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#but neither of them remember what a gender is
nerdygaymormon · 1 day
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Thoughts on Queer People as part of the Eternal Family
That word "the" is important! In our church we usually speak of eternal families like there's a bunch of individual ones and we're hoping to turn our earthly family into one of them. But in LDS theology, we are all linked together to form the great family of God.
“For we without them cannot be made perfect; neither can they without us be made perfect.” (D&C 128:18). Everyone talking about being exalted without their LGBTQ+ family members WON’T BE. Our theology is one of inclusion, expansion, and progress. Our work is not done. If same-gender couples and trans people aren’t exalted, NO ONE will be. We cannot be pro-family and anti-LGBTQ+ at same time. 100% of LGBTQ+ people are from families and are part of God's eternal family. 
Being a queer member of the LDS Church means I tense up a little every time I hear the word "family" spoken in church, but it shouldn't be that way. I try to remember that Jesus didn't create a single traditional family during His lifetime. He never performed a marriage. He didn't get married. He didn't have children. Instead, Jesus redefined family by constructing a chosen family. Jesus created a new way of doing family, one which could include everyone.
Unfortunately, this chosen family approach isn't the model of family emphasized in our church, which means all the goals in our church are designed for straight people, and that's not me so it feels like I will never measure up. Our church has a doctrinal gap about what happens to anyone in the afterlife who isn't in a man+woman marriage, including singles and queer people. I believe I'm included in God's plan, just not in the Church's version of God's plan. 
Humans crave to love and be loved, to have companionship, we have a God-given sex drive (this is not meant to dismiss my aro/ace friends, I'm speaking in generalities). How cruel for people to be created this way and then told these things are not for us and we are to shut down these fundamental parts of who we are. We're to be miserable in this life for a shot a happiness after death. Does this sound like the plan of a loving God? Especially when everyone else is offered a win/win proposition to find happiness in this life and it will carry over to the other side. 
I have a feeling that Latter-day Saints are going to be deeply surprised at who all makes it to the Celestial Kingdom, and at how loving our Heavenly Parents are, and how family structures & sealings are going to be far more inclusive than many currently believe. What I know is God is in charge, ultimately God will win. The Godly approach in attitude, whether it’s on matters of race, gender, or sexual orientation, God will win and we will be the one eternal family because that’s the way He’s designed it. We won’t be pushing others away and singling them out as “them.” It’ll be “us.” In the interim, those of us who are deemed “the other,” whatever the “other” is, need to recognize that God will win. 
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yewsoup · 1 year
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Stuck
Words: 777
A conversation between Warden Gaeric, and the random guy he found in the Icelands and promptly befriended. As he does with many of the strange things that cross his path. They are just buddies <3
Can also be read Here on Ao3!
"I feel stuck." Is how the conversation starts. Gaeric whittling wood. The thing he found out in the snow and the cold and thought was human, but nobody's quite sure anymore, flopped upside down over a log sorting sticks. Pointed ears twitching in time to the knife.
He glances down at it. Meeting it's glowing eyes. "You are stuck. You don't remember where you came from, or how you got here, so you can't go back."
It twists- a little too fluid in it's movements- to sit up properly. Hands folded in it's lap. "Not like that- i..." Ingo- that's the name it had remembered- struggles with it's words. A fang pokes out as it bites it's lip. "Elsewise. Stuck otherwise. Something isn't... right."
Gaeric raises a brow at it. Pausing in his work. This is a serious conversation, apparently.
"I feel stiff. Wrong."
Well, it isn't very good in the cold, so maybe it's the cold getting to it. "You can go inside if you need."
But it closes it's eyes. Shaking it's head and clicking it's tongue. "Not the cold. I am warm!" It plucks at the extra thick tunic over it's black underlayer. "This keeps me warm." He's pretty sure it's wearing it's strange thin shirt under both of them. Which alongside it's jacket, makes four layers. So it'd be strange if it was cold, even out here.
"But you feel stiff?" It nods. "Stiff. Stuck. Something is missing." It sighs. "I wish I could remember what..." "Maybe you just need to do stretches?"
Ingo blinks at him. "Stretches?"
"You know, stretches? They loosen up your body?" Gaeric puts down his whittling proper. Standing and doing a couple stretches he KNOWS Ingo has watched him do.
"Oh! Your funny poses!" It mulls over it's words in it's head a second. "Yoga?"
He can't help but snort at the wording. It really didn't know...? "I don't know what yoga is, but yes. My 'funny poses' as you call them, are stretches! They loosen up my body before a workout!"
It squints at him. Tilting its head as it watches him move. Before standing up with a little grunt, using it's hands on it's knees to push itself to it's feet.
