.”

“I am. But don’t you think you’re being a little… distracting right now maybe?” Erik replies not bothering to look at you as his eyes zeroes in on the ink work… and her ass.

Oh. Okay. You scoff bitterly in disbelief before admitting defeat. So you did the favor by sitting quietly in the corner, secretly sulking, while attempting to finish a chapter in the book but the words only flew over your head.

You find a way to distract yourself by manning the music as you watch your boyfriend masterfully do his craft. Two hours pass by excruciatingly long but you’re just glad that it’s over when the girl finally hops off the chair and Erik instructs her about aftercare and obligatorily reminds her to like and subscribe in a comically deadpan tone before she leaves.

You join him in closing up, wiping the glass counters and putting bottles of chemicals back in the storage cabinets. Erik is unusually quiet throughout. You take it that he’s exhausted, but you’re not going to let what happened slip easily. You’re famously known for not letting things go and Erik is aware of that. “I think it’s unfair you get to tattoo and look at her ass for two fucking hours.”

Erik huffs, shaking his head. “I kinda have to…”

You walk towards the chair he’s busily cleaning. “I’m just wondering when it's gonna to be my turn.” You smile innocently as you sit on it. Erik tilts his head, slightly bewildered at what you’re implying. A small smirk tugs the corner of lips, “You want me to tattoo you? But you told me repeatedly you’d rather drink that bottle of rubbing alcohol than get a tattoo.”

“You’re right, but maybe I want something more painful than a tattoo.” You say, your lips drawing closer to his but only enough for your hot breath to touch his skin.

Erik is using all his power not to pull you then and there and kiss you sloppily. “I’m listening...” He says, his voice going lower.

You pull yourself away, biting your lip when anxiety finally strikes you. You’ve debated for so long whether or not it is appropriate to bring it up, considering your boyfriend’s trauma. You feel your heart pounding against your chest as you’re about to spill him your shameful fantasy. “You know the knife you got when death came after you… the one you always carry everywhere. I can’t stop thinking about the idea of you using it on me.”

The cat’s out of the bag and you can only hope Erik receives it with open arms. He pauses, surprised by your words before raising his eyebrows. Your boyfriend looks intrigued more than anything. “I’m totally expecting something else, but this is welcomed.”

Relief and that familiar feeling of excitement takes over you.

“So let me get this straight, you want me to play with my knife on you? Is that what you want, you little freak?”

“Yeah.” You nodded, smiling sheepishly at your own request. You’re suddenly shy when Erik’s gaze lingers on you with lust-drunken eyes. “Death isn’t in control anymore. You are. But I understand if you feel uncomfortable, we can ju-“

“No, no, babe. What the fuck? I think you woke up something in me that I didn’t even know existed. This is some spiritual awakening.” One thing about you is that you never fail to amaze Erik with your curiosities.

“I want you to mark me. Claim me as your own. Put a brat like me in her place—” Erik pushes you on the chair, his breath has noticeably gotten heavy as you watch the skull on his stomach rise up and down. “Sit down, when I come back I better see you without your clothes on you fucking slut.”

You strip off your top and jeans easily. When your arms reach behind to unclasp your bra, Erik comes back almost as if on cue, a sharp fixed blade in hand. Your breath hitches at the sight of the knife, the lamp light casting a glint on its sharp edges. “Stop. Let me get this off for you. ‘S not like you need it anyway.” He commands, deftly flipping the knife between his fingers. You lay back down and let Erik do the work. He secures you on the chair, him on top of you. You are now literally under his mercy.

Erik drags the tip of the knife down your chest, the blade only grazing at your skin lightly. He’s one push of the knife away from drawing a nasty wound. You sigh, feeling yourself getting wetter in your panties at the thought of Erik toying with your safety—with death. He could stab you to your death any moment, but he chooses not to. It’s messed up but that somehow drives you over to the fucking edge. With one swift flick, he cuts your bra in half. You gasp at the sudden cool air hitting your nipples.

Erik chuckles at your reaction. “You look so fucking beautiful, you know that?” His sweet compliment juxtaposes the unholy acts he’s about to do. His hand gropes your boob, kneading it expertly while he dives in on the other, his septum cold against your touch. His mouth wraps around your firm nipple to suck your bud, tongue circling in motion. Erik moans against your skin, sending deep vibrations in your chest.

“Too bad I have to mess up a pretty little thing like you.” Erik pulls away and reveals a stupid smug smile plastered across his face, proud of the writhing mess he made out of you. You only look at him under your lashes, a silent plea for him to do something. Anything. He soon pouts, “Poor baby, always begging for my attention. You can’t even function properly without being tended to, isn’t that right?”

You nod, biting your lip too hard it draws blood. Erik cups your chin, pinching your cheeks slightly. You moan at his strong grip. “Use your words, baby.”

“Yes.” You manage to weakly choke out.

“Pathetic.” Erik spits, letting you go before trailing his knife across your torso. You arch your back when the blunt end of its handle touches your clothed clit. “Bet this pretty pussy is begging for my attention too, huh?” He moves the knife up and down, stimulating your clit with the handle. You buck your hips forward, moaning at the strange yet delicious sensation. “Yes—yes, please touch my pussy.” You whimper.

Erik is forgiving this time and heeds your wishes. He cuts the thin fabric off to expose your throbbing pussy. “God, you’re so fucking wet. Is this all for me?” He dips his fingers on your lips and teasingly rubs them, spreading your juices all over.

“Yes… ‘s all for you.” You moan, desperately in need of his fingers inside you. “Please, please Erik. Please fuck me.” You feel like a ticking bomb ready to explode. Your desperate sounds seem to satisfy Erik enough so he plunges his fingers into your pussy pumping in and out, his rings stretching you out in ways you haven’t felt before.

“Good girl.” Erik coos, marvelled at how tight your walls pull his fingers deep. Before you could feel the tight coil forming in your stomach, Erik does the unthinkable. He lifts up his blade dangerously close to your neck causing your breath to heave out of instinctual fear. You quickly let your guard down when you remember the man wielding the knife is knuckles-deep inside you. “Don’t cum yet or there will be ugly consequences.” He grits his teeth as he speeds up his pace. “You call that a threat?” You smile at him tauntingly.

“Shut the fuck up.” Erik withdraws his fingers to get back at you, leaving your walls hollow and once again unattended. He inches his knife towards your cheek, caressing you longingly with the blade. You can tell he’s getting cocky with it. “Tell me… where do you wanna be marked, slut?”

You thought of him carving his initials in your skin more times than you can count, but you never considered the possibility of it coming true. You’re left tongue-tied, unable to muster words to come out from your mouth. “What? Can’t think for yourself?” Erik coos condescendingly. “Now you need me to do the thinking for you too? Poor baby.”

“How about here?” Erik digs his head on the side of your neck, sucking off the sweet spot until it's tender. “I know you love it when everyone sees how much of a slut you are, and it’s all for me.” Once he leaves an adequate amount of hickeys on your neck, he moves on to your collarbone along with his knife.

“Or here…” He traces the sharp tip on your collarbone, drawing the letter E. His touch feels light as a feather, but this newfound gentleness won’t last long. You hold your breath in anticipation of what’s to come. Erik gives you a reassuring look before he presses the knife in the same spot on your collarbone where he traced his initial. A sharp pang of pain shoots through your senses but you can only elicit a loud moan of heavenly pleasure. “Shh… relax, baby.” He says softly. You watch your blood seep out from the fresh cut as beads of crimson stream down the surface of your skin. Erik wipes the blood off with his bare hand in precise fashion like he’s doing a tattoo on you.

“You’re doing so well.” Erik praises, kissing your tears off your cheek before putting all his attention to the wound he inflicted. E C. Carved on your collarbone for all to see. His initials. “You look so fucking hot. And you’re mine. God, when did I get so lucky?” He kisses the bloody letters, devouring the blood out of your flesh. Erik smiles to reveal red tainting the gaps of his teeth. You’d be lying if you say that’s not the sexiest thing you’ve ever seen in your waking life.

You pull Erik close to clash your lips against his. You kiss him like you're starving, tasting your blood from his tongue. You moan at the sickly sweet metal taste that pairs with the cigarettes and coffee Erik recently had. “Erik, please fuck me. I want your cock so bad.” You whisper in between your messy kisses.

“Since you’ve been such a good girl for being so brave, I think you deserve it.” He replies, tucking your stray hair behind your ears almost too dramatically. “That’s so fucking cliché.” You giggle. Erik smirks, amused at the fact that you still look innocent even after moaning all sorts of dirty profanities. “Yeah? What about this… does this feel cliché to you?” He thrusts his hips forward to let you feel the tight bulge of his cock threatening to burst out from his jeans any moment now. “You made me so hard, baby. You drive me fuckin’ nuts.”

“Turn around.” He says and you immediately comply, unable to wait any longer as you maneuver yourself on the tattoo chair so you’re lying on your stomach. “Ass up, baby girl.” Erik slaps your cheek causing you to gasp and giggle even more. Erik can’t help himself. He always spanks your ass whenever he gets the chance. “Good girl.” He grabs his dick and eases his tip teasingly between your folds, his Prince Albert piercing barely touching your wet pussy. You suddenly got reminded that you're dating an asshole.

You take matters into your own hands by sinking yourself into him but he holds you down. Erik’s strength shouldn’t be underestimated despite his skinny build. “I need you to stay still, princess.” He instructs as he rubs soothing circles on the ample spot of your left cheek. “Think you can handle a little more pain?”

“You can fuck me as hard as you want once this is over. I just need to carve a heart right… here.” There it goes again. You feel his knife slice through the spot he’s been lovingly massaging. Your eyes roll at the pain, as your pussy clenches around his tip. “Please…” You whine while Erik brands you. “God babe, I didn’t think you’d get off to this. You like it when I hurt you, don’t you?”

“Yeah… feels good.” You say breathlessly, making Erik chuckle.

“Now this is what I call a tattoo.” He says, admiring his magnum opus on your ass proudly, a heart shaped lineart with his name spelled out inside of it. Erik didn’t waste another second to ram his dick fully inside you.

“Fuck!!” You scream at the sudden fullness in your pussy, clawing the leather on the chair as he thrusts in and out with such precision, his piercing palpably drags against your walls, hitting your G-spot in the most mind spinning way possible. “That’s it, good girl. You’re taking me so well. Fuck—your tight pussy belongs to me.” Erik mumbles incoherently through in his growls.

The room is filled with the sounds of your salacious moans and skin slapping repeatedly. You look around and see the glass windows, blatantly reminding you that the sight of you getting railed by your boyfriend can be viewed from outside. Someone could be watching. You didn’t care though. You want everyone to know you belong to Erik. Erik pulls your hair, fucking you deeper until his pace becomes unsteady. “I’m gonna cum.” He bites your shoulder. “You better take it like the good girl you are…”

Before you can react, you feel spurts of hot liquid coat every crevices in your pussy. It didn’t take long until you reached your high too. Erik praises you, as you ride your orgasm on his dick with slow and lingering thrusts. You lay your spent body lazily, savoring the euphoric feeling you just experienced.

Erik kisses your back, before slipping out to grab some sterile rags for clean up. He comes back with a mirror so you can properly see the marks he’s given you. “What do you think?” He asks shyly like he’s expecting artistic validation. After the amazing sex he’s given you, it’s only fair you have to give him that in return.

You smile, admiring his work etched on your skin. It’s going to stay that way for a long while. “I love it. I love you.”

“Guess I need to have you around in the shop more often." He helps you stand up, your legs still feel wobbly from the activity. Erik picks up and helps you put on your clothes.

“I guess you do.” You reply contentedly.

“I deserve a five-star review for giving you the best tattoo I’ve ever done.”

author’s note. a week after seeing fd6 and this man still lives rent free in my mind ughhh. been a while since i’ve written something spicy so i apologize for the rusty smut prose! & thank you so much for reading!! <3

[chimivx]

“…i want you, bless my soul…”

Four months.

You met him on your first day in your first class, your professor the agitated type, the kind that gave you piles of homework with every lesson. He sat beside you, slipping into his chair right before the syllabus slid onto the table in front of you.

Dark hair cut short in the back lived a little more free in the front, on the top, growing into a messier, curlier mop as the weeks drew by, on and on. Tall, broad, and most definitely strong as hell, he was gorgeous. There simply wasn’t any other word for it, he walked into class every week with his golden skin aglow no matter where the sun lived in the sky. You’d be lying if you said your stomach didn’t twist in knots watching his wide eyes scan the room, standing there near the doorway in a white t-shirt and dark blue denim jeans clasped to his waist with a leather belt.

What in the fucking Calvin Klein ad just walked in here?

Don’t sit next to me, don’t sit next to me, please don’t-

He wore Dior Sauvage, just enough of it to charm your eyes in his direction, the two of your glances meeting for only a few seconds, yet long enough to know that this was going to be a long semester.

After that first week, that first class, he showed up on time, sometimes even earlier than you, and sure enough he’d be in that seat and he’d offer you the tiniest smile while he pushed in his chair to let you pass behind him.

Did he own any clothes that fit?

It felt like every week he’d have on a new shirt that clung to him like seran wrap, every little chiseled sculpted by Michaelangelo notch in his body, his chest, completely and utterly visible. As if he didn’t know it, more than enough time in class he’d spend with his hands behind his head, his biceps tightening in his sleeves, bulging beneath the fabric that you waited to see rip.

Too often you’d have to tear your eyes away, too lost in wonder as to what kind of marvel sat beside you. Six foot something, perfectly built, not only did his appearance alone catch you off guard, but his ability to be so gentle. A smiley, sappy giant full of tooth rotting sweetness. Each raise of his hand, how he toyed with his pen between his firm fingers, the way he’d listen to other people speak — his eyebrows pulling up in the center, his eyes widening with wonder. He’d keep to his space, never once invading yours. Respectful, he knew to say hello, goodbye, would ask you quiet questions, like what page number you were on, and he’d give you thanks into oblivion.

