#T-slotted Floor Plates

[so-very-small]

it's not that difficult | doc ock x shrunken!reader part two

[link to part one]

[ao3 link]

Summary: It's been a week since you shrunk down in front of Otto. One week in a bird cage, of being a lab rat, and you decide it's time to escape. Of course it won't be that easy.

a/n: this was written at the request of @miniemew! it's a continuation of my previous Otto x tiny fic, and it was a blast to write. reader is gender neutral, and this goes heavy on the fearplay. that said, I hope y'all enjoy!

The past week has been a strange mix of awful and mundane.

And the open bird cage before you seems almost more like a test than a blessing.

Tests. That's what the past week has been. Otto had swept you away, into some dingy apartment that looked far too normal to belong to a supervillain. Still stuck at the unimpressive height of two inches tall, there was nothing you could do when he dropped you in a bird cage before vanishing. Despite his intense curiosity, the man had other things on his plate, evidently. He was gone for most of the nights and mornings, but in the evenings, he always had a few minutes to spare for you.

For studying you, more accurately.

Checking your vitals, measuring your height, maybe an endurance test on a hamster wheel - which was now more annoying rather than outright embarrassing. On one occasion he had drawn some blood with a needle that seemed too tiny to exist. Whatever data he had gleaned from you was carefully recorded in a notebook, before he returned you to the bird cage.

(To be fair, it actually is a pretty nice bird cage.)

It's silver, the sturdy bars just thick enough that you can't bend them out of the way, and spaced too close together to even think about slipping through. The metal bottom is covered with some fabric, an old shirt if you had to guess, which actually was quite comfortable to sleep on. The entire set up is suspended over his desk, with a relatively large door that latches tightly from the outside.

Except, this time, he hadn't quite latched it all the way.

Otto's gone right now, and it's night. If his pattern over the past week continues, he'll be gone for a few more hours at least. It takes a world of courage to even cross the bird cage over to the door, anxiety blooming in your chest. The latch was usually unreachable, but with it barely in its slot, it could spring free if you jiggle it just right. The fall to the desk would be survivable - Otto had sussed out that your shrinking had left you with some enhanced durability. From there you'd just have to find somewhere to hide, until your body finally decided to return to its normal height.

(It's as good a plan as any.)

(And frankly, it was the only plan you had. So, may as well.)

Taking in a shaky breath, you carefully take hold of the door, giving it a slow, tedious push up and out. The latch slips loose of its hold, and the door to the cage swings open with an audible creak. You cringe at the sound, eyes immediately flying up to scan over the messy office, as if Otto would conjure out of the shadows at the faintest noise. You stay perched at the door for a moment, listening carefully. There's absolutely no response - no movement, no distant sounds from further in the apartment.

After gauging the safety for a second, you decide to proceed. You jump down onto the desk, not giving yourself time to overthink it. The desk is chaos, loose wires and stray bolts scattered about, almost every surface covered with some form of scribbled down notes or blueprints. Organization is evidently not Otto's strong suit, and it takes a minute to navigate around pencils and bolts to the back of the desk. There's a small gap where it meets the wall, the cord from the desk lamp falling down to the ground behind it.

You don't really have time to weigh the small range of options you have right now, so you decide the cord is as good a move to get to the floor as any. It's just big enough to hold onto like a rope, and you carefully work on climbing down from the desk, ignoring the massive drop beneath you. With enhanced durability you wouldn't die from it, but it still wouldn't be pleasant. You'd scaled even higher climbs in your home before, but under less dire circumstances. The fear that Otto might return soundly trumps any anxiety over climbing down the cord.

You make it to the dusty floor soon enough, pausing for just a moment to catch your breath. Your heart is positively drumming in your chest, the sharp buzz of adrenaline running under your skin. You only rest for a second, though, before continuing onward, not wanting to linger any more than necessary.

The apartment was more of a workspace than an actual home, something you notice while navigating over and around the multitude of mechanical parts on the floor. It takes a minute to get your bearings, trying to find the door beyond all the scattered clutter, but you eventually find it. Out the office, down the hall, out the front door, and you'd be home free.

Escape is the only thing you have on your mind, as you swiftly creep through the messy workspace. It doesn't take too long to reach the door, the gap underneath is just big enough to squeeze through, out into the hall. The carpet fibers come up to your knees, making walking just a touch more challenging, but that's one of the last things on your mind right now. Turning right, you see the looming front door in the distance, like a beacon of hope. You immediately begin jogging towards it, a small buzzing bit of excitement starting to grow in your chest. Relief washes over you as escape gets closer and closer.

A heavy crash breaks the stillness in the air, and you immediately run into something sharp and hot. You stumble back like a bug bouncing off a windshield, falling to the ground. In front of you is an actuator, the massive claw clenching down into the carpeted ground, just a few sparse inches away from you. The actuator flexes slightly, metal whirring softly as you hear a soft chuckle behind and far above you. Paralyzed in place, the warmth of excitement immediately shifting into chilling dread, it takes everything you have to look over your shoulder.

Otto stands behind you, with a soft smile on his lips that only he could make look sinister. He lifts a hand, waving his fingers at you lightly like you were just an acquaintance at a grocery store, and not a captive in the middle of an escape attempt. You have to tilt your head all the way back to even get a glimpse of his dark eyes, the sharp curiosity in them sending another pang of fear down your spine.

The actuator rises up, causing you to whip your head back towards it, half prepared for the thing to snatch you up in its claw. It doesn't, though, instead it pulls back further and retreats behind Otto.

He looks down at you expectantly.

"Try again."

You stare at him for a moment and only just a moment, before scrambling to your feet and sprinting like your life depends on it. The drag of the carpet fibers slows you down a little, and you fully ignore it, intent on putting as much distance between you and the looming villain as you possibly can.

(But... that's what he wants, isn't it?)

(A chase.)

Heart pounding furiously in your chest, you zoom down the hallway, lungs nearly bursting from exertion. Over the rush of the wind in your ears you can't hear a single sound behind you, and you don't dare turn back to look. You make it to the very end of the hall before you hear the first footstep crash down behind you.

The living room is far less cluttered than the office, leaving nothing to hide behind, no last resort. The carpet transitioned into hardwood, making running just a touch easier. You stay focused on the sliver of light from under the front door, and not the sound of Otto casually following you, covering more distance in one footstep than you did in ten seconds.

Risking a glance over your shoulder, you find Otto practically on top of you. He'd closed the gap in no time, with that same awful smirk on his lips. The actuators are poised behind them, all their glowing eyes are trained on you. Otto's hands are carefully folded in front of him - making no move to grab you even as your speed slows down in the slightest.

(He's toying with you.)

(And the outcome of this was likely predetermined long ago.)

Without warning, a heavy boot slams down in front of you. You stumble, the small quake of his foot hitting the wooden floor being enough to knock you off your feet. The boot's angled carefully, just far enough to miss you. It's practically bus sized, utterly dwarfing your minuscule frame.

You stay still for only a moment, frozen with the icy fear that floods your veins. A distant chuckle rumbles overhead like thunder.

"Last chance," Otto says, from far, far above.

Despite the overwhelming futility, you scramble to your feet, quickly looping around the shoe in your path. It doesn't move, thank god, and you continue sprinting to the front door. Every bone in your body is screaming out for rest, but you don't dare stop.

The gap underneath the door gets closer and closer, as close as the booming footsteps behind you do. A foot away, ten inches, five, almost there .

And then Otto slams an actuator down, the tremor of his metal claw on the ground knocking you straight off of your feet once more. You hit the floorboards hard, heart pounding sent into overdrive as you catch sight of the looming claw in front of you.

Scrambling upright again, you shuffle backwards from it. The claw darts up, pointed prongs of metal now directly facing you. There'd be no way to run past it without running into it, so you dart to the right, further into the living room. There's practically no energy left in your body at all, lungs and limbs burning from exertion, and you don't dare stop. The overwhelming sound of creaking metal follows you, and there's a harsh yank on the back of your shirt as you're swept off the ground by the actuator.

You struggle, although the grip it has on the back of your shirt makes it far too tight to slip out of. Fingers scrambling up, you hook them between the collar of the shirt and your neck, trying to ease up some of the pressure.

Something eclipses the light overhead, and you barely have time to process the giant hand in your vision before it swallows you up. Otto snatches you in a tight fist, arms pinned immobile to your sides. He raises you up to his eye level, at a speed that makes the whole world swirl around you, vertigo in overdrive. His sharp brown eyes light up once you're in sight, a crinkle around the corners giving away his excitement.

Despite the overwhelming helplessness, you struggle, attempting in vain to loosen the hold of his fingers wrapped around you. His hand didn't budge a centimeter, if anything his grip tightened in the slightest amount, just enough to knock a little air out of your lungs. Otto doesn't say a word, he merely turns to the sofa in the living room, quickly crossing over to take a seat. A notebook is perched on the coffee table, and he flips to a half-filled page with his free hand, quickly writing something down.

"Was... was this a test?" You sputter out, half convinced the man would ignore you entirely. Your voice is strained, still unable to get a proper lungful of air with his fingers around you, but his brown eyes do flit to you for a moment.

Otto lowers his fist to the table, loosening it and roughly dropping you onto the coffee table. You land on top of a stack of sticky notes, and you don't dare move. Even if you wanted to attempt to run again, you're far too exhausted to even try. You let yourself collapse, still trying to catch your breath.

"Of course," Otto answers, not looking up from the page he was still scrawling on.

He eventually glances at you, leaning in slightly closer. Otto fills your entire vision, his looming for making you feel like you were in the front row of a movie theater. A little bit of brown hair fell into those dark eyes, which flicked down as he carefully took your form in.

"I wanted to see how fast you could run," he says, smiling once more. His voice is polite and even, as if he didn't just admit to terrifying you on purpose. He turns back down to his notes, still jotting a few things down. "Obviously, your functions are affected when I monitor you closely for tests. I wanted something a little less structured than a hamster wheel."

He finishes writing, carefully setting down his pen on the table. His eyes snap back to you, looking at your face carefully. You're still breathless and sore, trying to gather yourself mentally and physically from the escape attempt, and you feel absolutely pinned under his gaze.

"You couldn't really have thought you were going to escape?" he says, raising an eyebrow.

"I... I kinda did, yeah," you reply. You'd never snapped at him, never raised your voice, but the adrenaline still buzzing in your system and the absolute fury and exhaustion you feel can't help but spill out a little into your tone. "Even if I got caught, I had to try."

Otto nods, surprisingly accepting your answer with ease. He leans back on the sofa slightly, actuators draping over the back of it. His eyes are unwavering, still pointedly trained on you.

"Admirable, if not reckless," he says, "I must say though, you're far safer with me than you would be out there. I can't imagine what Oscorp would do if they got their grubby hands on you."

Pushing yourself up from the sticky notes, you rise to your feet, crossing your arms over your chest. Despite how correct he probably was, that wasn’t his call to make.

"Can't be worse than a goddamn hamster wheel," you mutter. Despite keeping your voice low, Otto does catch it, and he laughs brightly. He almost seems harmless for a second.

"I can assure you, my dear, they would not be as kind as me. I'm curious, but I do not intend to do you any harm. Other scientists, well, their methods of discovery aren't always so kind towards their specimens."

You narrow your eyes at the man, trying to gauge if you should believe him. There was no doubt that Oscorp would have been a nightmare if they had found you, and in all honesty, living at the apartment wasn't going to work out long term. You didn't need confirmation that the world outside was dangerous, but you still wonder how honest he was really being.

"You won't hurt me, but you'll keep me in a bird cage for a week?"

Otto shrugs, unbothered by the accusation.

"Can’t risk you running off and hurting yourself," he says.

He leans in once more, slowly bringing a hand down in front of you. The same one that snatched you up earlier. You look at it warily, waiting for it to grab you in a fist, pinch the back of your shirt and dangle you, but he doesn't. He simply lays it level with the sticky notes, right in front of you. You can feel the heat off of his skin, see the shift of his muscles as he waits.

"May I?"

(He'd never asked if he could hold you before.)

(You can see his fingers twitch in impatience, and decide not to push his kindness too far.)

You gingerly step onto the man's calloused palm, feeling his muscles and tendons twitch underneath you. It's a little hard to keep your balance, but he brings his thumb up, something for you to brace your hands on as he raises his palm to his face. It's far closer than when he was looming over the table, all the minuscule details on his face magnified.

"As far as I'm aware of, you're the only one like you in existence," he says. He lowered his voice for you, the usually brash and proud tone now just a quiet whisper. It was still overwhelming regardless. "I wouldn't allow harm to come your way, that would entirely deprive me of figuring you out. I am still just a physicist at heart, dear, you cannot expect me to not be fascinated by a person who can change their bodily mass on a whim."

You can feel the heat coming off his hand, the shift of his thumb under your palms. From this close, every time he exhales it ruffles your hair in the slightest. His eyes are a mix of a dozen brown shades, still locked firmly on you, and you shift your weight from foot to foot.

"It's not on a whim," you correct.

(If it was on a whim, you wouldn’t be in this situation right now.)

"But it could be," Otto says, "Someday."

With that, he rises to his feet. The thumb you're holding onto gently pushing you back, knocking you off your feet and pressing you into his other fingers, coming to rest around your waist like a makeshift seat belt. A small noise of protest escapes your lips, ignored as Otto takes up his notes and walks back to the office.

(It takes him just a few seconds.)

(All the agonizing minutes you had spent running, trying to cross that distance, and he closes it in just a few seconds.)

Otto enters the office, quickly reaching the desk and taking a seat. You half expect him to immediately return you to the bird cage. He doesn't, though, fingers shifting you slightly in his palm, so he can rest his elbow on the desk, leaving you sitting in his hand at eye level. His thumb stays locked over you, like a heavy weighted blanket in your lap.

(You don't think you could get it to budge, even if you tried.)

"You honestly know less about your shrinking than I do, and I've barely begun to scratch the surface," Otto says. He speaks with a certainty that's just a little grating. "Your powers are incredibly unstable now, but there's no indication that it will always be that way. And even so, I still want to know how it works, what makes you tick."

He looks down at you, with that familiar glint in his eyes. It's positively piercing.

"And I can promise I'll be less invasive than any other scientist you meet who wants the same thing."

Looking up at the man, you can't help but believe him. Your work at Oscorp had been brief enough to not see anything too awful, but you knew that the company had a dark underbelly. Otto, at the very least, wouldn't be killing you anytime soon. You can see on his face he's expecting a response, and you shrug.

"It's not like I have a choice, is it?"

Otto chuckled humorlessly, the slightest hint of amusement in his eyes.

"Clever little thing, aren't you?"

With that, his other hand sweeps in, two large fingers gently pinching around your chest and back. It knocks the wind out of you slightly, but his grip is careful, holding you just tight enough that you wouldn't slip from his grasp. He lifts you from his other palm, gently setting you on the desk. His warm fingers stay in place until you're balanced on your feet, and then he pulls away gently.

That clinical curiosity never once leaves his eyes. He glances behind you, searching for something amid the mess of his desk. When he reaches out for it, his arm arches over you, eclipsing the light overhead. His bicep practically becomes your entire sky, and in a second it's gone, once he grabbed the ruler behind you.

"Stand straight, my dear," he says.

You know the drill well enough, you stand up just a bit straighter as you feel the ruler fall into place behind your back. It presses flush against you, the cold plastic sending a chill down your spine. Otto leans in closer, dark eyes narrowed in scrutiny at the tiny numbers marking your height. His eyebrows raise, evidently a little surprised before he leans back in his chair, the ruler clattering down onto the table.

"You gained half an inch," he says, and you can't tell how he feels about that. There's a clinical edge to his tone, covering any real emotion.

You can't quite even tell how you feel about that. Half an inch was fairly inconsequential to regular sized folk, but it was everything to you. Things had seemed a touch smaller than before, but you didn't think you had grown that much. This was the longest you'd been tiny, and knowing you were growing back - if incredibly slowly - was something of a relief.

"Huh," you can't help but say out loud, showcasing a little of your surprise. Otto quirks up an eyebrow.

"You didn't notice?" he asks, with a small tilt of his head.

You shrug, slouching a little now that you don't have to hold yourself up.

"Everything is big at this scale, there wasn't much of a visual change," you say, "It's all still overwhelming."

Otto nods, and you can see the gears in his head turning once more. It's always obvious when he's thinking hard about something - leaning in, eyes narrowed, something intense in his face. It makes you feel like a bug under a microscope, fully on display, analyzed at every angle.

"Interesting," he comments. "I imagine at a certain point it's hard to gauge anything's size accurately, like estimating building dimensions just by viewing them. I don't blame you for not noticing."

(It's kind of a little surprising how well he gets it.)

"And you also said you grow back instantaneously, correct? This isn't typical, is it?"

You take a second before nodding, thinking back of all the times you had shrunk alone in your apartment. Most of the time you'd fall asleep tiny, and wake up normal sized - it was rare you were actually awake for growing back. The few times you had, you had only short bursts, and those were generally exhausting enough to knock you out regardless.

"I'm usually asleep for it," you say, "I just wake up at my usual height. I'm always pretty sore after."

Otto chuckles.

"I'm not surprised. I can't imagine your physical form changing that much, that rapidly, would be a comfortable feeling. If you do wind up having discomfort with growing back, I can give you something for the pain."

You don't reply instantly. You merely look up at the man, trying to read into his expression, figure out what's beyond the clinical curiosity on his face. He seems passive, detached, and then he expresses concern in the same breath. It's a little confusing, and you're tired of being confused.

"So, what's your deal?"

Otto raises his eyebrows, evidently not expecting the pointed question. He doesn't speak, but merely looks at you expectantly, tilting his head slightly as he waits for you to clarify.

"So you want to figure me out like a science project, I get that," you say, and you try not to think about if it's stupid to speak so candidly to a giant supervillain, "But why be nice to me?"

Otto's expression remains blank, and he leans in closer. Both his hands come up to rest on the desk, one on either side of you, palms pressed down onto the flat surface. His long fingers make you feel fully surrounded on all sides, that feeling only increasing when his face stops just a few relative feet from yours. His brown eyes lock onto you, and when he speaks, the breath from his lips ruffles your hair like the wind.

"You think I'm being nice to you?"

You swallow thickly, nervously looking up at the man. You resist the urge to stagger backwards - any distance you could put between the two of you, he could close in a fraction of the time. This close to his face, you can see every little imperfection in his skin, every single fleck in his eyes. It makes you forget what you're saying, for just a moment.

"I-I mean, you said yourself you're being kinder than other scientists," you say, voice coming out just a bit more timid than you'd have liked it to, "And if you really didn't care, you wouldn't worry about the pain from growing. It... I just..."

You pause, tilting your gaze down to the desk. The fake wooden swirls in the wood seem positively fascinating, much more easier to look at than the giant face in front of you. You can still feel the heat off his hands, the pressure of his gaze still on you.

"I'm sorry," you say after a second, "I'm... this is weird, I've never been kidnapped before, I'm still adjusting."

Otto stares at you for a moment more, before chuckling lightly. You hear the low noise intimately, the exhale gently brushing over your skin. He draws back, his face and one of his hands retreating to give you some breathing room.

"Ultimately when I figure out your powers, you'll have figured them out as well. At that point, you'll either escape and be clever enough to utilize said powers to evade me, and that will be the end of it. Or, you could stay and help me."

Eyebrows furrowing in confusion, you look up at the man. There's nothing but sincerity in his features, something almost as surprising as his words.

"Help you?"

"Someone who can change their size at will could be quite an asset to my work. I'm more than capable of most things, but the actuators don't lend themselves to subtlety well. I think I could get some use out of someone who can be a touch more discreet when the situation calls for it."

He wanted you.... to become a supervillain?

That's honestly not what you expected.

"So... you're being nice to me so I'll help you break the law?"

Otto shrugged.

"To put it simply, I suppose."

In all honesty, it isn't that bad of an idea. You'd heard the stories of Doc Ock, you knew he was terrifying, but he wasn't the worst as far as supervillains went.

"I'm... I'm not a killer, or anything."

Otto leaned back in his chair, and he carefully drummed his fingers on the desk. Each tap sent a small shake through the wood, reverberating through your tiny frame. With the hand so close it was almost overwhelming, seeing fingers twice as tall as you are moving so swiftly, and it's all you can do to try to not look unnerved by it.

"I'm hardly one myself, dear. The actuators do the dirty work, it's not something I'd expect of you." He pauses his tapping, thinking for a moment before continuing. "The media likes to highlight my more... uncontrolled moments. My real plan is actually nothing evil at all, it's simply a device that would create unlimited clean energy. Were you to help me, I'd just need your assistance in getting some parts, materials, that sort of thing."

He seems like he's being genuine.

There's no hint of a lie in those eyes, and while you know this man is dangerous, he's no less dangerous than everything else is at this size. Even if you didn't wind up helping him down the line - his thought on you escaping when you can control your powers was a good idea, actually - it'd be smart to play along.

His hand next to you rises up, carefully and slowly. His fingers approach you, and you try not to flinch back. It's almost like watching a bus directly come at you, the size and speed overwhelming, but you can tell his every motion is meticulous. Extending his pointer finger, he gently presses it to your back. Moving it down in almost a petting motion, a small smile flits over his lips.

"However, that's not a topic of conversation until we get a better grasp on your abilities," he says, "When you're useful enough to be an asset, we'll talk then. But for now-"

"Bird cage?" you interrupt, unable to keep back a small sigh.

Otto smiles, corners of his eyes crinkling up. The rest of his fingers dart forward, carefully flexing around your frame and scooping you up once more. You tumble back into the digits, quickly held in place by his thumb as he brings you back up to eye level.

"Oh, I thought we were beyond that?" he says, "Friends, and all that."

Otto stands to his feet, further making your head spin as you're shot up relative stories by the movement. Your hands come up to brace on his thumb, well aware the loose grip he holds you in is the only thing saving you from a long fall to the ground below. Otto raises his free hand, tugging back his leather jacket. The hand holding you drifts towards the inner pocket, and your eyes widen at the sight.

"Hey!" you yell out, because you don't necessarily want to be in a bird cage, but you definitely don't want to be in his pocket right now either. Otto doesn't respond, instead he tugs the pocket open, and drops you inside.

You tumble down roughly into the cloth, and it takes a second to scramble upright. Looking up you can see a sliver of light from the opening of the pocket, swiftly extinguished when he drops his coat back against his chest. It's warm, especially pressed right up against him, held in place by the thick leather of the coat.

"There’s a few things I need to attend to tonight,” he says, and you can feel every word shake through your bones, “Thanks for the company, my dear.”

Letting out a sigh, you relax back into the pocket, letting the warmth of him wash over you. Everything shifted slightly as he started walking, and you shut your eyes. Accompanied by the booming sound of his heartbeat and your exhaustion, it doesn’t take long for you to fall asleep.

[wol-fica]

-𝔹𝕖𝕕ℍ𝕖𝕒𝕕-

pairings - wednesdayaddams x gn!reader

summary - you wake up just after wednesday and see her bed head hair <3 (you and wednesday are the same height.)

warnings - FLUFF <3<3, some sexual themes (both characters are aged up and live together)

—————

You groaned, slowly peeling your eyes open to be met with the sun shining through the large window of your bedroom. Rays of light spewed into the space, creating an angelic aura.

Gingerly, you sat up, wincing at the dull ache from your lower abdomen. Memories from last night flashed through your mind and you blushed, remembering the erotic noises and wonderful feelings rushing through you.

You glanced to your right, expecting to see your other half but was met with an empty bed. The sheets were still warm, so you assumed that your girlfriend was probably downstairs or in the bathroom.

Sliding your legs off the bed and standing up, you sucked in a breath as a jolt of pain shot from between your thighs.

“So rough.” You murmured to the absence of a person.

