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undyingdecay · 24 days ago

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Ughhh Bob with a breeding kink 😓😓😓

Like him just letting go and going all caveman brain about it after begging you to just let him pretend it'll take😖😖😖

bob’s pull-out game is genuinely awful. like, laughably bad.

which is how you ended up insisting on condoms in the first place—not that it ever stopped him. he’d find ways. not in a sleazy, frat-boy kind of way, not with lines like “i’m allergic to latex” or “it doesn’t feel the same”—no, bob’s excuses came soaked in something too sincere, almost sweet, if it weren’t for how calculated it ended up being.

“jus’ wanna be close to you,” he’d murmur, voice all thick and needy from where he lay slotted against you, his whole body tacky with sweat and arousal, a gleaming sheen of it covering every inch of skin like lacquer. his weight always followed—not rough, but whole. he liked collapsing on top of you after he slid in, his arms hooked under yours so he could wrap around your back, chest pressed to yours, breath fanning against your ear as if the closeness wasn’t just desire, but some primal need to merge. be inside and on top and around you all at once.

you never got the chance to argue. half the time the condom was off before you’d even realized he’d unrolled it—pulled off between sleepy kisses and soft “please”s, left sagging and useless somewhere near your hipbone. once, he didn’t even bother pretending. you caught him, right there in the bedroom light, jabbing something—his key? a paperclip?—into a row of condoms like he was testing for weak spots.

“bob,” you’d said flatly, and he blinked up at you, all wide-eyed innocence. like he might lie. like he might not lie.

“…thought i saw air bubbles,” he mumbled. his cheeks flushed. his fingers fidgeted. you knew damn well he was lying. knew it, and still did nothing.

because what were your options? fight? withhold sex? as if that would’ve been possible with the way he looked at you, touched you, moaned so gratefully every time he was inside you, like it healed something. instead, you started taking birth control—not as rebellion, but as quiet damage control.

you didn’t hide it. didn’t even think to mention it. why would you?

then came the morning—early, light still soft and blue through the windows, your legs sore, your thighs sticky with dried cum. bob behind you with one arm around your waist, trailing down the stairs like a sleepy barnacle. he didn’t even try to untangle, just followed, skin warm and clinging as you went through your morning routine.

you grabbed the small bottle of vitamins, handed him two, and he popped them without looking. a routine. natural. his chin rested against your shoulder as you reached for your birth control.

instinctively, he held his hand out again.

you hesitated. glanced at him with a faint smile.

“do you plan on getting pregnant anytime soon?” you teased.

his brows pinched, lips parted just slightly.

“birth control,” you clarified, still smiling.

and just like that, his expression shifted. confusion first. then something deeper—quiet, raw. hurt, maybe. or worse: betrayal.

his arm fell away from your waist.

“…you’re taking that?” he asked, voice low, soft. as if the question pained him to ask.

you turned, brows drawing together. “yeah. i didn’t think—”

“but why?” his voice cracked. “why would you do that?”

you turn toward him fully now, your lower back pressing against the counter edge, cool marble grounding you—but only barely. you can feel the way he watches you, gaze heavy and warm, like it might scorch you if you held it too long. he isn’t mad. not really. there’s no raised voice, no cruelty. just this awful, quiet hurt, like you’d taken something from him he didn’t even know he couldn’t live without.

and maybe you had.

the pill still sits between your fingers, tiny and pale in the soft morning light, like it’s nothing—just 3mg of synthetic hormone—but his eyes are fixed on it like you’re holding a loaded gun.

you open your mouth to explain, to give him something gentle and sane and logical, but the words clog up behind your teeth. the kitchen feels darker now somehow. close and still. like it’s holding its breath for you.

“i’m sorry,” you whisper, the words barely there. you don’t even know what you’re apologizing for. but you mean it. that’s the worst part.

“i—i don’t want you to be upset. i love you. you know i love you. i’d do anything to make this better—”

his voice slices through your chest, quiet but wrecked. “throw it away.”

you blink. “bob—”

“please,” he breathes. “just throw it away. right now. i’ll feel better. i promise. i’ll feel better if you just—just let me—” his voice cracks around the edges, fraying like old thread. “i need to.”

you glance at the counter. at the pill. and you set it down without a word.

he breathes in like he’s just surfaced from under water.

his hands are on you again—gently first, palms warm and reverent at your hips like he’s still afraid you might back away—but you don’t. you let him close the distance, let him slot his body between your legs as he leans in to kiss you, deep and messy and grateful.

“i wanna be inside,” he mumbles against your mouth. “don’t wanna wait. let me… please—let me stay this time.”

you nod, not even realizing you’re nodding until he sighs like it’s relief and drops to his knees.

your sleep shorts are gone in seconds. no teasing, no preamble—just his mouth on you, warm and wet and desperate, tongue working like he’s trying to unravel something inside you, hands wrapped around your thighs like handles, pulling you open as if you owe it to him.

he licks until your legs shake, until your voice breaks, until he’s practically whimpering into your cunt, nose buried so deep you wonder if he can even breathe. when you finally try to push him back—half from overstimulation, half because you need him in you already—he doesn’t budge.

“you taste different when you’re not on the pill,” he murmurs, drunk off it. “sweeter. like your body knows.”

you don’t even know what that means. you don’t care.

“bob—fuck, come on, please?— do it for mommy”

that does it.

he rises like a wave, chest flushed, breath ragged, cock already slick and leaking through his briefs. he tugs them down with a frustrated groan and nearly cries when he presses against your entrance—his forehead drops against your shoulder, his voice high and fragile.

“gonna come so deep,” he moans, sliding in inch by inch. “gonna stay there, i swear—i’ll stay in you. don’t want it to leave.”

your hands thread into his curls, nails dragging at his scalp as he bottoms out. he’s trembling, hips stuttering already before he’s even pulled back. “i’ll be good. i’ll be so good. just wanna give you something—wanna fill you, please, let me—”

the counter digs into your spine. the kitchen lights feel too bright. and still, none of it matters except for him.

he starts fucking you slow at first, rolling his hips up into you like he’s memorizing it—like if he gets the angle just right, your body will take him in and keep him there. his hands grip your thighs, spreading you wider, sweat slick between your bellies, every wet slap echoing too loud in the quiet morning space.

you can feel it when he gets close—when the whining gets louder, the thrusts more erratic. he’s babbling again, forehead pressed against your cheek now, voice ruined.

“make me a dad,” he gasps. “let me—please—fuck, i wanna come in you so bad—wanna give you everything—i’ll stay inside forever if you let me—please—”

you pull him in deeper. his body jerks.

then he’s coming—hard—right against your cervix, crying out into your neck, hips twitching with every desperate pulse of cum spilling into you. you can feel it, hot and thick, pooling where you’re still joined. he doesn’t pull out.

doesn’t even try.

instead, he slumps forward, cock still hard inside you, panting against your throat. “don’t move,” he whispers. “i’ll fuck it in deeper. just—lemme stay here.”

and you do.

you don’t even reach for the pill.

#.ᐟ.ᐟ #robert reynolds #bob reynolds fanfic #bob thunderbolts #robert reynolds x reader #bob reynolds smut #bob reynolds x reader #marvel #robert reynolds smut #thunderbolts #⤷ robert reynolds #thunderbolts*#thunderbolts fanfic #new avengers #afab reader #female reader

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malpractice-morale · 1 year ago

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a good excel sheet is the foundation of everything a good excel sheet is the foundation of everything a good excel sheet is the foundation of everything a good excel sheet is the foundation of everything a good excel sheet is the foundation of everything a good excel sheet is the foundation of everything a good excel sheet is

#it is such a mess help i cannot trust any information in there #that is about 120 rows that need to be manually checked #by navigating university websites to find current contact information #and i need to have it mail-merge ready by tomorrow around noon #help

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holycrowe · 2 years ago

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I'm playing a legacy save with multiple family lines all at once and for some reason one of my Sims has the wedding photos of a totally unrelated family? It's one of my families, this family barely has ANY connections. The only connection is this sim's step son's half sister recently married the son of an old family FRIEND of this couple. So I dunno why she had these. I feel like I'm taking my kid back to a store to fess ho to stealing something.

#sims 4 #tara whyyyyy did you steal this couple's wedding photos #can't wait to eventually merge all the families into a mega family and hage a nega mansion with rows of pics of all the family members

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eimiette · 9 months ago

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late nights

࣪★ ⋆ ˙ ۪ ݁ 𓈒 ── SPENCER REID

SUMMARY: in the quiet moments between solving cases and late night paperwork, you and spencer blur the lines between friendship and something more, navigating the unspoken tension with stolen kisses in dark corners of the bau evidence room. GENRE: smut with plot, idiots in love (again, sorry) CW/TAGS: soft!dom spencer (duh), exhibitionism?, piv sex, oral f!receiving, lots of banter, est!fwb relationship, reader is referred to as a girl, praise asf.

the bullpen was nearly deserted, save for you and spencer reid, who were still chained to your desks, slogging through the seemingly endless pile of paperwork. the hum of the overhead lights and the occasional rustle of paper filled the quiet. everyone else had long since headed home, but you were too stubborn to leave until the job was done—and spencer was, well, spencer.

you glanced over at him, amused by how intensely he was concentrating on his work. his brow was furrowed, and his pen moved quickly over the report, as if he were solving a puzzle instead of filling out the same tedious forms as you. the sight made you smirk.

“hey, genius,” you called out, breaking the silence. “you got a second?”

he didn’t bother looking up. “for you? always,” he replied, his tone so casual it almost sounded sincere.

“great. i need your help in the evidence room,” you continued, stacking up a few files on your desk. “figured you could speed things up with that supercomputer brain of yours.”

he finally looked up, quirking an eyebrow. “and what, exactly, do i get out of this arrangement?”

you grinned. “the satisfaction of knowing you’re contributing to a more organized workspace. and, you know, my eternal gratitude.”

spencer sighed in mock resignation, setting down his pen. “fine. but only because i can’t stand to watch you fumble around in there any longer.”

you laughed as you led him down the hallway. “oh, please. we both know you live for this stuff. reorganizing the evidence room? it’s like christmas came early for you.”

he rolled his eyes, but his lips quirked up in a small smile. “if this is your idea of christmas, remind me not to accept any holiday invitations from you.”

you reached the heavy door of the evidence room and pushed it open, flipping on the overhead light. “i don’t know, i think you’d have fun. nothing like a little chaos to keep you on your toes.”

“or give me a migraine,” spencer muttered, stepping inside and taking in the rows of shelves filled with boxes and files. “alright, what’s the plan?”

“simple,” you said, setting the files down on a metal table in the center of the room. “we’ve got to merge these old case files into the new system. you’re a walking rolodex, so i’m counting on you to make this as painless as possible.”

he shot you a sideways look. “i see. so i’m just here to do all the thinking?”

“you got it,” you replied with a grin. “and i’m here to provide moral support and keep you entertained.”

“lucky me,” he said dryly, but there was a spark of amusement in his eyes as he crouched down to examine the boxes on the lower shelves. “i hope your idea of entertainment is better than your idea of organizing.”

you crouched down beside him, nudging him with your shoulder. “you wound me, reid. i thought we were in this together.”

he snorted softly. “yeah, together in the sense that i’m doing all the work, and you’re supervising.”