It wasn’t until a month or so had passed that you realized it. One morning you stood in front of the mirror for too long, put a little too much effort into your makeup, into your hair. Spritzing a bottle of perfume to your wrist that you saved for special occasions, when the glass tapped back onto the shelf and you dabbed your wrists together, you gasped.

Damn.

Swapping the lacey sweater for something more casual, you know, for class, you pulled half of your hair up and back, letting some of it hang forward, praying to anyone who’d help that it didn’t look like you woke up before your alarm to get ready for a class you half cared about.

He noticed.

He sat down, walking in a few minutes after you, and his eyes lingered in your direction. Not that you could tell, nor were you paying attention, you were sitting backward in your chair with your nose in your phone. It wasn’t his fault he wasn’t good at being nonchalant like you’d been for nearly two months now.

Besides, it didn’t work. He didn’t say a word the entire class, only his hello and his goodbye.

It didn’t upset you. That’s what you told yourself, the lies you fed your brain to pretend to feel better. It didn’t upset you, he was a boy in a class you didn’t see anywhere else on campus. He probably had a girlfriend. Look at him, listen to him, he definitely has a girlfriend.

By the next class you were back to the usual, the snoozed my alarm twice before getting up in a rush, a hoodie and baggy jeans. Hair thrown up, makeup minimal, you accepted your fate.

You weren’t expecting him to be in the room first, you’ve narrowed down his time frame of entry, typically within ten minutes of the lecture starting depending on when you’d arrive. He was five minutes too early. Giving him the tightest smile, you shimmied behind his chair and mimicked his greeting, shoving yourself into your seat, not prepared for fifteen minutes of silence with him beside you.

Nose in phone, nose in phone.

It was all you could do to keep from gawking, for some reason he was fresher than normal. Black t-shirt, denim jacket on the back of his chair, silver jewelry hanging off of him. He wore a different cologne, one you couldn’t pick out, but god it was delicious you wanted to lick it straight off his neck. He definitely sprayed it to his wrists too, typical, you could lick it off of him there too, why not. Maybe even his chest. No- anything beneath that shirt that should be squeezing the air out of his lungs was lethal, how was every muscle visible? How could he walk around like that, he had to know that-

“Did you do the homework?”

Great.

You didn’t dress yourself up to keep the giddy high school level crush on the DL, but the way you jumped at his words and your cheeks warmed definitely helped. And, yes, you were staring.

“I, uh, yeah, I did.”

If he noticed anything, he didn’t show it.

“Mind if I see it to make sure I got it right? You’re better at this than I am.”

Juvenile, all of it, from the way he checked his answers to the way he slid your notebook back over to you with a shake of his head. Nothing else was shared, the class had begun and he focused on your irritating professor who assigned similar homework for the third week in a row.

Holding onto the way he spoke to you, the soft tone, the warmth in his eyes, the subtle graveliness he forced but then got rid of when he answered questions aloud, you truly felt seventeen years old all over again.

He asked you a question.

He talked to you.

Did he spend more time on how he looked for you?

No, it’s for his girlfriend. The one he definitely has.

The girlfriend that he-

“Whatever perfume you had on last week… I liked it.”

He didn’t say goodbye. He didn’t wait around for you to say anything. He scooped his books into his arms, and he walked out of the classroom, leaving you in absolute shambles. Nerves lived within you for a week, so many nights spent lying awake thinking about him, what he said to you, what you were going to do. If you wear the perfume again you’re setting yourself up for exposure, you may as well just tell him you have a crush on him to his face. But, then again, if you didn’t wear it, you’d lose his interest. He wouldn’t think you had an interest in him, and what if he told you that because he does have an interest in you?

Oh god.

What if he knows?

You wore the perfume. One spritz of it over your heart before you left your room, enough that he’d just be able to tell if he paid as much attention as he suddenly seemed to be.

Early again, beating you to a class you tried to get to even earlier today, you did not miss the small smile that pulled at his lips as you slipped behind his chair. It was the only thing shared all class, a smile somewhere in between lessons when he caught your eye. He had that same cologne on, the one from last week, the one that had you envisioning what it’d be like to have your tongue dragging all over his body, it was hard to not look at him.

Oh, he definitely knew.

And so it began.

For another month, perfume and cologne alike, worn every class, you started to share more than smiles. He’d lean your way for questions and answers, would ask about the homework, the assignments, sometimes when he didn’t even need it, asking for an answer he already had scribbled on his paper. Fighting the nerves, the way your belly filled with butterflies and did cartwheels within you, you started to share more than just classroom talk. While you worked you chatted, you learned where he was from, where he came from, where you came from and why you both were here.

He was funny.

Funny in the way he didn’t know he was funny, oftentimes asking you what he did to make you laugh like that. You’d cover your mouth and pray the giggles away, unable to tell him how adorable he really was.

He filled every shoe you profiled him with. Kind, sweet, funny, gentle giant.

Chiseled chest his cologne, the one you loved, radiated from.

But you didn’t figure that out until the following month.

Month four.

Four months was all it took, and he was yours.

Class whispers turned into coffee dates. Coffee dates turned into homework dates, which turned into dinner dates.

By the end of the third you were wrapped in his sheets, wrapped in him, cologne on your tongue and lips pressed to his, whispering confessions of how long you liked each other but both felt too nervous to say anything. Reveling in pride, that you weren’t as obvious as you thought yourself to be, his sparkling grin overtook his face and he whispered two words that cradled your heart.

“I knew.”

[naga16]

DCDP Prompt 6: Breaking the Portrait for Picture

(Don't mind the title, I just thought there neat)

Things happened that altered the the whole story. It's nothing bad really, dare I say, what happened turned everything into Michaelangelo's Obra Maestra.

Everyone's parents lives and redeemed themselves. That being said, Batman never appeared nor his band of chaotic good of children.

This means that Gotham has no protector, but that's not an issue? Since no one is troubled enough to cause mayhem.

Joker? Who are you talking about?

Riddler? Who's he?

Poison Ivy? Ohhh, that one environmentalist, she had a murder mystery podcast and she's really great!!!

Enigma? Ahhh, that one attorney who's also Bruce Wayne's friend!!!

What the fuck is the Court of Owl? Some kind of cult?

League of Assassins? Never heard of that. (Yeah, no Damian in this AU. Poor baby)

That being said, Gothamites faces no problem. The one who's troubled is the other heroes and their cities.

For some reason, the curse of Lady Gotham has been ripped apart into pieces and has been passed towards the other cities near her. It's nothing to bad since it's still manageable. They can protect their cities from their own rouge galleries but problem arises when extraterrestrial beings are involved.

Since Batman do not exist to be one of the Founder of the JL (financially speaking, JL will stay a dream since Superman and Wonder Woman don't have the resources and the adequate knowledge to run it by themselves) heroes around the globe finds it hard to connect to each other and like, create a support group for each other.

Now, when Gods appears to be the villain, they scramble to fight them. Just fight with no strategies, just pure might and strength.

This led to the end of the world.

Which was not supposed to happen, mind you.

This lead to Clockwork sending Danny for a mission to secure that the Bats and Birds exist. Even if it means killing the parents or giving them severe trauma or addiction that changes their whole behavior. Even if it means making sure certain villain returns. Even if it means ruining the lives of people living comfortably and contently. Even if it means that it goes against his very core.

Cue, Danny blasting "I'm Just A Man" while doing all this

[baronessvonglitter]

Just a Ride

dbf!Dave York x f!Reader | wc: 3.6K

Summary: When a date goes bad you call your dad's best friend Dave to come to the rescue.

WARNINGS: 18+ Only! Explicit. Dave is your dad's best friend. Mention of his daughter but none of Carol - what happened to her? Is she dead? Did she leave him? Don't know don't care, but she doesn't exist because for once I didn't want to write an adulterous Dave. Age gap (reader is 20s Dave is in his 40s). Bad, handsy date. Reader wears a dress and makeup but is otherwise not described much. Protective!Dave. Mention of drinking alcohol. Mutual pining. Pet names (princess). Fingering. Car sex. Unprotected p in v. (Dave can hit it raw with me anytime). Wistful/sad ending. No use of y/n. Never beta'd because fuck it we ball.

a/n: Hi, my name is Adriana and when I was a kid I had two pet baby turtles named Michaelangelo and Raphael (I was planning on getting two more to be Donatello and Leonardo) but they "ran away" (parent-speak for they died) and I think about them every day.

So this is the fic that won out. It was 97% done and I just needed to fill a couple holes (hehe). I don't think I've ever read a dbf!Dave fic before, though I highly doubt mine's the first. I'd gladly accept recommendations below if you know any! Please enjoy 🖤❤️

dividers by @thecutestgrotto 👑

DAVE YORK MASTERLIST | FULL MASTERLIST

Dave sits at the bar, pretending to find his Scotch very interesting, doing his best to stay unnoticed. He's dressed casually in jeans, a black tee and a leather jacket, blending in. Now and again he checks his watch or his phone, but he's secretly got you in his sights.

In his peripheral vision he sees you at your table with your date. You're talking, laughing, charming each other. Seemingly having a good time. But he's good at reading people. That smile on your face doesn't quite reach your eyes, and when you laugh at one of your date's lame jokes the sound is hollow, not how you usually peal out in laughter.

He knows a lot about you, having known you nearly your whole life as your dad's closest friend. He knows the date isn't going great and that you deserve better than the jackass who's sitting across from you, leaning in a little too close to you, fixing the shoulder strap of your red dress and using that as an excuse to touch you without your permission. Dave's blood starts to boil.

He waits for your signal, ready to pounce though he looks to all the world like he's relaxing with a drink.

Suddenly his phone lights up with a call from you. He briefly glances your way, seeing you trying to be discreet about your call while hiding your phone in your lap as your date is seemingly in the dark. When your gazes meet you give a small, nervous smile and an almost imperceptible nod. Dave immediately jumps into action.

He's jammed up by a couple of wait staff with loaded trays, and he manages to dodge them, but by the time he gets to your table you're struggling with your date, his hand around your arm in a vise grip.

"Hey!" He shouts. "Let her go. Now." He stands protectively at your side, giving this idiot a chance to do the right thing and walk away. His stance is intimidating to the much younger man, and he watches with a calm air of authority as your date slowly releases your arm.

"You need to leave, now. And don't even think about coming near her again," he growls.

Defeated, and not wanting to cause a further scene, your date puts his hands up and leaves, muttering under his breath. Dave makes sure he's gone from the restaurant before turning his attention to you. "Are you alright? Did he hurt you?"

"I'm okay," you tell him, wiping a little tear away. "Thank you for that.."

His expression softens, his temper melting and giving way to concern. "Don't mention it. I told you I'd have your back." His hand is on your arm now, gently soothing where your date had grabbed you just moments before.

"Would you.." you softly hiccup through your tears. "Would you take me home? He was my ride."

"Of course," he says, glad to be able to escort you safely back home. "Let's get you home."

You settle into the passenger side of Dave's SUV, the same one that not many years ago he'd driven you to volleyball practice in when your parents were too busy to do so. It still smelled of leather and coffee and Dave's own special scent, the one you'd only ever gotten whiffs of during a rare hug.

You were close with his daughters until the three of you went your separate ways after high school. You're the only one who stayed behind, preferring to be closer to home.

Maybe a part of you stayed because you have a crush on your father's best friend.

Not that he'd ever notice you that way. He'd always maintained a polite, never-overly-friendly persona with you. It had changed when you'd started dating, and he and your father became a pair of ultimate authority figures when it came time for your date to pick you up. When you were younger and yearning for your freedom, you hated how they questioned your dates, asked for photo IDs, wrote down license plate numbers "just in case".

Now, having known what the dating pool was like, you appreciate Dave's overprotectiveness. It was actually you who'd reached out and asked him to be your emergency getaway if you'd needed it. You never had until tonight.

He starts the engine, looking over to you to make sure you're buckled in. "You don't have to talk about it if you don't want to, of course.. but what happened?"

"He was really insistent on going back to his place after dinner.. even after I said no," you mumble,

His fingers grip the steering wheel too tightly as he maneuvers the SUV out into the late Saturday traffic. "I see. I don't like the sound of that. Good thing you called me when you did. You never know what could have happened."

"Yeah," you agree, shivering when you think of the look in your date's eyes when you'd rejected him. "I'm just glad I called you."

"You know you can always count on me to be there for you, no matter what."

"Thank you." You place your hand lightly on his knee, a touch meant, at first, to be of the friendly sort, but in the dark of this vehicle you feel the spark of something more.

"You don't have to thank me," Dave deflects. "I would do anything to keep you safe." True, he'd felt a jolt of electricity at your unexpected touch, and his heart rate speeds up momentarily. His mind races with a mixture of unexpected feelings.

"You always look out for everyone, Dave.. who looks out for you?" You watch him as he drives, see his handsome silhouette in the city lights. He's chuckling now, caught off guard by your question. The truth is, he's so used to being the protector that he often neglects his own needs and feelings. He gives you a sidelong glance, contemplating your question.

"Nobody, I suppose.. not really. I'm usually the one doing the looking out."

"Must be lonely," you say, your hand still resting on his knee.

His thick fingers tap against the steering wheel as he considers your comment. It stings a bit to hear it, to have his own loneliness acknowledged, like a mini-autopsy of his middle age. But he knows you, and that you're asking from a place of pure empathy.

"Maybe a bit, yeah. But it's a role I'm used to. Besides, you're here now, aren't you? That keeps the loneliness at bay, for a little while at least."

A smile grows over your lips, heat filling your cheeks at the compliment. "I like that.."

Dave's usual stoicism melts away under your soft demeanor and youthfulness. You're young and haven't yet had the weight of the world on your shoulders.

The ride passes in quiet comfort, even as with each moment he can't help feeling your hand on his knee, knowing it's not going to be easy to just drop you off and go back home to what is a less exciting life than you might think. He pulls up to your house and into the driveway he's parked in hundreds of times before to visit your dad.. and lately, in the hopes of catching a glimpse of you.

"Thanks again.. for everything," you tell him, not making any move to leave.

"Anytime," he says quickly. "It's what I'm here for. And hey.. if you ever need anything or just want someone to talk to, don't hesitate to call, okay?"