Then, it tries to copy him.
Gaeric laughs, and goes through the motions. Giving tips as it moves. It becomes a game of follow the leader as he goes through an impromptu routine. Ingo keeping up as well as it can.
"Maybe you should join me in my morning stretches!" Is said as a joke.
But Ingo is delighted by the idea! Nodding excitedly. "Yes! I feel so much better after these stretches! It reminds me of..." The gleam disappears from it's eyes as it's mouth returns to it's common frown. Memories slipping from it's grasp as they're wont to do. "I don't know."
Ah... Gaeric sighs. But he does his best to smile at Ingo. Patting his shoulder with a hand. "That's alright, buddy. Now we know the stretches help you, yeah? Maybe you'll remember something in time."
Ingo still frowns- maybe he frowns so much from the stiffness he's apparently been feeling? Or it's just the cold. But he nods, and is excited when he suggests "I can show them to Emmet when I see him next!" Ah yes, Emmet. Another oddity of Ingo is his friendship with the bloodsucking bat Pokemon...
Not that Gaeric can argue, what with his own predisposition to dangerous Pokemon. ... And finding strange things out in the snow. As proven by Ingo.
"I'm sure Emmet would love to hear about the stretches." He agrees. "You're going to see him again soon, aren't you?"
"Yes. And I made a toy for the Sneasel! I think it will like it."
"Is that what you were nicking your hands up carving?" "My hands are not nicked. They healed fine!" "You almost cut your finger off, Ingo."
It opens it's mouth to retort, but a gust of wind blows through it. Cutting it off as it shudders and pulls it's black coat closer around itself to stave off the chill.
Ah. It's gotten late, hasn't it? "You should head inside, it'll be no good if you freeze again. And I need to attend to some duties." Ingo doesn't fight it. A good sign of having learned better. As it nods and ducks into the tent. Hands covered in gloves that don't keep them warm shoved under it's armpits as it goes.
Gaeric watches it go. Calling, "I'll be back soon!" And walking off to check on everyone, tucking the rough-hewn froslass he had been working on into the folds of his tunic.
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canisalbus · 6 months
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you say machete has to be closeted then why's he always wearing them little heels
Maybe he thinks he's a tiny bit nicer looking in them.
#no in fact he's just a little ahead of the curve let me try to explain#again I'm not a historian I'm just sharing what I've read I might be misremembering stuff so don't quote me on this#high heels became extremely fashionable in the early 1600's probably just a few decades after Machete's time#and they were originally worn by men#because they were inspired by Persian riding boots#if your shoes had heels you'd have easier time keeping your feet in the stirrups (think of cowboy boots)#Europeans saw them thought they looked snazzy and they became wildly popular in noble circles fairly quickly#for some hundred years or so high heels were the epitome of class wealth power and status and they were essentially genderless#remember that concepts of masculinity and femininity are fluid and change over time#things that were seen as manly a few centuries ago may seem downright effeminate to a modern viewer#it's all matter of perspective neither is objectively more correct than the other#they started to separate into men's heels and women's heels around mid 1700's iirc but the changes weren't massive even then#and only truly went out of vogue when the French Revolution hit in 1789#and people all across the continent were suddenly put off by everything that reminded them#of the frivolousness and extravagance of royalty and aristicracy#so in his canon timeline I don't think people are looking at him and going “hmmm that's pretty gay”#because heels hadn't become gendered yet#maybe he likes how they accentuate his already tiny paws and make his legs look even longer than they are#he's interested in fashion or at least likes to dress nicely in high quality garments#he tries very hard to look his best despite never really feeling comfortable in his skin#he was a real shrimp as a kid and even though he eventually grew up to be a beanpole he might still find the extra height appealing#no one's going to look down on him ever again#I admit the way I draw them is a lot more modern than the true historical style at the time but not outrageously so#artistic freedom and all that in the end I'm not aiming for 100% accuracy#modern au Machete has no excuses though he's just a little bit fruity#if the guy feels empowered by wearing little clip cloppers let him#answered#anonymous#Machete
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aeide-thea · 1 year
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[witcherposting ahead—nb that this is all totally lighthearted and it's fine if you feel differently!]
anyway what i'd started to say before tumblr ate my post was that like. disclaimer that my approach to netflix witcher canon is that i fully reserve the right to cherrypick, because some of the changes they made were good but others were character assassination, and that obviously i get that if one isn't cherrypicking one does have to actually Grapple With Certain Things 🏔
but like. that said—the more 'Geralt Must Grovel for Weeks and Probably Scourge Himself, Look at What He Did to Poor Sad-Eyed Woobie Jaskier' fics i read the more i'm fucking grateful for the tiny handful where jaskier's just been like, yeah, i never bought that bullshit tbh, he was lashing out and he owes me an apology for sure but a single angry outburst does not in fact scupper an extremely well-established relationship of literally twenty years' standing in one fell swoop???