“hey, i’m contributing,” you shot back, pulling a box toward you. “i’m providing witty commentary. keeps things interesting.”

he shook his head, but his smile grew. “i’ll give you that. it’s definitely not boring.”

you fell into an easy rhythm, working side by side as you sorted through the files. the banter flowed naturally, the quiet hum of the evidence room providing a backdrop to your back-and-forth. every now and then, you’d catch spencer watching you out of the corner of his eye, and each time, he’d quickly look away, like he’d been caught at something.

at one point, you both reached for the same box at the same time, your hands brushing. you felt a spark of something—maybe it was just static, maybe it was more—and you glanced up to find him looking right at you, closer than you realized.

“careful,” you said with a smirk, your voice dropping to a teasing whisper. “people might think you’re trying to hold my hand.”

he didn’t move his hand away. instead, his eyes held yours, the corner of his mouth lifting. “like what? that i’m trying to be helpful?”

you chuckled. “or that you’re trying to get handsy.”

he smirked. “not sure that’s a compliment”

you scoffed, shaking your head. “it’s not. but you know, you keep this up, and someone’s gonna catch on.”

“maybe,” he replied, his voice low, “but that didn’t stop you last time.”

you rolled your eyes, leaning in slightly. “last time, we were off the clock. think you can pull this off at work?”

reid's eyes hung low,“i’m a fan of multitasking. besides, you always say i need to get out of my comfort zone.”

you gave him a playful smirk, leaning in closer. “is that what you’re calling this? because it feels more like you’re trying to test your luck.”

reid’s eyes widened, feigning innocence. “i’m just here to help you with the evidence. if you’re reading anything more into it, that’s all on you.”

you raised an eyebrow and he let out a soft chuckle, his hand lightly brushing your arm. “i promise, i’m just focused on finding those files. though if you think my intentions are less than professional, well, maybe you’re the one with a wild imagination.”

you let your hand trail lightly along his chest, raising an eyebrow. “oh, i’m sure you’re ‘focused,’ but i don’t think it’s on the evidence files.”

reid’s smile widened, his gaze dropping to where your hand rested. “noticed, did you? guess i can’t help but be a little distracted when you’re this close.”

you held your breath as reid gently brushed a strand of hair behind your ear, his fingers lingering to cup your cheek. the touch was soft, but the way he looked at you made your pulse quicken.

“you know,” he began, his voice low and earnest, “i’ve been thinking about you all night. can’t seem to focus on anything else.”

you raised an eyebrow, intrigued. “oh? and why’s that?”

he let his fingers trail gently down from your cheek to your waist, his touch making you shiver slightly. “partly because you’re wearing that skirt. it’s just... distracting.”

you felt a jolt at his touch, his fingers brushing lightly under the hem of your shirt. “distracting, huh? how so?”

reid’s gaze dropped to where his hand rested on your waist, his fingers barely grazing your skin. “every time i tried to work, all i could think about was how you looked—how you’ve been driving me fucking insane since you walked in.”

his fingers trailed lightly under the bottom of your shirt, his touch gentle and deliberate. you held your breath, feeling the heat of his hand against your skin.

“you’re making it really hard to stay professional,” he continued, his voice low and husky. “i keep imagining what it’d be like if you were closer, if i could...”

you felt a rush of warmth at his words and his touch. “and what if i don’t mind a little distraction?”

reid’s eyes flickered with a mix of desire and appreciation. “if that’s the case, then i’m more than happy to be distracted.”

without warning, reid’s body pressed against yours, and you could feel the raw heat emanating from him. his lips were soft yet demanding as they captured yours, and your hands instinctively reached up to entangle in his hair. the sensation of his lips moving against yours was electrifying, making your heart race and your skin tingle.

reid's hands found your waist, gripping tightly as he maneuvered you backwards. your back collided with the smooth surface of a nearby desk, papers scattering to the floor unheeded. in one fluid motion, he lifted you onto its edge, positioning himself between your legs. the wood was cool against your flushed skin as reid pressed his body flush against yours.

his lips broke away from your mouth, trailing a searing path along your jawline. you tilted your head back with a soft gasp, granting him better access as he kissed down the column of your throat. his breath was hot against your skin, each exhalation sending tingles of electricity coursing through your body.

reid's voice was low and husky as he murmured against your neck. "you're so pretty," reid whispered, his warm breath sending shivers down your spine. his lips brushed against your skin as he spoke, the sensation igniting sparks of pleasure. "been wanting you all day beautiful."

his hands roamed your body, leaving trails of heat in their wake. you felt yourself responding, a familiar warmth building low in your belly. reid's fingers danced along your curves as he continued murmuring praises and promises.

"’gonna make you feel so good," he purred, nipping gently at your earlobe.

your breath hitched as his words and touch inflamed your desire. you pressed closer, craving more contact. a soft moan escaped your lips as reid's hands found sensitive spots, expertly stoking your arousal.his hands slid up your thighs, pushing your skirt up to expose your bare skin. his fingers dipped under the lace of your panties, tracing tantalizing patterns. he leaned in to kiss you again, capturing your lips in a searing kiss. you could taste the sweetness of the coffee he'd had earlier as his tongue explored your mouth.

with a growl, he tugged at your panties, sliding them down your legs and tossing them aside. the cold metal of the desk against your bare skin made you gasp, but the shock quickly dissipated as reid's fingers found your slick folds. he stroked your clit, eliciting a breathy moan.

your body arched involuntarily as his fingers brought you closer to the edge. "fuck, spence..."

reid smirked, his eyes dark with lust. "god, you're so wet already," he groaned, his voice husky with desire.

he leaned down to kiss you again, swallowing your moans as his fingers continued their maddening rhythm. his other hand cupped your breast, squeezing gently through the fabric of your shirt. you were lost in the sensations, your body moving in sync with reid's.

he broke the kiss, his eyes raking over you hungrily, “"i want to taste you so badly."

without waiting for a response, he knelt before you, spreading your thighs. his lips grazed the sensitive skin of your inner thigh, causing a rush of pleasure. his breath was hot and intoxicating as he worked his way up, teasing you.

“spread your legs baby, that’s it… wider.” his hands slid up your calves, his palms rough against your skin. his fingertips danced along your thighs, sending waves of electricity coursing through you.

his voice was low and commanding, sending shivers down your spine. you obeyed, your knees falling apart, revealing yourself to him.

reid's tongue traced along the crease where your thigh met your hips, teasing you.

“spence…” you whined, arching into him, craving his touch.

his hands slid higher, pushing your skirt further up and exposing your soaked center. he licked his lips, a smirk tugging at the corners of his mouth.

"fuck, baby, you look so good like this." he leaned in, his lips ghosting over your core. "so pretty and wet... so ready for me."

a whimper escaped your throat as his breath washed over you. your hands tangled in his hair, tugging gently, urging him to continue. he complied, his tongue flicking out to trace the outline of your lips. you shuddered at the sensation, your hips bucking involuntarily.

reid's fingers dug into your thighs, holding you in place as he lapped at your center. you moaned, your head falling back against the desk.

"tastes so good," he groaned, his breath hot against your skin.

you rocked your hips, grinding against his mouth, desperate for more friction. he responded, his tongue circling your clit, teasing you.

"spence..." you panted, your voice hoarse.

his eyes flicked up to meet yours, his pupils dilated with lust.

"yes?"

"i need... please..."

"what do you need, baby?"

you bit your lip, struggling to form words.

"please, spence, i need you. i need you inside me. please."

your words sent a visible shudder through him. he pulled back slightly, his eyes dark with desire.

"since you asked so nicely..."

with a groan, he stood, undoing his belt and zipper with frantic urgency. his cock sprang free, hard and aching. you reached for him, wrapping your fingers around his shaft, stroking him slowly. he pressed his lips to yours, capturing your mouth in a heated kiss.

reid's lips never left yours as his hand shifted to his back pocket, smoothly pulling out his wallet. his movements were quick but deliberate, fingers deftly sliding inside to retrieve a condom. as he did, you began unbuttoning his shirt, your fingers working swiftly down the row of buttons, each one exposing more of his skin. his breath hitched slightly at the sensation of your touch, his focus torn between getting the condom and the feel of your hands on him. you could feel his muscles tensing under your fingertips as you pushed his shirt open, and he held the condom up with a small, breathless grin, his eyes locked on yours.

he tore the wrapper open and rolled the condom onto his cock with practiced ease. with a soft moan, he positioned himself between your thighs, his erection pressing against your entrance. you gripped his shoulders, lifting your hips slightly to meet him, impatient and eager.

he pressed his lips to yours, his tongue darting out to taste you. you moaned softly, returning his kiss, your tongues dancing together.

"spence, please."

he nodded, his eyes fluttering shut as he pushed into you.

you gasped at the sensation, your body arching off the desk, desperate for more. he was hot and hard, stretching and filling you, setting every nerve ending on fire. he began to move, slow and steady, his eyes locked on yours.

"you feel so good, pretty girl," he groaned, his voice husky.

he gripped your hips, his fingers digging into your flesh, guiding you as he increased his pace, “"wrap your legs around my waist."

your body complied without thought, locking him into place. the change in angle had you gasping and moaning as the delicious friction sent waves of pleasure coursing through you.

reid's eyes fluttered shut, his head falling forward, his lips brushing against yours. he guided your back to the desk top and held you there, thrusting into you, his pace relentless.

your breath was coming in short, shallow gasps as the pressure built inside you. your fingers dug into his shoulders, anchoring yourself to him as you climbed toward the peak.

"don't close your eyes, baby. look at me."

you forced your eyes open, meeting his gaze, losing yourself in his brown eyes.

"that's it, beautiful. so fucking beautiful," he praised.

he shifted his weight, changing the angle once again, his hips grinding against yours.

the sensation was too much, and you felt yourself tumbling over the edge, your orgasm ripping through you.

spencer buried his face in the crook of your neck, groaning as you clenched around him, milking him. he thrust into you once, twice, and then he was coming, his body shuddering with pleasure.

the two of you collapsed in a sweaty, panting heap, reid's weight pinning you to the desk. you lay there, his heartbeat thudding against yours, his breath hot on your skin.

sitting up from the desk, you felt a gentle, lingering warmth from the moment as you stretched. reid stepped closer, pressing a soft, lingering kiss to the side of your neck, sending a shiver down your spine. his touch was tender but filled with the lingering heat of the encounter.

with a gentle hand, he guided you to your feet, helping you up from the desk. as you stood, your legs trembled slightly. you pulled up your skirt as spencer also redressed. “so,” you teased, nudging his side, “is this where you quote some obscure fucking statistic about how good sex improves cognitive function or something?”

reid chuckled softly, his eyes glinting with that familiar spark of mischief. “actually, studies show that it releases a significant amount of oxytocin, which can enhance bonding and trust. not that you needed an excuse.”

you rolled your eyes, helping him button up his shirt “trust you to turn this into a science lesson. oh my god you might as well give a damn ted talk on the benefits of cuddling?”

“maybe i will,” he replied, his fingers gently massaging your back. “did you know cuddling for 10 minutes releases enough endorphins to improve mood significantly?”

you let out a dramatic sigh, though a smile tugged at your lips. “spencer reid, you are a fucking nerd, and i mean that affectionately. but at least you’re a nerd with good hands.”

he grinned, shifting a little closer. “i’ll take that as a compliment. besides, i think i deserve some credit for that multitasking earlier.”

you laughed, your head resting against his chest. “okay, fine. you did okay. maybe even a little better than okay.”