A smile graces your lips, forced because everything he's said is exactly what you'd expect him to say. And if the charge between you tells you anything, it's that there's unexplored business between you.

His gaze roams over your face, seeing you for your own person rather than just the product of your parents. Your lips are plump and glossy, and he has a feeling he knows just how they'd taste if he were to kiss you.

He shouldn't be thinking like that.

If he were a real gentleman he'd hop out and open the door for you, walk you up to your parents' house and bid you good night, maybe step in and have a beer with your dad and say hi to your mom. You could go your separate ways and that'd be that.

But you're here, and you're not making any motion to leave, not the feeblest attempt. In fact you're looking at him so expectantly that it pulls at his heart, floods his dick with need so that he's already getting hard.

You shouldn't be looking at him like that.

Without a word he reaches out and touches your cheek lightly, his fingertips running delicately over your jaw. Your breath catches in your throat, which makes his own pulse miss a beat. The rough pad of his thumb brushes against your bottom lip, slightly sticky now with your gloss but he doesn't care. He's wound up tight, watching your eyes flit to his own lips and remain there, likely imagining the very thing he's imagining.

Unable to resist any longer, his hand cups your chin and gently tilts your face up, his dark brooding eyes studing yours for a moment before he leans in. The gap between you disappears as he presses his lips against yours, the kiss gentle yet possessive. The electricity between you could light up a small town, and both of you give into the feeling.

His hand moves to your waist, pulling you closer as he deepens the kiss, his tongue tangling with yours, exploring your mouth with an urgency fueled by desire. The heat builds between you, the air filled with the heady mixture of forbidden lust.

Your hand cups the back of his neck while you kiss, fingers combing through the short strands of his hair. It sets a shiver through him, knowing he's in your parents' driveway, kissing their only daughter like he's some twenty-something idiot thinking with his dick.

You don't push him away, you encourage him further, letting him pull you forward by the small of your back as he tries to erase any vestige of space remaining between you two. The kiss grows rougher, hungrier, the pent-up tension between you finally reaching its breaking point as you press together, seeking each other's heat.

Like-minded, you pull him down on top of you in the passenger seat as he presses you down, neither of you thinking of anything except what comes next, the desperate need to get as close as possible. Your hands slip under his jacket before he removes it, growling softly in pleasure that you want this too, as he settles between your thighs.

He kisses down your jaw, nipping at your skin, exploring the soft flesh of your neck. Your whispers of encouragement as you rake your fingers through his hair only goads him on, responding diligently, his kisses growing more fervent and urgent with each passing moment as he leaves a trail of open-mouthed kisses and soft bites.

He watches you as he starts to unbutton your dress. "Is this okay?" he whispers. The straps of your dress are already slipping down your shoulders, revealing their softness.

You whisper "yes," and he gently pulls the top down until your satin bra is revealed. He's transfixed by the sight, your bra doing nothing to hide the rise and fall of your chest. His eyes darken with desire, his gaze heavy-lidded. He's torn between wanting to devour you and wanting to savor this moment, though who knows how much time you have?

"We really shouldn't be doing this," he murmurs, pressing hot kisses to the tops of your breasts and smiling when you arch up into his touch. "We could get caught."

"I don't care," you tell him, and he believes it.

"You want this?" he asks, nuzzling your soft skin, knowing he'll be devastated if you say no.

"Dave," you say in a soft and sweet chuckle. "I've wanted this for a long time.."

He lifts the hem of your dress, pressing wet kisses along your skin as he works his way down your torso, his fingers curling into the edge of your underwear waistband. Red satin to match your bra and your dress. You were expecting to get fucked tonight and he's going to see to it that you are.

You pull him down and he settles on top of you, his body slotting perfectly between your legs. He's close enough now that you can feel the heat radiating off him, his stiff cock trapped in his jeans as he rubs against you.

Lifting your hips to his, you grind on him, making a wet spot on his crotch through the dark denim. Dave groans softly, his mouth millimeters from yours. "That's it, princess. Use me," he says with a gruff edge to his voice. Your hands grip his shoulders as he starts to rub against you, the friction growing hotter by the second. "You like using me, huh?" he whispers, his hips moving in time with yours.

"Yes," you eke out, your panties already soaked through. Dave feels it, your heat radiating through the sheer material. Your intoxicating scent is all around him and he breathes it in.

"You're making a mess of me, you know that?" His voice is rough, thick with need as his hands slide under your panties, his fingers seeking out the wetness that has already begun to pool between your legs. Your back arches at the deliciously forbidden glide of two of his fingers easing in, filling you up and stretching you. "Tell me what you want."

"I want- I want to come," you gasp, unable to concentrate on much else besides the feel of his fingers inside you.

Dave's already hard cock is painfully erect, but he's focused on your pleasure first. His fingers glide in and his mouth waters at how tight, hot, and wet you are for him. He leans down and gives a gentle bite to your bare shoulder. "You want to come for me? I'm giving it to you, you've got to take it."

Your body grows taut under his touch, your nails digging into his shoulders. He can see you teetering on the edge, balancing on the precipice of bliss. "Come for me, princess. Let me hear you," he commands. His fingers curl inside you as the pad of his thumb rubs your clit and he smiles when you start to come for him. Your hips lift up and your thighs threaten to close around his wrist. Colors dance behind your eyes as pure exhilaration warms you from head to toe. He keeps rubbing you in soft circles, coaxing you through your orgasm and his other hand gently cradles your cheek as he leans in for a kiss, swallowing up your sweet moans as you melt on his fingers. He doesn't stop until he feels your body relax, and then he removes his hand from between your legs and sucks your sweetness of them. He lets out a soft hum, his dark orbs never leaving yours. "You taste like heaven," he says, and you pull him down for another kiss, tasting yourself in his mouth.

Your hands fly to his belt, undoing it and pulling down his pants with it. He dares a quick glance at the front of the house but all is still. You're so eager there's no way he'd even want to stop. Even if your dad were to come out with a shotgun aimed at him-

All other thought flies out the window as he feels your hand grasp him through his boxer briefs. "Big," you say with a gasp. His hips buck involuntarily against your hand. "Yeah? You like that?"

Nodding, you whisper, "I want it," and reach your hand inside to start stroking him. He's already too turned on for any further teasing. His only thought is to get inside you.

He pulls his boxer briefs down and positions himself between your legs, his body covering yours in the passenger seat, his hips aligned with yours. "Ready, princess?" He nibbles at your ear.

"Yes," you reply breathily, the ache growing inside you. You've been waiting for this for years and now, as the thick tip of his cock presses into you, he starts to open you up, sinking into your channel, slowing to let you adapt to him inch by blessed inch.

God, you've never felt so full, no one has ever made you feel like this. Dave bottoms out, careful not to hurt you, though his hips twitch when you mewl with pleasure. "You feel so good, so wet," he says, holding you in place as he starts shallow thrusts.

"So do you.." Your legs are hooked over his arms as he controls the pacing, leaning in to brush a small kiss to your cheeks, forehead, lips and nose.

"You like the way I'm filling you up? No one's ever been this deep inside you, I can tell. You're so fucking tight."

"You're so big," you sigh, melting around him as he starts slow. "I think I can feel you in my stomach."

"You're taking it so well though." He withdraws slowly, savoring the way you feel around him, before plunging back in with a little more force, watching your breasts and belly jiggle with the movement.

"Fuck!" you gasp as he drives in again, your cunt squeezing around him as if to keep him there. But he starts a slow and sensual pace, his hips rolling against yours smoothly, your body moving with his as if in a dance, as if there's no hurry to finish this. His gaze is locked on you, watching as you writhe beneath him. "You feel amazing," he groans. Every sound you make feeds into his pleasure and so he moves a little faster, checking in with you to see if that's okay, noticing that hitch in your breath when he presses in deep, hitting that hot spot deep inside that makes you see stars. He increases just slightly, just enough to send you right to the edge before he slows down again.

"You're teasing me," you whine as he slows, your heart rate picking up speed as your pleasure ebbs.

"And what if I am?" Dave smirks, his thumb brushing your clit again.

"Dave," your body tenses as he adds the pressure, crying out in delight. He loves the way you lose control and he's desperate to make you moan over and over again, he needs to hear his name flow from your lips that way.

"Come for me," he rumbles, so close to the edge himself. He needs you to come first, needs to feel you quake and clench around him before he even thinks about coming.

Your legs encircle his hips, and he thinks there's nothing better than to be housed between your sweet thighs. He slows his thrusts, moving inside you until you demand more, your nails on his shoulders leaving crescent shaped marks under his shirt.

He watches as you come, memorizing the beauty of how you look, completely undone in this moment, keeping himself moving even as you squeeze and shudder around his cock.

"Good girl," he says. "Tell me where you want it." His breathing is getting heavier and his cock is starting to swell, starting to pulse and there's not much time.

"Inside," you tell him, and he's thankful for that. He's not sure he'd be able to pull out anyway, the way your sweet pussy is gripping him like it owns him.

That's all it takes to send him over the edge. Dave lets out a guttural groan, his body shuddering as his hips stutter then still while he comes, painting your walls with his spend.

The car windows are fogged up, the two of you still trying to catch your breath. The scent of sex and your perfume are in the air. Dave shifts a little, lifting himself enough to look down at you, his eyes dark and hooded. He can't help but push the loose strands away from your face, his touch gentle and almost reverent. His eyes soften and his lips brush your forehead.

"I sure didn't think that would happen," you giggle a little, coming down from your high.

"Life is full of surprises, princess," he responds, his eyes glittering with playfulness.

The lights above the garage come on and you remember that you're parked in your parents' driveway. Both of you scramble to get your clothes on, not wanting to get caught in such a compromising position.

"I guess I should go," you tell Dave once you're both decent. Though the last thing you want to do is leave him. Especially when you can still feel him inside you, his stickiness, the imprint of himself left behind.

"Yeah," he nods, his visage returning to that of the protective family friend.

"Do you want to come in?"

He chuckles darkly at that. Your dad would know. He'd know and Dave would be in a world of shit. "That's not a good idea right now."

Instead he watches as you walk to the door, your key fumbling in the lock until your dad comes and opens it. He's in his night robe, hair mussed, probably just awoken from his sleep. When he spots Dave's car in the driveway he raises his hand in acknowledgement and Dave does the same.

But he doesn't drive off. He waits.

The light comes on in your bedroom, and you appear at the window. You blow him a kiss and he hesitates before deciding not to catch it. He knows you'll understand why. So he nods, giving a smile and wishing you could feel the lurch of his heart as he turns on the engine and drives home.

tagging those interested: @sunshinehaze1 @letsgobarbs

@iamladyp @milla-frenchy @probablyreadinsmut @604to647

@inept-the-magnificent @sexydeadgirlxxx @teddybonkers1960

@dugiioh @everybodylovedcontractors @cuppajoel

@not-a-unique-snowflake-blog @myhusband2cool

@joelmillerisapunk @itwasntimethatdidit40

[searchingforserendipity25]

now that we have photos of lawrence's room i keep trying to imagine what ray o'malley's apartments are like.

and i have decided that he's just down the hall. is lawrence living in the holy office or the apostolic palace or just a regular residential building in rome?

doesn't make a difference. raymond o'malley is down the hall. they get groceries together. well. ray gets groceries for both of them a lot of the time because cardinal lawrence tends to forget or otherwise decide to fast.

lawrence inevitable says 'oh ray, you did not have to'. inevitably ends up cooking for ray with the very ingredients ray got.

he's not bad at all. and in fact getting him cooking and being bitchy about various archbishops with a cup of good white wine in hand and hildegard of bingen's choral works in the background as he cooks is part of ray's on-going daily list of how to get his his eminence to an optimal state.

lawrence makes a weekly trip to a nearby pastiera to get ray's favorite pastries and the sweets. he also regularly gets him flowers. these, it cannot be overstated, are very platonic flowers. dahlias and marigolds and azaleas, because ray likes a pop of color very much, and wouldn't get them for himself.

ray waters both their plants. lawrence goes through irregular but intense work-faith-bad-work-faith-balance bouts of anxiety, that manifest in intense cleaning activity, and has been known to politely elbow his way inside ray's house to continue a floor-washing and dust-brushing loop. he also does both their laundry baskets', because his machine is bigger, and why waste energy?

ray does the ironing. not everyone can iron a zuchetto properly, and none do it like him; not least because cardinal lawrence tends to crumple and otherwise fidget with his when he's stressed. ray has a lot of experience.

his his eminence has the vatican's neatest, most precise, most flattering faschia and cassock pleats. adds something to his inherent gravitas. the general effect is one ray finds objective pleasant and is very proud of aiding, if he may say so himself.

they have movie nights. they have scripture nights. they have a book club and it's mostly thrillers and mysteries (dan brown read-alongs are always a hoot).

there's a large dining table in ray's flat that goes largely unused and is mostly their puzzle-spot. their record is 5k pieces. a puzzle of michaelangelo's final judgement, naturally.

they take the same route to work together and stand under the same umbrella when it rains. everyone at the grocery store is convinced that they are dating or in a civil union of some sort.

except for concetta who is part-timing at help desk one and once helped an insomniac lawrence find the big cif bottles on sale, caught a look at his vatican ID card when he was paying. and is now left to insist to everyone else that the priest collar thing is not kink.

[gallusrostromegalus]

I am constantly procrastinating working on my original fic by writing fanfic. Any advice for how to refocus and finish my novel?

Well. The novel probably needs a nap.

Procrastinating is a symptom that something is preventing you from doing the thing you "should" be doing. Most of the time it's an unrelated, but actually higher priority task like resting after an illness (society is fucking lying about anything else being more important) or filing your taxes (actually this one is pretty important).

...but if you're procrastinating on one creative project with another creative project, you're not procrastinating: something about the novel is off right now, the fanfic is more appealing to you.

Consider the following:

You may be writing fic because it brings you more joy than the novel. If you really want to get back to the novel, figure out what would make working on it more enjoyable. Engagement from a beta-editor? Skipping this really boring scene and coming back to it later? Adding more smut?