After going to the restroom, showering, changing into a pair of shorts and one of your girlfriends oversized hoodies, you made your way downstairs to find your girlfriend and possibly make something for breakfast.

As soon as you got to the bottom of the stairs, the smell of scrambled eggs and maple bacon hit your nose. A sigh escapes through your nose, your shoulders slumping as you happily inhaled again.

The noise of movement snapped you out of your daze and you looked in the direction of the kitchen. You heard soft humming, and the tap of a foot on tiled floor.

You smiled, knowing it was your girlfriend enjoying the peaceful time of day. Your legs brought you to a sight so rare that only you get to cherish.

There, stood Wednesday Addams. She was at the stove, cooking breakfast that clearly was for the two of you. Her usually braided hair was undone and wavyily draped over her back, every so slightly messy from previously waking up. She was dressed in an over-large black t-shirt with a blanket over her shoulders. She looked ethereal, with a pale blush dusting her freckled cheeks.

You stared for a moment, taking in the fact that she didn’t see you, before limping over to her to wrap your arms around her waist. She tensed, but instantly relaxed at your scent filling her nose.

“Y/N” Wednesday exhaled, leaning back into you as she flipped the bacon.

“Mmm…hello.” You hummed into her neck, pressing a gentle kiss there.

“I didn’t think you’d be up.” She said, placing the finished bacon on a plate while you lightly swayed her from side to side.

“Why’s that? Cause you screwed me so hard I passed out immediately after?” You chuckled, pulling away so you could help her plate the eggs.

“Mhm.” Wednesday replied, blushing at the hickeys on your neck, “I wanted to bring you breakfast so you could rest.”

You smiled, turning to see her already watching you. After setting the plate down, you slid into her arms, rubbing your nose against hers in a loving way.

Ten years ago, Wednesday would have been repulsed with the act of love and physical attention. But now, with being with you since her time at nevermore, she has adjusted to the comfort of being able to hug and kiss you whenever she pleases.

“You are disgustingly adorable, cara mia.” She mumbled before kissing you passionately.

Your lips moved in sync, slotting together like a puzzle as her hands wound themselves into your hair. Yours found her hips, rubbing small circles while you pressed yourself into her lovingly.

“I love you.” You said in between a kiss, smiling slightly when you caught her blushing.

“I hate you least as well.”

—————

SCREAMING CRYING THROWING UP SHITTING IN THE SHOWER

[berrieswherewelie]

Written for Servamp kinkmeme (hosted by @yarrayora), this was the prompt:

(Tsurugi/Mahiru) Mahiru bakes Tsurugi treats, and Tsurugi decides to repay him with more than a kiss

NSFW under the cut

Tsurugi is positively vibrating with excitement as he wipes down the kitchen counter. That, Mahiru thinks, is quite admirable. 

He has established a rule about this – food is always free in his house, but before it’s time to sit down and eat, the kitchen must be tidied up. Tsurugi has gotten so good at following it he grabbed the cleaning rags before Mahiru even said anything; and now he cleans away crumbs and specks of flour with remarkable enthusiasm while Mahiru loads the dishwasher, because he has a system about it and gets antsy whenever someone puts a bowl where a plate should go. 

Kuro teases him for it, sometimes, but Kuro is out visiting one of his brothers, and they have the apartment for themselves. Which includes the massive plate of cookies waiting for them on the kitchen table, fresh out of the oven, cooling under Tsurugi’s watchful eye. 

“Done!” He announces, just as Mahiru slots the last mixing bowl in place. He spares the counter nothing but a quick glance of inspection because he cannot possibly deny poor Tsurugi any longer, given that he’s three seconds from bouncing off the walls onto the cookie plate. 

“Good job,” He tells him and Tsurugi grins, eyes flashing towards their snack again. “Do you want a glass of milk with those?” 

He does, so Mahiru pours two and carries them over to the living room while Tsurugi grabs the cookie plate. 

“Alright,” He says once they both sit comfortably on the couch, cookies and milk in front of them. “Let’s eat.” 

A few years ago Tsurugi might have grabbed three or four at once, chowing them down with unconcealed vigor. That, too, has changed; he only takes one now, and though he still stuffs it in his mouth whole, he chews properly and leaves enough room in between this cookie and the next to say thank you, and that they are very delicious. 

“Remember to drink your milk,” Mahiru advises him, not even bothering to try and hide his proud smile, “or you’ll get a dry mouth and whine about it.” 

They end up resting on that couch in lazy silence; nicely full but not uncomfortably so. Mahiru has leaned back into its cushions, contemplating how healthy it is to have a lunch of cookies and nothing else and whether he should slice up some vegetables for dessert, and Tsurugi has sprawled over the length of it, presumably with the sole goal of resting his head on Mahiru’s thighs. 

The change in the air is imperceptible at first, minuscule, shifting along with Tsurugi’s mood. Mahiru only notices when he turns his head ever so slightly from where it rests on his lap, to blow a breath of air against the fabric of his pants, just below where his belt buckle sits, making him shiver. 

“Tsurugi?” 

“Thank you for the meal,” Tsurugi says. 

Mahiru allows himself a moment to ponder what he has come to understand as an invitation. It is important to do so, because Tsurugi’s ideas of what to offer gratitude for – and, perhaps even more so, what said gratitude looks like – tends to be questionable. 

But he looks at Tsurugi and finds an eager, manic glint in his eyes, softer than it used to be but excited nonetheless, finds him looking back with a distinct sense of hunger that can’t be quenched with cookies. Finds himself responding in kind. Getting excited. Feeling warm, and hungry. 

“Fine then,” He says, letting his hand card through Tsurugi’s hair before cupping the side of his face. He needs a second to find the voice he knows the other likes him best with, and Tsurugi uses it to slip from the couch onto the floor, kneeling in between his legs, making his intentions clear. 

“Good boy,” Mahiru croons, and watches Tsurugi’s eyes light up. “Your manners have gotten so good, haven’t they?” 

Tsurugi agrees with a wordless nod. He’s scooted closer, chest pressed against the edge of the couch, fingers buried in the fabric of Mahiru’s pants. If it were discipline they’d play with today Mahiru would reprimand him; but this is a thank you, a reward for both of them, and he will happily be a little softer about it all. 

“Get on with it, then,” He says, scooting a little closer himself, to save Tsurugi the discomfort of craning his neck. Their fingers tangle as they both reach to unbuckle his belt, warm and shivering with anticipation, holding onto each other for a moment before yanking the fabric below away. 

It’s a familiar song and dance, one they’ve swayed along to many times before, that they’re comfortable with, that they enjoy. Tsurugi has no reservations taking Mahiru in his mouth; he knows where to lick, when to suck, to get Mahiru to moan and keen, his head falling back into the couch cushions. He knows where to put his fingers, one hand teasing the flushed skin he hasn’t taken into his mouth yet, one still pulling at his pants, riling him up further; knows how to convey his gratitude, that getting Mahiru off means showing his own enjoyment, closing his eyes and moaning along, tightening his throat around the cock in his mouth. 

And Mahiru, in turn, knows how to offer in pleasure in turn, that Tsurugi loves his fingers tangled in his hair, having his scalp massaged slowly, lovingly, while working his tongue around Mahiru’s dick. Loves having Mahiru’s foot ever-so-gently pushed between his legs, to have something to rut on, chasing his own relief. The living room is thick with Mahiru’s heavy breaths, Tsurugi’s choked moans, the sound of their clothing against the rough fabric of the couch. 

It doesn’t take them long at all to cum. They are familiar with each other’s desire, well-versed in how to get them off. Mahiru holds on to Tsurugi a little bit tighter. Tsurugi takes him a little bit deeper, dragging his tongue along his length, and he feels himself spill down the other’s throat, feels Tsurugi grow soft against his foot. 

For a moment they simply sit in silence. Tsurugi pulls back with a barely audible noise, and Mahiru cups his cheek, kissing his forehead. The scent of cookies still lingering in the air mingles with that of sweat and cum, and Tsurugi licks his lips. 

“So?” Mahiru asks, teasingly, “what tastes better? Me, or my cookies?” 

Tsurugi blanches for a moment, trying to figure out the answer he likes to hear, and he allows himself to be amused by it for just a moment before kissing him again, a wordless reassurance. 

“Seems you need another sample to be sure,” He mutters, and reaches for the cookie plate. 

[helloemergencyservices]

Installation of bidet toilet seat

Remove the old toilet seat

To install the new bidet toilet seat, the old toilet seat must be removed. Check the bolts and nuts that currently secure the old toilet seat to the toilet. Some toilet seat fasteners can be loosened by hand, but if the nuts are seized, you may need to use a lubricating solution. Many toilet seat bolts have a slot at the top where a screwdriver can be inserted to prevent the bolts from turning easily.

Once you have loosened the fasteners that secure the toilet seat to the toilet, you should be able to lift the toilet seat off the toilet. Take a few minutes to clean the toilet, especially around the screw holes, so that the new bidet toilet seat can be attached to a clean surface free of dirt, grease spray, or other obstructions.

Turn off the water supply to the toilet

After you have removed the old toilet seat and set it aside, you will need to turn off the water supply to the toilet. You will usually find a shut-off valve behind the toilet. If you're not sure if you're looking at the right valve, just follow the supply hose from the bottom of the toilet tank to the water line in the wall. The valve to shut off the water supply connects these two parts of the incoming water line.

Attach the T-valve to the supply line

Therefore, lay a towel on the floor and place a bucket under the toilet where the water supply hose is connected. To install the bidet toilet seat, you need to unscrew the toilet's supply hose from the toilet, and then screw a T-valve into the bottom of the toilet where the supply hose was before.

Installation of the bidet toilet seat

Before you can proceed, the bidet toilet seat must be installed on the toilet. You should have already made sure that your bidet toilet seat is the same shape as the toilet (many bidet toilet seats don't fit round toilets, for example), but double-check before proceeding.

Most bidet toilet seat kits include the necessary mounting hardware and a mounting plate to attach the bidet toilet seat to the toilet. Position the mounting plate on the back of the toilet bowl, taking care to align the screw holes accurately. A flat plastic mounting plate should be included with your bidet seat.

Connect the bidet toilet seat to the water supply

Once the bidet toilet seat is securely attached to the toilet, you can connect the water hose from the bidet toilet seat to the open end of the T-valve. Also make sure that the other end of the bidet water hose is properly connected to the bidet toilet seat.

Call the Emergency Plumbing in Durham. After your call, we send immediately the right plumber to you. Call us now, 01913039678.

[lesyasun]

◆ 200 Essential Sims 2 Mods, Defaults and Fixes ◆

I have just reinstalled my game and currently reorganizing downloads folder. I thought that it could be helpful to share the resources that I use. If you're starting over just like me, good luck! We can do it :D

All the mods are listed in the random order. But important ones go first. I also added tiny descriptions of what each mod does. Also, let me know if you notice that some of these mods conflict. I’ll appreciate ♥

This is an endless list, so I’m hiding the part of it under the cut. I also decided to share the PDF and word version of the list for convenience. Have fun!  ♥

◆ DOWNLOAD ◆

Clean UI - changes user interface to minimalistic and modern one.

Clean UI for Bodyshop - the same style interface for Bodyshop.

Bodyshop Brightening - redefines the lighting used in BodyShop. Must be put in Documents/EA Games/The sims 2/Config folder!

Minimalist Bodyshop Background - put in the Documents/EA Games/The Sims 2 folder and click F5 when you are in Bodyshop.

Minimalistic Logo Screen

No Pause Frame - removes the red frame that appears when the game is paused.

Default book covers and novel icons

Better Bubbles - replaces the default blurry low-resolution Chat, Thought and Yell Headline Bubbles with brand new high-quality textures.

Talk to Me - a speech icon replacement mod that replaces (almost) all speech icons with TS4 icons.

Camera Mod Compilation

Widescreen Camera Cas

Maxis Match Lighting Mod by Dreadpirate 

Maxis Roofs Default Replacement by Curiousb4

Clean Neighbourhood Templates by Jawusa - these neighborhood templates allow to create clean custom neighborhoods with no Townies/NPCs or if you want to play in EA's neighborhoods, but without the playables.

Clean and Empty Stealth Hood Plates by Jawusa - allow to get rid of Maxis families that appear in neighbourhood's bin.

Rural Charm terrain and road default replacement by Criquette

Linden HOOD Trees Replacement 

Birch HOOD Trees Replacement by Sixfootsims4

Pine HOOD Trees Replacement

Palm HOOD Trees Replacement by Anima

Redbud HOOD Tree Replacement by Suratan-zir

Ginko HOOD Tree Replacement by Suratan-zir

Lowedeus HOOD skies + by Zena-dew-drop + by iCAD + by iCAD#2 + by iCAD#3 + by iCAD#4 + by iCAD#5 + by iCAD#6 - hood sky replacement which also can be seen from the hood view. Some of them have animated clouds!

Seasons Skylines - a custom objects that adds more realistic background in a hood view

No More Bluriness by Simnopke - replaces snow and beach textures into HQ.

Moon Replacement by Simnopke

Sun Replacement by Lowedeus

Neighbourhood decorations can be placed anywhere - enables neighborhood deco to be placed on/overlapping lots

No Rocks Hood Deco Mod - gets rid of those deco rocks that serve as placeholders when using certain hood deco.

Sim Shadow Fix - fixes Sims' shadows shown as black rectangles.

ACR - makes all the romantic interactions autonomous.

Pregnancy Wear Any Outfit - allows your sims to wear any outfit instead of maternity clothes. If the outfit hasn't got a pregnancy morph, it will appear on a sim without a pregnant belly.

Community Time Project - enables the passing of time on community lots to be spent on the home lot. When your sims come home from the community lot, they won't travel back in time as in vanila game.

Simblender - can teleport sims onto your lot, set family relationships, move sims in, make townies, give skill points, set career levels and more

No Plumbobs - removes plumbobs above sims heads and in hood view above lots too.

Sims 2 Sliders - various extra sliders for Sims faces in CAS. I have most of them except for asymmetry ones.

Invisible Stop Signs – makes the stop signs in the hood view invisible

Busy Roads NH Traffic Default Replacement - replaces Maxis’ neighborhood cars

OMSPs - special tiny shelves that add extra slots for clutter

White Roof Trim Replacement

White Floor Edge

White Wall Top

Antiredundancy - spawns one NPC per type instead of 3.

No Townie Regen - doesn't allow the game to spawn new townies when you create a clean hood

Breadfruit Tree Fix - yes, it’s a very important fix that must be in top 50 :D Maxis Breadfruit Tree is broken and when the lightning strikes it, the fire effect never goes away. This is so annoyiiing.

Build/Buy Mode Enabled on Community Lots

Community Skilling - enables your sims get skill points on community lots. By default they can’t gain them.

Sleep on Community Lots

Business Runs You - it will manage the employees, making them take breaks automatically, giving them reasonable wages automatically, etc

Autoyak - adds phone options to call friends. Automatically picks and chooses existing friends and calls until relations are repaired. This mode is required for the Business mod above.

Autosoc (AL directory) - adds "automatic socializing" to your sims. Sims will automatically use (un)friendly/romantic interactions to boost their relationships quickly.

Bathroomusesyou - handles many configurations of bathroom usage.

Macrotastics - tons of shiny features for automating tedious and repetitive gameplay, including motive-maintenance, businesses, socializing, and skilling.

Lighten Up! A Mod for Brighter Computer Screens

Custom Computer Screens

Sims play Sims 4 instead of SSX

Sims 3 TV Shows default

Day Setter - allows to set any day of the week. Can be useful when you move out sims.

Painting Easels by AnoeskaB - adds new easels and canvas sizes.

Exercise Equality - a fix that makes all the exercise machine equally used when they are used autonomously.

Exercise Tweaks - fixes energy drain for some machines/activities.

Batbox - there are many fixes. But I mostly use it to fix First-Born Syndrome. It’s a bug that causes all children born to the same 2 parents to look exactly the same. Save your game. Pick "Fix..." and then "Rerandomize Sim Generator." The game will boot you out of the lot, which is why you need to save the game first. Go back to the lot and give birth.

LTW Variety - lifetime wants for careers are no longer strictly aspirationally correlated, and will instead vary by appropriate interests and personality.

Physiology Fix - fixes the broken physiology skill that makes your Sims gain body skill points instantly. 

Maxis Modular Stairs Passage Fix - sims can walk under modular stairs.

No 20k Handouts - eliminates the magic 20K handout when a sim moves out or graduates from college.

No Eat Crap - Sims will talk considerably less when eating, especially if they are in a hurry (because they're tired, starving, need to pee, have more orders.

No More Leafy Plantsim Hair

No Memory Uneducated - your sims won’t get a bad memory about not going to college when they grow up into adults.

No Quitting - prevents employees from quitting just because you didn't read their mind and realize they wanted a raise. They will complain but won't actually quit.

Nossrespawn - eliminates respawning of Secret Society members.    

Townie No Memory Loss - prevents the game from erasing townie's memories when you marry them or move them in to your house. 

Perfect Plants - gardens & shrubs will always stay in perfect condition. 

Pet Coats Enabled All Ages - kittens and Puppies with patterns! ^_^

Pets and Children Share Bed - allows Pets and Children to use the bed at the same time.

No Rod Humble - this mod will nix Rod Humble from coming to your lots, and dropping off presents filled with computers. EDIT: This mod seems to conflict with Visitor Controller. Use this one instead.

Rug Fix - allows to place Maxis rugs diagonally or off grid.

Same Sex Marriage - replaces Joined Unions with Marriage for same sex couples. Includes relevant wants, fears, and memories.

Separate Top/Bottoms for non-Everyday Clothes Mod

"Shop-at-home" Hacked Coat Hook - allows to buy clothes at home.

Gussy Up Mod - allows to change your sims and townies/NPCs appearance and clothes for each category.

Simply Leftovers - allows your sim to put away leftovers as single plates instead of a whole dish.

Slot Enable Package - enables additional slots on the Maxis counters

Smarter Ep Check - the mod itself does nothing but requires for many mods by Cyjon5.

Television Placement Mod - allows to adjust the height of TVs

Watch TV from All Chairs - allows sims to watch TV from 45 degrees angled chairs.

Townie Apartment Residents - apartment neighbors and roommates will be chosen from the townie pool rather than social groups.

Traits Project - adds extra traits to your sims. The traits are objects that must be put into your sims inventories. Some of the traits are actually not just pictures and can influence sims’ behavior.

Use Inaccessible Beds - lets your sims get into a double bed where one side is against a wall.

Centerpiece Enabler for Maxis Small Objects

Equal Genetics - changes genetic rules for eyes and hair. It allowes recessive eye/hair colours to overcome dominant ones.

No More "Dance Face" - fixes the stuck confused face animation.

Pregnancy for All Genders

Same energy gain for any bed

Smart Beds - makes sims smarter about bed usage

School Vacation Mod - kids won’t go to school in summer and winter. EDIT: Unfortunately, doesn’t work for me.

Sunbathe Anywhere

Build Sandcastles Anywhere

Visitor Controller - allows to ban or control certain sims groups on community lots

Turn On and Offs Replacement

Zodiac compatibility overhaul

Personality Please! - opens up the more extreme personality interactions and animations (usually only available to sims with 0-1 and 9-10 points in a certain personality) to more sims by changing the threshold to 0-2 and 8-10, respectively, and other fixes.

Go Steady for Adults + Last Name Dialog

Visitor Snacking Fix - visiting sims will no longer raid the fridge for snacks during parties if other food is available.

Interest Age Mod - now all sims’ interest levels are truly random and not dependent on their age stage.

University Lifetime Wants (uni_ltws) - enables University career LTWs.

Sim Transformer - turns your sim into any supernatural.

Freezer Clock - this object will allow you to stop the time in the sim world and/or freeze a sim individually in a middle of an animation sequence. Useful for portraits.

Abort Bed Making - fixes the issue where once a Sim has "Make Bed" you can't cancel it (they won't stop moving, they just have to do it). 

Age Transition Teens Keep Love - stops teens from losing their crushes/loves when age transitioning to adult/YA.

Antidateflowers - resident sims no longer drop off date flowers on their own doorsteps.

Glowing Desserts Fix - baked alaska (from the base game) and crepes suzette (from Nightlife) don’t glow after you load a lot or take them out of a Sim’s inventory or a fridge.

Community Lot Arrival Delay Fix - your sims will always be the first to arrive, and other visiting sims will start to appear shortly after.

No Welcome Home Hug - prevents kids from autonomously hugging their parents when they arrive from work.

Brighter Autumn Leaves 

Bring Hobby Friends From Work Fix - fixes bug that causes a sim to bring the same Hobby Friend home from work EVERY DAY for the rest of their lives.

Arms at Side poses for BodyShop - in BodyShop, the thumbnail poses show the arms at the sides, but the poses used inside BodyShop are with the hands-on-hips.

Default replacement noses for cats

Chinese&CoffeeSitDownFix - sims will now look for somewhere to sit down other than just the room they are in when eating chinese food or pizza, or drinking coffee/espresso, juice, or an instant meal.

Apartment Buttlers - butlers and nannies can now enter the apartments of the people who hired them.

Call NPCs - reverts a "fix" made in FreeTime that prevents sims from calling almost all NPCs.

Fewer Tourists - the game is hard-coded to expect 12 tourist families of 4+ members each. If it doesn't find that, it gets annoyed and pouts by not generating tourists at all.

Genie Initialization Fix - fixes a critical EA bug regarding genie creation.

No Auto Urn Cleanup - prevents sims from cleaning up urns autonomously.

No Neutral Spell Alignment Shift - neutral spells such as Cleanius Corpus and Creatum Nutrimens won't cause any alignment shift. 

Plantbaby Changes - plantbabies now get only half the skills of the parent sim.

Reputation New Friend Fix - fixes a reputation rewards bug where the game overwrites a variable, potentially befriending sims like Baby New Year.

There Can Be Only One Professor - game will generate one rather than two professors for each major. Gender will be random.

Community Phonebooth Replacement

Community Lot Parties - allows you to throw any party at any time on any lot. 

Dazzle No Motive Loss - this mod prevents motive loss when using Dazzle interaction it adds energy instead of subtracting it.

Desk Locator - makes your sims to put their homework on a certain desk and not drop it on the floor. + some mesh recolours.

Pregnancy Controller Fix - removes unused and excess Pregnancy Controllers from your lot. All they do is bloat your saved game files and slightly slow down your game.

Leaf Pile Fix - if you tell a Sim to rake leaves, they will stop at one pile instead of continuing with more piles if they aren't having motive failure issues. This mod fixes that.

Default Glass Doors and Windows by Slig - fixes Maxis blue glass.

Put Your Books Away - sims will not drop the books on the floor after they finish reading them.

"Talk About Hobby" Want Fix - with this mod, the Talk About Hobby want is not fulfilled when the other Sim rejects the interaction.

Toddler Pet Stroke - toddlers can now use a cute stroking interaction on pets.

First Kiss Interaction Enabled - enables first kiss to be used any time you wish as long as the relationship score is high enough between your sims.

Food Already Available - before a Sim decides to cook or take a snack autonomously, the game checks if there's food already available on the lot. If so, it prevents them from doing it.

Front Door Hack - deliverypersons should no longer be irresistably drawn to the inaccessible door of the mausoleum in the backyard when making their deliveries. Garage doors are not considered front doors regardless of level.

Blocked Doors Can Close - doors that stay open because they are blocked by objects on the same tile are able to close with this hack.  

Gypsy Matchmaker Fix - allows to interact with Matchmaker on a community lot.

Mean Interactions to Any Age - enables mean interactions for teens towards adults/elders and vice versa. Now teens can argue/be argued, tease/be teased, annoy/be annoyed, gross out/be grossed out and fight with anyone older than them.