“a little?” he scoffed, feigning offense. “i think i deserve more than ‘a little better than okay.’”

reid’s expression turned serious, though his eyes were still light and looked at you with affection. “as much as i’d love to bask in compliments, we do have paperwork to finish.”

you sighed, lifting your head to meet his gaze. “i’ll deal with hotch’s scolding in the morning. for now, how about we skip the paperwork and head to my place?” you pouted, pleading with your eyes and held your hands behind your back, feigning innocence as you waited for his response.

reid’s smile softened, clearly charmed by your playful act. “you know, i don’t think i can say no to that.”

you grinned up at him, wrapping your arms around his neck. “this is exactly why you’re my best friend.”

reid smirked, his arms encircling your waist. “glad i’m still in the running for that title.”

he leaned in, pressing a soft, lingering kiss to your forehead before pulling back with a fond glint in his eyes. with a shared laugh, he guided you out of the office. as you both made your way to the parking lot, your giggles echoed in the hallway like a couple of a couple of teenagers sneaking out past dark.

⟢

#spencer reid #spencer reid smut #spencer reid x fem!reader #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid x self insert #spencer reid fanfic #spencer reid fic #spencer reid imagine #criminal minds fanfic #criminal minds smut #criminal minds x reader #˚₊‧꒰ა ☆ ໒꒱ ‧₊˚

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vunblr · 5 months ago

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Toy Soldier (part 6)

Bit by bit, torn apart. We never win, but the battle wages on for toy soldiers.

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Female Reader

Warnings: 18+ only. Angst. Hurt/Comfort. Fluff. Smut. Canon-Typical Violence. Dark Content: Sexual Assault Wounds (Bucky). Depictions of Physical Wounds. Psychological Trauma. Mentions and depictions of Non-Con (both characters as victims).

Summary: She had been the tool Hydra used to keep him operational; he, the weapon manipulated by their tendrils to execute their ambitions. Years after breaking free, fate Sam Wilson brings them together once more. Now, they must navigate the challenges of forging a connection beyond the twisted dynamic that once bound them in the past.

Word Count: 6.7k

Previous Chapter - Masterlist

She barely had time to think before he leaned into the kiss, parting his lips beneath hers in a slow, instinctive movement. Then his hands moved, one curling around her waist, the other pressing firmly against her back, pulling her closer. A low, almost reluctant sound rumbled in his throat, something like relief, or need.

Accepting his invitation, she brushed the tip of her tongue along his upper lip before slowly exploring his mouth. His grip on her tightened, his fingers pressing into her flesh as if trying to merge with her warmth, with her. Another sound tore from his throat, raw and wanting, and-

The sharp crackle of his still-active comm shattered the moment.

"Hey, I don’t want to rush you, but are you two still alive?"

The Team Leader’s voice cut through the air like a gunshot.

Bucky moved before she could react. In an instant, she found herself yanked behind him, his body acting as a solid barrier between her and whatever threat his mind had conjured. His movements were sharp, and precise, and his free hand went straight for a weapon in the tray.

“Bucky,” she said sharply, grabbing his wrist before he could fully grasp the scorpion. She cursed fluently in three languages at that stupid man. Sam must have told him to back off, but clearly, he wasn’t keen on taking suggestions in the field.

Bucky’s breathing was heavy and erratic, and his eyes flicked wildly around the room, assessing, calculating, preparing. His entire body was coiled tight, primed for attack.

“Bucky,” she tried again, softer this time.

Nothing.

She swallowed hard, then made a careful decision. Slowly, she stepped in front of him, deliberately placing a hand over his forearm, feeling the tension thrumming beneath his skin.

“It’s just Smith, the Team Leader,” she murmured, squeezing him lightly.

A flicker of hesitation. A sharp inhale. His pupils were still blown, his pulse hammering beneath her fingers.

“Just Smith,” she repeated, firmer now. Her free hand slid up, resting against his chest, over his pounding heart. “We’re safe.”

A tense beat stretched between them before his shoulders finally slumped, just slightly, and his hand fell limp at his side. He exhaled sharply, blinking as if surfacing from deep water.

Her hands remained on him as she tilted her head, searching for his gaze. “You with me?”

His throat bobbed as he swallowed. He looked at her -really looked at her- and she saw it: the moment the fog began to lift, the moment recognition dawned in his expression.

“…Yeah,” he rasped. “I’m with you.”

She let out a slow breath, relief washing over her. “Good.”

“…We should go,” he muttered, with his voice still rough around the edges, as he turned to pick up his clothes and gear.

“Yeah,” she agreed, stepping back. “Let’s go.”

------

Sam was seated a few rows back, speaking quietly with one of the pilots. He caught sight of her approach and tipped his head toward the seat across from him.

“You good?” he asked, scanning her face with a mix of concern and curiosity.

She hesitated before nodding. “Yeah. Just... exhausted.”

His gaze flicked past her, toward Bucky. “And him?”

She followed his line of sight. “He’s here. Mostly.” A pause. “Thank you, by the way. For keeping the others from barging in.”

Sam gave a slow nod. “Didn’t like it, but I trusted you. Figured if anyone could handle him, it was you.”

A beat of silence stretched between them before she spoke again. “I need to talk to Smith.”

Sam’s expression hardened slightly, but he jerked his chin toward the back of the cabin. “He’s over there.”

------

Smith looked up as she approached, setting down the field report he’d been reviewing. “I assume you’re here to yell at me,” he said dryly.

She crossed her arms. “Tempting.”

A smirk twitched at the corner of his mouth. “Look, I had to check in. I didn’t know what was going on in there.”

“You did know. Sam told you to back off.”

He sighed, running a hand over his face. “I was responsible for everyone out there. I wasn’t about to let two of our strongest assets disappear in the middle of a mission.”

She clenched her jaw but forced herself to let out a slow breath. Fighting about it wouldn’t change anything now.

“I don’t need to remind you,” she said, voice measured, “that when it comes to Bucky, sudden noises and comm interruptions can cost lives. He was barely holding on.”

Smith’s expression sobered. “Noted.”

“Make sure it doesn’t happen again.” With that, she turned and walked away.

-----

Bucky hadn’t moved.

She hesitated for a moment before lowering herself into the seat beside him. He didn’t react, still staring at the metal wall as if it held answers he was trying to decipher.

Her voice was quiet when she spoke. “It would be good if you eat something.”

No response.

She reached into the bag of supplies a medic had left nearby and pulled out a protein bar. “Just a little, your metabolism must be eating you out.” she coaxed gently, placing it in front of him. “You don’t have to finish it. Just a bite.”

His fingers twitched, but he didn’t move to take it.

She exhaled, then leaned her head slightly against his shoulder. “Bucky.”

A long silence stretched between them before finally, his hand lifted.

Not to push her away.

Not to retreat.

But to pick up the bar.

She smiled, just barely. “That’s it.”

-----

The rest of the flight she tried to sleep, to be able to heal or stabilize the wounded at some point. She managed a few restless hours, but every time she stirred awake, she caught a familiar weight on her: Bucky’s gaze, steady, unrelenting, and... disapproving.

She let it pass, starting to check on the crew. When she finally finished tending to the last injured agent, she returned to her seat, exhaling as she pressed her head against the wall. He was still looking at her.

“What is it?” she murmured, cracking one eye open.

He said nothing, just kept watching her, with his unreadable expression.

She sighed, shifting slightly. “You’ve been doing the staring thing,” she tried to joke. “And I think you broke your own record.”

Still, he said nothing.

Her brow furrowed. “Are you mad at me?”

That seemed to snap him out of it. His head turned sharply toward her, and his expression twisted into disbelief. “Why would I be mad at you?”

She shrugged, rubbing at her temple. “You’ve been looking at me like you are.”

He dragged a hand down his face, exhaling sharply through his nose. “I don’t like it,” he muttered.

She blinked. “Don’t like what?”

He gestured vaguely toward her, the frustration evident in his voice. “This. You’re tired, and they’re using you to-”

“They are not them, Bucky,” she cut in, firmly but not harshly. “And they’re not using me. I’m doing my job. These people are comrades.”

His fingers curled against his knee, and his lips pressed into a thin line.

“That’s not the point,” he muttered.

“Then what is the point?” she asked gently.

And that was when it all came spilling out.

He wasn’t used to this, saying things out loud, admitting what was eating at him instead of burying it.

“…You’re drained,” he finally said. “You barely slept. You pushed yourself past your limit again. You think that’s just doing your job?”

She sighed, tilting her head back against the wall. “Bucky-”

“I’ve seen them do this before,” he cut in. “I’ve seen them push you, wring you out ‘til you had nothing left.” His throat bobbed, and his next words were edged. “It’s too fucking familiar.”

Her chest tightened at the weight behind his words. He wasn’t just talking about now. He was talking about then, about the way Hydra had kept her on her feet, forced her to fix and mend, and never stop, not unless they said so.

And now, even if this was different, even if she chose to do this, all he could see was her being used up all over again.

“I get it,” she murmured after a moment. “I do. But this isn’t the same.”

He scoffed under his breath, shaking his head.

She reached out before she could overthink it, resting a hand lightly on his forearm. His vibranium fingers twitched beneath her touch.

“Bucky, this is my choice.”

His gaze flicked to her then, searching, studying.

“Yeah?” he muttered, and something raw cracked in his voice. “And what happens when you push too far?

Her fingers tensed slightly against his arm, but she didn’t look away. “Then I rest. Like anyone else.”

He huffed out a humorless laugh, shaking his head. “Like hell you do.”

She smiled tiredly, squeezing his arm again just once before pulling back. “Then you’ll just have to remind me.”

He sighed, looking away, but he didn’t argue.

Didn’t tell her she was wrong.

-----

She knew he was tired, still on high alert, still wounded, still not entirely himself. That shitty protein bar wouldn’t do anything to keep his body going, and she wasn’t about to let him keep running on fumes.

But telling him to take care of himself never worked, at least, not when it came from concern for him. He’d brush it off, deflect, and act like his body could run on sheer willpower alone.

So, she decided to try something different.

If Bucky wouldn’t rest for his own sake, maybe he would for hers.

She shifted in her seat, letting her posture sag just enough to look drained, tucking her hands into her lap. When she spoke, her voice was quieter, just a little unsteady.

“Bucky…” she hesitated, glancing at him with the softest crease between her brows. “I feel kind of… lightheaded,” she murmured, just loud enough for him to hear.

Bucky’s head snapped toward her again, scanning her face with his sharp gaze, flexing his hands like he was resisting the urge to reach out. “Did you eat enough?” His voice was gruff, edged with concern.

“I did,” she assured him, rubbing her temple for effect. “It’s just… I burned a lot back there, and now that the adrenaline’s wearing off, I feel so tired.” She blinked slowly, letting her lashes flutter as if she could barely keep them open. “I think I just need to lie down for a bit.”

Bucky frowned. “Go. I’ll keep watch.”

She chewed her lip, shaking her head. “I don’t want to go alone.”

His brows drew together, that conflicted look crossing his face again.