like i just. idk. imagine remembering that jaskier's a cheery irrepressible little shit and not actually as crushably low on self-esteem as all of us are. of course that would probably require *netflix* to have remembered that, so, you know, no actual shade to anyone who's been projecting that onto him! but just like. idk. they're obviously not siblings but they honestly do have that vibe in certain ways and it's just like. did you never say something overdramatic and shitty in the heat of a fight with yr sibling growing up and then after taking a bit of a breather just like. make a rueful face and apologize for yr respective roles in winding each other up and move tf on, without having, like, a whole extended OTT reparations process where you tell them repeatedly how perfect and sinless they are and how you know you're a miserable worm who doesn't remotely deserve their sunshiny presence in your life but would be so grateful if they could, possibly, somehow, see their way to forgiving you despite yr essential unworthiness—
#anyway. i think there are like. MAYBE like three of you reading this blog who give a shit abt this fandom‚ lol#so i'm mostly just talking out loud to myself here‚ which is fine‚ what's a perblog for if not that#but it's just like. yeah on the one hand you don't just get to yell at people without apologizing at all#on the other hand like. some relationships are strong and elastic enough that one (1) snip is not going to cut them#even a vicious one!#also like. jaskier DID handle that convo clumsily lbr. like. obviously geralt was not Justified but.#if i'd just had a vicious breakup and somebody came bumbling in making loud awkward small talk about it? jesus.#anyway. really ultimately this is just a 'have consumed much too much witcher fic and the Patterns are starting 2 irk me' thing#but it's just like. sometimes things are conflict between two imperfect people#and not a Good Woobie and a Sinful Meanie#anyway. time 2 go reread Sekrit Mutual's fic in which they actually keep in mind the fact that jaskier is a selfish gremlin#who despite himself really does love geralt and as a result is like. constantly torn between his nature and his urge to do right by geralt#but like. fundamentally he's a buffoon and a popinjay who yaps aggressively and then runs back behind geralt's legs#and joey batey leaning into his Soulful and Romantic side (that he does also have) doesn't actually erase that about him‚ nor should it!#anyway. this post is careening all over the place but i think it's just like. exactly the same weird terfish moral binary#that ppl have been talking abt with like. gender and kink and a whole range of things#where like. you always have Victims and Perpetrators#and so jaskier has to be like. the femme bottom victim which makes geralt the macho perpetrator totally undeserving of sympathy#and it's like. actually they're both imperfect people and neither one fits very well into their society's idea of what a man is#and what if we actually examined them as individuals rather than tropes and also remembered yennefer was fierce and interesting#and what if ciri weren't‚ like‚ a manhattan private school girl with her brows done while we were at it#getting a little overambitious with my wishlist there though i know
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Just a PSA- I do tend to "he" or "she" Skykids, Elders, and Spirits. Partially on appearance, but mostly on vibes.
My best guess is because I've never felt any conflict regarding my gender identity. The doctors said "It's a girl!" And I said "Sounds about right." I had a few times when I was like 6 when I wished I was a boy, but it didn't stick and I realized I really just wanted "permission" to be loud and messy. Which I can do just fine no matter what my gender is ANYWAY, but like I said. I was like 6. My brain likes patterns, my brain likes rules, and unless told otherwise it tends to sort people into boys and girls because unfortunately that's just... What I'm used to, I guess.
I'm just saying this NOW because if I say he or she about a character- Original or otherwise- And I get it wrong or you would rather I use "they" about your art, please don't hesitate to shoot me a message so I can fix it! I've had people get it wrong with my character on another blog before and it feels very yuck- Especially when they don't bother using the RIGHT words after you tell them. That's been a blockable offense for me, honestly. I don't want to make anybody else go through that, so if I need to change the pronouns I'm using for your art and the folks in it, just holler at me! I might not always remember everybody all the time, especially if it's been a while, but I WILL always fix it ASAP.
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My gender is just whatever the hell is going on with rise!leo
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glitter-epoch · 25 days
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-ˋˏ [ nerve endings ] ˎˊ
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≪ zayne x afab!reader ≫ - smut under the cut, 18+ ONLY mdni!!! do NOT!!! - part two of this drabble, but all you really need to know is zayne gave you stitches and neither of you are being normal about it. - warnings: smut at the end, afab reader no gender assigned pet names or references, a couple y/n's, reader got stitches in the first part, no explicit description of wound, slight pain from the wound at one point, fingering, zayne is mean and also anxious, he's real for that, zayne's scars mention
again, 18+ under the cut! mdni!
you’re unscrewing the cap on the ointment zayne ordered for you when your phone rings. the two gigantic strides you take to cross to the kitchen are ridiculous, but you’ve been waiting for him to call since his shift ended.
zayne. his name flashes on the screen, right under the time, 8:08 PM. you fumble to get the phone in your hands and put it up to your ear, cap still balanced between your fingers. 