Random Stereo Station - makes newly bought stereos choose a random station when being turned on for the first time instead of always choosing salsa.

Accessible toddler high chairs - allows sims to access any high chair from left and right sides and also access diagonally placed highchairs.

Already in Crib Fix - this is for the problem of parents and nannies getting babies and toddlers out of one crib only to place them in another.

Kittens and Puppies Eyes Fix - fixes the bug when new born kittens and puppies do not use default eyes.

Children can get cereal from fridges

Timing Fix - fixes broken aging or aspiration decay or any other timed event not working in certain lots/neighborhoods.

Transparency Fix - will prevent Sims from randomly getting broken transparency.

Pie Menu Strings Text Fix - fixes broken pie menus plagued with redundant functions, grammar mistakes and missing translations.

Look at Me Now - makes your sims look straight at you. Useful for posed screenshots.

FX Cube Default Replacement - this is a small package with replacement for fx cube, that shows only in nhood decorating mode and disappear in other modes, so it’s very useful for skyboxes and skylines.

Less Square Water Lilies Default

Baby Bottles From Mini-Fridges - sims can now grab baby bottles from the University minifridge.

Listen to Music - allows your sim to listen to music from chairs/armchairs.

Ladybug Extender - now ladybug loft can protect more squares from the bugs in your garden.

Nobabyharassment - sims spend less time around toddlers/babies and don't try to bathe them for 57th time in  a row10. 

No Dishes in the Bathroom - sims will not autonomously wash the dishes in bathroom sinks.

No Corrupt Death - the formation of the corrupted death memory, as seen in gossip of the form "jagged lines", "tombstone", "dead Sim", is now suppressed.

No Drop Tired Baby - eliminates pointless dropping of tired babies and toddlers.

No Reassign - attempts by non-selectable sims to reassign workers are ignored. Managers and community lot owners will not be able to randomly reassign workers when not controllable.

No Road Pillows - sims may no longer hold pillowfights in the road: The target must nowbe in the same room, and a nearby bed in the room is required.

Studio Lamp - the best lighting for portraits.

Mixedup Background Rug - the plain background for portraits of your sims. Some recolours in Curiousb Colours + Aelia's Retro, Jewels and Autumn colours, Pooklet's Unnaturals + Anna's Colours + Nyren's Colours.

Basic CAS Background

Prettier Bubble Bath Texture Default

Level Numbers Added to Job Titles

Phonehack

Plant Fixes - seasonal maxis plants fixes + some texture defaults.

No More Stupid Werewolf Hair

No Maid Hair - allows female maids to spawn with a random hairstyle.

Buyable Aspiration and Career Rewards

"Select your cemetery" after sims died - fixes the bug when last sim died on apartment lot, his/her urn/tombstone is sended on random community lot.

Mirrors Go Down with Walls

“Ask Sim on Date” by Phone Want Fix - with this mod, the Ask [Sim] on Date want is not fulfilled when a Sim you ask out on date by phone rejects the invitation.

Couples Counseling Icon Fix - replaces the icon of the Learned Couples Counseling memory, which originally has broken transparency, with almost the same icon of the Reunited With [Sim] memory, which is not broken.

Crepes Suzette Fix - this mod fixes the serving plate with crepes suzette. By default, it looks empty when there’s one crepe on it, and a crepe shows up on it when it’s actually empty. Now, it looks empty if it’s empty, and a crepe shows up if there’s a crepe on it.

Exercise Bike Fix - fixes various problems with the Exerto Super Exercise Bike.

Glowing Computer Fix - turned off computers don’t glow as if they were turned on, each time you have loaded a lot, or taken them out of a Sim’s inventory.

Go Under Spiral Stairs - with this mod, Sims can go (and you can also place objects) under the highest part of newly bought spiral stairs.

 Half Wall Fixes - fixes meshes of half walls' rails and posts.

Insects Sanity - a bunch of mods that make insects sensitive to weather and environment, and make insect-related interactions more reasonable.

Jump Rope Outside.

Memories About Roommates Fix

No Greetings NPCs - gypsy matchmakers (from Nightlife) and Garden Club members (from Seasons) don't come to greet your Sims and present themselves whenever you play a particular family for the first time or right after you have installed an expansion pack that introduces one of those NPCs.

No University Aspiration Change - with this mod, the game doesn’t ask you if you want to change your Sim’s aspiration, right after they have finished their sophomore year.

Passers Dress Properly for Cold

Smooth Firefly Jar Light Animation

Basketball Fix - fixes the lot view of the basketball court.

Marriage Postmortem - the marriage "spouse" line is no longer automatically disconnected after death.

Functional Yoga Mat

 "AnyCounter" Espresso Bar Station - invisible espresso bar counter.

In-And-Out Invisible Pool Spot - sims can dive in the pool from the floor anytime they want : no need to go all the way to the ladder or diving board to get in the pool, they can also get out without a ladder, and big dogs can swim in the pool, too.

Visitors can't take from Money Tree

Eat More Talk Less - will completely bypass the conversation if the sims is in desperation for energy, hunger, fun or bladder, or is in a bad mood. Sims with maxed social will talk less.

Better Phone Messages - replaces the pointlessly nasty telephone messages with more courteous ones. It also adds the feature that when the sim you are calling isn't home because of work or school, it will tell you when they will return.

Diagonal Easel Mod

Maxis Premade Sim Templates Hider - hides Maxis sims templates in Bodyshop and CAS.

[heliossecretdeskdrawer]

Diversion - bonus

I’m including links because I 1) don’t care if this particular piece is collected in the tags and 2) because I’d rather keep the original promo post for the posted piece SFW and 3) because I’m not going to add this bit to AO3/other crossposts because hassle.

This is just a relatively unedited bonus scene that didn’t make it into the actual prompt fill. Also because I wrote it drunk for a laugh.

Original Fic: AO3 | Pillowfort | DreamWidth | Tumblr

For MegOp Week 2021

Prompt Day 1: Intimacy / Pride

Continuity: General/Unspecified Original Rating: Teen Bonus Rating: Explicit Relationship: Megatron/Optimus Prime Characters: Megatron & Optimus Prime Original Warnings: Incredibly suggestive themes, implications of sexual interfacing, mild violence Bonus Warnings: Sticky sexual interfacing, briefly mentioned prior dubious consent fantasies Summary: In which Optimus is confused by what Megatron is doing.

Only the bonus scene below the cut, please see one of the original fic links for the rest of the one shot.

Optimus hadn’t anticipated the request to pin Megatron to the ground and have his way. In all his nighttime fantasies, he had believed it would be the exact opposite, that he would have “willingly, but reluctantly succumbed.” That would have allowed him to let go and pretend later that he had simply been unable to dissuade the attentions and was just preserving himself.

What else could he have done?

That’s what he would have been able to say to justify his actions.

Now, with Megatron held down willingly on his back against the cave’s floor, crushed beneath Optimus’ heavy chassis, he didn’t exactly have the same grounds to waive away responsibility for his choices. Not with hands grasping his hips and pulling him in and moans of his name that spoke volumes for how long such an encounter must have been brewing in his nemesis’ processor.

Somewhere between heated kisses and the possessive grabbing of broad shoulders, Optimus heard a panel click. At first, he wasn’t sure which one it was… or which one he expected. The fantasies told him to expect the front-most panel, the one concealing a spike that he had dreamed of surrendering to.

Yet, expectations didn’t match reality.

Something wet and soft brushed against his pelvic plating as he sat, nestled between scarred, armored thighs.

In an ultimate sort of way, he supposed, it didn’t really matter which way they ended up slotted together. It was the fact that they did this at all that was important.

Instinct said to simply retract his own modesty plating and claim what was offered to him so freely, but that would have made this a base, utilitarian interface. That wasn’t what this was about. This was about the both of them finally being close, wasn’t it? An expression of affection—maybe even love if he dared reach out that far—that had been hidden behind hostilities, a consummation of sparkfelt secrets.

Right?

“Are you sure?” he asked, trying to pretend he wasn’t a bit nervous. This was still a vulnerable position. Even being spike-deep in a valve wouldn’t necessarily protect him from a plan to commit murder. The inevitable questions about how Optimus met his end, however, would probably not be ones Megatron would willingly answer if asked later.

“Of course, I’m sure, Prime,” Megatron snapped, shifting impatiently on the ground. “Do you think I would expose myself simply to mock you?”

“No, I… I suppose not.” That did seem like it would be beneath Megatron’s dignity, what little he possessed anyway.

“Now are you going to ravish me or not?”

“Do you have to call it that?” he asked, the plating retracting around his spike housing with a soft hiss.

“Is that not what this is? What would you call it then?”

“I would have called it ‘lovemaking.’”

“… I regret asking and retract my question.”

“Is that wrong?” Had he misjudged Megatron’s feelings? Was he supposed to take what Megatron had originally said at face value? That this was a way to relieve stress?

He sighed, leaning down to try a different tactic, placing a gentle, cherishing kiss to the side of his nemesis’ face.

“Your sentimentality will be your undoing, Prime.”

“I can live with that.” If he got to enjoy this moment at least.

He pushed forward with his hips, the tip of his unguided spike awkwardly bumping against warm, soft folds as the frame underneath his own shuddered.

It would be alright.

[forasecondtherewedwon]

Guest Side Story

Fandom: The Falcon and the Winter Soldier Pairing: Bucky Barnes/Sarah Wilson Rating: T Word Count: 3214

Summary: Sam told Bucky not to flirt with Sarah. But this is her house, so Bucky's pretty sure she makes the rules.

Bucky’s missed white lies. Ones that don’t hurt anybody.

“Is that cigarette smoke I smell on your coat, James Barnes?” “No, Ma. ’Course not.”

“And you’re sure this dame knows it’s my arm she’ll be on?” “Sure, Steve. She’s been after me to fix the two of you up for weeks.”

Stuff like that.

Past few years, Bucky’s either been transparent or a brick wall, all lies or all truth. Which one he loses more sleep over just depended on the day. The most human thing, he’s learning, is to work with a little of both: fact and fiction. Give something here, hold something back there. Lying doesn’t have to be mean-spirited and telling the truth doesn’t have to make him feel hollow and guilty. Maybe you can only realize this kinda thing when you find your way home, even if the home isn’t yours.

Bucky’s standing in the kitchen listening to Cass teach him how to fish. It’s purely theoretical, no gear involved, just the overexaggerated motion of Cass’s arm as he mimes casting. Laughing, Bucky lightly grabs the boy’s elbow before it can collide with the refrigerator on an especially big swing. Cass downsizes his demonstration without pausing the excited flow of his instructions.

AJ catches Bucky’s eye; from the look on his face, he’s beginning to suspect that Bucky might already know how to fish. While Cass is focused hard on his hands pretending to show how to fit live bait onto a hook, Bucky smiles at AJ over the smaller boy’s head and raises a finger to his lips. White lies. Let Cass believe he’s the expert.

When Cass is winding down, Bucky moves around him with a grin, carrying an empty plate to the sink.

“I got it!” AJ declares, whisking it from Bucky’s hand and pumping a squirt of dish soap in the center while his other hand runs the hot water.

Cass slotted the Pop-Tarts the plate lately held into the toaster for him (no better end-of-the-day snack, Bucky was told) and now AJ’s cleaning up. They’re a hospitable family, all day long. No phoniness, no insincere offers of help that they’re hoping Bucky won’t take them up on. He actually had to race the kids to the shed to store a toolbox earlier. On the boat, Bucky has room to put in the effort for the Wilsons, but inside the walls of their home he’s not allowed to do a damn thing because he’s a guest. Per square foot of property, he doesn’t think he’s ever been treated this well in someone else’s house.

“Fine,” Bucky concedes, “but I’m doing all the dishes tomorrow—breakfast, lunch, and dinner. And don’t get up early to drink a glass of orange juice and try to wash it before I’m awake, ’cause I’ll be listening.”

The boys giggle and Bucky leans against the counter, hovering while AJ hands the plate off for Cass to wipe dry and pretending not to listen to Sam and Sarah talking in the next room.

…But there isn’t a full wall separating the kitchen from the living room and Sam knows Bucky’s hearing’s good, right? He doesn’t think they’re discussing anything that private and if Sam’s annoyed with him later for what he supposes Bucky might’ve heard, Bucky’ll just offer up another white lie and swear he couldn’t hear a thing. And Sarah… Sarah wouldn’t think any worse of him if she knew. Bucky imagines she’d have a lot of compassion for his frequent urge to give Sam a hard time just for the hell of it. He flicks a quick glance over his shoulder, just to see her, and concentrates on what they’re saying, giving himself vague permission because he overheard his name.

“This was your idea,” Sarah’s saying. “You brought the stray cat home, just like when we were kids.”

“Don’t compare him to something cute,” Sam complains. Bucky’s mouth tenses to keep his smile from spreading too far.

“He is a guest in my home, Sam, and he’s more than earned it after the work he’s been putting in with the boat.”

“And what about the work you’ve been putting in watching him do that work?”

“Sam. Grow up.” Sarah’s voice is playful and Bucky almost turns, wondering what her expression looks like.

“So you’ve just been appreciating his skill with a wrench and some sandpaper,” Sam says skeptically.

“If I’m also appreciating his shoulders in that shirt— if—” she emphasizes when Sam tries to interrupt, “—it’s nobody’s business but mine.”

“Ok, you definitely can’t have him sleeping on the couch.”

“What do you think I’m gonna do? Try to sneak him to my bedroom after lights out? With you listening, trying to catch us? Uh uh. Your sister is a grown woman with two children, a home, and a boat she couldn’t manage to sell, and she can lust where she damn well pleases.”

Bucky snorts out a laugh and AJ gives him a funny look. Kid’s too perceptive.

“He’s tricky,” Sam lectures. “You can’t see it, but I do. I’ve been around him a hell of a lot more. You think he smiles like that at everybody? If he smiles at me at all, I gotta assume he just looked up and saw a meteor hurtling towards where we’re standing and is only smiling because we’ve got seconds to live and I won’t be able to tell anybody.”

“You are hilarious.”

“No, I’m not.”

“You’re telling me your friend is charming. That’s what you’re describing. Don’t I deserve to be charmed? Where else is he gonna sleep, huh? With you? In one of the boys’ little beds while they share the other one? Because I know you’re not suggesting we skip the pretense and put him right in with me.”

Sam lets out a noise of obvious frustration.

“Time to intervene,” Bucky tells Cass and AJ, leaving them to swap confused shrugs in the kitchen as he saunters into the living room.

“Hey,” Sam greets stonily, arms crossed over his chest.

Just for fun, Bucky decides to be all the friendlier.

“It’s so great of you to put me up. Thanks, Sarah. This beats a hotel by a mile.”

“Our gourmet kitchen does offer an impressive range of sugary cereal,” she jokes. “I might even cook you boys a special breakfast tomorrow before you head back to the dock.”

Bucky’s grin widens.

“Oh yeah? I wouldn’t wanna—”

“No, it’s no trouble—”

“Well, that would be—”

“Both of you stop it,” Sam orders.

“Sam, go outside,” Sarah orders right back. “Play some tag with your nephews.”

“Sarah, I’m beat. We’ve been working on that boat all day.”

“Mhmm, you and the rest of the neighbourhood. You worked all day and you come home and there’s still two kids to entertain. But guess what?” She smiles deviously at her brother and throws a few fake punches at his stomach. “You’re Sam Wilson, the Falcon! Looks like you’re special after all. Me and Bucky here know you’ve still got some gas in the tank. Go on.”

Sam looks fairly planted to the spot as he glares from his sister to Bucky, but he eventually moves with a lurching step.

“I’m gonna be right outside,” he warns.

Bucky sidesteps out of his path and says nothing, though it’s hard to resist the instinct to egg him on.

“We’re gonna have a super-secret discussion about which towels he can use,” Sarah goads at her brother’s back.

Sam ignores her, corralling his nephews in the kitchen and guiding them out the door into the fading daylight with a hand on each of their narrow backs.

“Great kids,” Bucky observes.

Sarah nods, watching her family disappear, then turns to him.

“We’re not really gonna talk about towels.”

“No?”

Bucky’s eyebrows rise in surprise and delighted anticipation until Sarah grabs a folded blanket off the back of the couch and passes it to him.

“We’re making up the couch.”

“Oh.”

This is ok too. Actually, really nice, standing next to Sarah and unfolding the blanket as she stuffs a pillow into a clean case. Her eyes find his already on her and he swears he almost blushes; he’s been smoothing out the same crease in this blanket for a good thirty seconds with no result, just watching her easy movements, the way she flips her braids back when they fall forward over her shoulder.

“I hope you’re comfortable,” she says, lingering once they’re done.

“I woulda slept on the floor. A closet, even, like Harry Potter.”

“You read Harry Potter? Don’t tell the boys—they’ll be bugging you to play wizards with them.”

Bucky laughs and shakes his head.

“Nah, I just watched the movie.”

“Which one?”

“There’s more than one?”

“You really better not bring it up then,” Sarah advises. “They’d try to tell you everything at once.”

“Yeah, wouldn’t want to get in out of my depth.”

It feels like a significant look they exchange after his words. Bucky wants it to be—he thinks he does—but he feels awkward, romantically clumsy. Heartstrings tied together like shoelaces, waiting to trip him up. He’s been telling himself she’s only being kind, but after eavesdropping on her conversation with Sam, he knows she’s interested. In his shoulders at the very minimum. Was that right? His shoulders? Just in case, Bucky does his best to square them. Can’t hurt.

He’s fucking ecstatic when Sarah does glance down briefly, her gaze returning to his face with something flustered in it. Sure, she’s a mom and she runs a business, but it’s like she told Sam: she deserves to be charmed. Bucky’s not entirely sure he’s doing it right though.

“So,” she says, “Sam was just being a pain when he tried to convince me you can’t sleep on the couch because you’ve got a bad back, right?”

Bucky sighs but keeps smiling. It’s natural in her presence.

“I’d say that’s him making old-man jokes about me.”

“I apologize for my brother and his bad manners.”

“Ah, he’s not totally wrong,” he concedes, perching on the arm of the couch. “These last few birthdays have required more candles than you could fit on a cake.”

“Then you just have to get yourself a bigger cake.”

Bucky laughs.

“I guess optimism’s pretty much a family trait?”

“We work at it. They say you need to take the good with the bad, but they don’t tell you that means creating the good out of nothing a lot of the time, if you want any at all. The Wilsons worked that out some time ago, so we mostly do alright.”

“It’s a good feeling to be around,” he tells Sarah earnestly. Clearing his throat, he gets to his feet. “Feels good, being around you.”

“We’re… I’m happy you could stay with us.”

The light’s softened in the room and her voice has gone with it. Bucky shifts on his feet.

“It’s a pleasure to be here,” he assures her.

Sarah’s eyelashes flutter when she looks from his mouth to his eyes. Probably too try-hard to bite his lip now. God, Sam thinks Bucky’s so suave with Sarah, but it feels like he’s only got one move and it’s fucking smiling. Some Casanova he is. Sarah, meanwhile, is beautiful and authoritative and generous and moving closer to toss the pillow he’ll rest his head on tonight onto the couch.

“Anything else you need to be comfortable?” she asks, gaze slipping from one of his eyes to the other. “Another pillow? Pajamas?”

“I’ve got some, but…”

“But?”

Sarah gives him a questioning look and Bucky starts summoning the courage to make a move. He’ll touch her waist—no, take her hand. He’ll cup her sweet face so there’s no doubt what he means.

“But,” he picks up, “if I get cold in the night…”

There’s longing in her eyes, Bucky knows it, but Sam bangs in the screen door right then, one nephew squealing where he’s been slung over Sam’s shoulder.

“Well,” Sam announces loudly to the house at large, “that’s it! No more gas in the tank! Everybody get to bed!”

Sarah appears sorry as she steps back. Bucky almost reaches out to pull her in, to take another shot with another lousy line. Shit, he’s bad at this.

“There are more blankets in the hall closet,” she says, and slips away.

“Thank you,” he calls after her.

Sam walks past, Cass still dangling upside-down over his back while AJ runs ahead, and watches Bucky like a hawk (or some other bird of prey) as he digs through his overnight bag. What’s Sam expecting him to pull out? A strip of condoms? Bucky extracts a green toothbrush and holds it up with an expression of fake wonder. Sam rolls his eyes and heads off down the hall.

They are going to bed early, barely 9pm. That’s probably late for the kids though. Bucky’s pleasantly weary after a day outdoors, more working than talking, feeling like part of something as the Wilsons’ community came together to repair the boat. Seeing Sarah throughout. Flashing Bucky a smile while she spoke to a neighbour, grasping his outstretched hand to let him help her aboard so she could see their progress, checking Sam’s work like she’s his foreman while Bucky grinned and watched the siblings good-naturedly pick at each other. Sam was probably out like a light and Bucky should be too.

He’s not.

He can’t get to sleep right away, but it’s peaceful to lie here on the couch, on his back, while the house gets dark and darker. Sarah left the nearest window cracked for him and a gentle breeze washes in with the chirp of insects. Bucky’s already looking forward to being woken by the sun streaming through in the morning. It’d be good to get from now to daylight in a single stretch of sleep; that’s what he fantasizes about while he lies on his back: no nightmares. His head’s propped up by the pillow he tells himself smells like Sarah, though it probably just smells like her laundry soap.

It’s hard to put his finger on what’s missing, why he can’t fall asleep, until he hears the soft shuffle of footsteps on carpet. They’re too close together to be Sam’s—either hesitant or made by child-sized feet. Bucky cranes his neck around, expecting to see someone walk past on their way to the kitchen for a glass of water. His gaze roams over nothing for a minute, then he slumps back as the footsteps retreat. Maybe it was Sam after all, getting up to look in on his nephews or something. It’s the sorta thing Bucky would do if he were an uncle; he’d treasure the time with those kids, try to remember everything about his visit so he could hang on to it when he found himself half a world away, in Berlin or Riga or Madripoor.

He’s settling, trapping the blanket against his chest with a heavy hand, when he hears the footsteps approach again. Then back away seconds later. Slowly, Bucky starts to smile to himself. It’s Sarah. Can only be her. She’s either trying to psych herself up to come in here and talk to him and failing, or trying to resist venturing down the hall and succeeding.

On her next attempt, she gets closer, and Bucky sits up, kicking the blanket aside, and drops his feet to the floor in anticipation of her rounding the corner. He’s nervously gripping the couch cushion on either side of his knees when she does.

“You sneaking past Sam?” he asks quietly.

Sarah jumps, pressing a hand to her chest.

“You scared me. I wasn’t sure you’d be awake.”

Bucky shrugs, dreamily fixated on her smile. One of her neighbours turns on their porchlight and now Sarah can probably see his smile too.

“Couldn’t sleep,” he says.

“Shoot. Did you need something else?”

Kinda funny how she’s pretending she was coming out here for another reason and is just making a detour for him. He knows better, but he’s got enough remnants of being a gentleman not to call her out on it.

“Nah. It’s nothing to do with you.” Bucky stares at her a few seconds and changes his mind. “You know what? Actually, it is you.”

“What is?” Sarah asks with a hushed, confused laugh.

“The reason I can’t get to sleep. Sarah…”

But she smiles and does what he did to the boys earlier—holds a finger to her lips.

With the confidence of a woman at ease in her own home and her own body, she steps forward. She wore a yellow t-shirt today, but the one she wears now is pale pink. It’s loose and worn and reveals the strong, elegant curve of her shoulder when she moves and it slips. Gazing up at her, Bucky shifts until he feels the back of the couch. His hands hover in the air as Sarah digs one knee, then the other, into the cushion on either side of him. She lowers herself onto his thighs.

Moving slow like the hour, deep like the black sky, Bucky runs his hands up her back.

Sarah’s palms land on his shoulders and, smiling, she confesses to him, “I like these.”