“I don’t know,” she murmured, shifting closer, barely touching his arm. “I’d just feel safer if you were there. Just to rest. Please?”

Bucky exhaled through his nose, looking toward the back of the plane. The cargo area had enough space to stretch out, to be out of sight from the others.

She hesitated, then dropped her gaze, playing up the weariness. “Forget it, I shouldn’t have asked-”

“Come on.” His voice was low, resigned.

He stood, already making his way toward the back. She followed, biting back a victorious smile.

When they reached the far end of the cargo bay, she crouched down and tugged at a stack of coarse military blankets folded near the supply crates. Unfolding them, she spread them out on the floor behind a cluster of ammo crates, creating a makeshift resting spot.

Bucky watched her, with his arms crossed and his unreadable expression. “You planning on sleeping on the floor?”

She flopped down onto the blankets with an exaggerated sigh. “I’ve slept in worse places, and there aren’t many options.” she murmured, stretching out. Then, tilting her head up at him, she added softly, “I’d rather not do it alone, though.”

His jaw twitched. His eyes flicked from her to the crates, then back again, like he was assessing whether this was really necessary.

“You did say you’d keep watch,” she reminded him, scooting back slightly to make space. “You can do that just as well from down here.”

For a beat, he didn’t move.

Then, with a sigh of resignation, he knelt down beside her. She barely contained her smile as he stretched out stiffly, moving awkwardly like he didn’t quite know how to do this.

She turned onto her side facing him, resting her head against her arm. The coarse blanket beneath them did little to cushion the hard cargo floor, but she didn’t care. He was still here, still lying down beside her, and that was enough.

“Thank you,” she murmured.

Bucky made a sound in response -gruff, low- but the steady hum of the plane drowned out the words. She wanted to ask him to repeat it, but another idea took hold instead. Something bold, something she hoped would keep him still, keep him resting.

She hesitated, then, carefully, she tried. “Can I hold your hand? Just- just until I fall asleep.”

His eyes cracked open at that, flicking to her face, searching. She could see the hesitation there, the gears turning in his brain.

For a moment, she thought he might refuse.

Then, with a sigh, he shifted slightly, unfurling his vibranium hand from where it rested against his chest. Wordlessly, he extended it toward her, palm up, an offering.

She took it carefully, threading her fingers through his, feeling the cool metal against her skin. He let out a slow breath and closed his hand, in a gentle but firm grasp.

“Better?” he muttered, his voice barely audible over the hum of the plane.

She smiled faintly, brushing her thumb over the intricate grooves of the plating. “Yeah,” she whispered. “Much better.”

Bucky stared at the ceiling of the cargo hold, listening to the rhythm of her breathing as it evened out into sleep. Her fingers were still tangled with his, like she knew he wasn’t quite ready to be let go of yet.

He wasn’t.

She had played him. He knew it. She had manipulated him into lying down, into resting, into staying still when every part of him screamed to keep moving. And damn it, it had worked.

A small, bitter smirk tugged at the corner of his lips. He should’ve seen it coming. He should’ve been the one looking after her. After everything she had been through today, she was the one who needed to be taken care of, not him.

But she had flipped it on him, turned it around, and made herself the reason he was lying here instead of pacing, sharpening a knife, or picking apart everything that had gone wrong. It was a trick, a clever one, and the worst part was that he hadn’t minded.

Because deep down, despite the constant, gnawing instinct to stay on guard, to keep watch, there was a part of him that had wanted this. That had wanted an excuse to stop.

Also, he wanted to bask in this.

His gaze dropped to their joined hands, fingers loosely tangled together. Intimacy was something he had lost long ago, something that had been twisted and stolen from him in ways he still couldn’t fully unravel. And yet, here she was, offering it freely. Not demanding, not expecting, just… holding on.

He knew they’d have to talk when they got back. About what happened to him, about the way he had slipped, about-

His eyes flicked to her lips.

About that.

A muscle twitched in his jaw, and he forced himself to look away. He couldn’t lie to himself. Deep down, he wanted more. More than the comfort of her hand in his, more than the reassurance of her company. The raw violence that had overtaken him when he saw her in danger, the way his entire body had zeroed in on keeping her safe… it wasn’t just duty, instinct, or even friendship. It was something else entirely, something tangled in the mess of their shared past, something he wasn’t sure he was allowed to want.

Because he was so fucking messed up.

And so was she.

Everything about them was tangled in pain and history, in things that shouldn’t have been, in things that were forced upon them. He had no right to want this, to want her. Not after everything. Not after what Hydra made them to each other.

But… she had kissed him.

And when he asked for more, she had given it to him without hesitation.

Bucky swallowed hard, shutting his eyes.

It didn’t matter. Not now. They were exhausted, battered, and raw, and nothing good came from picking apart things like this at 30,000 feet in the air in a crappy military plane full of prying eyes.

-----

At some point, he drifted. The adrenaline, the stress, the wounds, it all took a toll on his body. Lying close to her and sensing the warmth of her body beside him, his brain finally shut down. His breathing evened out, and his muscles uncoiled ever so slightly.

He wasn’t sure how long he’d been out when something stirred him awake, a slow, soothing warmth against his ribs, pulling him from the depths of much-needed rest. His body tensed instinctively, as his mind tried to assess the unfamiliar sensation.

He shifted slightly, furrowing his brow, and then he registered it. Her hands.

Beneath his henley, pressed against bare skin, the warmth of her palms sent a ripple of sensation through his body, not unwelcomed, but startling. His sluggish mind took a second too long to catch up, as the dull ache in his side faded under the touch of something familiar.

“What are you doing?” he heard himself ask, with a rough voice from sleep.

She didn’t even flinch. Didn’t even open her eyes. Just huffed a small breath, still working gently. “I’m not taking advantage of you, if that’s your concern,” she quipped sleepily.

His jaw tightened, caught somewhere between exasperation and something else he wasn’t ready to name.

You’re depleted,” he muttered. “You shouldn’t be wasting-”

“I’ll be fine,” she interrupted, voice thick with exhaustion but firm. “You were still bleeding. I couldn’t ignore it.”

Bucky sighed, pressing back his head against the coarse blanket beneath him. He should argue. Should tell her to stop, to save her strength, to let him deal with it.

But the warmth of her touch was so soothing, pulling the ache from his body in a way no amount of rest ever could. And, selfishly, he didn’t want her to stop.

So instead, he huffed quietly and muttered, “Stubborn woman.”

She hummed, barely awake, slowing her hands as the last traces of her power sealed his wound. “Look who is talking” she murmured, finally letting her palm rest against his side.

Bucky exhaled through his nose, shaking his head. He didn’t dare move, not yet. ----

When they landed, it was agreed that debriefings would start in 24 hours, giving the team some slack to rest and recover. She glanced at Bucky and saw how the exhaustion weighed on his features, how the tension still lingered in his frame, she knew what she have to do.

She bit her lip, unsure how to bring it up. She wanted to check on him, to make sure he’d be okay. But she also -selfishly- didn’t want to be alone after everything. So before she could overthink it, she just blurted out, “Do you wanna come home?”

He snapped his head toward her, fixing his tired gaze on hers. “What?”

“I asked if you want to come to my house,” she repeated, forcing her voice to stay light, and casual, like it was the simplest thing in the world. “You know, the couch is really cozy, better than the floor you sleep on.” She tried for a teasing smile, though her heart was hammering. “I can make us something to eat. Or order in if you’d rather. Then we rest.”

She paused, watching him carefully, and then added, “I can bake you cookies if you like.”

He pressed his tongue against his cheek, looking down, considering. After a moment, he met her gaze again. “I missed your cookies.”

“So?” she half-smiled, tilting her head in encouragement.

He exhaled through his nose like he was debating something internally. Then, with a small, reluctant nod, he accepted.

The thing was, going back to his empty apartment didn’t appeal to him. Not after everything. And beyond that, there was still this lingering urge to check on her, to be near, to make sure she was okay. He didn’t know how to deal with it, didn’t know what to do with what swirled inside him. The fact that she offered, that she wanted him there, made things easier.

“Great!” she said, as she turned, rummaging into one of the crates of equipment. He watched as she pulled out a white t-shirt, a pair of blue sweatpants, and -he blinked- a pair of boxers. She stuffed them into her bag without hesitation.

His brows furrowed slightly. “What-”

She cut him off, waving a hand at his tac gear. “What? You’re entitled to use this, you know? And certainly, you won’t be walking around my house in all that.” She gestured at the reinforced pants, the combat vest, and the weapons still strapped to him.

Bucky scoffed lightly, shaking his head. “You don't think that museum piece of a couch you have can handle it?”

She smirked, slinging the bag over her shoulder. “Nope.”

Then, with a teasing glint in her eye, she added, “And certainly not my nose. You are showering the second we cross the door.”

He huffed a quiet laugh, shaking his head again. “Yeah, well, you don’t smell like roses either.”

She gasped in mock offense, nudging his arm as they started walking. “Excuse you?”

Something in his chest loosened at the way she spoke to him like none of the events of the past few days had changed anything. Like they could still be… this.

Whatever this was.

-----

The second they stepped inside her home, the scent of lavender and something else he could never quite place hit him. It was subtle, woven into the very air, clinging to the blankets draped over the couch, the cushions she always tucked into the corners, the soft fabrics and wooden surfaces that made up her space.

Strangely, it smelled like… home.

His shoulders slumped almost imperceptibly and the tension in his muscles eased, as his body finally registered how utterly drained he was. He had spent so many years in places that smelled sterile, and metallic, like gun oil and blood. Places where he didn’t belong.

But here… here was different.

She dropped her bag near the entrance, stretching her arms over her head with a satisfied sigh. “Alright, Sergeant, shower. Now.”

He huffed a small laugh, shaking his head, but didn’t argue. She was right. He needed it. Probably more than he’d ever admit.

As he toed off his boots, she was already moving toward the kitchen. “I’ll find something for us to eat,” she called over her shoulder. “Go get yourself human again.”

He lingered for a second longer, sweeping his gaze over the familiar space, the way the low lighting softened the cozy room… how her presence filled every corner. Then, he grabbed the spare clothes she had packed for him and headed toward the bathroom.

Maybe, just for tonight, he could let himself settle a little. Just a little.

-----

She was stirring the pot when she heard the soft, almost hesitant steps behind her, on the wooden floor. She didn’t turn, but she could feel him there, lingering in the doorway, freshly showered, the faint scent of her shampoo clinging to his skin.

“Enjoyed the bath?” she asked, keeping her attention on the simmering food.

A low hum was his only response at first, but then he stepped further into the kitchen.

She turned to face him, slightly curving her lips. “I got a mission for you,” she declared, holding up the wooden spoon. “Watch this while I shower.”

His brows furrowed slightly. Then he glanced between her and the pot, warily. “I don’t think that’s a good idea. What if I mess it up?” he asked, eyeing the bubbling mixture with suspicion. “What if it burns? What if-”

“It’s chicken and rice, Bucky, not rocket science,” she interrupted, amused but patient. “You just need to stir it twice every five minutes. That’s all.”

He still didn’t look convinced. He hovered his fingers uncertainly before wrapping around the spoon, as if expecting it to fight back.

She smirked. “You look like I just asked you to disarm a bomb.”

“Feels like it,” he muttered.

“It’s the twenty-first century,” she stepped past him. “Men cook too, you know.”