You may also be writing fic because it's got a lower spoon coat than the novel and you need to conserve your spoons right now. Any extra stress in your life? Moving? Toothache? Recovering from Covid? Annoying roommate? Sick family member? It's an election year? ANY of those could soak up extra spoons and make your novel too expensive for your spoons budget. Let it take a nap, and come back when you're feeling better.

You may be sharpening your artistic skills on a lower-stakes project before going back to the novel. This is pretty normal- even Michaelangelo took breaks to work on other pieces while sculpting The David, both for a change of pace and so he could try something out without fucking up the big block.

Fortunately, you're writing, so you can always try writing the challenging scene a dozen times in different docs or save the parts that were good but don't not in a spare parts bucket doc.

Or keep working on that fic, it's helping you learn on a subconscious level.

You don't love the novel right now. This is alright. This is usually temporary, and the solution is the same- put it aside and work on something else.

Maybe you are just bored of the novel. That's fine and normal, you just save all the documents to your hard drive and come back later. When the fic inevitably gets boring too, you'll come back to the novel and either go "oh hey this kicks ass!" And return to it with renewed enthusiasm.

...Or you'll come back to it and go "oh. This is actually a piece of shit" And that's okay too, because there's nothing more useless than polishing a turd, but that turd is still valuable as compost. You learned things writing it, and you can still rifle through the novel for good lines or scenes or turns of phrase and put those in your spare parts doc to ferment into The Good Shit in the back of your mind.

HOWEVER:

If you are experiencing a different phenomenon wherein you are actively distressed while writing the fic- either out of misplaced guilt, or the fic isn't actually fun you just feel compelled to do something, or absolutely every creative endeavor is stressing you out, you may be experiencing a serious mental or physical health issue and you should see your GP or a specialist ASAP. Pain is an indicator that something is wrong. Do not ignore your body's warning light.

That sounds really dramatic and hyperbolic but realizing I was not enjoying ANY creative work was the symptom that finally got me to sit down and go "huh. All these random pains, irregular sleep cycle, frequent migraines and weird bouts of vertigo aren't normal either, I should get this looked at." And it turned out I had dangerously low blood oxygen at night from undiagnosed sleep apnea. I have a CPAP machine now and it's AMAZING.

I really hope this is regular artistic shuffle and not a serious health concern, but if you're experiencing creative stress AND a bunch of other shit, it may be serious.

[creepycranberry]

Crying During Sex (2)

Bob Reynolds x reader

Plot: Bucky gives you a job working for the team and you’re faced with an old friend who would give anything to prove himself to again

Warnings: drugs, abuse, references to SA, alcohol, cussing, mental health issues, parental issues, sex, soft smut (in this chapter), references to neuropsychiatric issues, angst, not proofread. Brief Depiction of SA, please take care of yourself. Do not read if you have a hard time with such topics.

Pt 1

A/N: here is part two, there will be a part three cuz I made this part too long, I hope y’all enjoy <3

“I was young and sweet and then something happened”

—————————————————————————————————————

Bucky woke up before the rest of the tower always. He would train in the morning as the sun was coming up through the windows of the gym and then he would start on his breakfast, now he would make breakfast for you because he knows you won’t eat breakfast if you’re made to get it on your own.

He’s on his way to the gym when he hears a soft voice in your room that isn’t yours.

He knocks on your door and the talking stops, “did you get any sleep?” He calls past the door softly but firmly.

“She’s sleeping now.” A small voice says after a moment and Bucky's eyebrows pinch together as he reaches for the door knob, “what are you doing in here Bob?” He asks as he peeks his head in.

“She couldn’t sleep.” Bob shrugs, his cheeks flushed pink.

Bucky looks at you, passed out with your cheek pressed to Bob's hip, “when’d she conk out?”

“Around three?”

“It’s five now.” Bucky mumbles, chewing the inside of his cheek.

“Do you need her for anything today?” Bob inquires and Bucky sighs.

Bucky needed you to put together notes for an event following a press conference that was happening later that evening. He wasn’t sure if it was worth waking you up for though. He knew better than anyone that you’d not slept properly since you got here.

“Not anytime soon.” He concedes, “you can stop reading to her now. You should get some sleep of your own.”

“I’m okay.” Bob shakes his head, “I told her-“

I told her I wouldn’t leave.

“I just would prefer to stay here until she wakes up.”

Bucky knows that Bob isn’t telling the whole truth, but he doesn’t have the heart to dig further.

He just nods and smiles before closing the door, shooting a group text to the rest of the team to leave you alone until afternoon.

—————

“… kept thinking about what Robert would say when he was obsessed with something he couldn’t have…” fingers carve their way through your hair, gently working out the tangles as you gave yourself just one more minute before you had to be awake to him, “…yet I have a lock of his hair, a handful of his ashes, a box of his letters…” his voice is so soft, with a rough timbre like he’s been talking for hours and after a second of recognizing the words you realize it’s because he’s read the whole book to you, “… and in the folds of a faded violet tissue a necklace, two violet plaques etched in Arabic, strung with black and silver threads, given to me by the boy who loved Michaelangelo.” He reaches over you to put the book on your bedside table. He leans back against your headboard and you can almost see it, as clear as glass. His head tipped upwards, like he’s waiting for an angel to kiss him. His neck bared, Adam’s apple front and center, like it’s just waiting to be bitten.

After a moment he starts to move, maybe to leave, maybe just to sit by the window, and before you can think to stop yourself your arms reach around him, your face buried in the light curve of his waist.

“Good morning.” He beams, slightly jarred from your sudden movement.

“You stayed.” You mumble into the fabric of his loose T-shirt.

“I told you I would.” He says like it’s obvious. You’re having a hard time finding any part of this situation obvious. You don’t find what he means obvious and you don’t trust his actions on pure instinct. You find yourself suddenly worried that you can’t trust this, that you shouldn’t.

“I’m gonna have to get used to it.” You mumble, letting him go and immediately mourning the loss like you just gave up something sacred.

“What?”

“I don’t know.” You breathe like it’s being stolen from you.

“Are you alright?” He asks, genuine concern expressed in the way his face is painted and a hand resting against your cheek.

You feel like you’re drowning.

“I have to shower and start the day. The team has a thing tonight, I was supposed to make notes for Bucky- fuck, what time is it.” You babble, getting up and checking your phone, “why didn’t you wake me up?”

Your tone isn’t rude, it isn’t dismissive, it’s just desperate. Like your breathing and the panic laced in your voice.

“Bucky told us to let you sleep.”

His face becomes afflicted with an almost instinctive pain.

“Bucky came in here? He saw this?”

“Is that not okay?” Bob mutters, wilting away from you at an alarming rate.

“It’s not- I can’t- it’s not not okay I just-“

“Did I do something wrong?”

Your heart drops and all you can hear is the rushing of your blood in your ears, “No. I just-“

“Did I scare you? What did I do?”

What did I do?

God you feel like a piece of shit, “you didn’t do anything wrong. Bob-“

“I think I’m gonna head back to my room, I-“ he stops and turns away from you, rushing towards your door like the beds on fire.

“Bob, please you didn’t do anything, I’m-” but the doors shut, and it’s too late to take all of it back.

————————

Bob didn’t mean to make you upset, he meant to tell you about the summer with his aunt. But he kept forgetting to tell you and then he left a day before he thought he was leaving.

And now he hadn’t seen or heard from you in six weeks. He tried to call but you didn’t answer, you wouldn’t answer. At first he thought he was just missing you but you picked up once, saying hello and then slamming the phone down on the receiver once he started speaking.

It was Saturday, your dads car was gone and the light in your bedroom window was on. Bob knocks on the door and he hears nothing. No footsteps walking towards the door, no ‘fuck you’ yelled from the other side.

So he knocks again, he rings the doorbell twice.

And finally he hears the footsteps, heavy and quick.

When the door opens he plans to grovel but before he can a guy opens the door. Bob stops in his tracks, looking around to make sure he has the right house.

“What the fuck do you want, dropout?”

Bob looks at the guy, really looks at him. He recognizes him, he was in the grade above him in elementary school.

“Did I say sit in my doorway like a fucking idiot?” Your voice tears through bobs mental haze.

“I’m going, god.” The guy mutters under his breath.

He moves past Bob and heads down the street. By the time Bob looks back to you your door is already halfway closed. He grabs the doorknob and pushes the door open fully.

You stare at him blankly, “hey.”

You scoff, “you’ve been gone all summer and all I get is hey?”

“I’m sorry I just- what was that guy doing here?”

“What do you think he was doing here Bob?”

“He’s like nineteen.” Bob continues and you roll your eyes, “are you fucking high?”

He pushes his way into the house and you slam the door behind him, “what’s it to you, Bob?”

He flinches like you swung at him, “that’s- you don’t-“ You’re swaying lightly, your eyelids were completely rested, they almost looked heavy, “what were you doing?”

“He came over, we… hung out for a bit.”

“Hung out? God, you can barely focus your eyes on me, hey-“ he grabs your face. Not hard, just enough to startle you into focusing, he makes you look at him. He smells bitter alcohol on your breath, “what are you doing?” He asks, his voice thick.

“We drank a little, he brought some stuff-“

“Stuff? What stuff?”

“Just weed, Bob. A joint.” You slur.

“And you just smoked it?” Bob asks incredulously, “honey, you don’t even know this guy.”

“I know him just fine.”

“Yeah? How?”

“He works at the pool with me.”

Bob curses under his breath, “he’s nineteen! You’re not even seventeen yet, he’s bad fucking news!”

“You’re eighteen and he does all the same shit that you do— Actually, you do worse.” You spit back and something freezes in Bob.

You never talked about his drug… thing. He took the pills before work, he smoked in his room or in the park until he came over, and then he took the pills again before he walked to your house. And then if he had to go home he did whatever it took to make him fall asleep.

But you never talked about it. He should have seen it coming, it was like a ticking time bomb. You had never said anything but he knew you hated it, so he never did it around you, you rarely ever even saw the bottle he kept on him.

“That’s not the point, the point is that you don’t know this guy and you took shit from him. Do you know how dangerous that is? And you drank around him-“

“I can take care of myself.”

“Oh can you? Really? Is that what this is? You’re drunk and high, you just had to kick the guy out because I’m guessing he proved me right? Yeah?”

You don’t respond, you cross your arms and give him that look that you always have after an argument with your dad.

“You left me, you left me like- you left me like Robert left Patti when he went to San Francisco.” Your brain is trying to figure out how to explain to him how you feel without becoming a complete mess, “but he at least promised to write.”

“I tried calling you!”

“You called while I was at work and then whenever you called me at a time you knew I’d be home I was already pissed because you just left!” You’re in his face now and his nose wrinkles. You smell so strongly of alcohol and weed that it’s making him woozy.

“Go take a shower.” Bob says coldly, “go clean yourself, and brush your teeth.”

“Why should I listen to you? You left me alone and you didn’t even tell me where you were going, I had to find out from your mom when she came by the pool to pick me up one day because it was raining and my dad wouldn’t pick me up so I sat there for two hours,” you start hiccuping and your voice becomes thick with tears, still slurred by the alcohol, “and then I finally called your house because I hadn’t seen you in two weeks and I was hoping you’d be able to get me, but she answered and picked me up and then she told me you were gonna- that you left me for summer.”

You’re crying hard now, and Bob can’t bring himself to be upset at you anymore. your shoulders are shaking, Bob puts a hand on your shoulder and the other on the back of your head, he kisses your forehead, leaving his lips there like your mom would do when you were little and got sick and she had to check for a fever.

“I hate-“ you hiccup, “I hate you for being gone and I hate you- I hate you for all the nights I had to sleep alone in the fucking house I can’t- Robert- I can’t breathe right with you gone.”

“I didn’t want to leave, my dad made me.” He mutters into your hair, “I would never leave you willingly. I’m not your dad, I’m not gonna just leave you alone here because I want to, I would never want that.”

You whimper pathetically and something in his chest tightens, “I want my mommy.”

You didn’t talk about your mom very much. Bob knows that her and your dad are divorced and that your dad won the custody battle and your mom had to move in with her family somewhere else. He knows that your mom calls you once a week, on fridays.

You hated talking about it with him because you knew about his dad and how his house was all the time. You felt stupid for crying about it to him when you had everything you wanted or needed. You had food and a roof over your head and your dad gave you an allowance and had never, not once in your entire childhood, raised a hand to you. And your mom loved you more than anything, she just wasn’t stable enough to raise you.

Bob knew you were scared that you had her problems. He knew you were scared that all of your mothers pain would seep into you and you’d be stuck there, like a mosquito in amber.

“I’m sorry, Robert, I’m sorry. I was just so lonely and my mom- she finally feels good enough for me to live with her but I don’t- after this summer I don’t know if I can survive without you. I just- I had him over because he was almost you, he was so close to you but he wasn’t- and he tried to kiss me and I threw him out because he wasn’t you. And it all hurts so bad because I miss my mom so bad, but I need you- I need you like I need air.” Your breathing was erratic now as Bob held you, he sank to the floor with you, sitting on the bottom step of the stairs with you between his legs, smoothing your hair down your scalp and kissing you at the top of your forehead, shushing you in between kisses.

After a few minutes your breathing calms down and your weight drops like a ragdoll in his arms, exhaustion overtaking you.

“Come on, angel, you’ve gotta take a shower, it’ll make you feel better, I promise.”

“I don’t want you to let go of me.” You murmur, holding onto his arms like nothing else has ever brought you peace like him.

“I won’t let go. I-“ he hesitates to suggest, “I’ll sit with you, you just need to clean up. The shower will make you feel less heavy, and in the morning you’ll be happy that you don’t have to move to do it.”

“You’ll sit with me?” You mumble.

“Of course.” His voice comes out hollow.

“I won’t smell like this anymore?” You sniffle.

“No. You’ll smell like you, I promise.”

“Wanna smell like you.” You mumble.

“Yeah?” You hum back to him, “why d’you wanna smell like me, honey?”

“Cause I miss you. You smell like being okay.”

He smiles and kisses your forehead one more time.