He’s smirking when she ducks her head to kiss him.

Now that he has her here—on his lap, in his arms—Bucky forgets every way he wanted to touch her earlier. How he was gonna woo her with tender contact applied just right. Well, thank god for Sarah. She sets the pace of the kiss and, when his hands go still at her upper back, reaches around to bring one of them back down to her waist. He can feel that there’s no bra beneath her shirt.

“Rusty,” he breathes when their mouths slide apart.

“You were on that old boat all day,” she reminds him. “You know I’ve got patience for rusty.”

Still, Bucky wants to do a little better, prove that maybe he’s what she had in mind when she decided he was worth smiling at. He cradles Sarah closer, pulling her in, dipping his fingers into the valley of her spine when she arches into him. They kiss firmer, then faster. At her quick nod of encouragement, he moves his hands to her hips. Lower.

“Sarah?” Sam slurs sleepily from down the hall. “You outta bed?”

Sarah presses a hand to Bucky’s chest and pushes off his lap, other hand over her mouth to muffle her laughter. He chuckles too.

“As the Falcon, timing is one of his greatest strengths.”

“And as his sister,” Sarah counters, “it gets on my last nerve.”

“Well, I didn’t wanna say that, but…” Bucky grins.

“Sarah?” Sam calls out again.

She sighs.

“Is he trying to wake the boys?” She takes a step away from the couch, wearing a regretful smile. “I better go.”

Bucky catches himself before he can blurt out I’ll miss you. Overeager fool.

“See you in the morning?” Sarah checks, something shy about her now, but not in a bad way. Cautiously hopeful, Bucky thinks. He’s been feeling that way himself.

He gives her one more smile for the road.

“You bet.”

[javisjeanjacket]

Safety Net - (marcus moreno x fem!reader)

A/N: I have nothing to say for myself except that i’m not sorry at all and don’t look at me. YES IM AWARE ITS A KIDS MOVIE BUT LIKE ...he hot🥺

Word count: 2.6K

Warnings: marcus moreno’s sexy ass, NSFW, 18+, eating, unprotected sex (wrap it up gang), oral sex (m recieving), fucking in a chair, f masturbation, cursing, i think that’s all:)

The smell of a hot pan cooling on the stove wafted through the house, and you breathed in it's scent gratefully.

"Mm, smells so good, honey." You noted, flicking your eyes up from the steaming lunch on the plate before you to meet Marcus's eyes.

Marcus grinned and chewed the bite of vegetables he was crunching in his mouth.

You scooped a helping of veggies into your mouth and chewed, the flavor of the spices Marcus used enveloping your taste buds in warmth. You tapped an impatient finger on the kitchen table and trained your eyes on the spot where the pad of your finger met the texture of the wood table below.

Marcus swallowed and asked, "You okay?"

You looked up to him and swallowed your bite. "Can we...talk?"

Marcus's eyes widened and the dark rims of his glasses made them look almost cartoonish. He put his fork down on the rim of his plate and wiped his hands on a napkin. He took in a deep breath and answered, "Sure."

You bit the inside of your lip and began, "We've been together for...awhile now."

Marcus nodded eagerly, his chest burning with the words he knew would be tumbling from your mouth any second. He could feel the disappointment and the melancholy that would fester in your absence already settling over his shoulders.

"And we still haven't, well, you know." You raised your eyebrows at him, trying to indicate what you were thinking. 

Marcus swallowed against his dry throat and nodded that he understood.

"So what I'm asking is," Your chest pounded so loudly you could feel it's reverberations in your ears. "Do you-,” You sighed, trying to summon the courage to finish your question. “Are you attracted to me? Like, sexually?"

He reached across the table and grabbed one of your hands. "Sweet girl-" He pressed your knuckles to his lips, pressing soft kisses to each dip. His dark eyes looked into yours and flames began to sizzle in the pit of your stomach.

Your hips shifted slightly in the chair, the movement warding away the inkling of want in your core. "If it's me, I think I deserve to know." You added, your voice afraid.

Marcus dropped your hand from his lips and shook his head vigorously. He leaned back in his chair and let out a flustered breath.

The light from the windows behind him cast a dark shadow around his form that reached across the table and to you.

He took off his glasses and set them on the table, then rubbed the heels of his hands over his eyes. "No. No, honey, it's not you. Believe me.” He dropped his hands from his face and let out another heavy sigh. “It's not you."

You dropped your gaze from his eyes to his unfinished food in front of him. "Do you want to talk about it?"

Marcus crossed his arms over his chest. He looked into the kitchen and lost himself a moment before replying, "The last time that I was with anyone was with...." The ending to his sentence too precious for him to bring to life again.

"Your wife?" You whispered, the words tender and shivering on your tongue.

He pulled his lips into his mouth and nodded slowly. He looked back down at his plate and you could see the tops of his ears growing red.

"I don't mean to put pressure on you, Marcus. If you want to wait, we can wait. I just wanted-" You tried to assure him.

"No, I don't. I don't want to wait anymore.” He looked down at his hands and the small Heroics symbol tattooed across the skin by his thumb. “Not with you." His dark eyes looked up to yours and it was their force that knocked the wind from your chest. 

Struggling under his gaze, your rib cage seemed to breathe in it's own marrow- inhaling the surging adrenaline fizzling to life in your veins. Your eyebrows tensed and you reached your hand across the table towards him. "Are you sure?"

He took your hand cautiously and ran his thumb over your digits softly. "Yes. I'm just...kind of..." He trailed off, getting lost in the texture of your skin under his.

"Afraid?" You finished for him.

Marcus's eyes looked back up to yours, emotion sitting underneath them and bubbling in his chest. The need and desire on his face was matched fully by the fear snarling underneath the surface. His grip tightened on your hand and you took in a shaking breath.

You stood from your chair and walked towards him. You ran a tender hand through his thick, dark, hair and cupped his cheek.

Marcus's eyes shifted over your face and his chest thumped rapidly as you leaned closer to him. 

"Just tell me if you need to stop, okay?" You whispered, gently brushing your lips against his.

He reached a hand up to your neck and nodded as he gently pushed, bringing your mouth to slot against his.

You melted into his kiss, your eyelashes fluttering at the softness in his touch. You rested a hand on his shoulder and the other sprawled over his face, his stubble tickling your soft palm.

He moved his second hand to grip your waist, his thick fingers fiddling with the hem of your shirt. He swiped his tongue across your bottom lip and you opened your mouth for him.

You could feel passion growing within him and smiled into his kiss as his hand on your hip guided you towards his lap. You sat on his thighs and the fire kindling in your stomach began to crackle and pop, the bulge in his jeans moving across your needy core. You moved your hands up to work through his hair and pulled softly.

He moved his hands to cup your ass, one of his wide palms shifting upwards and underneath your shirt. The warmth of his skin sent a jolt of pleasure through your simmering body.

Your hips jerked involuntarily and you cooed into his kiss. Your hands grasped at his green t-shirt, pulling it up and over his head to drop it on the floor behind his chair. You nuzzled your face into his skin, sucking and biting tenderly at his exposed chest.

Marcus hissed as you laved your tongue over the bites you adorned him with. His hands moved up your torso to your bra, his thumbs swiping across the cups and his fingers squeezing your body.

You kissed up to his ear and whispered his name as your hips began to rock against his, the rough fabric of your pants and his sending heat through your pussy.

"Hmm?" He answered, his hands now unhooking the clasp of your bra.

"Is it okay if I get on my knees for you?" You breathed on his ear and could almost see the hairs on the back of his neck stand up.

Marcus tried to stifle a moan and his hands shook as they gently pulled your bra and shirt down your arms, dropping them to the ground beside the table. He let his fingertips drag lightly down your skin as he looked over your body. He bit his bottom lip and whispered, "Yes."

You lifted yourself off of him and unzipped your pants enough to give your fingers access to your throbbing core, then sank to your knees, careful to move his chair so you wouldn't hit your head on the table. You unbuckled his belt and unzipped his pants, wiggling the pants and boxer briefs down his legs as he stood.

He sat back down and ran clammy hands down his bare thighs. "I've never been this scared before." He admitted, his gaze trained on you.

You shifted your eyes up from his impressive length up to the deep pools of his eyes. You ran your hands up his thighs to meet the shaking ones resting near his hips. You curled your fingers around his wrists. "Do you want me to stop?"

Marcus shook his head no, his blood pumping hotter and hotter in his veins. He had never faced something as overwhelming as this. He had never had to risk as much as this, never even wanted to consider the possibility before he met you. The fear of loving and losing was paralyzing. Anxiety surged through his body and was ticking rapidly in his chest. He felt the love he had held for his wife and how overcome with love he had been for her. He thought of the space between that love and the hollowness, the nothingness, he had felt when he lost her. More than anything, he wanted to just be a man in love with someone wonderful again. Not a Heroic or a widower, just Marcus. There was nothing more he wanted than for you to feel the fullness of his love blooming in his chest, and give you all he could despite the monstrous fear looming in his heart. Marcus was without a safety net, having had to live through the perils of falling from the life he once knew and down, down, down, into someplace he thought he would never make it out of alive.

He ran a hand through your hair, cupping your cheek in his hand. "I just-the last person I did this with, I lost. And I couldn't-" He let out a sigh and looked down from your gaze. "I couldn't do that again."

Keeping your eyes locked onto his, you pressed timid kisses to his legs. Your heart broke at his words and the expression on his face. You ran your hands back and forth over his knees, trying to soothe him. “Look at me.” You whispered. 

He swallowed tightly and flicked his eyes up to you, his face still cast downward.

"You're not going to lose me, sweetheart.” You whispered.

Marcus tilted his head from one side to the other, his eyes piercing. 

You pressed tender kisses to his legs, moving cautiously closer to his cock. “I’m not a superhero.” You said, then pressed your lips to his thigh. “I have a normal job in the city.” You kissed his opposite leg and let your hands shift higher up his body, your fingers brushing against the trail of hair near his belly button. “It’s safe, Marcus.” 

His dick twitched and wept for you, hungry for the friction of your walls around it. His hips bucked and he let out breath through his teeth as your hands moved steadily closer and closer to his penis. One of his hands gripped your hair and the other planted itself on the chair behind him.

"Let someone save you for once." You whispered, taking his cock in your hand and pressing your lips tenderly to the throbbing member. You looked up at him through your eyelashes and slowly swirled your tongue around the tip of him. You took a small portion of him into your mouth and bobbed up and down slowly, allowing him time to adjust to the feeling of being pleasured by someone other than himself.

He dropped his head back against the chair and let out a soft moan. His hand in your hair loosened it's grip, his fingers weaving in between the strands slowly.

You sunk more of him into your mouth and let your spit coagulate and drip down him. You gently moved your lips up and down his thick cock. You could feel his thighs tense around your torso and you moaned around him.

His body jerked subconsciously and his eyes fluttered closed.

You pulled off of him and whispered, "Tell me how it feels, baby." You took him back into your mouth and started to quicken your earlier pace, your hands working the skin where your lips couldn't reach.

Marcus opened his mouth and began to form a response, but the sound fell out of his lips before his brain could create the word. His body squirmed under your touch and he moaned low in his chest.

You cooed around his length and reached your hand into your underwear, rubbing the soaked folds at the same pace your mouth moved up and down him, faster and faster until you dropped him from your mouth to ask, "It's been so long, hasn’t it?"

His hand in your hair tensed and he growled, his hips moving to fuck your mouth. The chair underneath him squealed as he moved it over the floor little by little.

You took as much of him as you could into your throat and wiggled your mouth as far down as you could, choking as he pushed against the back of your throat. You moved your free hand to gently tease his balls and the other circled your clit, bringing a groan of pleasure out from your chest.

Marcus's hand in your hair tugged hard and he pulled you away from him, his chest heaving. "Stop, stop. I'm gonna cum."

You ran your hands up his abdomen and around the curve of his hips. "I want you to cum, Marcus." Your eyes flicked back up to his innocently.

He licked his lips and pulled you up from your knees. "I want to fuck you first."

Your eyes met his and you could feel his passion burning and crackling in his chest. Your pussy clenched at his words and you shivered as his hand brushed against your ass, moving you back towards him. You straddled him, taking a moment to align his cock with your entrance. A wild whimper escaped your throat as you settled on him. Your hands clenched into his broad shoulders and your eyebrows tensed. Your body subconsciously began to grind against his, and the sheer mass of him inside you sent rockets of pleasure bursting and popping behind your eyes.

Marcus hummed low in his chest, the rumble sending warmth through you. His hands clutched at your hips, squeezing and guiding them as they squirmed, trying to adjust to his size. His mouth nipped at your breasts, sucking softly and rubbing the skin back and forth over his teeth hard enough to leave a mark. His mind began to blank, the pleasure of you around him pushing the doubt and anxiety so far from him he couldn’t remember what he had been scared about in the first place. He moved a hand from your hip to grasp your bouncing breast, his thumb teasing and pulling at the raised nub there.

You threw your head back and closed your eyes as you moaned.

"Okay?" He asked, his breath short and hot on your skin.

You nodded yes and wrapped both of your arms around his neck. You could feel yourself clench around him, the pressure so long awaited that you struggled to pace yourself.

Marcus's hand ran so softly up and down your body it almost tickled. He moaned as he thrust into you, the chair underneath squeaking with his movement.

Your back arched as you began to roll your hips against his. You whimpered and clutched at the ends of his hair desperately. Warmth ran up from where your core met his and wrapped itself around your lungs, your breath becoming shallow.

He hissed and moved both of his hands back to your hips as he picked up his pace. Your name fell from his lips followed by a loud groan.

You echoed him and tucked your face into the crook of his neck. His skin was warm under your lips as you whispered, "I've wanted this for so long. Fuck, you feel so fucking good."

Marcus kissed your cheek harshly and then groaned, his chest shuddering, "I'm sorry, honey."

"Wha-?" You asked breathlessly

He chuckled. “I'm gonna cum already." His arms flexed as he hugged your body to his and you could feel his cock twitching inside you.

You let out a few stacattoed yelps at his pointed thrusts, and said once you caught your breath, "Cum for me, Marcus."

His breathing warmed the shell of your ear as his pounding into your core became frantic. His hips snapped loudly and his jaw went slack. His face began to twitterpate and his chest heaved against yours. He grit his teeth as he reached closer and closer to his peak and you could feel the tension against your cheek.

Your mouth hung open and you braced yourself on the chair behind him. You cooed at the passion with which he loved you.

He growled and his pumping slowed as you felt the hot ropes of his release shoot into you. His body began to tremble and his breath fanned over your skin. "Holy shit." He stuttered. His arms relaxed, allowing you to sit up again.

You ran a gentle hand over his cheek and down his side while your mouth placed soft kisses to his jaw line and shoulder, soothing the trembling man underneath you.

"I never thought I’d feel like that again." He chuckled, running a warm palm down your thigh towards your ass. “I almost forgot how good it feels.”

"Well, I'll be here whenever you need a reminder." You teased him, pressing a kiss to the side of his mouth.

He gripped the back of your neck and pulled your lips to his, smiling as he kissed you. "I think you might need to remind me again, I’ve already forgotten.”

MARCUS TAGLIST: @artsymaddie​ @apples-of-february​ @anetteaneta​ @supernovafeather​ @phoenixhalliwell​

GENERAL TAGLIST: @softly-sad​ @autumnleaves1991-blog​ @over300books​

[frogsmulder]

67. “I’m right where I belong.” For whichever ship strikes your fancy <3

Missing Pieces

what if emily lived? and what happened when she didn’t; about 1.1k words; rated t; tagging @today-in-fic

Part 1: Fluff

Scully gazes at Mulder with a little too much affection for her own comfort as she softly closes the door to Emily’s bedroom. The things he makes her feel are scary, even after all this time–especially after all this time. He is leaning against the door frame to her living room, arms folded across his chest, the warmest smile she’s ever seen grazing his lips. He looks marvellous in his grey t-shirt and jeans, the way his muscles stretch the fabric whilst looking so deliciously casual.  Emily is tucked up for the night, barely a wall and five feet between them, she won't even be asleep yet, she reminds herself. Yet it is not enough to keep her from uttering her wishes. 

“Say you won’t go.”

His eyes are lazily hazel in the warm light of her apartment, his gaze easy on her as she pushes herself away from the door. Like rich honey coating her anxieties, he tells her the words she wants to hear. “I would never dream of it.”

In unison, they make their way to her couch, like they’ve always done it like this: him entertaining a little three year old whilst her mother cooks up a feast of spaghetti bolognaise fit for kings; telling her stories of mothman and bigfoot whilst she drew her interpretations with the crayon in her chubby toddler hand. And of course the Mr Potato head impressions that had her in fits of giggles and rolling around on the floor much to her mother’s delight. Like he didn’t play the part of domestic husband, washing the plates and dishes and cleaning up the crayons, whilst Scully had bathed her daughter and put her to bed. He had even pinned the artwork to Scully’s fridge, which she smiled at when she went to get two glasses and the wine from the kitchen.

She returns with the drinks and sags into the cushions next to him, passing him one. They clink their cheers, tired from a long day, and she not-so-casually lays her head against his shoulder.

“This feels right, you know? Emily, you, I have everything I could possibly ever want right here.” She swirls the red liquid in her glass before taking a sip. Mulder doesn't interrupt but just savours their closeness, her head on his shoulder, their thighs touching, her confession of happiness–one that he has wanted to hear for so long from her. “Like all the puzzle pieces are slotting into place. I don’t know, it might seem ridiculous but I finally feel like I’m right where I belong.”

She turns, her cheek pressing into his arm as she looks up at him with tranquil adoration.

“It doesn’t sound crazy at all. In fact–” Mulder swallows, freeing the songbird from its confines of his heart– “I feel the same way… about you, and Em.” He grins wholeheartedly at the thought of mischievous little Emily laughing at all his jokes, where Scully offers a hint of a smirk. He is enamoured by both of them. “I think, Scully, I’d very much like to take you out on a date.”

Scully places her wine glass down on the table, surprise and excitement tearing through her pounding heart. She takes a deep breath, willing herself to contain the thrill, biting back her grin. Mulder turns pale when she doesn’t respond immediately; she wants to kiss away his fears. So she does. It’s the easiest decision she has ever made: to reach up and cup his face, to lean in and make her intentions clear.

“I would very much like that,” she murmurs when she breaks away: kissing becoming too difficult through both of their smiles. She sighs, content. This is the future she wants for herself.

Part 2: Angst

“I’m fine, Mulder, it’s nothing.”

Her voice is stronger than he had expected after listening for a long–far too long–time to her muffled sobs behind the restroom door. She has locked herself up, hidden, for half an hour now, completely unaware that he had followed her after only ten minutes; followed the sound of her short, tearful breaths, followed his heart. The soft, rasping knock of his knuckles against the wood had alerted her to his presence. That was nearly twenty minutes ago now, and she has been stifling her occasional sniffs ever since. Slumped on the other side of the door, Mulder runs his hands over his face, the quiet all too disturbing. “Scully, please.”

“Mulder, I’m fine.” Her voice is harsh, bitter, gritted–not at him, he knows, hopes. It’s almost free of the choke that tells him she really isn’t fine: almost. Just beyond the godforsaken basement wall, she is alone, grieving, too strong to let anyone see her crumble. Too weak to let him see her crumble.

Mulder rubs his hands over his face once again, his knees folded up, elbows on his knees, folded in on himself with heartache. He too feels the emptiness that Scully’s daughter has left within him, despite not knowing her for more than a week. It has been more than a month since they buried her casket, but her ghost remains in the pale blue of Scully’s watery eyes. In the moments where the wave of despair becomes overwhelming for the daughter she once barely knew and Scully retreats in on herself; retreats to the basement restroom.

“You should go, Mulder,” she murmurs, gentle and broken. I want to be alone, she doesn’t say and never does. “If someone comes looking for us, you need to be in the office.”

The half excuse claws at his bleeding chest and Mulder lets his head thump softly against the door, tears silently streaking down his cheeks. “I won’t go, Scully.” He can’t stop the crack in his voice from ripping a chasm wide open within him. He is begging her now. “I’m right where I belong.”

Shuffling from the other side of the door, makes his breath hitch. He sits up. Tentatively, he reaches out with his words. “Scully?”

The door opens a jar and he turns around to see her standing, red eyed and biting back the tremble of her lip. He isn’t on his feet quick enough, wrapping his arms around her quick enough. “I’m sorry,” he mumbles into her hair, keeping her close as she gasps for a shaky breath. “I’m so sorry, so sorry, Scully.”

She clenches at his shirt in fists, pulling him closer, breathing in his reassuring scent to try to calm herself down. “Me too,” she whispers. “Me too.” And Mulder knows she means everything: for his own grief he tries but fails to hide from her; for the way she leaves him, stranding herself; for her own difficulties in confiding in him; for the way he blames himself for ever letting such a situation come to be. Together, they are a mess he isn’t sure they will ever find a way of untangling. Mulder strokes her hair, tucking her under his chin, strokes his hands up and down her shoulders. He is right where he belongs.

[honeymoonjin]

pairing: namjoon x jimin genre: smut, 18+ readers only word count: 5.1k

summary: namjoon has worked as a bodyguard for an upscale BDSM dungeon for long enough to know that jimin is the most sought-after dom there. it only takes one miscommunication for namjoon to discover firsthand why that is.

warnings: unedited, sexually explicit content, power bottom!jimin, sub top!namjoon, unprotected sex, degradation, light pain play, BDSM dynamics, kinda temperature play, i think that's it but i'm so out of practice so i apologise if i missed something

a/n: this piece came to fruition thanks firstly to the @armyadvocates AAPI Justice and Advocacy initiative, and secondly to the kind commissioner @goldenwallsvol6 on twitter who requested this (i'm so sorry for not including everything you asked for, i got a little carried away kdsjfdssk). please check out the AAPI initiative here, consider donating, and check out the resources that come with it.

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Clocking in to work has become such a routine for Namjoon that he often finds himself switching his brain off, preoccupied with half-thoughts as his body runs on autopilot.

He signs in, uses the staff changing room to replace his sweats with the company standard uniform - a tight t-shirt and slim fit jeans, the belt of which he hooks his keys on. He doesn’t actually start his shift for another couple minutes, and so he ducks to the bathroom, chews a breath mint, and stretches before heading out of the office and down the narrow hallway that leads to the den.

In fact, it takes him a few steps into the dungeon before his automatic schedule is disrupted.

It appears Namjoon is entirely alone in the facility.

His steps, taken with heavy-duty boots, echo around the hollow space with nothing but the walls to absorb them. It’s a Thursday night (he consults his phone just to be sure) and he was on the closing shift. On any usual day, he’d be starting work right at the bustling high of the BDSM dungeon, yet he finds himself wandering alone.

Shaped in a rough X, the center of the dungeon is open-plan, with more private spaces forking off. The wing he’s in is generally full of swingers and kinksters making use of costume changing stations and a room full of cleaning supplies and disposables like condoms or wet wipes. It was always the calmest section, but never dead like this.

In a daze, Namjoon glances inside the rooms anyway, half-expecting the place to burst into life at any given moment. But it stays undisturbed, and in no time he’s in the central atrium, weaving through bolted-down couches, benches and racks until he can sink onto a stool at the bar.

Coherent thought escapes him. His brain flails for a reason, but the absurdity of an entirely vacant sex dungeon has him lost for words. After a moment, in restless futility, he stands back up and goes behind the bar, back further into the mini storage/kitchen that he knows features a window.

Outside the narrow, slightly dusty frame is an empty parking lot. His heart sinks, feeling sorely left behind and out of the loop, but a glint catches his eye. Pressing his nose to the glass, he squints and peeks a somewhat familiar vehicle, pulled into the closest park to the entrance of the dungeon.