He let out a slow breath, slightly adjusting his grip on the spoon. “Two times every five minutes?”

She grinned. “That’s the spirit.”

----

Steam curled around her, as the warm water cascaded over her tense shoulders, but it did little to ease the knot of guilt lodged deep in her chest. She braced her hands against the cool tile, letting the spray hit the back of her neck as her thoughts assaulted her.

Bucky had regressed. Hydra had buried that part of him so deep that even now, after years of freedom, it still lurked beneath the surface, waiting for the right trigger. And she… she had been that trigger.

Her stomach twisted. He had gotten hurt because of her. And not just physically. She needed to talk to him about that. To make him understand that he didn’t have to go to such extremes for her. That she didn’t want him to. She wasn’t his mission. She was his friend.

But then, there was the kiss.

She pressed her forehead against the tile, squeezing her eyes shut as heat flooded her cheeks. It had been hesitant, cautious, born of raw feelings and lingering adrenaline. But it had happened. And then… he had asked for more.

What now?

Did he regret it? Had it been just a momentary lapse, a fragile thing that couldn’t survive outside the chaos of the mission? Maybe he wanted to forget it happened. Maybe he needed to. To go back to the easy understanding they had before, without the weight of something new tilting the fragile balance between them.

She exhaled sharply. If that was the case, she wouldn’t push. The last thing she wanted was to make things harder for him.

But if it wasn’t…

------

When she stepped out of the shower, warm and comfortable in her old pajamas, she felt a little steadier. The decision was made, after dinner. She would talk to him then.

Padding into the kitchen, she found him exactly where she’d left him, standing by the stove, arms crossed, watching the pot like it might betray him at any moment.

She smirked, walking past him to grab a couple of plates. “Hey, look at that,” she teased. “The kitchen isn’t on fire. You did great.”

Bucky huffed, shaking his head as he stepped aside to let her take over. “Yeah, well… wouldn’t have bet on it.”

She chuckled, ladling generous portions of food onto their plates. He grabbed the cutlery and followed her to the table, helping her set things up without a word. When they finally sat down to eat, the silence was still present. Not precisely uncomfortable, but thick with something unspoken.

That silence, however, was soon broken. Not by words, but by the low, involuntary groans Bucky let out as he ate.

She raised a brow, pausing mid-bite to watch him. He had already finished his first serving and was now working through his second, using a piece of bread to push food onto his fork with a single-minded focus.

She tried not to smile. At least he was eating. That was something.

When his plate was scraped clean, he sat back with a sigh, rubbing his hand over his stomach before eyeing the pot.

“Go ahead,” she said, amused, before he could ask.

He didn’t need to be told twice. He stood up, and refilled his plate again, and she shook her head fondly as she tore off a piece of bread for herself.

-----

Once they had eaten, Bucky insisted on doing the dishes. She tried to argue, but he had already started gathering the plates, giving her a look that didn’t leave room for discussion.

“Go,” he muttered, turning on the sink. “You cooked.”

She huffed but didn’t push it, retreating to the living room instead. She pulled the couch into its bed form, laying out a pillow and blanket, making sure it was as comfortable as possible.

By the time he was finished, drying his hands on a towel, the couch was ready, and she was perched on the edge, idly picking at the blanket with her fingers.

“Can we… talk a little?” she asked, looking up at him.

Bucky froze for half a second before exhaling through his nose, tossing the towel onto the counter. He knew this was coming. He just hadn’t expected it to be this soon.

Still, he nodded, making his way over. He sat beside her, careful with the space between them, resting his forearms on his knees.

“Yeah,” he muttered. “We can talk.”

A beat of silence stretched between them, and then she took a breath.

“I just... I wanted to check in.” She hesitated, choosing her words carefully. “After everything that happened.”

His jaw tightened. He knew what she meant.

The mission. The regression. The way he had snapped, the way Soldat had surfaced so easily, like slipping into an old coat. And-

His gaze flicked to her lips before he caught himself, dragging his focus away, fixing it on the coffee table instead.

The kiss.

He hadn’t let himself think about it. Not really. Because if he did, he’d have to face it, that it hadn’t just been the heat of the moment, that something deep inside him had wanted it. That even now, sitting here with her, part of him wanted to reach out, feel the warmth of her skin under his fingers again.

She looked at him, then down, biting her lower lip. “I don’t know how to start, so I’ll just…” She waved her hand vaguely, exhaling. “How long has it been since Poland? Six months?”

“Seven,” he corrected.

“Seven,” she repeated, nodding slowly. She hesitated for a second, then turned to look at him fully. “Reconnecting with you, getting to know you -the real you- has been good. More than good.”

He kept his gaze on the floor, hands clasped together, listening.

“We have this… friendship-” She saw the way his shoulders tensed slightly at the word, the almost imperceptible tightening of his jaw. But she pressed on. “After everything we went through, you get me. And I think I get you. That’s why I know I can talk freely to you.”

She paused, searching his face. His expression was carefully blank, but his fingers twitched where they rested on his knees, a tell she had come to recognize.

“I’ve noticed that lately, you have been more... protective of me.”

Bucky’s jaw tightened again, but he said nothing. His features hardened. He wasn’t going to deny it, not when they both knew it was true.

“Like overreacting when I go to little missions-”

“I don’t overreact,” he interrupted gruffly, and for once, looked at her.

She gave him a pointed look. “Bucky, you tried to influence my superiors into not sending me to that drug trafficker affair last month.” He tensed further, curling his fingers into loose fists. “You think I wouldn’t know?”

His mouth opened, then closed. He looked away.

“How do you even know about my assignments?” she pressed. Still, nothing.

She let out a slow breath, shaking her head. “I’m not a porcelain doll, Buck. I-”

“You are my doll, alright?” he cut her off suddenly, with roughed voice, almost desperate. He shook his head as if frustrated with himself. “I know it’s messed up. I know we don’t-” He exhaled sharply, dragging a hand down his face. “But I can’t help it. The idea of you getting hurt again… I would lock you here in this apartment if it were up to me.”

She blinked, trying to process the weight of his admission. He wasn’t just being protective. This wasn’t about simple concern. It was something deeper, something tangled in decades of fear and loss. “But it’s not up to you,” she said gently, but firmly. “I know you’re scared-”

“I’m not scared,” he snapped, then immediately exhaled roughly, rubbing his temples. “I just… I can’t do nothing. Not when it’s you.”

“And that takes us to what happened the last few days,” she carried on.

His gaze flickered away. He shifted slightly where he sat, curling his fingers around the edge of the couch like he could brace for whatever she was about to say next.

“You shut me out, Bucky” she continued, “then you-”

“I’m sorry to be a burden,” he interrupted suddenly, working his throat around the words. “It’s not my intention to fuck up your life.” He sounded so lost, so small.

“Burden?” she repeated, her voice barely above a whisper. “What- What do you think this conversation is about, Bucky?” She leaned forward slightly, trying to catch his eyes, but he kept them stubbornly averted. “Let me finish.”

He tensed but didn’t argue.

“I was so scared to lose you there,” she admitted, “The guilt I felt for what happened to you, because you put me first, because you don’t think about yourself… like you don’t matter at all.”

His breath shuddered slightly at her words, and his fingers twitched against his knee, a telltale sign of unease. When she reached out, taking his hand in hers, he stiffened, but didn’t pull away.

“Bucky, you matter.” She squeezed his fingers, urging him to hear her. “You always mattered.”

His throat bobbed as he swallowed hard. His gaze remained locked somewhere past her shoulder, like looking at her would make it worse. His vibranium fingers flexed beneath her touch, clenching once before settling.

“I don’t-” he started, before shaking his head. “I don’t know how to be that. To be… something that matters.”

“Look at me, Bucky.”

He hesitated, tensing his jaw, but she waited patiently until his tired blue eyes finally met hers.

“What you feel, that protectiveness…” She swallowed, gathering the courage to lay it all bare. “I feel it too. I want only good things for you. I need you to understand that.”

His expression flickered, something unreadable passing through it, but he remained silent.

She exhaled, pressing forward. “If something ever happened to you, and on top of that, because of me-” Her voice caught, and she shook her head. “I would be devastated, Buck.” She gave his hand another squeeze. “So don’t ask me not to care. Because I do. And I always will.”

His throat bobbed again. He looked at her -really looked at her- but still, he didn’t speak.

“You ended up regressing there, Bucky.” She lifted a hand, cupping his cheek, brushing her thumb over the sharp line of his cheekbone. “I was so scared to lose you.”

His jaw tightened beneath her touch, and for a fleeting moment, his eyes fluttered shut as he leaned into her warmth, before catching himself. When he opened them again, there was something hollow in his gaze, something distant.

“You didn’t lose me,” he muttered without conviction.

She swallowed. “Didn’t I?”

His fingers twitched under her hand.

“It was you, but it wasn’t,” she continued, “What if you could never return?”

His lips parted slightly, but no words came. When they did, his voice was almost automatic. “I’m sorry.”

She shook her head. “It’s not about being sorry, Bucky.” Her palm remained on his cheek. He still hadn’t pulled away. “It’s about... trying to prioritize yourself. If not for you, then for me.”

His throat worked around a response, but nothing came. Instead, he just stared at her, like she was offering him something he wasn’t sure he had the right to hold.

"Finally..." She took a breath. "We have to talk about... what happened, what we-”

Bucky tensed just slightly, but she felt it. His fingers curled against his thigh, and his gaze flickered away again.

She took another breath. “What we did,” she clarified gently. “What it meant.”

His jaw clenched. He nodded once, like he had expected this conversation but still wasn’t ready for it.

“I don’t want to pretend it didn’t happen,” she continued, softer now. “But I also don’t want to assume… anything.”

His fingers flexed, and his shoulders tensed. When he finally met her gaze, his voice was hesitant. “…What do you want it to mean?”

She took a slow breath. “A moment ago, you said you feel like I’m your doll.” Her fingers curled slightly against his. “I want that, Bucky.” She swallowed, holding his gaze. “I’d love to be your doll.”

Bucky just stared, with his unreadable expression. Like he couldn’t quite process the words, like they didn’t make sense coming from her. His lips parted, but nothing came out. He shook his head slightly, knitting his brows together in something between disbelief and hesitation.

“You… You don’t mean that,” he muttered.

She squeezed his hand. “I do, Bucky. I want that. I want you.”

For so long, he had buried this need, convinced himself that what he felt -the pull, the protectiveness, the want- was one-sided. A fractured, messed-up thing formed between them in Hydra’s wreckage, and it was a cross he had to bear alone. He had convinced himself that friendship and companionship were all he’d ever get from her, and he had tried to be at peace with that.

Almost.

She hesitated. His expression remained unreadable, and the silence stretched longer than she could bear. He was processing -she knew that- but the longer he went without speaking, the more uncertainty clawed its way up her throat.

Slowly, she withdrew her hand, curling her fingers into her lap as she lowered her gaze. “Just-” she exhaled shakily, forcing a small, strained smile. “I’m sorry. I thought when you said I was your doll… you meant it differently. If it was just an endearment, something between friends… if I misread it, we can still-”

“Say it again,” he whispered.

His voice was rough, almost hoarse, like he wasn’t sure if he had any right to ask but needed to hear it anyway. Like he couldn’t believe that what she was offering -what she was giving him- was real.