He stands up, holding onto both of your hands to help you as you begin to lean to one side. He holds onto you, helps you up the stairs and goes into your room, grabbing a shirt he’s pretty sure is his and a pair of underwear from the drawer.

He sets the clothes down and perches himself on the counter. You step into the shower and, after a minute, reach around the shower curtain to put your already worn clothes on the toilet lid.

The shower starts and he sits there with the gathering steam until the water shuts off and your arm reaches out to grab your towel off of the rack. He reaches over the curtain rod to hand you the sleep clothes he picked out for you.

While you get dressed he heads into your room, hiding away the few bottles of liquor, making a mental note to put them back in the liquor cabinet before your dad gets home. He throws the contents of the ash tray directly into the trash and then walks back Into the bathroom to find you sitting on the toilet lid, your knees pulled to your chest as you wait for him to come back for you.

“I’m sorry, Robbie.” You murmur.

“Let’s get to bed, angel.”

“I don’t want to move.” The drunk is almost worn off and you’re starting to feel worse.

Without question Bob lifts you up, letting you wrap yourself around him. He struggles a little because you’re not distributing your weight evenly but he doesn’t want to risk upsetting you.

He very gently sets you down on the bed, letting you get comfortable. You hold onto his arm and he pulls it away from you, nearly crumbling to pieces as your lips form a pout and your eyes well up with tears again.

“I have to put stuff up before your dad gets home, angel.” He tells you.

“But you’ll come back, right?”

“Of course.”

At this rate he really would never leave you again. He’d go to school with you, come home with you, live with you if it meant you never had to ask him if he’d come back again.

He puts away the liquor and cleans up a mess you’d left in the kitchen before returning to you. You’re curled up in the fetal position, eyes on the door until he comes back and gets on “his” side of your bed. You curl into him immediately, Your face hidden in the crook of his neck.

“Robert?” You mutter.

“Yeah?” One of his arms reaches around you, the other smooths your wet hair out of your face.

“I didn’t kiss him back.”

He stops moving, he had chosen to ignore that part of your monologue until later. That wasn’t what was important, but now you’re making it a point to tell him.

“Why not, angel?”

You’re quiet for a while, he almost thinks you’ve fallen asleep. But then you say, very quietly, “I wanted him to be you. But he didn’t kiss me like you’d kiss me.”

“And how do you think I’d kiss you?” He asks, breathless, his thumb focusing on rubbing over your cheek.

“Like you love me.” You whisper, “I think you do, at least.”

The words get stuck in his throat in the way out. He’s quiet long enough that you think he might not have heard you, “I do.”

You blush a little, resting your forehead on his chest so you don’t have to look him in the eyes.

“Hey, Robert?”

“Yes?”

“Can you kiss me please?”

“I don’t think so, not tonight at least. When I kiss you I want it to be you, you fully, you sober.” He mutters.

“Please, Bob?” You ask so softly.

He moves away from you so he can see your face. His eyes seem to be trying to remember all of you, almost like he’s collecting the image of you.

“Not tonight.” He affirms, pulling you closer so you don’t try and argue with him.

He holds you like there’s no greater, more fulfilling job in the world and for the first time all summer you actually sleep well.

————

“You sleep okay, kid?” Bucky asks when he gets out of the shower to find you sitting on the couch in his room, tablet in your hands.

“I’m almost done with those notes you needed, I’ll leave in a minute to pick up everyone’s outfits from the tailors, I can pick up food for everyone before I come home i-“

“Hey, we still have plenty of time before we have to start getting ready, you don’t need to worry this much.” Bucky assures you. His T-shirt straining around his arms as he reaches over to ruffle your hair.

“I was supposed to be up hours ago.”

“And I told Bob to let you sleep.” Bucky affirms and your face falls at the mention of Bob, “are things getting better with the two of you?”

“Things are fine.” You deflect, turning your attention back to the schedules, “I need to get going.”

“Did something happen?” Bucky calls after you as you stand up and head to leave the room.

“Everything’s fine!” You insist, closing his door behind you.

——————

Bob hears your voice, it’s the first thing he’s heard in hours as he laid, sprawled out on his bed, staring at the ceiling.

“Everything’s fine!”

Everything’s fine? He wasn’t fine, he didn’t think you were fine. Perhaps you were just making more effort to hide him away, to hide the past you shared with him from the rest of the team.

He understood why you couldn't bring yourself to show everyone everything, especially when it came to him. He's the one who said he’d never leave, who promised you over and over again that he wouldn’t leave you.

He told you you’d be okay, that he wouldn’t let the problems of your parents turn into your problems, that he’d keep your darkness and your sadness at bay.

But you told him you loved him, that you couldn’t love anyone else.

He wonders if that was the truth. He wonders who knows you like he does, in the ways he does.

He wonders who’s gotten to feel your skin in where his hands once claimed and clinged to you. He wants to know the names of the people you let have you, who else kept his promise in the way he didn’t?

He supposes that if they exist, they made the same mistake he did.

He wonders if he even has a right to feel as upset as he does when he pictures someone else’s mouth ghosting over yours, he loathes this faceless, nameless person in a way that makes no logical sense to him.

“Bob.” A voice says firmly next to him, “are you high?”

John’s staring down at him like he’s grown a third ear.

“Sober as a judge.” Bob sighs, rubbing his eyes and sitting up.

“Good. Are you alright, man?”

John had a hard time when it came to Bob. John was aggressive and almost overly masculine in a way that made Bob nervous, and John knew that. John really hated how Bob acted around him, not because of the way Bob acted necessarily, but because John knew why. John saw why, he knew that every part of Bob was programmed to run at the first sign of confrontation.

So John tried to be softer, nicer, just when it came to Bob, the rest of the team could fuck off.

“I’m okay I’m just-“

“Having girl problems?” John offers and Bob groans, “I uh, I heard you guys earlier, on accident I swear. Just making sure you don’t need someone to talk to about it or anything.”

That makes Bob smile, “you’re not sounding very ‘macho-man’. Keep this up and I might start to think the whole ‘asshole leader wannabe’ thing is an act.”

John sits at bobs desk, “god forbid I check up on my friend.”

“I’m your friend?” Bob asks, his tone laced with doubtful sarcasm.

“Kind of, I think? You like me better than the other guys do.” John shrugs and Bob nods, “do you want to tell me about her? About you and her?”

John wasn’t very good at the emotional conversation thing, but he wanted Bob to think of him as not a total jackass. And Bob appreciates the effort John’s trying to put in, so he decides to put in a little effort too.

“We met when we were teenagers. I was high and she was walking around hours past midnight and she looked- she’s always looked like… that.”

“That?” John asks, his face puzzled but overall interested.

“Just- the way she looks.” Bob stutters, “like- she looks like a moving breathing painting. And when she was a teenager, with her teenage features she looked like a painting of those angels from like a thousand years ago.”

John sits with that for a minute. People don’t speak about other people like that often, at least not as far as John’s aware, “like an angel?”

“I don’t know- I was high when she met me and that’s just all I could think. And we became really good friends like-“ he snaps his fingers, staring past John as all of those images he never let himself linger on for too long played in his mind, “like that. And we both had kind of shitty home lives, her dad was a dick- not like my dad was but still. And now she’s somehow more gorgeous and I'm a ticking time bomb super villain and a recovering addict popping skittles like they’re Percocets.”

“Does she see you that way?” John asks and the question seems simple enough, but Bob couldn’t give a sure answer to him if he wanted to.

“I don’t know.” Bobs throat is dry as he tried to imagine everything you could possibly think of him.

Do you see him as a liability like Valentina does? Do you see him as something that vanishes every time you touch it? Do you hate him in the deep and true way he hated himself? Did you think he was lovely or cruel or honest or… volatile. Something like your father, distant and cold in a way that was almost personal.

Or did you see him like you did when you were fifteen and he was sixteen and you were both so scared of the worlds and lives you had ahead of you?

Or did you see him like he sees you? Like he’s always seen you, like heaven and home and something warm that has the ability to soak through him like his own blood.

Or did you see him as he was now, this broken beaten thing that was half everything he never wanted to be. Did you see him as the killer he felt he was? This thing he’d become against his will, the only thing he could see of himself late at night as slept fitfully. Did you see the wounded animal that he felt could snap any minute?

“I can find out for you if you’d like.” John offers and Bob responds with a perplexed look, “the tailor needs to fix some things on my outfit for tonight so I’m going to the tailors with her.”

“You don’t have to do that.” Bob responds.

John starts replying but he’s cut off by you yelling from the hallway, “Walker, I will leave without you!”

“She sounds mad.” John notes and Bob hides his head in his hands, “I’m sure it’s fine. I’ll uh- ill see you later.”

——————

“So,” John started on the way home from the tailors.

“What John?” You sigh.

“Geez, what’s up with you today, sweetheart?”

“Don’t call me that.” You bit your words as you spoke.

“Noted. Something wrong?”

“Everything’s fine, Walker. Something wrong with you? You’re being weird.” John curses mentally.

“Nothing, everyone just seems kind of on edge today.”

“I’m not on edge.” You lie, blatantly.

“I heard you fighting with Bob this morning. He must have done something really fucked up because otherwise it’d be like kicking a puppy.” John states and the guilt that’s been eating you from the inside all day intensifies to an almost unbearable degree.

“Can you shut the fuck up?” You snap and John gets visibly startled.

“Roger.” He mutters.

—————————

It’s been three days and Buckys only interacted with you via email.

You email him his schedule, addresses of places to be and details of meetings and nothing else. You don’t answer his texts asking if you’d like to eat, you don’t answer when he asks if you’re okay. You don’t respond when he knocks on your bedroom door, he’s tried to open it multiple times and it’s almost like it’s barricaded.

He still leaves breakfast at your door and lets you know it’s there and he checks every hour and the plate always stays there, full until dinner when he takes it back into the kitchen and disposes of it.

After two more days he asks the rest of the team if they’ve seen you or spoken to you and everyone answers with a resounding no.

Ava phases through the wall once to move the chair so Bucky could at least sit with you but as soon as Ava phases back through the wall you put the chair back.

Ava tried to comfort Bucky by telling him that she saw snacks on the bed and floor but it didn’t ease anything within him.

He avoids approaching Bob until the worry consumes him.

“We had an argument but I don't think it would trigger her like this.”

“What do you mean trigger?” Bucky asks him intensely, like it’s an interrogation.

“I don’t think she’d want me talking about this-“

“Bob tell me what’s going on.” Bucky snaps and Bob damn near jumps out of his skin.

Bucky will feel bad about it later.

“She- she has like mental issues- kind of like mine but different, her lows are different, they’re more debilitating or maybe I've just been too high during mine to- She doesn’t treat it with drugs or alcohol like I do because she says that makes it worse. she just- she just lets it- just lets it take her, or she can’t help it really- She barely eats, she stops speaking or showering or moving. I thought you knew about it, you’ve known her longer and more recently than I have. I thought her mom would at least tell you.”

“What about her mom, can she fix it, can she make her better? Can she make her eat?” Bucky insists.

Bucky's aggression makes Bob visibly shake but at the same time Bob is struck with such a fondness for Bucky's affection towards you. He appreciates bucky's concern with you more than he can express.

“I don’t know. I used to be able to help but I don’t think I’d be much help now. I’m sorry I just- I really just don’t know how to help. I’d love to be able to.”

“Can you try?” Bucky presses and Bob nods instinctually. Bucky drags him to your door, “try. Please.”

“Can’t you just like super strength and kick the door down?”

“I don’t want to scare her or invade her space. Ava says she has snacks so she won’t die but she won’t talk to me.” Buckys jaw is set as he stares at the door like it’s a puzzle he has to figure out.

“Hey, angel?” No response, “can you tell me what’s going on?” No response.

“Ask if she’ll open the door or just move the chair.”

“Can you open the door? You don’t have to talk or anything just- just open the door for me, angel.”

More silence.

“Are you sure she’s in there?” Bob asks Bucky.

“The lights turn on and off every couple hours.” Bucky mutters, his gaze trained on the doorknob, waiting for something, anything.

“Come on. I’ll bring you something to eat. You won’t have to move after you open the door, I promise.” The concern Bob had been keeping at bay was beginning to spill over, “open the door or I’ll find some way to get it open. Come on.”

Bucky and Bob sit there for a while and the light that was shining from under the door turns off and Bucky exhales in a deep, tired way.

“You have a mission tomorrow.” Bob says and Bucky grunts to acknowledge him, “go get some sleep, Buck. I’ll sit with her until she lets me feed her.”

Bucky wants to fight him in it but his body feels so heavy and dull. After some more insisting from Bob Bucky goes to bed, his bedroom door cracked to listen just in case.

Bob waits to hear his bathroom door close, and then he waits for a minute longer before he utilizes the super strength everyone forgets he has and pushes down on the door knob to break it and push the other side of it through so it falls off on the other side. He then kicks the door where the latch is and it splinters through the door frame. He pushes the door open and then pushes the chair back to close it.

You’re laid in your bed, ignoring him and the noise completely. He turns on the bedside lamp and watches as you keep still.

“You’re awake, angel.”

Bob gives up on the pipe dream of you speaking to him when you’re like this. He sits on your bed and looks around the room. There are paintings on your floor, propped up against the wall, and food wrappers. That’s the only evidence in the room of you moving or existing in this space.

The bathroom door is open and the bathroom is clean. The door to the closet is closed.

“Have you showered?”

He moves the blanket and is faced with your body, arms and legs covered in paint. Which answers his question. He puts the blanket back and cards his fingers through your hair like you used to like.

“Have you been sleeping at all today?” He asks, you’re still looking past him, “do you wanna go to sleep now?”

You don’t respond, you don’t answer him or look at him or acknowledge his existence anymore. It’s as if him asking gives you permission to close your eyes.

He sits and waits until your breathing evens out, it takes a lot longer than normal, but that was normal when you were like this. You once told Bob that when it happened your brain wouldn’t stop, it would go and go and go until it crashed.

he moves to look at the paintings. A few of them were just collections of shapes and colors, others were almost like pictures. A boy smoking on a swingset, his face blurry, someone’s jaw line with pink and purple marks decorating it, lips held together in a kiss, jaws held by hands that stay there in that moment. And then there are photos, reference he thinks at first but he’s wrong.