Namjoon stares pointedly at the Hyundai, racking his brain. God, who was it that had a-

A wooden scrape from behind has Namjoon jumping in violent fright, catching his forehead on the protruding frame of the window. Cursing, he whirls around and glimpses movement further inside. Another drawn-out scrape is followed by a very human-sounding huff.

Heart still racing, Namjoon makes his way out of the storage area and stands behind the bar, seeking out the presence.

“Oh, shit, you gave me a heart attack!” Park Jimin stands off to the left of the room, hands on his hips and head tilted back in relief. “I thought you were a burglar.”

“No,” Namjoon states redundantly, mouth not quite working beyond that. He knew he recognised that silver SUV - every Thursday he watched Jimin hop into it and pull away after a long night of scening. The two had exchanged words often, more than Namjoon could say for most patrons. Being the bouncer for a sex dungeon didn’t lead to that much genuine conversation, but he always appreciated the effort Jimin would put in, hair wet with sweat and lips curved with happy exhaustion but still asking Namjoon if he’d managed to work out whether it was birds or the neighbour’s cat eating his strawberry plants.

He forces himself to check back into the present when current-Jimin cocks his head with a slightly sheepish grin, awaiting an actual explanation. “I, um,” Namjoon stutters, having to avert his eyes to construct anything coherent, “I didn’t realise the club was shut, I’m honestly a little confused.”

Jimin’s smile drops, plush lips rounding in surprise. “Oh, really? Hoseok-hyung said he sent out emails to all the staff. There was a pipe leak so we called off our whole calender until Monday. Did you not get it? We’ve had troubles with work emails getting stuck in spam; something about a sex dungeon really seems to set off the detectors,” the man quips with a jovial lift of his brow.

Namjoon bites down on his tongue, offering up a silent nod of acknowledgement. He’d seen Jimin more times than he could count in black, red, royal purple. In the club he favoured leather, not buckled and studded but sleek and tight, often decorating his lithe body with harnesses, gauntlets and heavy rings instead. More often than not, he’d boast unsmudgable smokey eyes with sharp liner, cheekbones as harsh as they were dewy. It had taken a while, but Namjoon had eventually grown used to the sight, able to prevent chubbing up at the mere sight of his ass as he bent to open his car door.

For some reason, seeing him outside of that whole persona is far more intimidating. Still covered in a light sheen of sweat, that’s the only linker to the Jimin Namjoon is faced with today. He’s got chunky white sneakers weighing down his feet, long overalls rolled up at the cuffs to let some air reach his ankles. The overalls prove particularly problematic to Namjoon, as they don’t seem to have anything underneath. Namjoon can see collarbones, glorious collarbones, and the lean bare sides of Jimin’s torso. If he bent over, Namjoon would probably get a glimpse of his nipples. The thought dampens his mouth with need.

Jimin himself seems unaware of, or at least unbothered by, the way Namjoon stares  him down. Instead, he reaches down to push a cardboard box as tall as his waist across the hardwood floor closer to the bar one shove at a time. “Anyway, you’re welcome to head home. I’ll get Hoseok to add half an hour to your payslip for your troubles.”

“What are you doing here then?” Namjoon asks reflexively, cringing at how loud he’s accidentally pitched his voice.

Jimin’s face is surprisingly round without the stroke of makeup to emphasise dimensions, and when he beams at Namjoon, it softens his whole face even more. “I’m taking advantage of us being closed to install some new furniture. D’you wanna see?” He seems to reconsider, shooting Namjoon a worried look. “It is sex stuff, though.”

“I wasn’t expecting a bookshelf,” he answers honestly, and is rewarded with the bubbling sound of Jimin’s laughter, drowned out prematurely by another shove of the box. “Here,” Namjoon says suddenly, darting out from behind the bar, “let me help.”

At first, Jimin pushes while Namjoon pulls, but after a few grunts of exertion, steps back and lets Namjoon take over, not disguising the way his eyes linger on the way Namjoon’s biceps and pecs flex under his t-shirt sleeve. Obediently, Namjoon lets the bleach-blonde guide him to an open space near the centre of the room, depositing the weighty box there.

With a satisfied hum and a lingering glance at Namjoon’s body, Jimin bends over with a pen from his pocket, using the nib to pop and rip the tape on the box lid, yanking back the flaps with ferocious enthusiasm. He lets out a delighted cry upon lifting a frame of styrofoam out of the box, revealing the goods inside.

One at a time, he takes out oddly-shaped plates of metal, plastic baggies of bolts and screws, and some rubber caps. Kicking the empty box away, Jimin slots his hands back on his hips and grins at Namjoon. “Can you guess what it is?”

Namjoon takes a moment to consider the different sections of stainless steel. The largest isn’t flat, but a rectangle with a slight curve to it, the gentlest arc. The rest come in mirrored pairs, most just for structure, but four of them featuring heavy-duty O-rings. Though he works outside the play area, Namjoon can guess what those are for. “Something for bondage?” he ventures, stomach flipping when Jimin eyes glint with thinly veiled interest.

“A breeding bench,” Jimin explains, squatting to let his fingers trail down the side of one bar, “the metal feels sterile and cold for those that like it. Have you used one before?”

Namjoon feels unsteady on his feet. “No,” he answers, but the softness in his voice betrays his lack of aversion to the thought. But Jimin might think he was a dominant, too, Namjoon worries. Everyone else tended to. “Not yet,” he adds after a moment.

Jimin sucks in a silent but sharp breath, chin lifting. “I could use a hand setting it up. Would you mind…?”

“Oh! Uh, yeah, no problem.” Namjoon tries to clear his throat, but the lump of anticipation remains. “Happy to help.”

“Excellent,” the dom beams, fishing around the pieces of styrofoam to locate the printed instructions, handing them to Namjoon. As Namjoon begins to make sense of them, looking over the basic diagrams, Jimin sits down on a nearby ottoman, intended for viewing the other stations, but continuing to face his new help instead. “I’ve been wanting to get to know you more anyway,” he divulges in a honeyed tone.

“Really?” Namjoon glances up from the instructions, feeling the heat of Jimin’s gaze. Even in worn overalls and unstyled hair, the man strikes a gorgeous image, and his posture screams distinguished dominant down to the curl of his fingers. His mere presence has Namjoon feeling off-balance in the most electric way. “There’s not much to know.”

“I don’t believe that for a second,” Jimin replies immediately, deadpan. “Why are you standing outside every night when you’re just as kinky as those of us indoors?”

“Excuse me?”

Jimin leans forward, legs splayed wide and elbows on his knees. His eyes are intently focused, blazing. “For a while it drove me crazy,” he starts, “you looked so familiar. I saw you every evening and couldn’t put my finger on it. But you used to scene here, didn’t you? Years ago.”

Namjoon’s heart stops beating, sitting heavy behind his ribs instead. “You- You’re not meant to approach people you know from the dungeon outside. It’s against the rules.”

“We aren’t outside,” Jimin counters. “I want to know why you stopped. You don’t look happy, Namjoon, seeing others come and go while you’re stuck to your post. Help me understand.”

Taking a few deep breaths, Namjoon stays silent, opening his mouth seeming too daunting a task. After a moment, Jimin swallows hard and sits back again, giving up the inquisition. Namjoon chooses to continue the task at hand, consulting the instructions.

The bench itself is a relatively simple setup. There’s two long cuts of steel in an X below the main panel for stability, four legs with the O-ring bars at either end, and the rubber caps on the bottom to avoid scratching the floor. As he putters around with the nuts and bolts, using a tiny spanner provided in the baggies to tighten them, he feels Jimin’s curious gaze on him. Silent.

Eventually, the silence has its desired effect, and Namjoon lets his internal thoughts vocalise. “I played here for a while. My partner and I ended up going our separate ways, and I wanted to give him space.” He doesn’t make eye contact, pulse thudding and heating the pieces of metal he fiddles with.

Jimin takes a short moment to reply, but it feels cavernous. “It’s been years, then. Hasn’t he had enough space yet?”

Namjoon’s eye twitches. How many nights had he stayed up with that exact question in mind? “It doesn’t feel right anymore. People would know me for who I was then. And I’m- I’m not that person.” His partner, an eager sub with a need for a firm hand, had asked Namjoon one day if he was sure he was really happy being a dom, and it had entirely dismantled the place in BDSM that he’d cultivated for himself. That sub was right, and he didn’t know how to adjust his course to fit his true desire.

So he’d pulled away entirely, unable to fully leave this world, but unsure of whether it still had a spot for him inside it. He just wants to feel what it’s like to let go in the way his subs did.  And as his hands focus on constructing the heavyset bench, his mind wanders deeper in this vein, loose-lipped enough to confess it all to Jimin.

Jimin listens without judgement, not even seeming surprised when Namjoon admits to feeling more submissive, and the lack of reaction is liberating in a way he couldn’t have expected.

It’s not until the final bolt is fastened in place and Namjoon leans back, slightly breathless, that Jimin stands up and approaches him again. He crouches in front of Namjoon, eyes tender and hesitant, reaching out a hand.

Confused, Namjoon holds his out, palm-up, and Jimin takes it carefully, circling his fingers around the narrowest part of his wrist. Still, it’s too meaty for Jimin’s fingertips to connect. He squeezes lightly, carefully, before locking his gaze with Namjoon again, who swears he’s no longer breathing.

“Do you want to try?” Jimin asks. His voice is low, soft but full-bodied. “Do you want to try to let go? Club rules would apply.”

And Namjoon is nodding, and the grip on his wrist is tightening, restraining, and Jimin’s surging forward, lips on his.

His free hand comes up to hook around the nape of Namjoon’s neck. He’s held there, unforgiving, as the dom deepens the kiss. There’s no space between them, just skin on skin, tongue on tongue. It’s uncoordinated on Namjoon’s part, but so calculated and thorough on Jimin’s, like he knows the exact way to unwind him.

Jimin’s fingers scratch up into Namjoon’s hairline. He’d been growing out the length a little for winter, just enough to cover his ears, and it provides leverage for Jimin to grip on and tug, tug, tug in sharp bursts, timed unevenly enough that Namjoon is never ready. Every pull sends an electric shock down his spine, right between his legs.

He’s hard already, achingly so, and it just worsens when Jimin shifts his weight, bringing a foot forward and over Namjoon’s thigh, half-caging his body flush against his.

Jimin’s body is hot, even through the denim overalls and searing when it’s skin-on-skin. Namjoon can hear himself panting when their mouths split apart briefly, but he can’t stop his head from spinning long enough to care.

Before long, a rumbling growl escapes Jimin’s throat, and his teeth find Namjoon’s lower lip, scraping and nipping at the flesh. It’s not until Namjoon’s hand is shaking in Jimin’s grip that he pulls away, eyes wild and alight.

Namjoon must look utterly debauched, with swollen lips, hazy eyes and rucked-up hair, but his cock is screaming to be touched, and his breaths become infused with pleas for more, begging Jimin to touch him.

“God, you greedy little thing,” Jimin remarks in wonder, and a shudder takes over Namjoon’s body. Jimin quirks a brow. “Good? Bad? I don’t know what you like.”

“Good,” Namjoon insists without shame, “oh my god, good. Say m-more like that.”

Jimin hums with a grin, hand on Namjoon’s neck slipping around front to fist his shirt, yanking it suddenly. “Up, then,” he barks, standing himself, “I want you on the bench you built for me. Thank God that body is good for something; it’s not much fucking use now, is it?”

Namjoon’s breath leaves him in a rush, and he gets up shakily, almost tripping over his own feet as he lowers himself back down on the end of the bench. It’s chillingly cold even through his jeans, and he trembles at the thought of touching it with bare skin. Jimin has no such qualms, however, planting his palm on Namjoon’s chest and pushing him backwards, insistently guiding him down without knocking his head on the metal.

His teeth chatter briefly, but it’s nothing compared to when Jimin clicks his tongue and reaches down to strip the thin fabric of his t-shirt off with one fell swoop, the stitches breaking as they’re forced over the broadest part of his shoulders.

Ice erupts across his back and he gasp, shooting up. Jimin’s hand prevents him from getting far, and his breathing grows loud and sharp, shivering violently as his body fights to warm up the steel. The slight arch of it slots perfectly into the divot of his spine, meaning every inch is flush against him.

“You stay where I put you,” Jimin scolds, flicking at a nipple in punishment. “It’s pathetic, isn’t it? You, lying here, asking to be degraded by somebody half your size? Pathetic. You’re lucky I’m a giving man.”

“Th-thank you,” Namjoon offers up with wide eyes. He doesn’t know the protocol, doesn’t even know how he should be acting as a sub, let alone as a sub for Jimin. He can barely believe the situation he’s ended up in, but he’s never felt so alive. The cold steel is a wakeup call to sluggish veins, his blood rushing faster than ever, most of it going straight to his dick.

Jimin huffs like he’s not quite pleased with the response - even as his eyes crinkle and glint with satisfaction - and simply hooks a finger into the waistband of Namjoon’s jeans, frowning. “Can’t even get undressed yourself. For goodness’ sake.”

Namjoon’s cheeks burn, and he squeezes his eyes shut, feeling so overwhelmed. Though it was years ago, the habit of being in control hasn’t left him, and part of him feels anxious being so vulnerable. Closing his eyes eases that, and Jimin lets him, briefly reaching up to give his upper arm a squeeze, a lilting hum asking the unworded question.

“I’m okay,” he breathes to the darkness behind his eyelids, and the squeeze returns before Jimin straightens up again, fingers yanking impatiently at Namjoon’s jeans, undoing them and yanking them off, taking his briefs with them.

The new level of nudity sends another shock of cold to his system, but this time Namjoon welcomes it with a groan, tilting his hips up so that his cock rests on his lower stomach. His fingers twitch, aching to wrap around himself.

His desire is answered, not with the delicious grip of fingers, but with the hard press of the heel of Jimin’s palm, pinning his hardness down without mercy. A moan dies in Namjoon’s throat as his body tries to curl inwards. A second hand holds him down still, leaving him unable to escape the heavy pressure.

He pants, writhing and toes curling, but Jimin just sighs softly, like he’s more relaxed than ever. “Such a waste,” he drawls, his voice blooming with all the flourishes of a Disney villain, “wanting to be treated like a slut, but what am I getting out of this? Hm?”

“U-uh-” Namjoon has no idea what to say, cracking his eyes open to seek out the comfort of acknowledgement above the level of the scene. His breath is taken away at the sight. Jimin, above him like an avenging angel, golden-haired and glittering with sweat, still fully clothed (as fully as you could call a single piece of denim). He finds Namjoon’s searching gaze and sends him a calm, dreamy smile of encouragement, before twisting his palm against the base of Namjoon’s dick, wringing a strangled groan out of the man. “You can take me,” he pants, filled with the urge to provide, to serve, “take what you want.”

Jimin tilts his head to the side, like this proposition is worth considering. As he makes a show of pondering, he taps his fingers lazily against his cock’s dripping head. Namjoon swallows the whimpers that threaten to bubble up, and forces his hips not to budge. “I’ll be honest with you,” Jimin says finally, “because you don’t deserve sugar-coating. If I was here with a fleshlight or a dildo, I would’ve come already. You’re wasting my precious time, sweet boy. I don’t want you to lay here and simper, I want you to be a good toy for me. So what’s it gonna be?”

Namjoon’s muscles are trembling; from his lips to his toes, he feels like he’s vibrating slightly, restless down to the very atoms that make him up. Jimin is patient, lazily drawing sticky patterns of precum on Namjoon’s abdomen with his pinky finger. Namjoon fights against the primal part of his brain for something coherent, replaying his words. Fleshlight or dildo. Be a good toy. Jimin was offering him the choice to top or bottom, Namjoon realises, and his cock twitches, feeling liberated and thoroughly taken apart with that heady mix of submission and power. He was giving control to Jimin, but never losing his choices.

For a moment, he does consider what it might feel like to let Jimin take him. He’d never bottomed before - at least not for anyone but his own fingers in his experimental years - but if anyone could make him feel safe, he suspected it would be the dom leaning over him. It’s once he really thinks about it that he knows he’s not ready, a thin strand of dread winding around his lungs that won’t go away until he’s stammering to Jimin that he can have Namjoon’s cock if he wants it.

Jimin sucks in a slow, pleased breath, a smile curling at his lips as he lays the weight of Namjoon’s length across the palm of his hand, looking it over. The chill of the steel beneath him is nothing compared to the iced shiver that runs through him upon being inspected in his most private area. Second most private, he corrects. Baby steps.

“I suppose,” Jimin declares finally with a sigh, “this should do. Not winning any awards, though, is it?” Namjoon’s cheeks burn with shame at the comment even as his face scrunches up in disagreement. If there was one thing to be proud of physically, it was that he could always bring his partners pleasure with the equipment he grew into.

Jimin sees the unfiltered reaction on Namjoon’s face and suddenly claps his free hand over his mouth, turning away. The giggle, impish and delicate, doesn’t get as muffled as he probably intended. “Dammit,” he mumbles, “stop being funny, that’s not fair.”

Namjoon blinks, still stark naked and hard as rock beneath the clothed and chuckling dom. “...Apologies,” he says after a pause, “but do you want to- um- are we-”

“Sorry, sorry,” Jimin says, clearing his throat and wiggling the muscles in his cheek to force the smile down. His fingers reach nimbly for the straps that hold his set of overalls on, and undresses down to skin as he takes some deep breaths as if to hype himself back into character. Once he’s done, he swings a leg over the metal bench and straddles Namjoon’s thighs with a swiftness that takes his breath away.

While it may take Jimin a second to slip back into his dom headspace after the break in mood, all Namjoon needs is the feeling of Jimin’s plump ass cheeks settling onto hs lap and he’s being smacked in the face with submission, ready to beg to feel it more intimately.

Jimin doesn’t wait for him to beg, however, rolling his body forward and down, all the way until their cocks are pinned together between their stomachs, and their noses bump. Close enough to kiss, Jimin stays right there, a breath away, and Namjoon freezes, unsure if he’s allowed to close the gap.

Pleased with the restraint shown, Jimin smirks, eyes wandering over Namjoon’s face in pure bemusement, slightly cross-eyed with their proximity. “Most toys can’t kiss back,” he mentions, a hand sliding up Namjoon’s forearm and shoulder to thumb at his jaw, tilting his head back and holding it in place, “so I figure I might as well treat myself.”

“Most?” is the final worried exclamation Namjoon manages to get out before lips are descending on his, and heat erupts.

There’s no way Namjoon could keep up. Not when his face is pressed tightly to Jimin’s, lips nipped at, tongue sucked at, and mouth thoroughly explored. Not when every inch of his front is pressed to Jimin’s, the latter’s nipples hard against the soft, relaxed flesh of Namjoon’s chest. Not when he becomes aware of slow rocking, Jimin grinding their cocks together.

It takes him an unknowable eternity of this to realise that the slow, indulgent groans passed between them aren’t all his, and that Jimin’s shifting motions are brought on by the way he’s reached behind himself with a finger slick with their shared spit, working himself open.

It’s that realisation that becomes the last straw for any of Namjoon’s reserves. He feels so - so passive, not even prepping the man who’s about to take his cock. He’s lying on unforgiving steel, body used as a grinding post and mouth deeply plundered, just a mindless toy, dumbed down to pleasure and need. He isn’t even really aware of his own body where Jimin isn’t touching it; he isn’t too sure where in space his hands are, or what his feet are doing. His lips are for Jimin and his cock is for Jimin and that’s enough to make him light-headed.

When Jimin sits up, Namjoon grunts a bit and fights for some clarity to help line himself up against Jimin’s awaiting body, but the dom just tuts and rebuffs the advances, suiting himself. Part of his weight is on Namjoon’s right shoulder as he props himself up, slowly bearing the rest down so that the head of Namjoon’s cock pushes inside.

The moan that leaves Jimin’s mouth is enough to make Namjoon’s bones shake, wishing he could hear it on repeat, and the dom certainly seems to be doing his best to make it a reality with the enthusiastic way he works his hips down in tight circles, clenching around the intrusion.

Namjoon feels like he’s floating, the hard edges of steel no longer grounding him. He doesn’t lift his hands up to hold onto Jimin, he doesn’t fuck up into him, he’s barely even looking at him with how low his eyes are lidded, but there’s liberation in that inaction.

The pressure to perform is entirely lifted, and he feels the pleasure twofold, once from his own sensation and then again like an echo with every sigh and groan that leaves Jimin’s lips.

The dom has the stamina of an athlete, lifting a leg up onto the metal base beside Namjoon’s hips to gain better leverage, and Namjoon has a front row seat to the way the muscles in Jimin’s thighs flex. They’re corded and thick, such an erotic contrast to the softness of his ass, and Namjoon feels drunk off of it.

He lets Jimin take what he wants, and he feels, and that’s all.

He doesn’t even think, not really, nothing deeper than mindless observation.

Jimin is beautiful, like nobody he’d seen before, and the lack of makeup and unstyled hair certainly doesn’t change that. It’s a reminder that he’s real, and that he’s sharing this experience with Namjoon. He sits up, leaning backwards with a hand on Namjoon’s knee instead of his shoulder, and the first time he plunges down, his whole body is wracked with a violent tremor.

“I’m close,” he pants outs, eyes flicking down to Namjoon, a lazy grin appearing momentarily, onto to be knocked off by an expression of pure euphoria as he swaps the bouncing out for grinding. He rocks his hips back and forth, Namjoon buried deeply inside, and seeks out his own end irrelevant of the body that cock belongs to.

Namjoon doesn’t care, loves the near out-of-body experience he’s having, and wills the pleasure to simmer long enough for Jimin to come first.

When Jimin gets really close, he loses some of the fluidity in his movements and becomes jagged, seizing up more and more until he’s stock still, breaths staccato and mouth wide open. The physical release follows soon after, and Namjoon shudders as hot white paints the underside of his chin and his chest.

Jimin has a hand around himself, tugging out every last drop as he sucks in desperate lungfuls of air, slowly curling in on himself until his burning forehead is on Namjoon’s shoulder. “Fuck,” he curses under his breath, chest heaving.

Namjoon reaches his end without even noticing. The pleasure throughout his whole body is so electric that an orgasm is barely a notch higher, more so a spreading warmth throughout his body. Wet where Jimin’s still joined to him, and damp everywhere else with perspiration, but it’s blissful nonetheless.

Jimin heaves himself back upright after a brief interlude, brows furrowed as he glances down at Namjoon. “Did you- oh,” he remarks, shifting a little and seeing the cum that’s split around the base of Namjoon’s cock. He lets out a deep sigh, eyes slipping closed for a moment as he tips his head back. “Okay, bye-bye dom.”

Namjoon’s mind slips back into awareness at a snail’s pace, feeling first the way his throat has dried up a little and his jaw hurts from clenching his teeth. Then his voice comes back to him, and he coughs a little, blinking up at the dom above him. “Does dom have a return date by chance? That was… fucking incredible,” he admits.

Jimin laughs, the action causing him to clench around Namjoon. With playful fingers, he reaches down and lightly pinches the fat of Namjoon’s cheeks. “You’re too cute,” he declares, before lifting himself up and off, clicking his tongue at the rush of wetness that drips down his legs. “Far out, it’s like you haven’t nutted in a year.”

Namjoon feels his cheeks heat against his best intentions. “That’s just normal.”

Jimin sends him a sharp look, searching his face. “Holy fuck,” he muses, stalking over to the nearest station to raid a small drawer of wet wipes, “and you’ve been letting that beast sit out in the cold every night instead of coming in here? Masochist.”

It takes all the energy left in his body to sit up, but Namjoon gratefully accepts a fresh wad of wipes and begins to clean himself off. “The beast doesn’t pay the bills,” he quips, already feeling more casual with Jimin after their intense shared experience.