“That I…” She swallowed. “I’d love to be your doll.” Then, softer, almost a whisper. “If you’ll have me.”

Bucky blinked, as if snapping out of a trance. Slowly, almost timidly, he lifted his hand, brushing his fingers against her cheek. His touch was light, hesitant, like he wasn’t sure if he was allowed, like he wasn’t sure if she would disappear if he pressed too hard.

Then, the smallest smile tugged at his lips, barely there, uncertain, but real. His gaze flickered downward, lingering on her lips for a breath too long before he met her eyes again.

“…Can I kiss you properly?” His voice was rough at the edges, like he was afraid to ask, afraid of the answer.

She exhaled softly, warmth blooming in her chest as she leaned into his touch. “Yes. You can kiss me properly,” whatever that meant.

For a moment, he didn’t move, just stared at her like he was still trying to convince himself this was real. That she was real. That this was allowed.

Then, slowly, he leaned in.

His fingers traced a tentative path along her jaw, brushing his nose against hers before he finally closed the distance.

The kiss was different from their first, deeper, warmer. This wasn’t about grounding or reassurance. He kissed her like he was trying to map her, like he was trying to savor every second of it in case it was taken away from him.

And she let him, curling her fingers against his shoulders as she leaned in.

Then, he let himself sink into it, and for the first time in a long, long while, he allowed himself to want.

Next Chapter

Taglist: @sunshinedayz19 @star-maker-rain-dancer @tumdlrnewb84 @mgchaser @buckys-arm-and-rios-dagger @gotminho @kaitlin013106 @startorrent @idontknowhowtonormal @mattmurdock42 @hnnhbananananana @aeriss-at-heart45 @jainaeatsstars @airixaram @seventeen-x @jaxz21 @zizzlekwum @hi172826 @valckenaux @moth-maam56 @myllamatimemachine @unaxv @smiithys @cats-chaotic-mind @melsunshine @neuviloved @cjand10 @frombkjar @strvnger3ditz @nikkinss @alexandra-001 @lavanderbreeze @cats-chaotic-mind @sleep-tight1 @lasrehsif @delicatepersondinossaur @bodhisattva11 @isepod @mrsnikstan @impoeticbeauty @beewilko @chinggay85-blog @ruexj283

Dividers by @/strangergraphics

#bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes angst #bucky hurt/comfort #bucky barnes fic #bucky x reader #bucky barnes x you #bucky barnes x y/n #bucky barnes fanfiction #bucky barnes #bucky barnes fanfic #bucky barnes x curvy!reader #bucky x curvy!reader #the winter soldier x reader #winter soldier x female reader #winter soldier fanfiction

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ivyyisbored22 · 4 months ago

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𝐌𝐢𝐧𝐞—𝘑𝘦𝘰𝘯𝘨𝘪𝘯 𝘹 (𝘧𝘦𝘮) 𝘙𝘦𝘢𝘥𝘦𝘳

A Stray Kids one shot

Synopsis: They are technically yours. But he owns them.

Warnings: Tiddie obsessed Jeongin. No plot, just Smut🔞. Sucking, fingering, pet names, touchy and kinda whiney Innie. Hand kink(???)

Minors do not interact!!!

Note: I'm on a writing rampage right now, did I just post like 4 one shots in a row?!

If this isn't your thing, you're more than welcome to skip it. Reblogs, likes, comments and feedbacks are always appreciated.

ɪ'ᴠᴇ ᴘʀᴏᴏꜰ ʀᴇᴀᴅ ɪᴛ ᴀ ᴍɪʟʟɪᴏɴ ᴛɪᴍᴇꜱ ʙᴜᴛ ɪꜰ ʏᴏᴜ ꜱᴘᴏᴛ ᴀ ᴍɪꜱᴛᴀᴋᴇ ꜱᴏᴍᴇᴡʜᴇʀᴇ, ᴘʟᴇᴀꜱᴇ ʟᴇᴛ ᴍᴇ ᴋɴᴏᴡ.

Word count: 1.5k

𝑬𝑵𝑱𝑶𝒀!

. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁

Jeongin is the sweetest gentleman, the walking green forest, the best boyfriend when he’s with you.

Surprises you with the cutest dates, refuses to let go of your hand when walking through the aisles in the grocery store, snakes his arm around your waist and pulls you close to him, literally wanting to merge you into his soul. He’s just that devastatingly in love with you.

And this is the same gentleman, lover boy Jeongin who is obsessed with your boobs. And not just obsessed. He possesses your tits.

The way his face brightens like a thousand suns when he catches you not wearing a bra, has him giggling, if he could deadass replace that piece of clothing with his hands, he would do it without hesitation.

But during some mornings—like today—you have to physically push him away from your chest so that you can get ready for work which only has him sulking the entire day.

He'll act like it's the end of the world, as if the universe is being cruel to no one but him, refusing to do anything, be an emotionless robot at the studio that half pisses Chan off.

And once you come back, does he greet you with a hello? Hey baby, how was your day? No.

“Get here before I rip that top off.” His eyes burned, hungrily. Arms were crossed as he sat on the couch, waiting for you to get back home.

“Well hello to you too,” You said, kicking your shoes off and hanging your jacket. Sometimes you wondered if he dated you for you or your boobs but deep down you could feel a blooming sense of pride how Jeongin basically survives just because of your pretty mounds.

"Don't start," he warned, his foot tapping against the floor like he was holding himself back from pouncing on you.

"Innie, you behave like you haven't seen them in years," you teased, crossing your arms under your chest just to test him. His jaw clenched, his Adam’s apple bobbing as his eyes dropped straight to where you wanted them.

A low growl rumbled in his throat before he was up on his feet, closing the space between you in two quick strides. His hands found your waist, firm but gentle, tugging you closer until you had no choice but to tip your head back to meet his gaze.

He scoffed, shaking his head before he pulled the neckline of your top enough to get a peek. His eyes darkened as he hummed in approval.

You smacked his hands away. "At least let me change first!"

He arched a brow. "Change into what?" He looked like you had just insulted him in the face.

His pout was almost convincing, but you knew better. He was the same guy who’d whined dramatically when you wore a turtleneck last week, claiming it was "the worst betrayal known to mankind" because he "couldn’t even get a glimpse" the whole day.

A strong hand cupped your right breast over your top, a dimpled grin deepening on his cheek. “I'm reclaiming what’s mine."

“Huh, excuse you!” You swatted his hand away again playfully and he lost it.

Jeongin let out a frustrated groan, his fingers flexing at his sides as if he was physically restraining himself from grabbing you again. His jaw clenched, and that all-too-familiar spark of mischief flickered in his dark eyes.

"Come on, baby," he whined, begging you, dragging his hands down his face. "I've been deprived. Starved. Look at me."

You rolled your eyes, crossing your arms over your chest just to taunt him. "Oh, please. You're acting like you haven't had your hands on me all week."

Jeongin tilted his head back, literally one second away from throwing a tantrum. "Yeah, but that was all in moderation. I need full access, no limitations."

You narrowed your eyes at him and he whined again shamelessly. “Please pleaseeee baby,” he cupped your breast again and you didn’t swat him away this time. “I need it…please...”

Dear god how can you say no to that voice and those eyes? Big, pleading, glimmering with just enough desperation to make your stomach twist in the most delicious way. That whine in his voice, the way he squeezed your breast in his palm like he’d die without it, had you sighing in mock defeat.

“You’re ridiculous,” you muttered, but your fingers threaded into his hair, nails grazing his scalp.

Jeongin grinned, a triumphant smug, before his lips brushed your jawline, pressing slow, teasing kisses down your neck. His hand flexed over your breast, massaging, thumb flicking lazily over the clothed peak.

Then he was suddenly gripping the back of your thighs, lifting you effortlessly, walking into your shared bedroom and tossed you onto the mattress. A surprised squeal left your lips as you landed, but he was already hovering over you, caging you in with his arms on either side of your head.

“Mmm, I missed these,” he murmured, nosing along your collarbone before nipping at your skin. “Missed you.”

Your breath hitched, heat curling low in your stomach. “Jeongin—”

“I know, baby,” he cooed, voice dripping with that lazy sympathy as he sucked a mark right where your shoulder met your neck. His free hand slid down, touching the hem of your top and pushed it up, before you knew he had removed it and your pink bra had found a new home on the floor.

His brain short circuited when his eyes landed on your pretty tits, his huge hands, long fingers closed over the soft flesh, his thumbs flicking over the now hard, sensitive peaks, before the tip of his tongue painted ghost circles over your areola making your thighs clench instinctively.

His lips brushed over the swell of your breast, latching his mouth onto your exposed skin, leaving another mark on you. His tongue flicked, teeth grazing your nipple and took it in his mouth, sucking hard enough to make your back arch into him.

Your fingers tugged at his hair, making him groan against you. His hands roamed, gripping, squeezing, like he had to feel every inch of you at once.

You gasped as he continued sucking greedily with just enough pressure to have your stomach flipping. Jeongin hummed, laving his tongue over the sensitive bud, before moving to the other one, giving it just as much attention.

He couldn't get enough. If he could have his mouth where it "deserved" to belong, he'd stay where he is right now forever. His breathing was erratic but he didn’t care. His slurps and wet groans rumbled through his chest, sending pleasuring shockwaves through you.

"You're so soft," he murmured, voice husky, lips pressing teasing kisses over the marks he’d already left, his hands kneading, squeezing and playing with your tits.

Sure, his slender hands, warm mouth gave you ounces of pleasure but touching and tasting you just gets him off and so down bad.

His lips were swollen from the continuous sucking and your nipples were slick with his saliva and still he dragged his mouth across your chest, leaving behind a wet trail of warm, open mouthed kisses.

“Innie,” you gasped when he rolled and lightly pinched the bud.

“Hmm?” he hummed against your skin, a smirk evident in his tone. “I’m listening, baby.”

He wasn’t. Not really. He was too caught up in you, too obsessed with the way your body reacted under his touch. His long fingers slid down the valley of your stomach before it slipped in your skirt, tracing his fingertips over your soaking panties.

You couldn't make out words. A long moan slipped past you when he pushed the drenched fabric to the side and thrusted two of his digits inside your cunt while his mouth was reattached on your breast.

It felt like heaven. To you and him.

His fingers curled just right and his mouth worked just right that had you squirming beneath him, your hands tangling the strands of his hair.

“More…Innie,” your voice was breathless, pleading, and it sent a rush of satisfaction through him.

Jeongin’s smirk deepened at the way you gasped his name, his hands never stopping their slow, torturous exploration.

His thumb pressed on your clit right as he hit the sweet spot, your release gushed down your thighs and his fingers, the purring hum of him vibrating over your skin as he released your now swollen nub with a pop!

You looked up at Jeongin who's now half groggy gaze never left yours, lips glistening with a lazy smile tugging the corners.

He withdrew his fingers, licking them clean and rested his head back again on your chest, his other hand closing possessively over the flesh.

“Mine.” He commanded, a feather light kiss brushing past your skin, his eyes closing as he laid his head on you, falling asleep under the sound of your heartbeat.

You had held him gently, threading your fingers through his hair, soothing him into his slumber as he slept on his favourite pillow but you couldn't help but wonder if what he meant was you or your boobs.

But again, you couldn't have it any other way.