They’re baby pictures, your mom sitting pensively behind you and your father as he plays with you, your dad holding you with one arm, looking at the camera like the picture startled him.

Bob had never seen your mom before. Not in pictures or anything. Your father had gotten rid of every reminder of her in that house except for you.

——————

When you wake up your limbs no longer feel like rubber, your jaw unhinges easily and your brain isn’t as foggy.

You were still exhausted but you had to eat a snack or something before it started again so you sat up. And that’s when you see the door. The doorframe in pieces and the doorknob sitting on the floor.

And then he moves behind you and you jump out of your skin, you’re surprised to find him in a tank top, his arms on display in a way you didn’t even know they could be “when the hell did you get here? What did you do to my door?”

“You’re talking.” He says incredulously, getting up quickly and running into the hallway and checking Bucky's room, “don’t go back, give us like an hour!”

You wanted to laugh, you missed how he was like this. You missed how he could be funny, you forgot he could be funny.

But your joints feel like they need to be WD-40’d and your neck feels like it’s carrying weight it wasn’t carrying before and your mouth is so dry. You feel like the tin man. No heart and you have to oil your joints after you’re stuck still for too long.

Bucky bursts into the room like he was just told you cut off your leg.

“Hi?” Your voice is laced with gravel.

“What the fuck happened to the door?” Bucky exclaims, examining the damage done to the doorframe.

“Desperate times.” Bob shrugs, handing you a water battle, “while she’s here why don’t you make something for her to eat, something filling with protein, quickly? Please.”

Bucky looks between you and Bob for a second, “how did you break the…”

“Sentry serum, buck, go, food, now- ple-please.”

“Oh- yeah- be right back!” Bucky basically runs away.

Bob knows that right now, the tired smile you give as Bucky runs to the kitchen like he needs to diffuse a bomb, is basically roaring laughter.

“How’re you feeling?” He asks you and everything softens.

“I was so mean to you.”

“Drink your water.” Bob mumbles, sitting next to you on the bed, “how do- how do your bones feel?”

“I-“ you start, holding up the water bottle, “I think I need help.”

Bob opens the water bottle with ease that infuriates you.

“You destroyed the door frame?” You ask him, taking a drink of water that feels like the kiss of life.

“It- I just- I don’t like it when you’re alone when you get like that.” Bob shrugs.

“So you broke into my room? How are you even strong enough to do that?”

“Sentry serum.” He says again.

“What does that even mean? What does ‘sentry serum’ do?” You lay back against your pillows, looking at him with a kind of affection that makes you almost feel okay.

“Well they said it’s supposed to make me better, but so far all it’s done is given me a very nice friend that lives with me at all times. In my head, 24/7.”

“Does the serum have anything to do with uh, that.”

“What do you mean? What?” He says, looking at himself.

“You- you look different.” Your eyes scan over the lines of his collarbones and chest and his arms- god his arms, you’re trying not to look like you’re ogling but you almost can’t help it.

“Oh, uh, this. Yeah the serum um, the serum gave me a leg up in that department.”

“You look good. Really good.”

“Oh uh, thanks.” His face turns pink and suddenly he doesn’t look so different anymore, “are you still feeling okay?”

“I feel a little better. Still feel kind of… foggy, still feel like shit.”

“Do you think you’ll uh- do you think you’ll go again?” Bob asks, playing with the threads on your comforter.

“I don’t know. I keep thinking it’ll end but then I think too hard and everything just… goes.”

“I’ll stay with you.” Bob says quickly, automatically.

“You don’t have to.” You say, just as quickly, just as automatically.

“I want to. I told you I would st-“

“Food!” Bucky calls as he walks in, huge plate of food in hand and a bottle of orange juice, “eat, do you need anything else? Are you feeling okay?”

“I’m okay, Bobs gonna stay with me, you have a meeting with some of the publicity people and then you have to leave for a mission.”

Bucky looks like he’d rather eat drywall than go to the meeting with the publicity people.

“Are you sure you’ll be alright?” He asks.

“Robert will be here. I’ll be okay.”

Bucky looks at Bob and then back to you. He puts his hand on top of your head to lean it back and plants a kiss on your forehead.

“If anything happens to her while you’re here-“

“I die, I die bad. I know.” Bob responds.

“You bet your ass.” Bucky mumbles, leaving the room, reaching for the door knob as he leaves only to turn back to Bob with a pointed look.

After he goes you smile at Bob, “I think he might kill you just for the hell of it.”

“Eat your food.”

“Bacon?” You offer.

“It’s Your food.” Bob says, yet he eyes the piece you hold out to him.

“You’ve been here with me all night. You’ve gotta be hungry.” It doesn’t take much for Bob to give in.

“Come here, you’re so far away.”

“I am literally in bed with you.” Bob laughs.

“Be in bed closer?”

The look on Bob's face could end wars, could end war period.

“T-take me to dinner first.” Bob stutters.

“Right here.” You hold up your plate.

He’s next to you in a second, and the way his muscles flex as he reaches over to pull himself up next to you is definitely something. He grabs another piece of bacon and sits with his back against the headboard.

“I’m sorry I reacted that way.”

“It’s okay, I understand why you did.” Bob admits.

“You do?”

“I told you- I told you I would never go and then I did. I could understand how you’d be nervous about me. I could understand how you wouldn’t believe me when I said it a-“

“I believe you, Robert.” He looks at you with equal parts confusion and a strange faraway emotion that is something like awe and disbelief.

“Yeah?”

You nod your head, “yeah. You’re my friend. I- I trust you.”

What really surprised you is that you weren’t lying. Something in you told you to trust him, something primitive and for the first time since you were seventeen, you let yourself be naive.

—————

Your mind was racing, replaying the argument over and over in your head. You didn’t know why he was acting the way he was. Bobs watching you carefully, he’s been watching you like this for months, like he is waiting for you to detonate.

“You’re doing it again, Robert.” You say from behind your book, some collection of poems written by someone bob’s never heard of before.

“Sorry.” He mumbles but he keeps looking at you.

“I’m okay.” You assure him.

“I know. You just seemed really upset when I got here.”

“I was, I- I am.” You sigh, putting your book down.

“Do you want to talk about it?” Bob asks and you want to say no. you want to say it isn’t a big deal and it doesn’t affect you all that bad. You want to be able to say that you don’t stay awake at night staring at the ceiling combing through your childhood wondering what happened.

But you do. You stare at your ceiling while he’s asleep on your chest or when you’re caged in his arms and you just wonder what changed and why.

When you were little your dad was attentive and loving and hated going to work because it was time away from you and your mom. And then you got bigger and it was just like one day he loved you an insufferable amount and the next he still loved you but he couldn’t look at you for too long, couldn’t be around you or breathe the same air as you without having to leave.

“I don’t know what I did.” You mumble.

“What do you mean?” Bob says, turning over so he’s not on his stomach anymore.

“I just- he loved me and now he doesn’t and I keep trying to figure out why that is.”

“I’m sure he still loves you. I mean, he’s distant but he’s- he makes sure the fridge is stocked with the snacks he knows you like, he buys new dvds for you, he buys you books.” Bob shrugs.

“And he leaves them by the front door because he gets home and then leaves so he doesn’t have to see my face.” You sniffle.

Bob reaches over and draws circles on your arm, trying to comfort you.

“And then when I go, when I stop he’s in the room with me, I know he is, he sits in the doorway until I fall asleep, but he doesn’t try and help me, he puts water by me so when I come back it’s there but he won’t look at me when I can see him and I don’t know why. I don’t know what happened. I was something so precious and sweet to him and then one day it all just stopped.” You lean closer into him and he holds your head to his chest, “he stopped going to family events or taking me to church with him.”

“You’re Christian?” Bob asks.

“My dads family is Christian. He grew up Christian. He still goes on holidays. Like all of the Christian holidays but he doesn’t bring me with him.”

“Do you believe in god?” Bob asks.

“I don’t know. I did when I was little, I believed in him like I believed in fairies and mermaids and fairy tales and princes, knights in shining armor. But as I got older I just didn’t get it. It didn’t click for me.” Your arms wrap around his waist and you bury your face in his chest, “what about you?”

“I think I did when I was a kid kind of, but then I would uh, I would pray for my dad to not be so- so mad all the time. He sucked but he was my dad so I wanted him to be happy and I prayed for a couple years and nothing happened so I uh- I gave up.” Bob's chin rests on top of your head, his fingers lightly skimming over your back.

“We make quite a pair don’t we?” You breath into the softness of his T-shirt. He chuckles into your hair, closing his eyes to live with the smell of you and the sensation of your body searching for warmth and purpose with his.

“Do you think we’ll be better than them?”

“Our dads?” You inquire and he sighs.

“Or our moms.”

“I don’t know. I hope I’m better than my dad, I hope I’m built stronger than my mother.”

Bob's hands move from your back to your waist, holding you there as he pushes you away by your hips, to look you in the eye “I think you will be. I think you’ll be the strongest person.”

“That’s impossible.” You smile, your hand reaching up to trace his jaw, enjoying the firm feeling of his hands on you, “because you’re the strongest person I’ve ever met.”

“I don’t believe that, I think there are a lot of things that make me weak.” His hand rubs lightly from your waist to your hip.

“Drugs, alcohol, um, I cry a lot. And then um, well then there’s you.” He mumbles, his hands drifting from your eyes to your lips.

“What do you mean?” You ask, cradling his face in your hand like he’s delicate.

“I mean that you could tell me to do anything and I’d do it. Just name it, I’d die in any number of ways just because you said please, I’d- I’d live, die, kill for you.” His voice has gotten lower, almost whispering like he’s not supposed to be saying any of this.

You blink up at him for a minute, “so if I ask you to kiss me, please? What would-“

He engulfs you, his lips over yours, his face and body over you in barely even a second. You make a sort of surprised awestruck noise and it breaks something in him. He moans against your lips as you pull him closer to you, your hands traveling from his face to his neck and shoulders and chest.

He pulls away and you chase him, barely giving him any time to breathe. He presses a firm hand to the center of your chest and pulls away, nudging his nose against yours as he breathed, “you’re gonna kill me.” He mumbles, lips brushing yours lightly as he spoke, “and fuck how happy I’d be to die.”

You laugh against his lips, “well I wouldn’t be too happy to kill you.”

“I-I’d make it worth it.”

“How?” You smile and he thinks for a minute, staying quiet, “how would you make your loss up to me?”

His lips are back on yours before the last word leaves your lips, his hands all over you in all of the ways that count, His lips following them as if he’d thought about what trail he’d take over your body countless times before.

His hands creeped under your shirt just to feel your skin, they didn’t travel any higher than the top of you stomach, barely brushing the underside of your breasts.

“I love you.” He hummed against your shoulder, “in a way I can’t quite control, everything- god your skin tastes like heaven, everything I do is done to- fuck are you sure you aren’t an actual angel?” You laugh, hands in his hair as his lips finally brush the skin of your stomach, “I do everything for you, I’d do anything for you.”

The words lit a fire in your chest, feeling something so sacred in the moment that you couldn’t reply to any of the things he was telling you.

Not when your shirt finally came off, not when he left a mark just under your left boob, nothing he said could permeate through the fog you felt in your brain.

And then his shirt came off and he was a canvas of scars and skin stretched over bone.

The air hit your lungs then in a way it never had before in your life. You sat up then, peppering his chest with featherlight kisses. He closed his eyes then, staring at the sky in reverence.

Your fingers skimmed over his waist where you knew he was ticklish and he jumped, a laugh bubbling from his chest as you smiled up at him.

“That was unnecessary.” He murmurs as he brings your lips back together again. His lips moves to your neck and he gives you a raspberry. Laughing when you jump away from him, squealing.

“And that wasn’t?” You respond, coming back to him immediately, like a magnet.

“Can I please take everything else off of you?” He pleads against your skin.

“Please? Yours too, please, Robert.” You gasped into his hair.

With every ‘please” you uttered he slipped into a hunger addled state where he couldn't comprehend anything but skin on skin.

His fingers traveling through you, feeling you in ways you don’t remember ever feeling felt.

“Fuck, you’re so good. Everything about you is so- so good. my angel.” He says it with a sort of sacred possession, and you feel his words everywhere.

“Have you done this before?” You hum against him.

“No. I-is that okay? Are you okay?” He sighs against you.

“I’m okay, you- fuck I missed you.” He understood what you meant then, he knew what those words meant in the same way he knew how you liked to be kissed and touched and loved.

You felt every sensation so much and so clearly. It didn’t take long for him to make you come undone.

“You’re so sweet.” He mumbled against your lips, “you feel okay?”

“I feel- fuck, yeah. Yeah I’m okay.”

“Do you want to stop here?” Bob asks you, looking at you in a way that makes you feel like you’re the only thing he can see.

“We can keep going.” You nod.

“Yeah?” He smiles, relief painting over his perfect face.

So you did, your bodies met and held each other together. And it was perfect, it felt perfect.

“You feel so good, you’re doing so good.” Bob muttered against you and something clicked into place. And everything stopped.

‘You’re doing so good.’

The room smelt damp, the air around you felt warm and uncomfortable and wrong and you felt hands where they weren’t meant to be.

“Robert-“ you choked, “Robert stop, please.”

“What’s wrong angel? What happened?” You were crying, he didn’t know why you were crying. His hands held onto your face with such honesty and pure intent it made you sick.

You felt sick, “I need my shirt.”

Bob grabs his shirt and puts your head through it, looking for your underwear and putting his boxers back on while he tries to calm you down.

“Are you okay? Did I hurt you?” He asks softly.

“Something happened I don’t- I’m sorry I don’t know wh- I don’t remember.” You’re crying hard, hiccuping and failing to breathe in air.

“You didn’t do anything wrong, angel.” Bob assures you, “I just need to know what’s going on, can you tell me what’s happening?”

“I don’t know, I-i don’t know. Something happened, I don’t know what happened.”