“hi,” you breathe out. 
zayne is quiet for a moment. something whirrs in the background, mechanical and smooth. 
“hello,” he replies, in that somehow monotonous and matter-of-fact tone. “why are you out of breath?” 
“nothing,” you swallow. “just...trying to get the cap off the ointment you got me.” 
another moment passes. the soft drone of machinery in the background clicks in your mind, finally-  
“are you driving?” you ask. surely he’s not- 
“not anymore,” zayne says, and the whirring dies. “i’m in your parking lot. i have extra bandages and dinner for you. i’ll leave them outside if you’re not in the mood for company.” 
the feelings that pass through you are like a molotov cocktail; fear and excitement and relief all at once. it all burns in your chest. zayne had said he was going to call, but once it got to be past seven o’clock, you wondered if he’d forgotten. and you didn’t really think he would come see you, but...you had maybe thought he might. 
“you got me dinner?” you start, nervously. “that’s too much. thank you.” 
you’re in your pajamas, gauze pad ungracefully peeking out over the waistband of your fuzzy blue shorts.  
“i’m not dressed,” you murmur, unsure of what exactly your goal is in saying so. you do want him to come up- 
“i don’t care about that,” he replies. “but if you need time to put something else on, i can wait. i didn’t call you until eight.” 
“yeah,” you huff, “what were you doing?” 
zayne sighs. “buying you bandages.” 
“quit paying for things!” 
you look around your apartment. it’s clean, thankfully, uncluttered and dusted; countertops gleaming to the usual degree once they’ve been wiped down. he says he doesn’t care about your outfit, and you believe him. 
you can see him in your mind’s eye- buttoning your trousers, zipping them up like it was nothing. 
“i’m glad you came,” you say, chest buzzing with nerves. “i’ll come let you in. do you remember which building i’m in?” 
“i’m already outside.” 
you scamper all the way downstairs, gliding over the complex’s steps so fast it’s a miracle you don’t slip and fall. by the time you get to the bottom, you're out of breath again; the cut over your hip sore. 
zayne’s hair is blown over his forehead by a cold breeze that curls in through the open door of the apartment building, quickly sucking all of the warm air out of the lobby. you step aside, ushering him in. 
“oh, it’s cold,” you complain, narrowing your eyes out the glass door as you shut it behind him. “are you cold? no. you have that massive coat.” 
zayne looks down at his black overcoat; the sharp triangles of the lapels framing his jaw, which is just as sharp. he takes one pale hand out of his pocket to brush the hair out of his eyes. you’re smart enough not to ogle this time, but your eyes do snag on something- 
scars. little ones, all over the back of his hand; one deeper, longer one down the center. 
if he notices your gaze falter, he doesn’t say. 
“it is cold,” zayne chides. “you shouldn’t have come down here in shorts.” 
“i was barely outside,” you retort. 
“why are you wearing them in the first place?” is zayne’s reply.  
“they have cows on them,” you mumble, pointing at the wide nose of one on your shorts. “here, come upstairs. is that soup?” 
“yes,” zayne replies simply.  
his tone is a little icier than it had been at akso, but his porcelain cheeks are red, and his lips are wet with cold, too. there’s a small black thermal bag on his other arm, and mug in that hand (also scarred, you see, and his fingers move around aimlessly). he’s nervous.  
he’s nervous. 
you’d grin if you weren’t about to throw up. 
. . .  
he’s so tall. his shadow seems to stretch out across your living room as he sits down next to you on the sofa; half-a-cushion away. it seems intentional. 
“you didn’t have to heat it up for me,” you scold. 
zayne nearly ignores this, but provides you with a small mm and shake of his head. “you shouldn’t be reaching up that high, at the microwave; your stitches could tear.” 
you inhale, trying to settle in as he clearly does the same beside you. the back of your couch barely meets his shoulder blades. the lights are low, the overheads in the kitchen a distant glow. the resting screen of the television, the far-off lights of linkon, and one small lamp on the side table remain.  
zayne’s taken his jacket off, and his usual white button-down is gone. the charcoal-grey slacks remain (they’re tailored. they have to be. nobody’s legs look that good in department store slacks).  
his shirt is black, and thermal; with subtle waffling. it looks soft, but it’s tight around his biceps. at this waist, the shirt leaves a tiny bit of room- he's strong, his shoulders are wide, but he’s lean, you think. 
things you’d never have noticed in his usual uniform, and also, things you do not need to and should not be noticing. 
you avert your eyes only to find him rolling up his sleeves.  