Enjoyed this one shot? Consider checking my masterlist for more. Requests? Check 𝚁𝚎𝚚𝚞𝚎𝚜𝚝𝚜 (& 𝚁𝚞𝚕𝚎𝚜)

Taglist: @velvetmoonlght @de-uns-tempos-pra-ca @greyyeti

If you want to be added to the taglist, drop a comment <3 (If I missed someone please lmk)

Thank you for reading!

xx,

Ivyy

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monster-disaster · 2 years ago

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[tentacle] The monster under the bed

tentacle!monster x human!Reader Good to know: somnophilia, a bit of dub-con

Summary: Your aunt's house is not as empty as you thought.

A/N: For kinktober 2023, I have a new town full of monsters. Here is the masterlist.

The change in the air is thick and heavy after you leave the Welcome to Grimbrook sign behind you. You feel it in your core. It's cold and silent. For a second, everything goes quiet, and the time seems to stop. The rumbling of your car gets muffled, and the colors of the lush, green forest at your sides fade into a milky fog flowing above the ground. You can't see the tall mountains and their sharp edges in the distance anymore. The clear blue sky turns gray, and you can't find the sun anymore, either. Just a few dim rays shine down on the road in front of you, showing your way to the village next to the sea.

As you get closer, you can smell the salty scent of the water even through the closed windows of your car. It's heavy in your nostrils. The sound of the waves gets louder too. From the top of the uphill, you can see the village with its old stone buildings and the sea behind everything. It seems colorless, merging into the dark sky at the horizon. It is beautiful and terrifying at the same time. There is something in Grimbrook that you can't pinpoint but freezes your insides. The only light you can see comes from a lighthouse at the edge of a cliff. It emits a soft, rhythmic beam of yellow light that cuts through the heavy fog, casting eerie shadows over the still village. Seagulls glide through the mist above the white seafoam, waving across the dark surface.

"Okay," you hum, forcing your eyes to go back to the GPS on your phone. The blue line clearly shows your way to the house you have to reach before night falls. It leads you out of the center of the villages until you reach a small suburb with Victorian houses standing in a long row with grand iron gates and gardens.

The monotone voice of the GPS informs you when you reach the right house, and after sitting in your car for a few more minutes, you have no other option but to get out and make your way up to the porch. The wooden planks creak under your steps as you look around a bit better. The house is old, with tall walls, characterful windows, and a dark green door with a golden knocker in the middle. It's cold in your hold as you knock it against the door.

You don't get an answer, though.

The door opens, and you find yourself facing a narrow foyer with stairs on the right side. Pictures and paintings hang on the walls in dark wood and golden frames. You can see the entrance of the kitchen at the end. And on your left side, there is an arch that leads you to the living room.

"Hello?" You break the silence. Your voice is hoarse and quiet. You have to force your legs to move and not turn back to your car and leave this place immediately. "Somebody?" Your gaze lands on a small table in the corner next to the entrance door. There is a letter with your name on it.

Dear Cat, I'm sorry I can't be here when you arrive. Make yourself at home, and we will talk tomorrow. Delilah

"Great," you sigh, letting the paper fall back onto the surface of the small table.

For a second, you think about searching for a hotel or something similar to spend the night, but to be honest, it doesn't sound much better either. You know you should leave the town to feel better, but it's not an option. So you close the door behind you and wander further into the house.

You got a call a few weeks ago about your aunt you met long years ago. She died, and now you have a house. You can keep it. You can sell it. Whatever you want.

The house is old, with a lot of wood, dark colors, and golden details. There are still newspapers from months ago on the coffee table in the living room. The rug under you is faded and thin. The floor creaks every now and again. There are two rooms and a bathroom upstairs. The bigger room is still occupied with your aunt's belongings. The scent of her perfume still lingers in the air. You remember her when you were a kid. She came to your grandmother's funeral, and you never saw her again. Nobody really talked about her in the family. The only things you know are that she was kind but preferred her own company above everything else. She lost her husband in her late twenties but stayed in Grimbrook, barely leaving the town.

The guestroom is much more bare than the other parts of the house. A bed in the middle with two nightstands and a lamp. There is a drawer in front of it and a mirror on the wall. The window is slightly open, letting in the cold autumn breeze. You have a view of the street from here. It's calm and empty. The only reasons you know you are not the only person in the town are because you can see a few cars here and there and a dog barking in the distance. The fog is thick and heavy. You can't see the end of the street through it.

After wandering around the house some more, you decide to call your friend until you have no other option but to change and try to get some sleep.

Climbing up on the bed in the guest room, you settle under the thick covers. The scent of the linen is faded and mixed with dust and the night air coming through the window. It's dark outside, not counting a few lamps on the street. Their orange lights filter into the room. And everything is quiet. So quiet that your ears almost start to ring. You are not used to it. You live in the city with constant noises.

When sleep takes you, it's restless and everything but relaxing. You fidget and turn, trying to find a comfortable position as you balance between the darkness and the real world. Your head feels just as foggy as Grimbrook, and at some point, you can't decide if you are dreaming or not.

You are on your back, one arm on your stomach, and the other is next to your body. The autumn breeze caresses your skin, moving up from your feet to your ankles and calves. Shiver runs through your spine at the feeling. You want to reach out for the blanket, but even though your arms move, they do not obey your command. Something pets the thin skin of your wrist. It's soft and barely noticeable. You feel your muscles stretch as you reach up to the headrest of the bed, but you don't even know why. The cold moves up further on your legs. It curls around your flesh, spreading you in the middle of the bed. Your heels dig into the mattress. Your body tenses when your limbs don't do as you want. A frown deepens between your brows.

"What?" A hoarse grunt leaves your lips. When you open your eyes, you meet darkness, and you are not sure if you are really awake or not. Your eyelids are heavy, and not even a second later, you fall back asleep again.

The bottom of your pajama slips down on your legs. The waist stretches around your parted legs. Something slides up on your stomach under your t-shirt. It is slick and soft. A gasp echoes in your room when it flicks your nipple. The thing curls around the flesh of your tits, groping and caressing. Your nipples harden under the strange touch. Saliva? A tongue?

Where are you?

And there is something else between your legs. The muscles of your thighs tense, and the hold around you tightens.

"What?" You groan again into the silence. As you look down on your body, you see your t-shirt around your neck. Your breasts are bare. Something dark and purple curls around them, squeezing and licking. The teasing on your nipples is almost painful. At the back of your mind, you want more. Your head falls back onto the pillows, and you are asleep again.

The tentacles between your legs move up and down on your pussy. Your panties are ruined between your wet center and the slick touch of theirs. One of them flicks your clit. Your back arches at the feeling. The cold night air hits your aching pussy when the thin fabric is pulled aside. One of them stays around your clit, flicking and rubbing the hard bud. The other one goes straight to your hole.

You want to move. To get closer or farther away, you can't decide. The tendrils don't let you go anyway.

You break the silence with a sudden moan. The limb enters you slowly. It slips into you easily, stretching your walls until you can't take another inch. It fills you up.

"Fuck," you groan.

Your breasts are soaked. The slickness on your skin shines under the dim streetlights. The tentacles play with your flesh, rubbing and pinching your nipples. The pain takes your breath away every now and again until you feel dizzy.

The others between your legs move without pausing even for a second. Your clit throbs, and your walls flutter. Pleasure flares inside your veins, rushing through your body with such force you never felt before. Your lungs burn for air, and your muscles ache as you lay taut, panting.

When you open your eyes, you see the ceiling and the old lamp hanging above you. You want to force your mind to think, to panic, to do something, but your senses are full of pleasure. The only thing you can do is moan and grind against the tentacle inside your pussy. It pounds into you, reaching every spongy spot inside that makes you see stars and beg for more. The sheet under you is soaked with your mixed juices. You can feel it dripping out of your hole.

Fuck, you want to shout, but you can't find your voice. You just shake and tremble in the hold of the limbs keeping you in place on the bed. Every nerve in your body is on edge, and when it snaps in your lower stomach, you can't remember how to breathe. Your climax forces you down and stops you from moving. A thin layer of sweat shines on your bare skin. Heat burns you from the inside, and your pussy flutters and sucks on the tendril inside you. It still moves in and out. It twitches and rubs against your walls. And doesn't stop even when the darkness envelopes you again.

When you wake up the next morning, you need a few minutes to remember where you are. The sun shines through the window, casting an orange hue over the old rug in the middle of the room. As you sit up, your t-shirt falls back over your torso, but your pants are still around your knees.

"What?" You grunt out. The question is barely louder than a whisper. Your hand shakes as you reach down between your legs. Your pussy is wet, sensitive, and swollen. A moan escapes you when your fingertip slides over your slit.

Your dream is still vivid in your mind. You can feel the tentacle in your pussy, using your hole and rubbing your clit. Your center starts to throb with need at the memory. And your breasts. Your other hand grabs one of your tits. Your nipples are still hard peaks through the thin fabric of your shirt.

"Hello? Cat?" The sudden noise snaps your head up to the door of your room. The voice comes from the entrance of the house. "It's Delilah." "Hey!" You croak out. You are not even sure if she can hear you. "I will be down in a minute." "Great!" She shouts back. "I will make some coffee, and we can talk about your plans with the house." Your fingers sink into your hole. You are still stretched out. You move in and out of your pussy easily.

Yeah, you think, you need a few nights if you want to decide about your plans.

- Masterlist Grimbrook Masterlist Patreon

#monster romance #monster x reader #monster boyfriend #monster x human #monster smut #tentacle smut #tentacle x reader #tentacle x human #tentacle monster #grimbrook #kinktober 2023

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rinnstars · 9 months ago

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impressing you!

itoshi rin attempts to tell you he likes you in questionable ways

itoshi rin x reader : fluff, crack, use of brain rot terms, dti mentioned, super bad ending i’m so sorry idk anymore school got me, not proofread + likes and reblogs are appreciated <3

growing up with itoshi rin with all his personality quirks, you were pretty sure you could expect anything and everything from him - whether that be him showing up at your house at midnight without any warnings, or him wearing your hello kitty pajamas after school for ‘fun’, or even eating frozen cheese straight out of the fridge for breakfast. but nothing could prepare you for what the hell he just asked you.

“what.” one chance for him to take back, or more so one chance for you to regain back your sanity from whatever you just swore to god he asked.

“.. i asked if you’d like to play dress to impress together.. you know because youre always playing it during class.” what the hell.

maybe the world was ending, and you look outside only to now be even more dismayed that the sun is in fact shining, the sky is perfectly blue, and there was no cloud in sight. then maybe this was all a dream after spending the previous night playing games, you pinch yourself and to your horror, you do in fact feel the pain as you nip at your own hand, almost yelping to the oblivious rin sitting beside you. or maybe your eyesight is failing you and you’re seriously deluding yourself that its rin simply after being apart from him for months, you think, removing your glasses and wiping it and nope - that was in fact rin, still wearing a blank face that youre far too used to.