“That’s okay, you don’t have to know.” His hand rests on the back of your neck, kisses being planted on your forehead and hands rubbing the tops of your arms.

You calmed down after a while of the both of you sitting in silence and wrapped your arms around his waist, resting your head on his chest.

“I’m sorry.” Your voice is hollow, stripped of the panic and riddled with the exhaustion you now felt.

“Why’re you sorry, angel?” Bob mutters against the top of your head.

“I ruined it. I-I didn’t mean t-“

“No. It’s not your fault.”

“I really do love you.” You assure him.

“I believe you. I love you too.” He smiles, “you’ll be alright. We will move at your pace. Always. For as long as you need.” He gets up and starts getting dressed.

“Can you stay with me?” You quietly plead.

“Of course. I’m right here.”

He settles into bed with you, his lips settling on your forehead and his hands rubbing faint circles on your back.

————

Pt 3

Tag list: @my-name-is-baby @chimchoom

[immedealwithit9855]

Which Turtle Likes What...?

I don't even have to mention how much these guys make us swoon. I got this from a star and I decided to give it a try.

What'll it be? Do these turtles like thighs, legs, booty, boobs? Do they like it all? Maybe even a hidden fetish we weren't expecting🤷🏾‍♀️🫢🤭

Lemme tell you what I think.....

🧡MICHAELANGELO🧡

He'd love it all but his go to is them knocks. He's the cuddly type, usually they like something they can sink their faces into to feel secure and comfortable. A feeling a pillow could never match up to. I can picture this dude snuggling into your knocks like it's nobody's business. He will squeeze, kiss, caress, whatever he can do to savor the feeling of comfortability. Maybe even fall asleep. Knowing you're allowing a creature as unique as him to do such things to you, makes him feel another sense of home and acceptance.

❤️RAPHAEL❤️

Whoo Buddy. This one🥵. My Man! Booty man, hands down. Imagine him and you havin' ya time, he takes little bites outta that donk like it was the greasiest burger on the planet. However, I also believe he'd like them thighs. Imagine his face between them legs, kissing those thighs like it was his first love. Then he nips you! I can see him tappin' that everytime you walk by. In private and in front of his brothers. He'd enjoy massaging your thighs so much, that you'd probably have to tell him to stop and take a break. His response: going for that booty. *Smack.* Your entire body will quake at the intensity of this dude's hands. Believe that!

Also, I think he'd have a thing for feet because from looking at his room (somehow having the top bunk), theres a small collection of shoes dangling. We all know he don't wear shoes. Makes ya think🤭🤔

💙LEONARDO💙

This overbearing yet caring turtle is a perfectionist to the T. If I got this right, form is everything. When it comes to the female form however, I think he'd be fixated on the legs. If you're fit, got good form, carrying yourself well, he'll be hooked. If you were to put your legs on his lap, he'd keep it together but throb on the inside with how well toned your legs are. Running his calloused hands over your skin would likely send him through the roof. He may even put himself in the Hashi for allowing his mind to drift off into temptations. Overall, he seems to be a leg guy.

💜DONATELLO💜

This over 6ft tall bag of (use your imagination) is tricky. I get the vibe that he's a boob and booty type. Isn't it a nerd's dream come true to feel the breasts of a real human woman? The female body intrigues him. Wanting to explore every crease, curve, and corner. Hes either in that chair or standing up in the garage. All ya gotta do is waltz that booty to him, sit on his lap and watch his stress disappear. Lap dances will likely make him faint. Poor thing can only handle so much of a certain something (while working). As far as the boobs go, you may as well grab the napkins. (Not for that, gotcha😂). He'll stare for a few moments, then start drooling. Ew. But hey, he likes what he sees.🤷🏾‍♀️

[redsrooftopprincess]

hey so how do you think Mikey’s brothers would deal with him being the first to get a girlfriend and she’s a human one at that. Cuz they clearly never thought any of them would find someone and it’s their baby brother who did the miracle of finding someone? 😂

Hi there! I'm not sure if this is exactly what you're looking for, but you're here so I assume you want my Mikey. Hope this is okay. 😅

Turned Tables

Michaelangelo x gn!Reader

Warnings: Queerphobia

4am and it's last call in The Village.

He's moving swiftly over rooftops, his usual route, a master of speed and momentum, moving through the city like water. He loves it. The rush. The flow. Moving around obstacles like they mean nothing. He is a turtle after all. Water is kind of his jam.

But not tonight. Tonight the heartbeat pounding in his ears has nothing to do with the thrill of movement. Tonight he's wearing his hoodie with the hood up. Tonight they're with him. And if he's spotted, there will be problems.

There have been whispers about suspicious gang movement in the area, and Leo wants to make sure that certain alliances aren't being made. They usually don't come out here. They have designated areas of the city to cover every night. It's smarter to stick to the same areas so that anything out of place will be more noticable. Which means tonight his bros were on his turf, and that scared the shit out of him.

He follows his brothers over storage sheds and HVAC units, keeping an eye out for anything out of place, occasionally glancing down into the streets below, knowing you'll be heading home after the party. Even if he can't say "hi" tonight, it's worth it just to look at you, even if just for a second. You're so damn pretty.

"Hey! Back off, incel!" the shout comes from the street below and he freezes. His brothers manage to get three buildings away before they notice he's missing.

By the time they make it back to the rooftop where he left them behind, he's already put himself, openly, between a group of four drunk bros, and several sparkly queers.

You and your crew had been on your way home from a party. Ironically enough, you'd just been missing your bright-eyed boyfriend, but understood when he said his brother needed the whole team tonight. You knew the score when this whole thing started. Superheroes gotta superhero.

And damn if he doesn't look good doing it.

Hood still up he glares at them, a low growl backing his words, "Wrong neighborhood, my dudes." Mike says evenly.

The look on the drunk bros faces was enough to know they were thinking maybe they'd had too much.

"Fuck it. Not worth it anyway. Fucking queers."

The dude-bros stumble off and Mike turns to face his very relieved friends. "You guys okay?" He says.

"Yes, thank you, papí," says a Drag Queen in red sequins, she walks up and gives him a kiss, leaving red glitter lipstick on his cheek.

"You know I got you, mamí," Mike says brightly, with a wink, making no effort to wipe the lipstick away. At this point they're most likely watching everything from the rooftop, so it didn't matter anymore.

"We missed you at the party," you say with a smile.

His gaze falls on you and his showman smile morphs into something softer. "Hey, Angel."

You look back at your friends.

"Let me guess," says a man wearing gold shorts and matching cuffs/collar, "you'll catch up?"

You grin and they sigh dramatically, teasing you, as they hug Mike goodbye, thanking him and insisting he show up at the next party.

You step forward and grab his mask tails, pulling him down into a kiss. Usually it's enough to melt the tension away. Not tonight. You pull back and look at him curiously before your gaze moves past him and you see black shadows cut out against the light polluted sky. You meet his eyes again and you can see the underlying panic.

"They were gonna to find out eventually," you say, quietly.

He presses his forehead to yours, "I know. I just..." He sighs.

"I know..." You say, touching his face gently. He'd told you about his brothers, and you understand their need for secrecy, you all do. He'd told you if they ever found out, there was a chance they would refuse to let him see you. Keep him from you completely. But there is no way in hell you're letting him go. You'll fight his big bad brothers yourself if you have to. "Go talk to them. Maybe it'll help to know there are people who aren't afraid." You twist the mask's tail around your fingers and tug, pulling him out of his own head, "Do you want me to come with?"

He shakes his head, "I gotta do this alone. Explain some things. But I think you meeting them at this point is unavoidable." he smirks down at you. You've been asking to meet his family. You haven't said anything, but all the sneaking around is starting to get to you.

He's quiet for a few moments, and shifts his weight, stalling. He must be really scared. "Now or never, Sunshine," you say, tugging on his mask tail again. He gives you a nervous smile and kisses you again, sweetly, before walking across the street backwards, just to look at you a little longer.

When he makes it to the alley, he looks at the ladder to the fire escape and sighs. There's a chance this could go well... right?

When he reaches the roof, they're all standing there, staring at him. Mike swallows. "Hey... So yeah, couple things..." He hauls himself over the edge of the building and stands to look up at his eldest brother, arms crossed, waiting. "So... that's Y/N," he says, as if reciting a list, "and those are my friends..." he gestures a bit further, "and -"

"Parties?" Leo's even voice cuts through the air as sharply as the blades on his back.

Mike glances at Donnie and Raph who look at him with a full spectrum of emotion, from betrayal to hope.

"How long has this been going on?"

"Just... A few years."

"Years!?" If Leo had eyebrows, they would have disappeared into his hair... if he also had hair.

"Leo -" Mike tries.

"Years. Parties. For years."

"Leo, if you'd just -"

"People know about us, Mikey. A lot of people. Don't you think that's kind of a big deal? You're putting everyone in danger here. If just one person -"

"Leo they're queer." Mike interrupts solidly. That shut him up. Leo stares at his brother, taken entirely off guard. "If anyone is used to having to hide their and everyone else's identities for fear of literal murder it's them. We protect our people."

"... We?" Raph asks after a moment.

Mikey gives him a look, "I'm a turtle attracted to humans, what would you call it?"

That shut all of them up, and Mike gives them a moment for that paradigm shift.

"Anyway, yeah, I've been doing a quick run through The Village before coming home every night, just to keep an eye on things."

"That's why you've been coming home late? I thought you were just smoking out somewhere." Raph says.

"That's because that's what I wanted you to think," Mike replies. Duh.

"And your friend? How long has that been going on?"

"We're more than friends," Mike shoots back immediately, a fire in his eyes as they meet his eldest brother's. They could come for him, he was used to it. Not you. His brothers eyes widen and they look at each other before landing back on him, "and we've been together for six months, two weeks, and five days," he checks his watch, "Six days. You want the hours, minutes, and seconds or are we done?" He says.

He pushes past Leo, and makes it almost to the edge of the rooftop before hears Donnie speak softly behind him. "... why would you keep this from us?"

Mike sighs, coming to a stop, "Because... I don't know..." He turns around, "I guess I was afraid you'd try and take it away," He looks at Leo almost defiantly. Raph smirks, kinda proud. "Or maybe... that they'd like you more than me." He looks down at you with a sigh, having rejoined your friends. You're laughing. It's his favorite sound in the universe.

Turning around, you catch him watching over you like a guardian angel turtle. You proceed to blow several kisses his way using each hand, before making a heart with them and spinning back around. The last six months have been the best of your life.

Mike can't help but smile, his brothers look on in awe as Michaelangelo's more-than-friend skips on down the sidewalk.

"Look," Mike says, his eyes returning to his brothers, "I'm safe. You're safe. They're safe." He assures, gesturing in each direction in turn, "We're a pretty tight group, and there's a protocol," he looks at Leo pointedly again, "that we follow with new people before anyone even learns I exist. I've saved the sequined ass of just about everybody in this neighborhood. They know me here. We're safe here... ish, obviously."

They're all speechless.

"I don't like this, Mikey." Leo says after a moment.

"You don't have to like it, you just have to accept it," Mike says without any question in his voice.

Leo sighs rubbing his forehead, "Well, at this point I suppose it's too late for damage control." He looks back at Mike, proud and resolute. This Michaelangelo has only made a handful of appearances in their lives, but Leo knew what it meant. He wasn't backing down. This decision had been carefully thought out and every angle considered before it was made. Mikey may play the fool, but he's far from it. A gifted strategist and the best of them at thinking on his feet, if he says it's safe, it is.

Leo sighs again, "Okay," he says, and Mikey can finally breathe again, "but we all need to be in on these protocols, and Don should look over security."

.....

He's just gotten back from his nightly run, and came home smelling like strawberry daiquiris and you... He may have stopped for a minute.

He's just stripping off his gear to hit the shower when Raph appears in his doorway, knocking softly. "Uh hey," he starts, uncomfortable, "You got a sec?"

Mikey tosses one of his hand wraps into the basket in the corner and starts unraveling the other one, a small burst of glitter explodes into the air with the first layer of cloth. Mike snorts and swats it out of the air. "Sure, bro. Sup?"

"I just..." He struggles, looking at the floor, trying to find the words. He's embarrassed he even wants to ask, but he has to know. There's a chance now... A real chance at meeting real people... maybe... maybe even a chance at... "What's it like?" He asks, looking up at Mikey.

"Gonna have to be a bit more specific," his other hand wrap joins the first.

"Yeah. No. Stupid. Sorry," he laughs nervously, shaking his head and looking at the floor. His hands are actually shaking, he clenches them into fists.

"You okay, bro?" Mike asks, changing tone and pausing to look at his older brother, concerned.

"Yeah, I'm fine," he assures, "I, uh..." He sighs and takes a deep breath, psyching himself up. "What's it like... being with someone who isn't scared of you...? Who actually wants you there?" He can't even say the word. He feels stupid for needing to know this damn badly, but he needs to know that it's real. Possible.

A slow smile blooms on Mike's face, his biggest brother would the one to ask. When they played as kids, he's the one that used to ride off into the sunset with the girl. White (well, green) Knight was his default, and a lot of where the anger in him came from as a kid. He had no choice but to live his life watching the world get their happy ever afters, until he died, alone, at the end of a blade. Michaelangelo sees something in Raph's eyes he hasn't seen in a long time. It's faint, and swimming in doubt, but definitely there: Hope.

He takes a breath, crossing his arms over his chest, "Well... It's kinda like..." He pauses, thinking, "Do you remember that old rusted pipe we used to skate on when we were kids?"

"The one that almost killed us? Yeah."

Twelve years old and Donnie had just souped up Mike's board and Raph's skates with some "prototypes." They were supposed to stick to the tunnels near the lair to test them out, but the second they stepped out, Mike made a beeline for the pipe.

The prototypes worked well. Too well. The speed and weight were too much for the rusted metal and it crumbled beneath them, sending them careening down a series of pipes and tunnels with no idea where they were going to end up, or what state they'd be in when they got there.