Lord. zayne fluffs the rice inside a small plastic box with a fork and stirs a couple of glazed chicken strips into the container, a healthy amount of steamed broccoli also placed in the side tin. instead of handing it to you, he slides it across the coffee table as a small curl of steam rises from the rice. 
the vein that starts in center of his palm and disappears through his inner-wrist flexes as he pokes the fork into one of the broccoli florets. 
“you don’t eat enough vegetables,” zayne remarks.  
he has his glasses on. you’re too busy noticing this to offer a snide reply to his comment. when you do, it’s too late. he’s noticed your staring. 
“you don’t eat with me enough to know what i eat,” is your pathetic retort. “and you’re a cardiologist, not a dietician. get another degree and then we’ll talk.” 
zayne’s smile is small but victorious. he reaches for the mug on the table and shifts until he’s facing you, knees pointed at yours. 
then he starts unscrewing it. 
“your heart health is more dependent on your diet than almost anything else,” he says, voice low, almost teasing. “other than the aether core, of course.” 
the choice to unscrew the cap right at you, his knuckles moving deftly to twist off the lodged lid, that same center-vein and a few new ones appearing on his forearm. it’s so blatant you’re glaring incredulously at him by the time he offers it to you. 
zayne blinks a little after a moment of you ignoring him, hazel eyes looking a little concerned at your coldness. “it’s soup,” he offers. “not as warm as the rice, so you can hold it.” 
you lower your chin at him, brows low: “what are you doing?” 
it’s more of a statement than a question. and zayne (who’s been weaving this game all day, but now seems to be anxious), says- 
“i’m giving you this soup i made.” 
he sets it down on the table. 
“it’s just broth and some vegetables. protein would have been too much, you already have your chicken.” 
for a moment, you think you’ve gained the upper hand. but your eyes trail after his wrists as he sets the thermos down on the table and plucks the fork out of the rice, chicken still attached. 
one corner of his lip curls when he notices.  
zayne presents the fork to you. when you don’t accept, he cocks his head. 
“i came here to make sure you eat dinner and change your bandage,” zayne says. you’re not sure if it’s pure dishonesty; his voice is too difficult to read, as always. “i’m not sure why you’d refuse the food.” 
at that, you take the fork, and eat the bite off the end.  
“i’m not refusing the food,” you swallow. “and thank you. this was very kind of you. i’m...i’m really surprised, actually.” 
the mirth fades from his features. “surprised?” 
“i just assumed you weren’t going to call,” you add quickly, almost guilty over how suddenly his demeanor shifts. “it was getting late. i didn’t want to bother you.” 
“i told you i’d call,” zayne replies softly. “if i say i’ll do something for you, i will.” 
“you do have a good track record of that,” you reply. 
he nods. “i know i do.” 
gulp. you eat more of the rice, trying to occupy yourself. “this is very good. thank you.” 
“you don’t have to say it again. why were you so worried about me calling?” 
you peer at him, a ball of rice in your cheek. “i-” you murmur over the rice, and swallow quickly. “i wasn’t worried. well, i worried something might have happened to you, but it would have been fine if you didn’t call. you already gave me stitches for free.” 
“i’m your doctor,” is his reply. 
“you’re my cardiologist.” 
“primary care doctor,” zayne counters. and he leans forward, puts his elbows on his knees. he’s still a head taller than you. “are you averse to me caring about all the other parts of you?” 
you inhale sharply to try and hide the flush that bursts in your cheeks. the next time you swallow, he follows it; watches your throat bob.  
“no, i’m not averse,” is your stupid reply.  
he blinks slowly, like a cat. the smirk returns. “mm.” 
“mm,” you bite out, dropping the fork into the box of rice and pressing on the lid. “that was very g...you know i think it was good, but i’m not super hungry right now. i’ll put it away for later, unless you want some?” 
you busy yourself with gathering up the box and the mug, so by the time you steal another nervous glance at zayne, it’s the first time you’re seeing him tilt his head forward at you. the pools of his eyes see everything; it’s like he’s looking straight into your skull. 
“y/n,” he murmurs, slow.  
your own name shocks you. there’s no doubt in your mind that he’s not going to say anything else. it’s not just your name, it’s a question. 
he’s asking you what you want.  
and he’s ridiculously patient as you sit there, box of rice and thermos in hand, blinking like a dear in headlights. you think of chickening out. 