“do you even have a roblox account..” you were 100% sure that whatever horror games you’ve seen him play does not involve roblox and he’s probably more likely to be a discord mod than a roblox player - credited to you friending him on steam and seeing the horror of games he has bought on that app

“.. ill make one now.” and you think maybe blue lock has actually rotted rin’s mind or maybe his friends there has corrupted the rin you once knew.

and instead of spending your math class, you know paying attention and doing the work assigned, there you were at the back row playing dress to impress with itoshi rin attempting his best but clearly not dressing to impress anyone to say the least.

and maybe this is a miracle and an awakening because you were so sure since a little kid that itoshi rin, your best friend in this entire world, do not have any weakness - whether that be in sports (for obvious reasons), in arts (getting an A even though he ‘winged it’), in games (carried you in shooting games and horror games) that maybe you’ve finally discovered his achilles heels that is apparently fashion.. and handling getting humbled by kids on roblox.

“why the hell is this kid calling my outfit skibidi toilet” if anything, in your honest reaction, you’d call me something worst than that looking at the total mess of a outfit he was wearing because why the hell is he wearing two hairs at once that do not merge at all. in fact, you’d be polite to even call whatever he’s just made an outfit in the first place because it looks like he genuinely spun a wheel and picked pieces at random.

even funnier is that you can practically see rin’s ear letting out steam - clearly upset that he’s apparently not winning the top place. if anything, you think its funnier because he doesnt even rage like this playing his competitive shooting game, or when he doesnt get a good grade for his exams, or even when he drops his ice cream when you were little, only when he plays soccer and apparently dress to impress. now maybe with his ego, or whatever he said learnt at blue lock, would be able to let him score a goal (win top place with a good outfit)

however, to his dismay, and to your expectation, he in fact does not win top places, not even top 3, by the end of the hour long math lesson.

and to him, he practically just lost the first tip that bachira told him and as he quotes “if you like someone you’ve got to like have shared interest right?” and clearly and unfortunately he just cannot get into dress to impress in the same way that you just aren’t really interested in football which he completely gets. but now he’s in doubt about his own situation and by that he means the love test percentage thing he was convinced to take by again bachihara - failing at a whooping 15% that he was meant to be your soulmate. but if there’s something he’s good at, its perseverance and he will not give up just because multiple kids in the game called him skibidi toilet

and right now he thinks hes absolutely down bad and he is only proving the allegations that he really has a crush on you when hes spending time after football practice to play dress to impress. even worse, hes looking up online guides on “cheatsheets” to get outfits, entering millions of codes to unlock hidden items, spending the entire night playing this game.

and of course, its at 4:30am when you log in only to find one person playing dress to impress and youre pretty sure this is the equivalant to a sleep paralysis demon as you blink all the sleep away in your eyes to confirm the words in front of you: itoshi rin is playing dress to impress in the middle of the night. more specifically, itoshi rin who preaches about taking care of ones body by sleeping early, eating all three meals, doing yoga every single day is ruining his sleep scheuldue for a roblox game. and as all sleep deprived people do, you send him a message to confirm that its in fact him and not a hacker.

chat

you: r u playing dti or have u not logged out of dti since class 😭😭

rin: playing

you: R U ACTLLY INTO DRESS TO IMPRESS… who r u impressing 🙏🏻🙏🏻

rin: you

and you feel your heart stop - and not because of caffeine, or another realisation that yoive forgotten to do your work right in class or winning a lucky draw from the ice cream you share with rin. but then the realisation hits and youre now instead let down because of course sleep deprived him would say such words that unfortunately made your heart pump because of all the years you’ve known him, you know that whenever he doesnt sleep well, he always becomes a different person, spouting nonsense about everything and anything as all the logic that he’s so used to melts away from his brain. and so you without thinking close your phone and leave itoshi rin on read.

and maybe its even worse that when you wake up, you realise rin sends you the number of stars he’s collected over his overnight grind that’s somehow more than the amount you’ve gathered throughout the weeks of playing dress to impress and even funnier because he’s clearly texting the wrong person.

chat

rin: (1 attachement)

rin: is this a good rank bachiara

rin: should i check if mine n y/n’s soulmate on that love website increased

you: shld be 100%

rin: from 15%?

you: i’m more accurate than it btw r u still on dti

rin: ?

rin: oh ignore

you: no lets play tgt actlly vote me 5* i need to have more stars than u

and you can’t wait to go to math class to play dress to impress with rin at the back of the class (spoiler alert: he won all the rounds somehow) now dating (he gives you five stars)

#bllk x reader #blue lock x reader #itoshi rin x reader #rin itoshi x reader #rin x reader #rin.<3 #itoshi rin fluff #bllk fluff #i want to play dress to impress so bad but exams r preventing me from doing so #need someone to boost me by falsely voting me five stars every round hiiii

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quandledlngle69 · 3 months ago

Text

⸻ 糸師凛 ITOSHI RIN.

TW; obsession, ritual, demonic things, blood, family trauma, deep detail of body, dolls, pain, corrupt religion, child abuse, mention of strangulation, vivification.

ever since you were young, your mother shunned you for your obsession with dolls. hours were spent crafting your first doll from scraps of fabric, straw and animal bones.

you didn't show your mother your perfect creation–knowing her lips would curl in disgust, and she would scoff, turning her head away while mumbling something hurtful under her breath. something about sin, something about god's unlove for such behaviour.

dolls were unholy, vile objects for the devil to merge with, a mockery of gods actual human creations. thats what she told you as she strangled you with a rosemary, the marks indented in your skin for weeks.

your father was an indifferent, absent man. he had spent not a nick of time with you–rather too engrossed in his scientific pursuits then being a family man. you grew up with no friends, a curse and a blessing; not having anyone to talk to beside yourself, but no one to judge you for your rather unnatural hobby. you recall your younger self passing by a workshops with a collection of dolls, always managing to captivate you; your little nose pressing into the glass, fogging it up with your warm breath until your mother yanked you away.

a part of you hoped for your future self that it was just an awkward phase that you would grow out of–though you never did. the gratification you felt making dolls, slowly becoming more life–like the more you matured–as if on the journey with you, made it unthinkable to ever let go. it was apart of you, and it soon surged into something more sinister; human hair, picked off scabs, even blood was shoved into the heart of the doll, sewn up or sculpted behind an imitation of the protective hard, white, calcium rows.

you wouldn't utter to any soul what you created in the dark, hidden behind excuses of intentions and an insatiable itch of something highly unethical.

the last straw was when a young man you were arranged to be wedded to shunned you once he found out about your 'hobby.'

that only instigated a heated screaming match with your mother, who promptly kicked you out once she realised her fears were concrete, that you would age alone, without a ring ever on your finger.

perhaps its the fact you were a misanthropist that coerced you to endure the next decade locked away in a shrubby attic–the rent cheap and no one to disturb you. you crafted what you had never done before, a life–sized anthropomorphic doll. you've had an image of the perfect man since you were a little girl. sketches ranging from little scribbles from when you were a wee thing, to fully fleshed out realism of this fictional man. sometimes he was in your dreams, a whisper away, smoke in the wind that couldn't be heard.

it was trial and error, and you had almost gone into a deep debt with the overly luxurious, top–quality materials and supplies you had gathered. your hands were rough and calloused from the work, your lungs damaged with the hard dust and particles you were too careless to filter out with a mask. from dawn till dusk, the hours not wasted, yet slaving away, a steaming cup of black coffee always on your wooden desk.

when you had finally concluded your work, you had taken a step back and admired it in all its glory. His face sculpted from your callous but nimble fingers, facial features eerily in harmony with each other, sharp like a cutting edge of a diamond.

his figure loomed over you, much taller than most handful of men walking the city streets. the doll's black hair was trimmed accordingly, bangs wispy sweeping across the right side of his eye; in the dim light, it flaunted a subtle seaweed–green tint. it's glass eyes were the most alluring part, most costly–worth an arm and a leg. a bright, opalescent teal–cold in nature, almost reticent. it's long lashes only tied them together like a ribbon of a bow, imagining if it blinked, they would flutter softly like butterfly wings.

you loved it–no, you were full of jubilation.

a familiar name abruptly popped into your mind, a man of a lover in a foreign book you once read. you quickly snagged a fountain pen, your hand carefully stretching out the dolls foot, scribbling heartedly on the sole bottom of the shoe.

Itoshi, Rin.

────────

you would spend the next few days observing, hours spent just staring rather hard at your masterpiece, never seemingly finding a flaw. you would talk to it, even if it was all one–sided, making you feel sheepish at times, yet you never stopped.

but slowly, the insatiable greed for more than this came to your mind. that this wasn't enough. it wasn't enough to just have this immobile showpiece of yours, hiding away in the darkest parts of your studio. in your dreams, it talked, breathed with lungs, a warm specimen as if it had blood running in it's veins.

it was gormless to think this wishfully.

────────

arguably, this wasn't a good idea, standing in a grotesque cathedral, abandoned long ago. it was the witches hour–there was only pitch darkness, the air smelling faintly of wax, dust, and something unsettling–sacrifice. you stood outside of it, the ominous pentagram bold on the wooden floor panels, the stick of red chalk staining your hands. some of the symbols you didn't understand, almost an ancient text that spoke nothing but sinful deeds. five lit candles stationary on each sharp point, their fire threatening to flicker out.

you didn't know what was more unsettling, the fact this suffocating atmosphere was purely demonic or the fact you were still going through with it, aware of the potential consequences. you were sporting a dangerous game, playing as god. this was damning your soul, that truth was crystal clear when the ritual required your blood, a drop long smeared on the dolls cheek.

then came the words–latin, you think.

you stumbled over them, your speech ever slow, butchering the pronunciation; yet evidently enough to indulge in whatever demonic power you were summoning.

────────

It hurt.

it hurt a lot–why did it hurt?

it started from the inside out, the developing cardiac muscle forming a beat, squeezing and expanding. nerves emerged from seemingly nowhere, flourishing in sparks as they danced like undone pieces of thread to every crevice of his body. a warmth of muscle and fat melded together like butter, limbs jerking, fingers and toes flexible with their contraction and flexion.

for the first time, he involuntarily inhaled, like such a thing was a natural urge. it was sharp, painful, it burned like hot coal in his chest. his lungs, fixed behind rows of bone, spasmed and heaved. he could smell. it carved itself in his nose, it was musty, like mildew and sawdust. he could almost taste it on his tongue. he could blink, delve visually into the blurry world in front of him. his skin felt as though it was doused with gasoline and lit with a match, without the mercy of relief.

he throat ached with a sore.

someone was screaming. is it him? is that deep, agony–filled voice belonging to him only?

his head lolled forward, his whole body alamort, eyes rolling to the back of his head. he struggled to open them, his resolve too weak, eyelids too heavy. he felt a warm liquid running out of his nostril, something red and thick. his new given mind not being able to compose a simple thought in such a nebulochaotic state.

he couldn't understand the sudden cold feeling brushing against his cheek, the sudden invasion of aroma, something sandalwood and paint–like. something hoisted his slugged and limp body up, as if he was still a ragdoll. a sturdy warmth bloomed on his front, a muttering of a voice, his nose brushing against what seemed like a neck.

it was the last thing seared into his mind before the world went dark.

waaaaa i can't remember who to tag for this divider if you know pls lmk

#.𖥔 ݁ ˖ voidlocked #.𖥔 ݁ ˖ shatteredconstellations #itoshi rin x reader #bllk #rin itoshi x reader #rin x reader #itoshi rin #blue lock x reader #bllk x reader #blue lock #rin itoshi #bllk rin #bllk itoshi rin #bllk rin itoshi

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