They skated as best they could, trying to stay on their feet, or even their shells, but everything was moving too fast and there were too many twists and turns. They couldn't keep track of where they were or where they were going, at one point some unidentified substances were involved, and at times it felt as though they would break apart.

When they finally emerged, battered and bruised in an unfamiliar tunnel a little over a mile away, they just sat there for several long moments, stunned.

When they finally met each other's eyes... they lost it. Laughing hysterically with tears streaming down their faces, they could barely feel the sting of cuts or the ache of bruises.

It was terrifying and exhilarating, and at more than one point they thought they were for sure going to die. It had been the most incredible experience of their young lives. They promised only ever to do that once (it 100% should have killed them), but both of them remember, to this day, exactly where that pipe is, just in case they ever want another go.

"It's like that," Mike says, tossing his belt in the corner and walking past Raph to grab a shower.

...

The next evening, before patrol, he receives a visit from a rather concerned looking Donatello. He doesn't bother knocking, but walks into the bedroom and closes the door behind him.

Don spins around to look at him, and raises his hands in a placating gesture. "I'm concerned."

Michaelangelo looks up once he's finished pulling up his shorts. "Okay...?"

"Have you and Y/N had sex? Of any kind, I mean."

"Dude."

"I'm serious," and he meant it. He was wearing his serious face. "Any exchange of fluids beyond kissing?"

Mikey looks at him, Donnie is really, actually worried, and now so is he, "Yeah... why?"

"How often?"

"Dude."

"At least... tell me your wore protection."

"I'm not exactly worried about them getting pregnant, so no."

"Are you worried about them getting regular injections of your DNA?"

This made Mikey pause, why would he... Oh, Gods... He looks up at Donnie, eyes wide and terrified. "Shit, I didn't even think..." He sits down on his pillow pile, thoroughly rocked. His hands cover his face as the possibilities overwhelm him. Mike looks up at his brother with pleading eyes, "are they gonna be okay...? They're gonna be okay, right?"

"I don't know... but I'm going to need a few hair follicles for testing."

"Done," he says quickly, snatching a small baggie from his nightstand and shoving it in his pocket.

Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. I really am a fucking idiot.

Michaelangelo throws on his gear as fast as he can, booking it out of the lair.

He's back in less that 45 minutes

The next few hours are spent with him panic pacing, while Donnie is running tests. Finally, he straightens from over the microscope, one last visual check to confirm what his readouts were saying, and Mike stops, waiting for whatever news comes next.

"Nothing, they're clean. No mutagen detected." Don turns to smile at his brother.

"Fuck, me..." He sighs heavily, breathing hard. The rush of relief makes Michaelangelo so dizzy he has to reach out and catch himself on the wall. Even so, this is definitely something the two of you need to talk about, just in case.

"I'll want to check in periodically, just to make sure it stays that way, but things should be safe enough for now." He pauses and looks uncomfortable for a moment. Emotions are tough for Donnie. They've never made much sense to him, especially when expressing them to others. He knows what they feel like inside his head, but he's never been entirely sure what to do with them. Like he was never given the manual. Even so, he knows that this is important. "Hey, so, um... the probability of something like this happening... one of us actually finding someone, is... Astronomical... Now it’s... slightly less so," he says, thoughtfully, with a soft smile, "so thanks for that."

.....

The eldest of his brothers finally shows up after almost four days. He stands in the open doorway, chagrined, and knocks on the frame.

"Hey, Mike." Leonardo says, taking a few steps into the room.

Michaelangelo looks up from what he's doing and stands, expecting another argument against all of this. He's ready.

"I'd like to apologize."

Okay, he wasn't ready for that.

"I was caught off-guard, and I reacted poorly," he says, "I was worried. I still am. This whole… thing scares the hell out of me. It means there are more pieces on the board, more people to keep safe."

Leo sighs, "It also means that maybe... there can be something more than… this. And I... I don't know if it's worth it yet, the risk, to us or them. I wish I did. This is new... territory for me. I'm used to understanding how things are supposed to work, at least when it comes to us, but this..."

"Hey," Mike says, interrupting Leo's word vomit. Leo tended to keep things pretty close to the vest, even among the five of them, so it didn't happen often, but big things. Important things. Emotional things, could send him spinning out until someone stops him, or he tornados himself into a panic attack.

Leo takes a deep breath, as Mike grins, "How 'bout you let me teach you a couple things, for once."

He smiles back at his youngest brother, chuckling nervously, "Thanks. I would actually really appreciate that." Leo steps further into the room now that things seem settled between them, and pulls a pillow from the pile to sit on, settling in. He dismissed his brothers explanations earlier, he owed it to him to listen now. "So... what are they like?'"

Michaelangelo spends a good amount of time telling him about you, his friends, and how this whole thing got started. By the end, Leo isn't exactly more comfortable about the situation, but he sees the potential, and despite himself, he's just a little excited.

.....

At this point he's pretty sure his brothers are cool with everything. Less cool in one particular case, but he's working on Leo. Michaelangelo's father, however, is an entirely different story.

Leo had told him that morning, after they'd gotten back, and for two days he remained in silent meditation. By the time he emerged on day three, Michaelangelo was afraid to even be in the same room as him.

He knows this is a big deal. He knows his dad has been meditating on his own feelings on the matter and the best way to approach them with his youngest, and this could either go really, really well, or blow up in his face, but if there's one thing he knows about the old rat... he can't be avoided. Not forever.

The fated knock comes on day five.

"Hey," Leo says, "dad wants to talk to you."

Mike takes a deep breath and heads down to his father's room.

"Have a seat, Michaelangelo," he says, gesturing to the empty cushion across from him. There is a low table before him with a chipped pot and two steaming cups of tea.

Mike walks into the room. He doesn't seem mad, but that doesn't mean anything. His dad is great at playing it cool. He sits across from Splinter, nervously.

His father asks for the whole story, and listens patiently as Mikey tells him everything. How saving a drag queen one night led to his being accepted and wanted by a whole group of people. Friends that have helped him in more ways than he can count. Definitely more ways than he could ever help them. And you. He tells his dad about you. How amazing you are, how kind and patient, and something he hasn't even told you yet: just how stupid in love with you he really is.

It takes hours.

When Mikey is finished, His father is quiet for a long time, processing everything. He'd received some of the story from Leonardo, and was fitting the new information into the appropriate places, while carefully considering the situation. Mike tries not to panic.

"I'm proud of you, Michaelangelo," he says, finally. Mike's head shoots up from staring into his tea cup to meet his father's eyes.

Okay, what?

"Not only have you done all things possible to ensure the care and safety of both your new friends and our family, but you had the courage to look for something beyond what we know to be safe. You had the courage to try. All that done on your own. And while next time," his father gives him a look, "something like this comes up, I would much rather you come to me first," he pauses to ensure the message sinks in, "I understand why you did not, and you have my deepest apologies for that." The old master bows his head, penitently, across the table.

A half-laugh escapes Mikey, tears of relief stinging his eyes. He was ready to fight for you. In fact, since this whole thing started he's basically been thinking about nothing but what the hell he's going to tell his dad. The last five nights, he's held you a little tighter, a little longer. Not to say goodbye, he'd walk away from them if he had to, if they made him choose. You're too important. But he didn't want to, and now he doesn't have to, and sweet relief pours, fizzing, through his veins

"Really?" Mike asks softly, it wasn't often he got rewarded for disobeying orders, especially when the reward was something this big. You. Holy shit they were letting him keep you. He wipes at his eyes as his father smiles, "I uh... thanks Dad." He says, unsure whether he's laughing or crying.

"I feel as though a new chapter of our lives is beginning, thanks to you," his smile crinkles at the corners of his eyes, "and I look forward to seeing where the tale will take us."

.....

The next morning, Leo, Don, and Raph are sitting around the kitchen table after patrol, when Mike storms in with a purpose.

He slaps a neon green paper down in the middle of the table for the three of them. It's a flyer for a party, happening at Mike's usual spot, tomorrow night.

They look at the flyer, and then each other, before their gazes turn to their father, standing in the doorway with a steaming cup of tea. Four adult turtles, nearly pushing 30, silently begging their dad for permission.

There is a subtle smile under his whiskers as he takes a sip of his tea, "Be back before sunrise," he says, and his smile widens as he sees his children light up with the promise of a new adventure.

They'll panic later, when the reality sets in that they are about to meet a large group of people and they have no idea what they're doing (Leo may already be screaming internally), but for now they're excited, and looking forward to tomorrow.

....

Tag list

@thelaundrybitch @the-cauldron-witch @fyreball66 @ninnosaurus @tmntngl @thegirlwiththeninjaturtletattoos @zagreustomb @ramielll @silverwatergalaxy @gornackeaterofworlds @daedric-sorceress @sophiacloud28 @iridescentflamingo @milykins

[holylulusworld]

Indecent Proposal (8.2)

Summary: Your boyfriend wants to be part of their empire. You are the pawn he’s willing to sacrifice.

Pairing: Mobster!Stucky x fem!Reader

Warnings: angst, language, tension, sexy mobsters, fluff, talk about sex, making out, voyeurism, hand job, blow job, fingering

A/N: A shorter interlude chapter before we get to a little more...plot...

Indecent Proposal (8)

Indecent Proposal masterlist

“Come closer and look at him,” Bucky purrs. “I want you to watch my beautiful husband cum. He looks like Michaelangelo’s David, don’t you think?”

You crawl toward the edge of the bed. Just as promised Steve and Bucky invited you to watch them together. “It’s okay, doll. Bucky wants you to watch him make me feel good.”

Steve watches you slip off the bed to kneel next to Bucky. He wants to teach you how to satisfy his husband in any way. 

“See how hard he is for us?” Bucky dips his head to smirk at you. Your eyes are glassy, and you can’t stop your hand from slipping into your panties. “Steve loves it when you watch me touch him.”

“Does he like a hand job?” You lean closer to Steve to get a good look at his erection. “He’s leaking pre-cum.”

“Steve loves a good hand job. Sometimes we can’t get intimate because we are around too many people. A hand job under the table is always an option.”

Bucky runs his hand slowly up and down Steve’s length. He looks up at Steve, holding his husband’s gaze. “Right, baby. You love feeling my hands on you.”

“Y-es,” Steve hisses as his husband tightens his hand around his length. Bucky gently cradles Steve’s balls, caressing both at the same time. “Bucky is so good to me. Watch him, doll. I want you to watch him.”

You whimper watching Bucky, pleasuring Steve with consistent strokes. He adds some pressure on the bottom of Steve’s cock, making the tall blonde whine for more. 

“That's the most sensitive part to Steve,” Bucky explains. “He loves it when I add pressure there.”

Mesmerized by them you sit on your heels to watch Bucky and Steve. You lick your lips, wishing it was you touching Steve or both.

“Can I?” You look at Steve, silently asking if you are allowed to touch Bucky. “Stroke his cock?”

“Go ahead, doll,” Steve smirks. “Touch him. But don’t make him cum too fast. He enjoys the ride the most. I love edging him.”

“What?” Bucky groans when you grab the lube he used on Steve. You add some on your hand before you carefully wrap it around Bucky’s cock. “Oh, fuck me…Stevie.”

“He’s so big,” you purr and get to work. A hand job is nice, but you go for gold. You duck under Bucky’s arms and lean over his lap to wrap your lips around the tip. 

“Shit…Bucky,” Steve’s eyes darken and he starts panting. Watching you please his husband and Bucky’s hand on his cock are enough to push him over the edge. He shouts his husband’s name when he shoots his load all over your back and Bucky’s face.

You don’t care. While Bucky drops his hand from his husband’s cock, laughing as he came like a horny teen, you start bobbing your head. “Sweetness, what are you doing to me?”

“She tries to suck you off,” Steve points out. “She’s eager to taste you too.”

You smirk around Bucky. He didn’t allow you to go down on him, but you decided the moment Scott fucked you over that you will take control. 

“Doll, we need…shit…baby doll…” Bucky pats your head. “This was meant to be a lecture in intimacy and sharing it.”

“Let her have some fun,” Steve swings his legs out of the bed to kneel behind you. He moves his hand between your legs to shove your panties aside. “Relax, doll. I want to have some fun too.”

Your eyes roll back when Steve rubs your clit. Moaning around Bucky you try to focus on pleasing him, not the feeling of Steve’s fingers running up and down your folds. 

“Aw, is our baby doll wet for us,” Bucky chuckles when you tense. Steve teases your entrance, fingertips slipping inside. “I want you to fuck her with your fingers, Stevie. She’s been such a good girl, and we can’t leave her unsatisfied.”

“No. I want to watch you fuck her,” Steve pushes two thick fingers inside your cunt. “Doll, stop sucking him off. We won’t waste another droplet of cum. Bucky is going to breed this cunt tonight.”

You whimper and whine because you can’t wait to feel his cock inside of you, but don’t want to stop sucking Bucky off. “Doll, listen to Steve.” 

You release Bucky’s cock with a pop and pout. “I wanna suck you off. Why won’t you let me?”

“Baby doll, this is about giving and taking. So far, you mostly gave,” Bucky pats your head. “We want to give you all the pleasure you deserve. You are so stuck in making your partner feel good without getting anything back that you are stuck in old patterns.”

“Bucky can’t wait to get his thick cock inside your perfect pussy,” Steve moves his fingers faster in and out of your slick pussy. “And I can’t wait to watch him destroy your cunt and fill you up. I don’t care if you are fertile tonight or not. This is about making your pussy sing for us.”

“And after I’m done with you, sweetness,” Bucky slaps your left cheek, “Stevie will be ready to fuck your cunt until you can’t walk straight. We will keep you in bed and fulfill all of your dreams and kinks.”

“OH God,” you rock your hips and start fucking yourself on Steve’s fingers. “I want you both…at the same time. Can you cum all over me too? Maybe I can ride your face. Stevie’s thick beard is screaming for my pussy.”

“Did you hear that, baby?” Bucky dips his head to watch Steve finger your pussy. “She wants the full experience.”

“Doll, we got everything you want and more. Now, relax, and let me make you cum. After I’m done, we will breed you and make you ours forever…”

Part 9