“can you help me change the bandage, please?” you nearly whisper. 
. . .  
“this cut is technically over your lumbar plexus. there’s a nerve here,” zayne continues. he drags the pad of his finger over the flesh between your hip and the curve of your waist, examining and admiring, like you’re a specimen. “obturator.” 
you’re practically ignoring him at this point; your head is swimming, your face is hot as an iron. “obfuscator.” 
he actually laughs, albeit softly. “obturator. with a ‘t’.” 
“yeah, that’s what i said.” 
you’re standing in front of the sofa, holding up the heavy bottom edge of your crewneck. zayne sits on the coffee table in front of you. his left hand traces over the right side of your belly, dances around the stitches he put in earlier. his right hand holds the waistband of your pajama shorts down; pins them to what’s nearly the middle of your thigh.  
you’re looking up at the ceiling, trying not to think about how much of the skin over your pelvic bone is exposed. you’re also trying to steal glances at zayne, who you’re certain isn’t really here, and must be a dream.  
even looking at him is too much, though. 
“you looked that up,” you whisper. “you’re a heart doctor, not a hipbone doctor. you looked up what those nerves were called in the parking lot before i came and got you, cuz’ you knew you were gonna do this.” 
“do what?” zayne wastes no time. 
“do...”  
well. you give up, not wanting to accuse him of seducing you out loud. 
he pulls your shorts up for a moment and grabs the ointment beside him. “this shouldn’t hurt,” he says softly. “i’m only putting it around the sutures, not on the cut. then i’ll put a new bandage on.” 
“okay,” you breathe. 
he pauses. looks up at you. “okay?” 
as in, are you okay? 
you muster up the courage to look down at him, not actually wanting to alienate him. if he left now, you’d absolutely start sobbing. 
“yeah, i’m okay. sorry.” 
“don’t apologize. hold still.” 
he spreads the ointment onto his fingers. like vaseline, it appears iridescent against the low-light of the television and the distant scape of linkon. you’re trying not to drool over the two fingers he’s placing over your hiphone when you remember. 
“your scars,” you say, softly, a little nervous. “were they accidents?” 
zayne stiffens. weighs his words. “essentially.” 
you nod, not wanting to press any further. “not that it matters-” 
you gasp as he starts to spread the ointment around the sutures; a barely-stinging, mostly-cold sensation fluttering like soft wings across your skin. his fingers are cold, not as cold as usual. he’s trying to keep them warm for you. 
“yes?” zayne murmurs.  
“not that it matters,” you continue, trying to steady your breathing. “but i think they’re beautiful. like tree roots.” 
zayne stops for a moment. inhales. you watch the breadth of his shoulders rise and fall until he continues working, circling the cut over your hip with glossy fingers. 
“do you?” he asks. almost a whisper.  
you furrow your brows at him, surprised to hear a hint of insecurity in his tone. once he secures a new bandage over the wound, you know you’ve waited too long to respond.  
“of course,” you manage.  
he looks up at you, then; narrow jaw angled expectantly, his jaw shut tight.  
“you like them?” he asks again, and his voice is darker than usual. 
god. 
you nod, unsure of how else to say it. “i like them,” you start. “i like...i like you, yes.” 
zayne watches you with such intensity you wonder if he’s trying to melt you down like iron. his fingers tighten on your waistband where he holds down the right corner of your sleep shorts; then he pulls that side down further, other hand coming down over the slope of your waist.  
he grips you. his palm ignites with ice; suddenly, extremely cold. you gasp. 
“you like me.” zayne challenges. 
“i like your scars,” you argue, but you can’t take it back. you’ve already said it.  
“you like both,” he replies. his palm smooths down your waist, then snakes around to your front. he places both hands flat to your belly. 
you let go of your crewneck, surprised, as he runs his hands up your front and then wraps them around your ribs, caging you in on either side.  
“there are nerves here, too,” he mumurs. he doesn’t have to lift his arms up much to reach you like this; he’s barely reaching up to begin with. “an intercostal.” again, his hands dip lower, equally soft and calloused. his thumb presses down right under your ribs. “subcostal.” 
“you’re making these up,” you huff, trying not to squirm, not to look too enraptured.  
“you were confident enough in my medical expertise to let me put stitches in you.” 
“well,” you breathe, “i trust you.” 
“you do?” zayne remarks, like he knows exactly how much you trust him; but maybe it astonishes him. “you do...” 
“this is your sacral plexus,” he says next, pressing two thumbs in just to the right of your navel. he goes lower, spreads his hands out; they fan like wings as they travel, colder and colder as he nears your pelvic bone. “obturator, again. this is lower, on your thigh; femoral.” 