“Then I suppose I’ll have to enjoy its company on your free time,” Jimin offers up, avoiding Namjoon’s gaze with what appears to be a shy streak as he dresses himself.

Namjoon smiles, appreciating the gorgeous sight of Jimin’s body before he covers up. Appreciating even more the way he feels so comfortable in his presence, enough to let go the way he did. “I’d like that.”

[dabisburntsack]

Pay attention to me

Fandom: My Hero Academia

Pairing(s): Shigarki Tomura x GN!Reader

Genre: Fluff

Synopsis: Restless from your lack of attention to him in quarantine, Shigaraki takes matters into his own hands.

Wordcount: 2162

This is apart of a quarantine fluff collab done with the crackhead sanctuary discord server! Can’t wait to see how everyone’s fics turned out! This was fun to do I hope you all enjoy ٩( ᐛ )و

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* 　　 *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* 　　 *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧

Shigaraki was secretly enthusiastic after a mass pandemic had broken out in Japan, usually the two of you would not be able to see much of each other due to the danger of being caught with your profession as a pro hero and his as an extremely wanted villain. Now you had no choice other than to be wrapped in each other's embrace as chaos roamed outside the solid walls of your modern apartment. No one was there to judge you guys being together and the usual paparazzi outside of your residence had been resolved as people were not stepping foot outside.

However, what he didn’t expect was for the hero commision to still call you forward as an essential worker. Villains it seemed were still up to no good, even though Shigaraki had told the rest of the league to stay put and inside; lesser known villains had decided to make their own names known in the country's vulnerable state. And if that wasn’t bad enough, the times you were home you had steadily grown yourself attached to the retro nintendo switch gaming console. What the fuck was so good about animal crossing anyway? Did you enjoy spending time with that rat Tom Nook instead of him?!

Shigaraki was used to him being the gamer between the two of you, he enjoyed it as you pleaded for him to get off whatever device he was on at the time by smothering him with kisses till he gave into you. Sometimes he would even do so on purpose to get affection from you. Being on the other end of it though, was something he quickly learned he did not enjoy. Not being one to initiate intimate gestures in the relationship, he just watched you hoping you would notice him sulking and give in to him.

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* 　　 *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧

Sunday morning. No hero duties, just you and him, sleeping in till noon; but as his hand caught the coldness coming from your side of the bed, Shigaraki buried his head into his pillow and groaned. He could hear your padded footsteps going downstairs. Rolling over he yawned into his hand before checking the time, 8:45am. Why were you awake at 8:45am. Why was he awake at 8:45am on a Sunday morning.

Throwing off the sheets he winced as his feet hit the cold wooden floor of your shared bedroom, he was going to have to drag you back to your cocoon pile himself. Muttering, he walked his way downstairs before peaking into the living room to see you huddled on the

couch, switch in hand. Of course you were up so early just to go on that damn game.  

“Player two, what the fuck are you doing awake right now”

Your head snapped up like a deer caught in headlights as you saw your boyfriend's tired face leaning beside the door frame. Sheepishly rubbing at your neck you pouted up at him, “But Daisy Mae is selling turnips”

“Daisy who is doing what???”

“Daisy mae” You repeated bringing your switch up so he could look at what you were referring to “look at her she's so adorable, I have to buy from her I can’t make her sad by not buying”

Shigaraki looked down to your screen and blanked. There on screen was an orange little pig with a hat full of turnips, and standing by its side smiling brightly was your avatar. You got out of bed for a pig??? A pig selling turnips from its head...and was that a snot drop hanging from its snout?!!

He looked back up at you and if emojis existed in real life, he swore you would be the pleading eyes one with the face you were pulling at him. Ok, but who gave you the right to be so fucking adorable, he was meant to be mad at you for having woken him up so early!! Over a PIG!!!

“And why do you have to ‘buy turnips from daisy mae’ so early in the morning, you can do it later on”

“You can only buy before noon” You pleaded at him “Come on who could resist look how cute she is”

“I can be cute” Shigaraki huffed under his breath “Come back to bed, I’m tired and cold”

“Ok ok after this I will, you go warm it back up for me” You had already started slotting your switch in the port that hooked it up to the TV.

Shigaraki puffed out a breath but obliged and made his way back upstairs, waiting upon your arrival. Sliding back between the covers he peered at the doorway to your bedroom patiently to see when you would come back, however something about the warmth of the sheets and the way the mattress moulded perfectly into his back pulled him back into slumber in an instant however much he tried to fight it.

When he awoke again it was 11:15 and he was content to see you rolled up on his chest. He breathed out slowly, tucking a hair strand behind your ear, before kissing the top of your head.

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* 　　 *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧

Waking and sleeping at ridiculous times had seemed to turn into the norm for you after that however, as he once again caught you out of bed at 3am this time, when he awoke from feeling the coldness of your body not pressed up against his. He blearily rubbed his eyes with his forefinger and thumb before seeing a brief light flickering from downstairs through the cracks of your bedroom door. He threw his head back and protested, muttering under his breath on how much of a hassle you were, before pulling off the covers and making his way downstairs. Blinking at going into the light he found you once again curled up on the sofa, controller in hand and staring avidly at the TV screen.

“Y/N.”

“Yes?” You replied not taking your eyes off the screen.

“What are you doing awake?”

Well at least you had the dignity of alighting a blush that made its way up your neck and across your cheeks. You meekly turned your gaze to him ready to spring up your puppy eyes but he looked back at you with a deadpan expression. Still, you tried your luck by pouting at him and blinking your eyes in mock innocence.

“But shiggy there’s a meteor shower today and I had to watch it”

“It's a game, can't you do it in the morning?” Shigaraki sighed, being once more brought to weakness by your gaze. He couldn’t resist you, not when you were looking at him like that paired in an oversized t-shirt with a blanket draped over your head. HIS oversized t-shirt might he add.

“I have to do it nowww, the stars only come between 7pm and 4am”

Honestly he didn’t know how to respond, you really stayed up to watch a pixelated star fall from the sky. Is this how bad he was? He shook his head but couldn’t help at the slight smile that tugged at his lips. Making his way over to you he took off your blanket before wrapping it round the both of you.

“Lets see this damn star that has you awake all night then”

You beamed at him. He melted.

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* 　　 *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧

With the days going by of you ignoring him for your switch, Shigaraki thought doing the same to you would be a good idea. But as it went on he couldn’t bring himself to carry on, he wanted your attention, and he had just thought of a way to achieve his goals.

Basing his plan on the night a few weeks ago when you had stayed up for that meteor shower, he dragged out an assortment of blankets to the old trampoline you had in your garden. Since that night he had decided if you so badly wanted to stay up for a stupid capatilist racoon, you could do so with him too and experience the real thing. He had gone ahead and checked the weather for when clear skies would take place for you guys to stargaze in your back garden, along with a nice dinner beforehand. He had already started cooking back when quarantine had begun trying to ease the load off you as you worked on your hero duties, and although not the best, his food was the least bit savagable now. (Although this did include multiple temper tantrums on his behalf and having to call Kurogiri to calm himself down.)

Coming back inside he checked on the curry he had left to simmer only to find it was burning. FUCK. Fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck, ten minutes away he looked up in exasperation at the mess in front of him, this wasn’t going well. The curry was burnt, the salad was old and the flowers he got you had disintegrated when he tried to move them into a vase as he wasn’t wearing his gloves earlier on. Maybe it wasn’t too late for Kurogiri to teleport some decent food his way…

As the door chimed from your arrival he hurriedly put down the plates and scratched at his neck, he didn’t usually do huge gestures in the relationship between you guys, that was more your thing. He showed his love in small ways, he liked touching you, having at least one body part pressed against you eased his nerves. Whether it be your thighs brushing against each other as you sat next to each other or feeling the warmth of your hand against his leathered one it never failed to put his mind at ease. This was long overdue, he wanted to show you how much he cared, if things would just go his fucking way the once.

“I’m home!” You called out, he knew your routine by now, you would go hop in the shower as to decontaminate yourself from any germs and then come eat with him before going off to spend hours on your switch. Well not tonight, you were his for tonight.

“Welcome home, brat”

His attention turned back to the utter chaos in front of him and he brought his forefinger and thumb up to massage the bridge of his nose. Picking up his phone with all fingers but his pinky he dialled Kurogiri’s number but stopped in his tracks as he heard a gasp in the room.

“Shiggy?”

His ears felt hot as he turned to face you, you were looking at the small dining table set up in the kitchen and looked up at him with tears in your eyes.

Shit.

His cooking really was so bad he had made you cry fuck this wasn-

“Shiggy you did this for me?”

...

“Well who else would I do it for”

The air was knocked out of his lungs as you flung yourself into his arms, he was still fearful whenever you made sudden movements on him as of his quirk but he relaxed as he noticed the leather adoring his hands was there.

“I had a bad day at work today, I missed you so much all day”

Shigarakis arms wrapped back around you as he buried his face into your hair. “I missed my player two aswell”

Staying in each other's embrace, Shigaraki hummed in content. “I burnt the curry by the way”

“It's the thought that counts, I’m sure it isn’t so bad”

It was bad. Shigaraki seemed to have missed out a lot of steps and he ended up calling Kurogiri after all, after eating and showering together (you had jumped straight into Shigarakis arms and needed to be clean from your day of work) Shigaraki grabbed your hand and tugged you outside.

“I thought we could stargaze together…” Shigaraki muttered out his ears turning red yet again. “Like you do with bob rook”

…

“Tom nook?” You laughed

“Yes the dumb racoon boy”

“Are you jealous of said dumb racoon boy?” You asked, amused.

“No” He replied too quickly, and was silent for a while before speaking up “You’ve been playing on that game a lot recently though”

“Finally got a taste of your own Medicine, have you?”

“I’m not as bad as you”

“I beg to differ”

He flicked the top of your forehead as you giggled and laid back in the nest he had built on your trampoline, before staring up at the sky. It really was a beautiful night to stargaze, the weather was pleasant too, with the warm summer air and no breeze. Shigaraki laid down next to you, laced his fingers with yours and brought them up to his lips, placing a chaste kiss on your knuckles.

“I love you”

“More than Tom Nook?”

Pretending to think about it you hummed. “Mmmm yes I think so”

“You think so?”

“Of course I love you more than Tom Nook dummy”

Shigaraki was quiet for a while before softly muttering out “I love you too”

[squiggledrop]

Day 25: Proposing on Christmas - Spencer x Reader

Masterlist

Ficmas 2020

Listen to my Christmas Playlist!

Summary: Ficmas Day 25

Word Count: 2.1k

Pairings: Spencer Reid x Reader

Snow fell outside as a thin layer of frost formed on the cold window. You rolled over, taking in a deep breath as you curled into Spencer. You felt his arms tighten around you and a thin smile graced your lips. 

“Merry Christmas”, you whispered, placing a soft kiss on his stubbly cheek. Spencer hummed, kissing your forehead.

“Merry Christmas, baby”, he smiled. You looked up at him, his warm chestnut eyes holding your gaze. “You want to get up, or cuddle for a bit longer?”, he asked. He looked at you with a smile and a knowing glint in his eyes.

“Just a few more minutes”, you sighed, pulling the covers up further. Spencer gave the tip of your nose a quick kiss before closing his eyes and snuggling back into you. Resting your head on his chest, you could hear his steady heartbeat through his grey t-shirt. You closed your eyes, calmed by the feeling of being so close to Spencer.

After about a half-hour of cuddles, you began to hear Spencer’s stomach grumble, eliciting a slight giggle from you. Spencer smiled, rubbing your back, as he looked down at you.

“Alright, let’s get you some food mister”. You gently patted Spencer’s chest as you sat up in the bed.

“Can we have some of the stollen?”, he asked, eyes lighting up. Every year you made a loaf of your grandmother’s stollen for Christmas morning, and it was Spencer’s favorite. He, of course, liked to drown in it powdered sugar, claiming it made it more festive. 

“Of course”, you said, leaning into him. You placed a chaste kiss on his lips, which he eagerly melted into. You pulled back and smiled, placing a gentle peck on his cheek before standing up.

As you made your way to the kitchen, Spencer followed behind with his arms wrapped around your waist and chin resting on your shoulder. You giggled, wrapping your arms across his as you waddled down the hall together. 

When you made it into the kitchen, you got out a cutting board and knife as Spencer put on a pot of coffee. As you cut the stollen, he came and stood behind you, enveloping you in his embrace again.

“Careful”, you giggled, the sharp knife wavering in your hand slightly at the contact.

“Sorry”, he mumbled shyly into your shoulder, pressing light kisses along your back. When you had finished cutting a slice for you both, you set the knife down and turned around. You placed your arms on his shoulder, running your fingers through the hair at the bottom of his neck. Spencer relaxed into your soft touch and began rubbing his hands up and down your back. You sighed, closing your eyes and basking in his touch. Spencer pulled you closer, your head slotting underneath his chin. He pressed a kiss onto your head before resting his chin on your shoulder and pulling you in for a proper hug. You both stayed there for a moment, letting the scent of coffee and the other’s shampoo fill your lungs. 

Upon hearing Spencer’s stomach rumble again, you let out a soft chuckle before giving him a tight squeeze. Spencer let out a mumbled whine you pulled apart, but you shook your head playfully as you handed him the plates of food.

“Here”, you smiled, “take these in and I’ll follow with the coffee”. Spencer nodded, eagerly eying the food in front of him.

“Don’t forget the powdered sugar”, he smirked as he walked towards the couch.

“I won’t”, you teased. You poured two cups of coffee into the holiday mugs you picked up at the inn you stayed at. Each one had a snowy scenery with a horse-drawn carriage, and upon the top, in red script, it read ‘the best part of Christmas is spending it with you’. As you stirred in a Spencer appropriate amount of sugar into his mug, you smiled, memories of the previous days replaying in your head. When you finished, you made your way into the living room and smiled as the glowing Christmas tree came into view.

“Here, babe”, you said, handing Spencer his cup of coffee.

“Mmm, thank you”, he hummed, taking a sip. He handed you your plate and you gave him the bag of powdered sugar. A wide grin grew on his face as he lathered it onto his stollen. You watched as took a bite, a satisfied sigh leaving his lips at the taste. 

“This is so good,” he complimented through mumbled chews, “You did a really good job”. You chuckled slightly, noticing he had some powdered sugar on his chin.

“Thanks, baby”, you smiled, bringing your hand to his face and gently dusting off the excess sugar. Spencer blushed at the intimacy of your kind gesture and came to sit right next to you. He leaned his head on your shoulder, pressing your sides together. You both sat there, eating and sipping on your coffee as you enjoyed the other’s presence.

“I love you”, Spencer said softly between bites. You looked down at him and smiled, hoping that three words could compensate for the multitude of love you held for him.

“I love you too”, you gleamed. Spencer looked up at you for a moment and gave you a sincere smile before turning back to his stollen. He knew everything would be fine, perfect even, but that didn’t stop him from hoping you couldn’t hear how fast his heart was beating.

When you had both finished eating, you began opening the presents that sat under the tree. With every gift that was opened, Spencer could feel his heart rate increase. As you were opening your last gift, he rubbed his sweaty palms on his flannel pants, hoping you wouldn’t notice.

You, however, were also a profiler and knew something was up by the way he was nervously playing with his lip. As you unwrapped the gift, you watched Spencer’s sporadic eyes dart from your face, to the present in your hand, to the back of the tree, and then down to the floor beside him. 

“Spence are you okay?”, you asked, slightly worried. Spencer felt his throat go dry at your words, and he nodded, trying to form a sentence. “You sure?”, you asked, comfortingly placing your hand on his arm. Spencer sighed at the contact, looking down at your joined skin. He took in a deep breath and a small smile played on his lips.

“Yeah”, he said, nodding at you. He took your hand in his and ran his thumb across the back of your palm. “I um, I think there is one last present behind the tree”, he said softly, motioning to the tree. Your eyebrows furrowed as you looked.

“Spence I don’t think so”, you giggled, looking at him quizzically.

“No, I’m pretty sure there is”, he insisted. “Um, why don’t you go check”. You were about to say something, but you closed your mouth and let out a soft sigh. You chuckled slightly and got up, figuring it would be easier to just check. 

Spencer watched as you stood up and walked towards the tree. You bent over, looking behind it, making sure there was nothing there. And, to your suspicions, there wasn’t.

“Spence, babe, I told you”, you said, turning around, “there wasn’t any-”. You gasped, bringing your hand to cover your mouth. When you turned around, you were met with Spencer on one knee in front of you, holding a tiny velvet box in his hand. Tears welled in your eyes at the sight of him, and it took everything in you to will your shaking legs to keep you standing.

“(Y/n)”, Spencer started, trying to hold back tears, “Italian composer, Giuseppe Verdi, once wrote ‘I saw you and fell in love, and you smiled because you knew’. From the first day I saw you and your contagious smile and heard your enchanting laugh, I knew you were it for me”. Tears rolled down your cheeks, and you dropped to your knees, holding onto every word that came out of Spencer’s mouth.

“I love you so much, and I want to spend every day for the rest of my life showing you. I love you because you are my best friend, in the truest sense of the word. You are the person I want to wake up to every morning and the person I want to come home to every night. With one look, you know exactly how I am feeling, and you always know how to make my day better. For the past month, I’ve been trying to fathom how I could condense my love for you into the finite constraints of the English language, and with every attempt, it doesn’t fully capture the extraordinary phenomena that is you”. You watched as Spencer took in a shaky breath, so you reached out your hand, which he gratefully held onto. You smiled at him, and he nodded a silent thank you before continuing.

“I didn’t know it was possible to love someone this much, but every day you prove me wrong time and time again. And I never want you to stop proving me wrong. I love the way you challenge me and how you’ve turned my world upside down, and I love that you let me see the world through your unique point of view, and I hope you always let me because it’s beautiful”. He stopped for a moment, blinking away some tears. He swallowed before looking back up at you, his amber eyes looking deep into yours.

“You are beautiful. You are the most radiant, caring, stubborn, sarcastic person I know. And because of that, you are also the most beautiful person in the world. I want to have kids with you, and I want to raise them in a gingerbread house with you”. You both let out a giggle through your tears at his words. You smiled at Spencer as if he held the whole universe in his palm, because to you, he did. 

“I want to grow old with you and sit in a nursing home while I read and you ramble about random things while we hold hands”. 

“Hey”, you sobbed through a smile, “that’s our regular Friday night”. Spencer giggled, shaking his head before he continued.

“I want to travel the world with you, and take every nap with you in my arms. When I say you are my whole world, I mean it literally”. He looked deep into your eyes, holding your hand. “You are my whole world. I honestly don’t know what I would do without you. No matter where I am or what I am doing, you are always on my mind, not consuming every thought, but rather always in the background, giving me words of encouragement when I need it or just a silly comment when I need to smile. You never fail to make me smile, and I want to spend the rest of my life making sure I’m the cause for yours”. He paused again, taking a deep breath. He looked at you through blurry eyes and smiled, “(Y/n) (Y/l/n), will you marry me?”

“Yes”, you cried, nodding as you flung yourself into Spencer’s arms, “Of course I’ll marry you, Spence”. Spencer clung onto you, happy tears rolling down his cheeks. He had never felt so elated in his entire life. 

“I love you so much (Y/n)”, he whispered into your hair, “so, so much”. He placed a kiss on your neck, as you felt your own tears leaving a stain on his shoulder.

“I love you too”, you whimpered. You lifted your head slightly so that you could see his face, and you promptly attached your lips. Spencer sighed into the kiss, neither of you caring about the salty tears mixing in your mouths because it was perfect. Everything was perfect.

When you finally broke apart, breathless, Spencer took the ring out of the box and took your hand in his. He gently slid the ring onto your finger and placed a tender kiss on it. He pulled you back into a tight hug, relishing in the way it felt to hold his fiancé. 

“Merry Christmas, (Y/n)”, Spencer spoke as he sniffed. You let out a faint laugh, your heart never having felt this full.

“Merry Christmas, Spence”, you whispered back. You held onto each other tightly, grateful that you had forever to spend smiling in each other’s arms.

[bellygunnr]

The Medical Standard

Vega helps Doom Guy relax after a particularly long mission.

The armor comes off, but not by his own hands. A square, brutish-looking Vega drone uses a combination of pulsating Sentinel light and thin, maneuverable steel arms to pick apart the joints and slide the damaged plating off. Consumed by this one task, the damaged skin underneath is left to sting in the open, chilled air of the Slayer’s personal quarters, his accelerated healing slowed by the volume of demonic material left behind. He pants, open-mouthed and exhausted, through pain and overexertion, and tracks the progress of the Vega drone silently until the last of the damaged armor is removed.

“It can be repaired later, Slayer,” says Vega, utilizing not the tower-wide intercom but the mic built into the face of the drone. “As for your mission time... you were active for 26 hours.”

The Slayer licks his lips and bares his teeth in a pained grin.

“I will wait,” Vega says, “for you to finish undressing.”

He grunts, letting the grin fall. The drone putters away, propelled by a rear-mounted antigravity unit. Its tiny arms fold up into molded slots on its belly, just in time for it to slip through the door. The room echoes with the sound of the door’s harsh mechanisms as it folds shut.

Once the noise fades, leaving the Slayer in ringing silence, he allows the tension to bleed out from his body. Pain, both superficial and structural, was not something unfamiliar to him. His hands hurt to bend as he forces them to curl around the zipper of his undersuit and yank it down to his waist, where he shrugs off cloying material from around his shoulders until it droops onto the floor. Like this, the consequences of his recklessness were exposed, as half-ripped seams of flesh.

Recklessness. He had just refused to keep his distance, driven to an internal, private madness by the weight of his mission. Bigger and more complex it grew, yet never any less necessary. It was still simple-- kill Demons and let it, someday, be done-- but others did not see it that way.

But he was getting distracted. Lost in his own thoughts. If he strained his ears, he could hear the water running in the washroom. Vega would be getting...impatient.

The Slayer sinks down into a kneel, exhaling steadily and gradually through grit teeth. The latches built into his boots give easily despite the filth caked up on them, but removing the garments themselves is slow-going and an exercise in not exacerbating the wounds littering his body. While he’s down, he also lets up the seals of his gauntlets, relaxing his hands until both gloves slide right off. He stands back up with a steadying sigh.

He leaves the undersuit hanging around his waist and meets Vega’s drone halfway out the door. Faceless though the drone is, he can feel the quiet impression of Vega’s opinion on his mind, as if the round camera is a pair of furrowed brows and downturned lips.

“It’ll heal,” Vega says, and guides the Slayer the rest of the way to the washroom.

It’ll heal. The Slayer chuckles as he follows Vega all the way to the bath, where he holds out his arms to let the drone in close with its articulate limbs. Somehow, Vega manages to be both delicate and efficient while stripping him. He only has to step out of the discarded suit and into the still-steaming bath water as his contribution.

“You spiked it,” the Slayer motions.

“Did I?” Vega replies.

The water is hot, but his wounds only sting a few moments before easing into numbness. The water is clear, except for when the Slayer inspects it and finds that it shines blue against his hand. Painkiller and undoubtedly other chemical concoctions had been mixed in-- for his benefit, he can imagine Vega saying.

“No,” the Slayer sighs, sinking into the water.

He sinks deeper into the bathtub until the water is up to his collarbone and the scent of it clings to his nostrils. He hooks one arm around the rim of the tub, reaching over with the over to tweak the head of the rubber duck. It quacks politely. Only then does he let his eyes close.

The Slayer tips his head back, relishing in the feeling of his muscles stretching and the overhead lights turning the back of his eyelids pink. In due time, he would be spurred back into action, but for now, he was content to be sedentary. Jobs well done were meant to be rewarded, as long as the result was whole.

“You need a bath,” Vega says.

He grunts. Maybe he does.