“i’ve heard of the femur.” 
he stops to laugh. “you, are...” 
you laugh with him, because if you don’t, you’ll scare off; truthfully, you’re deeply afraid of him looking at you underneath your clothes. 
he senses this. 
“you don’t want me to look at you?” zayne asks, with genuine confusion. 
you look down at him. “no, it’s not that.” 
“it is. you’re afraid.” 
“not of you.” 
“of me looking at you,” zayne replies. he considers this, brows knit together in discontent. “you have no idea how many times i’ve thought about seeing you like this.” 
his voice is sanguine. this is new for him, too; you’ve both never been here.  
zayne looks up at you. he wants to see you, wants to touch you, wants you. 
his fingers curl over your waistband, but he stops. “yes or no?” 
you watch him, trembling under his gaze, under his grip. 
you can’t say it, but you nod. yes. 
he looks down instantly, propelled forward, but as he pulls down your shorts, revealing your panties; he seems more interested in your navel. zayne lifts your crewneck with one hand and lets your shorts fall, adjusting as you step out of them. one hand comes flat to your navel, the other runs across the thin fabric covering your heat.  
you inhale. the hand on your stomach flexes; small jolts of cold prick your skin.  
zayne watches goosebumps rise there. his mouth is open, you notice- just barely, like he doesn’t even know.  
“i don’t want to make you uncomfortable,” he says, almost slurred. “the cold.” 
“no, no, it’s fine. i like it.” 
he flashes you what’s almost a glare, like it can’t be true. “another thing you like.” 
“if it’s you, i like-” 
he brushes the pad of his thumb over your clothed cunt; catches the hood of your clit. maybe he doesn’t notice at first, but when you jolt, he hums.  
“mmm,” he says. “what were you going to say?” 
“if it’s you i like all of it,” you ramble off, “anything. what are you doing?” 
“taking my time.” 
he presses his thumb to that same spot, now that he’s found it, and rubs circles. meanwhile, you bend backwards; he grabs your waist, steadies you upright, and drags his frozen palms up and down your hips. 
“you have to stand up straight, or you’ll tug on the stitches. that will hurt.” 
“i don’t...care.” 
“that’s only because you haven’t done it yet. hold still.” 
you look down at him, gasping as he presses a kiss to the flesh above your panties, next to your cut. his lips are soft, warm, unlike his hands; sheen from his own biting. he does it again, and when you jolt, his grip is firmer. 
“i won’t do anything to you if you’re going to tear your stitches,” zayne murmurs. 
he loops his fingers through the legs of your panties, pulls them down. you nearly shriek. 
“zayne!” 
he hasn’t looked down yet, yet; he’s looking into your eyes. “that would be malpractice. also, i can’t stand to hurt you. i won’t, actually- so please, hold still.” 
“it’s your fault i can’t be still.” 
“try harder.” 
when zayne’s gaze lands on your bottom half, naked, the goosebumps on your belly traveling to your cunt; you can tell that he’d been looking at you in the eyes not just to knock you off balance. he’d been preparing himself.  
you’d be naive to think he doesn’t know what to do next, but for a moment, you think he might not- his pupils are big as moons.  
“hold still,” he says again. this time, with fervor. “please, hold still.” 
he touches you like he’s going to work; like he’s been studying for this his whole life. he keeps one hand on your ribs (clearly obsessed with physically feeling your breath hitch) and runs his fingers up the inside of your thigh, opposite of the wound on your hip. 
zayne looks up at you once before dragging his finger through the center of your core. 
you gasp. 
he cocks his head, and grinds his jaw, icy fingers tightening around your ribs. “fuck.” 
he keeps exploring, but you’re so stunned to hear him curse, practically drunk just hearing him talk, that you’re too busy examining his stoic but somehow awestruck expression when he finds your clit with his thumb. 
“zayne,” you lean forward. 
his brows knit together a bit when you say his name, almost confusion, almost disbelief. “say it again, please-” 
he doesn’t have to ask, really; you gulp it out. “zayne...” 
he lurches forward and presses a kiss to your navel, almost harsh. it stops you from leaning forward too far, but you feel the tug on your stitches.  
“ouch,” you hiss. 
it’s too loud. zayne hears you; drops you immediately. you’re colder than you were with his hands on you. 
“did i hurt you?” he demands. 
you grab him, actually; take his hands back, put them where they were. 
“no, no- keep going, please, don't...” 
you don’t finish. he hears you; rubbing circles with his thumb into the bundle of nerves at the peak of your core. it’s the only finger he can use, technically, from where you’re standing, but something about it is insane.  
you’re so worked up about him touching you, breathing in and out like you’ve just come up from underwater; you forget how good it feels, how it will feel, once he finds- 
“hm,” you swallow, choking over a gasp. 
zayne doesn’t press harder; doesn’t speed up. “like this?” 
you nod. his sigh is audible, ragged. 