“Slayer, if I may…”

It wouldn’t be the first time. He gestures toward the cabinet where the bathing paraphernalia resided, as much of an answer as he’s willing to give. The receding puttering of Vega’s drone is all the answer he needs.

With some reluctance, the Slayer eases himself up and forward, baring the back of his head to the open air. He watches blood swirl through the water long enough to be surprised when warm water is poured slowly, slowly, over his head, wetting down his hair and running down his chin in rivulets. He groans as Vega urges him to sit back into a more accessible position.

The solution Vega works into his roots is cold at first, sending goosebumps down his neck. But Vega is meticulous about working it in and the fingers of the spindly arms themselves are not cold or hard against his scalp, instead providing focused, round points of contact that soothes the just-simmering veneer of alarm in his gut. He and Vega have come a long way, in that regard.

By the time Vega is ready to rinse, the Slayer is dozing off, and startles slightly at the rush of warm water once again. He sighs heavily enough to ripple the water inches beneath his chin, but doesn’t move, allowing Vega to continue manipulating him as he saw fit. Eventually, the tub would drain, his wounds would heal, and the dirt removed.

But for now, the Slayer lingers in this half-state, lulled into fitful contentment by his only companion. Tension seeps out of his wound-up muscles the longer Vega works, his squared shoulders slumping into the water as warm ‘hands’ work over his scarred back. At this proximity, he could hear the drone’s internal mechanisms shifting and whirring, obscured by the hum of the motor. 

“Rinsing,” Vega warns.

Warm water once again cascades over his hair and down his face. He screws his eyes against it, but resists the urge to shake like a dog. 

“You are already healing.”

Tentatively, the Slayer opens his eyes and looks down, peering at his body through the rippling water. Then he lifts his arm, scrutinizing the surface of his bicep. The gouges that had been there not even an hour ago were closed up and just past scabbing over.

“Hm,” the Slayer grunts.

So he was.

He dips his head as Vega floats past him and dips a long arm into the water. A second later and the Slayer feels the water tremble and the level starts to drop. His skin prickles at the cold it leaves behind. He stretches his legs out as the water laps at his waist and ceases to drain.

“Allow me?” Vega asks.

The Slayer stares at the drone’s single eye contemplatively. He was well enough to bathe himself now, but remnants of old conversations kept him from saying as much. Vega worried. Vega is worried. Vega worries, and the Slayer had not known that for a very long time.

“Go ahead,” the Slayer motions. 

He watches Vega lather up a sponge into a sudsy mess and sniffs the air. At least this smelled devoid of the healing solution in the bath water-- while it wasn’t an objectionable scent, it wasn’t something he wanted clinging to his skin all day. In fact, it wasn’t scented at all. The Slayer relaxes against the side of the tub.

“Lean forward.”

Ah. The Slayer tips himself forward, crossing his arms in his lap and exposing even more of his backside to open air. Now that he’s accustomed to it, the bathroom is actually quite humid and warm, but even it feels cool compared to the Mark seared between his shoulder blades. He feels Vega deliberately avoid that space as he starts to work over his skin in minute circular motions.

“If you keep being this nice,” the Slayer intones, his voice gravelly from disuse, “I’m going to fall asleep.”

“It is not being nice. This is the medical standard,” Vega replies.

He lifts an arm as Vega starts to scrub his left flank. The wounds there were shallower than the rest, but Vega traces over the pink welts with the sponge before working up to his armpit. There, he lingers, before his second arm grasps the Slayer’s extended wrist and holds his arm in place. He leaves a trail of suds all along the hairy, scarred limb.

“Medical standard,” the Slayer mouths mockingly.

Somehow, Vega knows to ‘punch’ him lightly in the small of the back. He chuckles, smiling to himself.

“Rinsing.”

This time, the water that cascades over his frame is cold. He twists around to give Vega a look, but the drone, as always, is unaffected, and simply prods his other arm up into the air. Vega dips under his arm to hover in front of him and he turns around to follow him, flexing his hands. 

Vega works over his hand for a moment, kneading the tendons and the curve of his palm before letting his arm down. Then he grasps the Slayer’s shoulder and continues his circular scrubbing there, following the curve of his clavicle to the dip. From what the Slayer can perceive, there’s no specific pattern Vega is following-- they are both simply getting lost in the rote motion of it all.

Still, it is soothing, and the Slayer allows his chin to drop. He blows on the bubbles clinging to his skin, watching them pop, while Vega rubs down his torso. The drone he’s occupying emits a disapproving short tone.

What does that mean, the Slayer moves to ask, but his unspoken curiosity is answered by the same tone, only faster. Low battery, he realizes vaguely. Sometimes the drones he encountered on the field would make the same sound.

He chooses not to comment on it, especially as Vega pours more cold water down his front. He does lift his legs up, however, for the drone to grasp one and hold, while allowing the Slayer to finally slump back and release his tensed muscles.

“You are tired,” Vega observes.

“As are you,” the Slayer returns. “Your drone, anyway.”

“There are more.”

The drone beeps. Vega keeps the Slayer’s leg elevated and rubs inelegantly at the bottom of his foot, which to his surprise, is ticklish. He curls and wriggles his toes at the drone but otherwise doesn’t react aside from a gritting of his teeth, breaths suddenly becoming deep as Vega scrubs his soles and heel. The sponge is soft and warm between his toes as well, which Vega lingers on, until delicately running up the top of his foot, to his ankle. The quick-healing wounds there don’t even sting.

Vega sets his foot down and focuses intently on his calf now. The suds gather in white clusters that gradually slide down his leg and hover on the surface of the water, joining the rest of the soap that hasn’t yet deflated. 

The Slayer hums and sighs through his nostrils, finally starting to doze off, his eyelids fluttering closed. He can feel Vega working under his knee and along the underside of his thigh, then up and over. His head dips further down, awareness slipping, undisturbed even by water being poured over his skin.

By the time the Slayer comes back around, his arms are folded crosswise over his stomach and the tub is empty of water. His neck and shoulders ache from his awkward position and, though glancing around hurts, Vega is nowhere to be found. But before he can express his displeasure, the door to the bathroom slides open.

And the drone that putters inside is markedly different-- how long had the Slayer been sleeping? Was that a nightgown dangling from the drone’s hands?

The Slayer pushes himself up, growling as he does so. The bathroom is colder than it was and he shivers against it, until Vega silently drops the clothing into his hands. The material is soft, but not dense, and most importantly warm.

“Apologies,” Vega says. “I did not wish to wake you until necessary.”

He grunts in response. It was a bathrobe, not a gown, but bright pink and stamped with black rabbit’s feet. He represses the urge to smile and/or chuckle, wondering where Vega managed to get this.

Knowing him, he probably made it.

He reaches up to pat the side of Vega’s drone approvingly before tying the bathrobe tightly around his waist and walking back out into his room. He’ll never admit it, not out loud, but his body and mind does feel better after the long bath. He’d have to thank Vega.

Not in so many words, of course.

“Have we located our other objective?” the Slayer asks, glancing at the drone’s goggle-eyed face.

“Yes,” Vega says. “I will send you the dossier in ten hours.”

He growls, but waves his hand in acquiesce. He didn’t want to look at it right now anyway. The smell of Hell may have fled his nostrils, but even he couldn’t kill demons without a satisfactory eight hours. Well, he could.

That was a struggle for another day. Right now, he needs to sleep.

“Ten hours, then,” the Slayer says, and rolls over into his bed.

He is well and truly out the second his head hits the pillow. He doesn’t even perceive Vega drawing the heavy comforter up to his shoulders or ruffling his dried hair. All he knows is that he feels comfortable.

Safe, even. In his own home.

[darter-blue]

And now for some stucky fluff...

Read it here on ao3

Or part one, two, three, four on tumblr

Bucky’s sense has left him. It left him somewhere back on the dance floor. Maybe even before then.

It’s entirely possible that in fact he’s never had any.

He spent too long talking at Steve about particles… about soulmates… about whatever it is that's happening between them. And by some miracle, Steve is still listening, still looking at Bucky like he’s interesting, like his words mean something. And Bucky needs to harness that. Needs to grab at it before it slips through his fingers.

So he quits his yapping. He grabs Steve and he pulls at him again, marvels at the complete lack of resistance there, at the way Steve just follows him. When he dares to look back over his shoulder, Steve is still there, still staring at Bucky as if he is something wondrous. Somehow not tripping, or faltering, despite not watching at all where he’s going and or paying any kind of attention to the people or the noise or the chaos of the casino around them.

Steve’s eyes are only for Bucky.

Even as Bucky pulls them through the garishly painted doors. Even as Bucky leads him into madness.

Bucky turns away from Steve to face forward, to push clear of the doors and let them swing closed behind them.

It’s much quieter in the chapel.

Bucky sweeps his eyes from right to left and takes in the pastel pink walls, the blue ribbons along the pews, the couple chatting at the top of the aisle. One dressed as Elvis - white jumpsuit and cape, big hair, sunglasses, guitar flung over one shoulder, not slim, but filling out that jumpsuit nicely all the same - the other wearing a hot pink t-shirt that reads ‘we will wed you’ in white lettering across the chest and a fifties retro polka dot skirt.

They both look up as Steve and Bucky enter.

‘He-ey,’ the man dressed as Elvis says, smile and eyes widening as he looks past Bucky and up and up to Steve, then back down and up again. One eyebrow raising in slight disbelief, no doubt, at the existence of such a perfect being.

Bucky can’t blame him.

‘Welcome, welcome!’ the woman in hot pink says, coming forward, arms outstretched, ‘hello boys!’

‘Hello,’ Bucky says, smiling at her exuberance, and her very excellent blond bee-hive up-do, and slows to a stop about halfway down the aisle.

‘Ma’am,’ Steve says, affability dripping from the buttery smooth tone in his voice, coming to a stop on Bucky’s right.

‘Oh, you two look like a match made in heaven!’ the woman says, stopping a few feet from them, she holds up her hands and makes a frame with her fingers, placing Bucky and Steve in it and looking through at them with one narrowed eye. ‘Oh yes. Beautiful, beautiful.’

‘Uh…’ Bucky starts, and falters. At a loss for exactly how to proceed.

He looks up at Steve and Steve looks down at him with an encouraging smile, slides an arm around Bucky’s waist and squeezes him closer.

‘We umm… do we have to make an appointment?’

‘You two?’ the woman says, eyeing them both up and down, ‘no appointments necessary, come come come.’ She spins around and starts heading towards Elvis, checking back to make sure Bucky and Steve are following her, ‘Come with me, I’m going to take care of everything.’

‘Okay,’ Bucky says, looking up and Steve and shrugging his shoulders.

Steve laughs and squeezes Bucky tighter, walking them down the aisle together. ‘How do you make everybody fall in love with you like this, Buck?’

‘Me?’ Bucky says, laughing and shaking his head at Steve. As if Steve has no idea of the kind of magnetism he’s exuding. The uncanny resemblance he has to a greek god.

‘Yes, definitely you,’ Steve says, ‘People are never this easy with me.’

‘I am,’ Bucky says truthfully. Everything about Steve screams home to Bucky. Screams safety and happiness. Bucky couldn’t be anything but easy with him.

‘Yes you are,’ Steve says softly. Squeezing Bucky again. He’s going to have to stop doing that, it's so warm, his arm is so strong, his hand is so big, Bucky feels encased by him. It’s dangerously addictive. Bucky wants to lean into it and let himself go.

But, actually, why can't he? This is a chapel, they are about to leap into the craziest decision Bucky has ever made in his life... So Bucky does lean into it. Lets his side press into Steve, lets them fit together like a solved puzzle.

‘Okay boys, we have some forms, we have some catalogues,’ the woman says, gesturing them into a room off to the side of the chapel, ‘I need you to put your decision making hats on, okay? We have about thirty minutes before the next couple comes in and I want to slot you right in, yes?’

‘Okay,’ Bucky and Steve say together, nodding their heads.

‘Good, good. So take a look over these, sign them, pick your rings and I’ll charge them all to your room. You’re staying in the casino right?’

‘Yes,’ Steve says, moving forward before Bucky can answer, ‘Charge it to my room, please.’

Steve starts pulling out his wallet, shows his identification and takes the pen the lady offers him, and Bucky watches with a sort of fascination, as Steve becomes completely in control.

‘Steve Rogers,’ the woman says with a smile Bucky doesn’t understand. Knowing, familiar. ‘I’m Mavis, it’s so lovely to meet you.’

‘And you,’ Steve says. He opens his arm out to Bucky to gesture him forward, and slides it around Bucky’s shoulder when he gets close enough. ‘This is Bucky.’

‘James Buchanan Barnes,’ Bucky says, holding out a hand for Mavis to shake, ‘pleasure to meet you, Mavis.’

‘Oh well you are just the sweetest thing,’ Mavis says with a chuckle, her cheeks blushing, ‘absolutely adorable.’ She pushes a catalogue towards Bucky, ‘Find your rings, darlin’ while Steve here fills out the paperwork. I just need some signatures from both of you and I’ll set up everything with Larry over there,’ she points to Elvis who waves back at them from the altar, ‘while you pop out and find yourselves a witness.’

‘Can’t you be our witness, Mavis?’ Bucky asks. He doesn’t want to unpack the kind of recklessness that it takes to be getting married in a seedy casino wedding chapel and needing to nab random strangers to be their witnesses.

‘Oh of course I will, darlin’ boy, but you need two. And Larry is the officiator, he can’t be a witness I’m afraid.’

‘It’s no problem,’ Steve says, looking up from the paperwork and handing Bucky the pen, ‘You sign these and pick out the rings, Buck, I’ll go grab somebody.’

‘Ahh... sure,’ Bucky takes the pen and watches as Steve takes off on a mission, ‘I’ll just… pick out my wedding ring from this plastic catalogue…’

‘Okay,’ Mavis says, bustling about in the small room and not watching Bucky at all, ‘Here are your complimentary t-shirts,’ she pulls some material from a storage box under the counter, ‘here is your album,’ Mavis plonks a hot pink vinyl photo album right next to Bucky’s ring catalogue, ’and here’s your notepad.’

‘Notepad?’ Bucky looks at Mavis and then down at the small notepad, blue and pink and with a vegas sign as a watermark in the background.

‘You might want to jot some quick vows down, honey.’

‘Oh.’

It occurs to Bucky, as he looks down at his coloured notepad, at the ring catalogue on laminated sheets of pink paper, at the t-shirts Mavis has put down for them on the counter, that this is perhaps a terrible mistake.

And then he looks a little closer at one of the rings on the last page… plain white gold (plated, he’s guessing) flat bands with an inscription on the inside that reads, ‘For we are but two halves, together whole’ and wonders if in fact it's the opposite of a mistake.

What if this is fate?

‘Bucky, I found somebody,’ Steve comes tearing back into the chapel followed by a dazed looking man, wide eyed and smiling, looking up at Steve as if he just met the messiah. ‘This is Scott.’

‘Hi Scott,’ Bucky says, dragging the man’s attention away from Steve, ‘thank you so much for doing this.’

‘Are you kidding?’ Scott says, beaming back up at Steve, ‘for this guy? Anything.’

He looks starstruck - Bucky can totally understand where he’s coming from.

Scott is absolutely bouncing on the balls of his feet, ‘You are a lucky guy, Bucky.’

Bucky looks at Steve, who is looking worriedly between Scott and Bucky, reminding Bucky momentarily of a confused puppy, and has to wholeheartedly agree.

‘You still sure about this, Buck?’ Steve asks, puppy dog eyes kicking into full gear.

Bucky can’t help but smile. ‘I um… found these I sort of like,’ Bucky says in lieu of an answer, pointing to the picture of the rings on the laminated page, ‘what do you think?’

Steve looks down at them, at the inscription decsribed underneath the picture and looks back up at Bucky with the softest, sweetest smile. ‘They look perfect.’

‘Yeah? You think so?’

‘I do.’

And Bucky’s heart melts. He feels the warmth of it spread right through his chest.

‘Perfect!’ Mavis cries, swooping in to grab the catalogue and disappear into the chapel, yelling back ‘get yourselves to the altar boys!’

‘I guess we ah… head out there?’ Bucky gestures over his shoulder with his thumb, to the altar, ‘let me just um…’ he jots down a few lines and then rips the page off and hands the notepad to Steve, ‘for your vows.’

‘Ahh…’ Steve looks adorably terrified at the notepad Bucky has just handed him and looks over at Scott who is smiling at both of them now.

‘You guys look good together,’ Scott says, grabbing them both around their biceps and pushing them together, ‘this is really special. Thanks for letting me be a part of this, Cap.’

‘You’re welcome,’ Steve says, calm but bemused as Scott’s hands keep squeezing.

Bucky looks up at Steve and then back at Scott who almost seems to be tearing up.

‘You guys know each other?’

‘I wish,’ Scott says, shaking his head with a laugh, ‘what a dream this night has turned out to be.’

And Bucky can’t help but laugh. It’s just crazy enough to be perfect for this evening. ‘For you and me both,’ Bucky says. And Scott squeezes his arm a little tighter. ‘We even have this t-shirt for you.’

Scott takes the t-shirt Bucky offers him reverently. ‘Viva las witness,’ he says with awe. ‘This is amazing.’

‘And for you, sir,’ Bucky says, handing one to Steve.

‘Thank you, Buck’ Steve says, standing back from them both to pull off the button down he’s wearing.

Bucky can’t stop the gasp that escapes as Steve’s shirt slides down his arms to reveal the wide expanse of chiseled porcelain perfection underneath.

Steve smiles at Bucky’s no doubt slack jawed expression but Bucky can’t look away. It’s… a lot. IKt’s more muscle than Bucky has ever seen on a real live person. Toned and smooth and carved out of marble.

What is Bucky getting himself into?

Steve is pulling the pink ‘groom’ shirt over his chest and down over his washboard abs and Bucky has to hold his hand back from reaching out to touch him, to slip his fingers under the soft material of the t-shirt.

‘Your turn, Buck,’ Steve says, staring at Bucky with one eyebrow raised, handing him the blue shirt.

‘Uh-uh.’ Bucky shakes his head. 'Nope, not after that,' he waves his hand in the direction of Steve's chest, 'no thank you.'

'Buck?'

'I don't look anything like that.'

'Nobody looks anything like that,' Scott says, his eyebrows still at his hairline.

'Scott, could you give us five minutes?'

'Yeah, I'll just…' Scott backs out of the room and towards the altar, 'let me choose you some music. Be right back.'

'Bucky,' Steve steps closer as Scott disappears, 'you don't have to do anything you're not comfortable with.'

Bucky lets him closer, but doesn't move.

'But this,' Steve puts his hands to his giant pecs, nearly breaking through the t-shirt, 'this is not what makes me, me.'

'I know,' Bucky tucks his hair behind his ear, nodding his head 'I know that.' He does know that. But it’s hard to not be intimidated by his perfection.

'And as beautiful as you are,' Steve says, reaching out to take Bucky's hand and hold it, put it up against Bucky’s chest, 'this isn't what makes you, you.' Steve presses the finger of his free hand against Bucky’s forehead. 'This is, Buck. This is you, yes?'

'Yes.' And it’s true. He forgets that sometimes but it’s true.

'And it's amazing, you're amazing.'

'I am?' Is he? Bucky doesn’t feel amazing. He feels like he’s just scraping by most of the time.

'You are.'

Steve is looking down at him with so much affection, Bucky knows it’s not a line. It’s what Steve really thinks.

'You are too,' Bucky lifts his own free hand to touch Steve's forehead, 'you're so lovely.'

Steve leans in as Bucky traces his hand down to his cheek and rests his forehead against Bucky's. 'You don't have to wear the t-shirt, Bucky,' Steve says softly, running his hand through Bucky’s hair, 'You don't ever have to do anything you don't want to do.'

Steve's hands on him are like a balm. They radiate care and calm, and they speak Steve's truth.

Bucky’s insecurity washes away. He wants to be part of this. He wants to be all in. 'I do want to wear the t-shirt,' Bucky whispers, 'It's cute.'

Steve laughs and almost snorts. 'It's perfect for you.' Steve nods. 'Want me to give you some privacy?'

'No,’ Bucky doesn’t want Steve to go anywhere. ‘No I want you to help me.’

Bucky takes Steve’s hands in his own and places them gently at the hem of his t-shirt - faded and worn and washed too many times, all the more comfortable because of it.

Steve slides his hands up under the hem and over the bare skin above Bucky’s waistband, dragging the tips of his fingers across Bucky’s stomach. Bucky breaths in a sharp gasp of air as Steve’s thumb runs over his hip bone.

‘Gorgeous,’ Steve sighs the word, his breath on Bucky’s lips, he’s so close.

Bucky lifts his arms to let Steve run his fingers up further, taking the material of the shirt with him and lifting it slowly over Bucky’s head. He runs his hands back down Bucky’s chest, fingertips burning into Bucky’s skin, charged and electric.

They slow at Bucky’s stomach, sliding around the smooth, slightly rounded softness of Bucky’s waist to settle on his hips, rubbing circles over the bone with his thumbs.

‘Beautiful,’ Steve whispers, ‘you’re perfect, Bucky.’

‘Thank you,’ Bucky whispers back. Not because Steve has said it, but because he’s made Bucky believe it.

Steve’s nuzzles closer, reaching up to kiss his lips against Bucky’s forehead, Bucky settles his hands on Steve’s chest, up to Steve’s shoulders and around his neck-

‘Showtime boys!’ Mavis says, bursting into the room and then throwing a hand over her eyes as Steve and Bucky jump apart, ‘Oops! Sorry, but you need to get your sweet little butts out there, we’re running out of time.’

‘Yep, sorry, sorry,’ Bucky grabs for the blue t-shirt, ‘Elvis said we do’ plastered across the front in bright pink lettering, ‘coming right out.’

‘Better late than never,’ Mavis says with a wink to Steve and Bucky laughs at the blush that creeps into his cheeks.

‘Shit,’ Steve writes quickly in the notepad as they both hustle out to the altar, Scott off to the side pairing his phone with the sound system as ‘Fools rush in’ starts up over the speakers and Larry-Elvis smiles down at them as they move into position on either side of where he stands a step above them.

Steve tucks the notepad into his pocket and shuffles his feet. Bucky stands straight and reaches for his hands, pulls them into the space between them, holds them there, safe between Bucky’s own.

‘Welcome folks,’ Larry-Elvis drawls, ‘We’re gonna keep this short and sweet, I as a certified official in the state of Nevada, do preside over these two young men, to bring them together in holy matrimony-’

Steve catches Bucky’s eye and bites his lip. Bucky can only look back and try and keep from vibrating out of his skin.

‘-James Buchanan Barnes, did you have some words for Steve,’

‘Ah, yep…’ Bucky says, grabbing the torn out page from the pocket of his jeans, ‘Ah, Steven-’

‘-Grant,’ Steve says quietly.

‘Steven Grant Rogers, somehow it feels like I’ve known you forever. Somehow I feel like tonight I have met the kindest, most wonderful man in the world.’

‘It’s so true,’ Scott says quietly from behind them, and it makes Bucky smile.

‘Whatever brought us together, whatever force has drawn us to each other… It feels like fate, Steve. I think maybe you’re my person.’

Steve is nodding, smiling, he squeezes Bucky’s fingers.

‘And Steve?’ Larry-Elvis asks, ‘did you have words too, son?’

‘Yeah I…’ Steve doesn’t reach for his notepad, he looks at Bucky and squares his shoulders, lifts his chin, ‘James Buchanan Barnes, my heart knows you. However our particles have danced together through time, I found you here and now, and I’m going to hold on for as long as I can-’

‘Oh, god,’ Scott sobs behind them.

‘-I think you’re right about fate, Buck, and I can’t wait to spend the rest of my life, just being a part of yours.’

‘Beautiful!’ Mavis cries, running over with the rings, ‘Rings boys, time to wrap it up.’

Bucky has to smile at the chaos, at Steve’s face as he bites his cheek and tries not to laugh. He checks back at Scott to see him taking video of the ceremony and hopes that he can watch this in the morning, sober, and remember how light his heart is right now.

‘That was beautiful, Steve-Steve Rogers,’ Bucky says leaning in to whisper.

‘You’re beautiful,’ Steve says back and they smile at each other like idiots as Mavis hands them their rings and the song fades out on Elvis singing about falling in love. It couldn’t be more perfect.

‘You may kiss the groom, fellas,’ Larry says with a sweeping hand, ‘I now pronounce you husband and husband.’

And all of the noise fades away around them as Steve steps in, brings their joined hands up to their chests and reaches down to rest his lips against Bucky’s.

‘May I?’ he whispers against Bucky’s mouth.

‘Fuck yes,’ Bucky whispers back, and Steve laughs as he closes that last tiny distance, presses his warm lips softly to Bucky’s and opens them just enough to fit their mouths together.

The tenderness of it has Bucky in freefall.

He sighs into the taste of Steve’s lips, the luscious sweep of them against Bucky’s, and Steve has to let go of Bucky’s hands to reach around and grab him, take Bucky’s weight where he has dropped into Steve’s hold, pressing deeper into the kiss as he does, opening wider to it, gently nudging his tongue against Bucky’s and Bucky pushes back, licks softly into Steve’s mouth, sucks at the plumpness of his bottom lip, reaches his hands up around Steve’s neck and holds on.

The bang of the confetti canon has Steve snapping back up to standing, pulling Bucky with him and wrapping his arms around him, as if to shield him. Looking up and then back at Bucky as the coloured paper rains down on them.

Bucky can't help huffing a happy laugh at his husband. His husband.

‘Congratulations!’ Mavis and Larry-Elvis and Scott all cry from around them, but Bucky’s world is all and only Steve right now. The crystal clear blue of his eyes, the rose of his cheeks, the sharp nose and pink lips, and the look of absolute adoration on his face.

‘Wanna get out of here?’ Bucky asks.

Steve smiles even wider, ducks his head to kiss Bucky again, slow and soft and sweet and whispers into Bucky’s mouth, ‘I do.’

It’s perfect.

[believeitseeitdoit]

A Defiled Uniform

Steve x reader x Bucky , Steve Rogers x reader , Bucky Barnes x reader

Summary: the boys find a particular garment in your stuff, and set out to fulfill an old fantasy in the bedroom

Rating: 18+, don’t touch this if you are under age please, and sweet Jesus wrap it up folks,

Warnings: CW brief discussion of religion and old style school punishments, SMUT, 3 some, if it isn’t your style, don’t read (I’ll be less offended if you ignore it than if you read it and get cranky), blowjobs, spanking, man on man kissing, dirty talk, language, teacher kink … let me clarify the reader is 100% of age and consenting to the scene!!!

The boys are helping you pack up your apartment so you can move to the compound up North with them. Natasha is helping you wrap dishes in the kitchen while Steve and Bucky tuck your clothes into suitcases from your closet. Classic rock plays throughout, windows open letting fresh air flow, and you can hear Sam bickering with the spiderling about what order to pack your furniture into the moving truck. Nat hands you another champagne flute from the top rack when you hear Bucky call your name.

“Y/N! When did you get all these shirts?! You literally wear 3! And since when do you wear so many shoes???” He yells from the closet, tossing your stuff at Steve, who patiently chuckles and sets them down in his organized fashion.

“It’s called variety, Buck, you’re not a woman on undercover missions. I need options!” You chirp back at him and set the wrapped plate into the box.

Bucky continues to mutter over your items and sighs happily when he can finally see the other side wall of the closet. Only 2 hangers left to go, he thinks gratefully. He grads an aged, faded green hoodie with your university logo and puts it to his nose so he can soak up your scent on it. Your choice fabric softener and hints of your favorite perfume, Black Opium, waft through and he thinks fondly of how much he loves those scents. Tossing the top to his best man, Bucky grabs at the last hanger. Huh, never seen this skirt before, he thinks while holding it up to the light.

“Hey Stevie, have you ever seen her wear this? Looks awful small for mission gear.” Bucky aims the skirt at Steve, giving it a gentle shake for dramatic effect.

“No, Buck, can’t say I have. You know what it reminds me of though? Those uniforms they used to wear at the all girls school across the road from the park back in Brooklyn.” Steve looks from the clothing to his boyfriend suggestively.

“Oh yeah! Those nuns sure kept the girls in line, remember the stories Dot and Molly would tell us about the rulers and paddles? Shit today that’s corporal punishment!” Bucky pulls the skirt off the hanger and folds it, placing the garment in your overnight bag rather than the suitcase.

“You gonna do something with that?” Steve nods to the new addition to your bag.

“Just gonna ask a question later is all Stevie.” Bucky winks at his partner and smiles.

Later that evening, the apartment is signed away and no longer your monster to manage, and the three of you are celebrating the next step in your relationship and life with your men. Lounging on the couch between them, your back against Steve and your legs curled up on top of Bucky’s, sipping a whiskey coke. Steve reaches to your chin and tips it up to place a chaste kiss on your lips, while Bucky rubs up and down your calves softly. You return his peck by sliding your tongue across his teeth, asking for permission to deepen the kiss. As he obliges, he lets his hands drift around your waist to rub your breasts and knead at the full flesh.

In your lustful haze, you hear Bucky speak up. “So where in hell did a good Catholic student learn how to kiss like that? I’m pretty sure they didn’t teach you how to moan like that in school princess.” His eyes are dark with desire and he rests his hands on your knees, locking them in place. You turn your eyes away from one man to the other, bewildered and slightly warm.

“What do you mean Bucky?” You ask with genuine uncertainty. Regardless of the commentary, your arousal grows with the ministrations from both your lovers.

“Well see doll, we did a little research today while you were unpacking. Shield likes to keep full files, and boy was it satisfying to learn that our sweet girl was an innocent little catholic school student. Went to church twice a week and everything.”

Steve whispers in your ear while rubbing a nipple between his fingers.

“And what better detail to find than your old uniform hanging in the closet. Blue is really our favorite color princess.” Bucky adds while snaking his vibranium hand up the inside of your thigh. He ghosts a finger across the seam of your panties, and gives them a quick snapping tug.

You turn to hide your head in the couch cushions, an attempt to cover the blush spreading across your cheeks. They weren’t supposed to find it! How could you slip up with that , as a SHIELD agent??! That fantasy was to remain deeply hidden.

“Don’t hide princess, we want to see that face when Steve tells you what happens next.” Bucky continues working your mound with his metal arm while he previews the future of the evening.

“Now sweet girl, you are going to go upstairs and open your overnight bag. You are to strip out of these clothes, put on the items in there, NOTHING else. Understand me?” Steve’s voice drops an octave as his mind shifts toward his dominant state.

“When you’re ready, I want you to sit at the desk, ready for the bell to ring.” Bucky adds his request as you nodded toward the blonde.

You swing your legs off the couch, palms sweaty with the anticipation of fulfilling the fantasy of defilling such a symbol of purity and innocence. As you turn away from your boyfriends and head to complete your task, each man takes a palm to your ass and smiles. You yelp, and scurry to the bedroom to find your drag bag placed at the foot of the bed. With shaking hands you peel the zipper apart to pull out your wardrobe. A white button down blouse, white ankle socks, the soon to be defamed plaid skirt, and the most ridiculously padded fire engine red bra you’d ever seen. With a chuckle, you peel off one layer of clothes and begin re dressing with the second. Not knowing how much time you have until the “class” begins, you hastily throw your hair into a ponytail and slap a little lip stain on before sliding into the large desk chair and crossing your ankles.

Moments later, you hear heavy boots scuff the floor and the stairs creak under the weight of two super soldiers. Your thoughts drift to dirty places and you imagine seeing bucky’s vibranium hand slide under the skirt while Steve massages your flushed and heavy tits through the top half of your given uniform. A shrill school bell pierces your thoughts and a heavy thud from the door forces your eyes up.

“Now who do we have here? Looks like Miss Y/L/N was sent in for a dress code violation. Mr. Rogers, would you please identify the specifics on why you have sent this young lady to my office?” Bucky looks you up and down as if he were stalking his prey.

Steve looks over his reading glasses and gives you a once over. “Well Mr. Barnes, this young lady clearly has no respect for the rules. I guarantee that skirt is far too short, bet you can see her backside if she stands up.” He begins to circle you as well, and pulls at your blouse. “This shirt is practically transparent, I’d say that’s a bra redder than a sunburn on the Fourth of July.” He grabs a strap and allows it to snap sharply back against your shoulder.

Bucky reaches out to you, asking for your hand. “Now young lady, I am a pretty lenient man, but disrespecting the code of conduct is an inexcusable offense. Mr.Rogers didn’t even mention that lipstick you have on. I happen to know for a fact your lips are not that shade of plum.” He swipes a thumb across your lips to smear the stain. “I think we should allow him to assist in your punishment since he had to leave his duties to discuss this with us.”

“I haven’t used a ruler on this one yet, will that suffice Mr.. Barnes ? She looks a bit delicate for much else.” Steve comes up behind you and begins to caress your thighs, not yet going past the skirt.

“I think a palm should get the point across rather eloquently, perhaps 10?.” Bucky keeps hold of your hand and reaches for your other to pull you close to him.

Steve releases your legs and allows Bucky to take you away. With his vibranium hand, Bucky pulls you to the opposite side of the desk, and leans you across it bringing your chest flush against the mahogany. As he releases your hands he whispers in your ear. “Now princess, I want you to count them and just maybe this will be your punishment for not telling us about your dreams sooner.”

Your thighs clench as a wave of wetness rushes through you, and your breath comes in pants as you hear the pair of them come to face each other over you. Bucky grabs your hands again, and brings them together in front of you so he can hold you down, while Steve runs a hand up your legs and slots one of his between your knees.

“I knew this tight ass couldn’t hide under that skirt, such a bad girl princess,” Steve says as he pushes the skirt over the globes and gives each one a squeeze. “Damn Bucky, can you tell how turned on she is? Dripping all over the place, ready to cum still all dressed up.” He continues kneading your backside while ignoring your moans and wiggling frame.

“Wait til you’ve finished her punishment, bet she’ll be ripe and sweet like a peach for us to taste Stevie.” Bucky growls as he pushes you back down onto the table.

Distracted by Bucky’s words and touch, you nearly miss the sound of air moving as Steve’s palm cuts through it toward your ass. You Yelp again, and whimper at the prospect of not sitting for a week. Bucky taps on your shoulder, reminding you of your duty. “What did I ask you to do princess? Are you going to be a good girl and count for us?”

“Yes, One Sergeant.” You groan out the count.

Another smack comes down to the same spot, right above the crest of your cheek. You gasp into the desk and suck in a breath from the sting. “Two Sergeant.”

Steve continues doling out your punishment to your backside, by the time he hits nine tears are welling in your eyes from the sting and pleasure building in you. Your legs are shaking with effort from standing and your voice is wrecked from garbled use.

“Ten, Sergeant. Thank you Sir.” You whisper after Steve finishes his smacks and begins to rub the marks in soothing circles.

“Good job princess, you did that so well, now it’s time for your reward.” Bucky releases your arms and Steve pulls you up from the desk, the pair of them sandwiching you between them as you all move toward the bed. Your blouse is pulled over your head between frantic kisses with Steve, while Bucky strips his clothes. As they switch positions, you go to unzip the skirt and wrap your legs around Bucky, but he catches your hand and yanks it behind your back.

“Who said you were allowed to take that off? Class is in session, and you must be ready to learn.” His eyes glow with desire as he leans in to kiss you.

Once Steve has rid himself of his clothes, he returns to the bed and comes to lay behind you as Bucky sits you up. “Today’s lesson princess, is the art of how to keep sucking while you cum.” Steve is stroking his member while watching your eyes roll shut with want as he explains the plan to you. Bucky houses you forward into Steve’s chest and pulls your backside to him.

“Damn Stevie, those handprints won’t be gone for a week. She’ll have to find a softer surface to sit on.” He admires his boyfriend’s handiwork while getting his girl set. With your head down and ass up, Bucky slides his flesh hand between your thighs and begins to run two fingers along the outside of your slit. Using your arousal to coat his fingers, Bucky pushes two inside you and begins to work them slowly. He picks up speed as you begin moaning and looks up at his partners nodding to Steve to fill you from the other end.

As Bucky’s fingers move against your walls with vigor, you moan and writhe seeking out more friction on your clit. Steve takes the opportunity to place his hard cock against your open lips, and waits for you to begin sucking. No motivation needed, you lean into his groin and take him in one swallow. Moving your head back and forth, you swirl your tongue against the shaft, and as Bucky adds a third finger to your pussy, you let a moan vibrate through your body, sending a secondary shiver through Steve as well. You relax your jaw and allow Steve to begin fucking into your mouth as his own release builds, the sounds of skin slapping and your muffled moans driving him wild with want. Bucky withdraws his fingers and reaches under you to lift you higher onto your knees. With this motion, Steve lifts into a kneel of his own and makes eye contact with his boyfriend. You pay them no mind as greedily sucking down your boyfriend's dick takes precedence and the prospect of getting fucked by the other makes you giddy with anticipation.

Bucky grabs a fistful of your skirt and slams your ass into his hips, setting your pussy ablaze with the slide of his thick curved cock against your walls. You groan against Steve’s painfully hard member, and before you can take him all he grabs your ponytail and pulls you off. Bucky’s brutally fast and deep pace has you close to the crest and Steve wants you to remember the rule of the scene.

“What did we say about today princess, you need to be able to keep sucking my cock while Bucky makes you come. Don’t stop, go it?” He wraps his hand in the ponytail and as you nod he allows you to take him in your mouth again.

Bucky’s thrusts are getting frantic as he chases everyone's peaks, and he reaches his vibranium hand to your clit while grabbing Steve with his opposite hand to pull him in for a hard kiss. Both men are panting as they pound into you from both sides, a hand touching each body as your body grows tight with the desire to orgasm. Bucky pinches your pearl and he tells you to come, giving a final hard thrust as he feels your walls clench around him. Like a rubber band, you snap into oblivion, no longer aware of what occurs beyond the throbbing in your pussy and the perfect fullness that surrounds you. You feel the waves of pleasure crash through you, and still both men continue their chase. Hypersensitive and fuzzy, you relax your jaw again and take Steve all the way to the hilt, and you bob your head quickly, sealing your lips around his large base trying to finish him off. Bucky’s thrusts have gone shallow as your walls have him locked like a vice, but you feel him begin to shatter as well. With a final thrust from both men, they spill into you with heavy grunts.

Bucky pulls out of you and Steve lifts you off his softened member, laying you onto the pillows.

“Did we properly defile the uniform, princess?” Steve kisses your forehead as Bucky pulls the garment off you with a smile.

“Yes Sergeant. Thank you Sir.” You nod sleepily, thank each man, and curl into their frames as Bucky climbs under the sheets. “If I had had either of you for teachers, it would have been a shameful garment way sooner,” you chuckle as they share a kiss above you.

[gisachi]

Okay I LOVE YOU TO DEATH ( ´ ∀ `)ノ～ ♡ but I think you already know that. I'm hereby requesting for #2 or #15 for the ShinRan kisses bc omfgahd you the b e s t ❤❤❤

This is for the dearest Tru because guurl your dcmk fandom misses you but I know you’re enjoying yourself over in HQ fandom and that’s great too ( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°) if you feel like coming back, let this be your ShinRan welcoming gift ok~ 💝😘

2. A small, fleeting kiss - which is immediately followed by a passionate, hungry kiss. 15. A fierce kiss that ends with a bite on the lip, soothing it with a lick. (1,659 words)

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Shinichi is a biter. It’s a fact not even he was aware of until Ran pointed it out. She discovered this weird trait of his back in middle school when in the dead silence of their study session, Shinichi unlookingly reached for Ran’s dormant hand and gave a light bite on the side of her palm.

Utterly aghast, Ran gave his head a good whack, questioning where the hell that came from,  only for him to respond with a clueless (and pained) ‘Huh, what did I do?’

Ran believed that Shinichi did know but merely played pretend to avoid her flying fist of death. Yet, it happened more than once, all done randomly and without any hint of hesitancy nor perversity in his end. That was when she started to consider that maybe, Shinichi was indeed blissfully unaware of his habit— of his fondness?— of biting her.

She isn’t going to lie, it’s very weird at first. It isn’t simply some information she can share so casually because even Agasa-hakase would find it hard to believe. Shinichi? Bites? Dogs bite. Not people. Moreso not him. He who cowers like a kitten when he senses the Ran Rage. Not that his bites hurt, but still. Weird.

Though after noting the pattern, Ran concludes that Shinichi mechanically does it only when three conditions are met: when he isn’t stressed, when they are beside each other, and when they are alone. If absorbed in a case, he doesn’t so much as flinch from his chair, sitting upright in a foetal position, and Ran beside him is reduced to an invisible post. But when his mind is free of cases, leisurely reading his mystery novels next to her, the hand grabbing and hand biting occur.

One instance, they were walking home, and although they were beside each other, fingers grazing fingers, Ran sensed his hesitancy to snatch her hand for a usual bite. Side glancing at him, she teased, “So you’re finally becoming conscious of your weird habit?”

“Conscious enough to understand that I must stop myself from doing that in public… give me credit, Ran,” he scoffed.

They weren’t even dating then, but the blush on her face was akin to the blush of a woman receiving a declaration of love from her man. He realized he was weird. And he wanted to be weird, comfortably weird, only around her.

The affectionate bites have continued without issue until high school, even beyond. She’s allowed to call it affectionate, right? Yes, it grew on her, and though it’s questionably odd, the act of imprinting innocent, visible teeth marks somewhere on another’s body is something that does not just happen if both parties aren’t comfortable with it. Letting him bite her is a sign that she returns his affection too.

And then they started dating.

The only thing that’s changed apart from their relationship status is that the biting doesn’t only happen on the hand. Sometimes, he treats her forearm like a roasted chicken leg and Ran tickles him on the rib as punishment. Her arm and shoulder are his favorite body parts to nibble on. Fortunately, teeth marks don’t take long to disappear, unless they blotch which is a different story. That hasn’t happened. Yet.

“You’re doing it again,” Ran complained during another private study session when the nibble on her unsleeved shoulder felt deeper than usual.

“Crap, sorry.” And he soothed with a kiss. Ran blushed.

That was a first.

She moved a tiny inch away from him, formidable pink growing in her cheeks. “Sorry for the bite, or for biting too hard?” she snipped. Shinichi simply laughed.

Pensively, he observed the embedded mark on her skin as she moved, eyebrows scrunching in contemplation. Suddenly his mood shifted.

“Do you think I ought to stop this?” he spoke up.

Ran blinked, a little surprised. “And you’re asking that question now?”

“Better than not asking and making you feel uncomfortable for the rest of your life, yeah.”

“What makes you say I’m uncomfortable?”

“ ‘Cause I never hear you say you’re okay with it?”

Ran blinked a few more times.

“Shinichi, I don’t have to say I’m okay with it for you to know I’m okay with it. You of all people should know that.”

“That’s not it,” Shinichi argued, “it’s precisely because I know you that I need to hear you say it. Your silence can mean a lot of things... I still can’t read you one hundred percent, you know...”

Stopping a growing smile, Ran rolled her eyes and sighed thickly through her mouth. She was so tempted to humor him but he looked so sincere with that sad apologetic face.

“It’s just odd. But I don’t...I don’t hate it,” she answered.

“So you like it?” His face brightened, voice upping mirthfully as he leaned closer. “C’mon! Say it.”

“M-Mah,” flustered, she lifted her nose in the air and looked the other way, “You’re just making fun of me now!”  

He laughed, then kissed her shoulder again. “Fine. I’ll take that answer.”

And so he never stops.

In the most random moments alone together, he'll grab the opportunity to steal a bite. When she’s brushing her hair, when she’s zoning out during a movie, while she takes a call from her mom, or even while she’s cooking. Especially while she’s cooking. He’ll stand behind her and wrap his arms around her waist, making everything more intimate than it already is.

One fine night, he drops by Ran’s after solving yet another case that has earned him another column in the next morning paper. In a very good mood, he bites her shoulder, after he has taken his bath, and Ran is cooking his favorite food for dinner. His lips - not his teeth - linger longer on her skin, longer than how he often soothes her, and Ran notices that the warmth is zipping north, onto the slope of her neck and shoulder, and then on her neck.

Suddenly, the heat that emanates isn’t just from the steam from the pot; it’s in her body, everywhere.

“You smell so nice…” She can hear his relaxed smile as his hands caress her waist, and Ran releases a quivering exhale. She knows he’s saying that more out of admiration than anything else, but his voice is raspy and it makes her knees weak. It doesn’t help that he just finished his bath and his bare chest touches her back, and he smells like her lavender shampoo and soap, and he is very far from stressed, and they’re alone in the apartment.

That fine night, the intimacy in the air feels tantalizingly different from usual.

“Did… Did you already heat the teapot as I told you?” Her question is not at all suggestive, but her tone seems to indicate otherwise.

“Mm,” lazily, he parts her long hair to the other side and nibs on the silky skin of her neck, “seven minutes ‘til it boils.”

And then the following seconds are quiet, body language speaking for itself. Her head craning, breathing short; his relaxing nibbles softer and deeper, hands on her waist playful. His alternating kisses and bites electrify her, and she wants to fuel this spark into something greater, something that will make both of them combust.

So she sets the stove to low heat, and turns around.

On that fine night, she seizes the opportunity to kiss him where she prefers.

Chaste and gentle, but eager all the same. Instances like these are when Shinichi need not ask if she likes what he’s doing because the answer is crystal clear in her eyes.

Still, with a shell-shocked expression, he stares back, unmoving. Heart beating fast and head spinning crazy. That is a first.

The next second, he’s kissing her back.

“Doing it...again,” Ran breathes, breaking their connection every two seconds to let him punctuate each kiss with a tender bite on her lip.

“ ‘M sorry,” he airs, smiling, kissing deep, drinking the moan that trembles out her throat. “Force of habit... Didn’t notice.”

She feels the swirling heat change the color of her cheeks; she’s probably burning red now. “You always don’t,” she chuckles over his lips as her back hits the edge of the kitchen island.

They are no expert at this, but it feels like they’ve been doing this for so long with the way their lips move and glide and dance with each other, already done testing the waters, encouraging for more. As if his skin kisses are but the foreplay leading to this special moment. Soon, she feels herself being lifted from the floor, thighs laid to rest flat on the countertop, his body slotted between her legs. Ran feels her soul leave her body. This intimacy has easily transcended into another level.

In the middle of concentration, Shinichi’s eyes blow wide like dinner plates and he separates, touching the corner of his lower lip.

He tastes iron on his tongue. He looks at his girlfriend, realizing what she’s done. “...Whoa.”

Smiling coyly, Ran leans close, pausing a breath away, before soothing his swollen lip with a soft bite and gentle lick, and Shinichi groans a little. “I think...I see the appeal now.”

Shinichi’s smirk is smug and thrilled, loving his girl’s newest discovery. “And I see why you aren’t stopping me before…” he kisses her again, “Do it more.”

And on that night, more she does. Her first kisses, her first nibbles, her first tongue action she offers while taking all of his in turn. Perhaps she might have taken more, if not for the kettle whistling and dinner boiling out of the pot.

As for his weird biting habit, safe to say it’s best she gets even for the hundred times he’s done before. And apart from his lips, she’s willing to discover where he likes to receive it most and how he likes it given.

That won’t take long. He’s a willing teacher anyway.

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