“you can say it, though, can’t you?” 
you blink down at him, cheeks burning. “y-yes, like this.” 
zayne growls, almost; softly, and digs his opposite fingers into your ribs. you’re not certain, but he may be feeling around for the best spot to feel your heartbeat. 
“there’s too many nerves here,” he rasps. “to name. but you’re not really thinking about that right now, are you?” 
“i like listening to you,” you choke out. 
zayne smirks. it’s a little broken, with how enraptured he is. “i thought you liked my hands.” 
“scars,” you retort. 
“that was a terrible deflection.” zayne removes his hand from your ribs, too fast, moves down and presses one finger to your heat, inside your folds; he tests it. “can i...” 
you lurch forward. he catches you, lets you drape over his shoulders. it was cruel of him to pretend you could stand the whole time, in the first place. 
“alright,” he rasps, one big hand rubbing the small of your back. “come here.” 
you half-stand, he half-pulls you to the sofa. a red streetlight beneath your apartment blears like a star through the window with the moisture gathering in your eyes. 
zayne helps you lay down, slowly; has you put your head on the armest, and your body in his lap.  
“this will be easier,” he says, smoothing his palm down your front. “try to lay flat.” 
you grind your hips into him, a little humiliated. zayne bucks up; drags a hand over his mouth, either equally humiliated or furious with you. 
he snakes his left hand underneath your crewneck and finds your nipple. he squeezes it, experimentally; you arch and he nods. 
“see? you have more room to move.” 
your nipples pebble under him as he moves about, letting his fingers crawl up to dip into the divot between your collarbones. he presses down there, leans into the ragged breath you take.  
“your hoodie,” he hums. “do you want to leave it on?” 
for a split second, you’re nervous to take it off. but when you lock eyes with him, and see how much he’s blinking, how desperate he is (despite pretending not to be) almost all of your insecurities vanish.  
you sit up, pressing into his lap to shrug off the crewneck. he’s hard underneath you- big. 
“oh, my god,” you whisper. 
“y/n,” he groans.  
zayne exhales sharply and gently cups the space between your shoulder and throat to push you back down. it dawns on you how strong he is, how easily he could throw you around. that, you think, is not in his nature. 
he presses his palm flat to the space between your breasts. you watch his eyes dart around, taking in every inch of your torso, of your now naked body on top of him.  
abruptly, he takes your clit with the pad of his finger again; but only for a moment, as he tests his middle finger at your center again.  
“there are nerves here, too,” he says darkly. “you don’t care about that anymore. can i?” 
you nod, practically shimmying down his lap to bring him closer. “yes, please, yes.” 
he dips one finger into your cunt, experimentally- but it’s easy. he slides the one finger in, and when you gasp, he takes his chance to slide in a second. you almost sit straight up. 
he starts pumping, excruciatingly slow. “do you have any idea how guilty i’ve felt?” 
you squirm, whining; he says nothing about it.  
“how many times you’ve come in to the office and not known i wanted to touch you like this? you come in for stitches on your hips, here,” he says, dragging his free hand down to ghost over the bandage. “i couldn’t believe it. and you had no idea i wanted you like this; it’s been agony.” 
“i did know,” you lie. 
“not entirely,” zayne presses, pumping faster in and out of you, “or you wouldn’t be so worked up.” 
his hands are so big, his fingers are so long; you can’t imagine being fuller than this. 
“zayne,” you whimper. it’s astonishing to you that you’ve ended up like this, but you can’t be bothered to care how you sound. 
he breathes deeply, like it’s sex for him every time you say his name.  
“you’ve wanted this,” zayne drawls. “how long?” 
“always,” you gasp. “a-always.” 
“fuck, y/n.” 
he picks up the pace one more time and you know this is it- he's determined, needs to see you cum. you squirm and writhe around in his lap, and his free hand follows every inch of it; smoothing up and down your body, but you’re almost certain he’s trying to rile you up more than he’s trying to soothe you. 
the coil in your stomach is tightens, taught like a string; you’re close.  
zayne leans down and presses a kiss to the shell of your ear.  
“i know everything about you,” he murmurs. “about your body. i know how your heartbeat feels; i’ve stitched you together. but this...is better than anything i could have imagined.” 
you cry out as you come undone, clenching around zayne’s fingers. he pulls you up into him, careful to keep your hips flat as he holds you to his chest. you bury your face in his neck, riding it out, his fingers still inside you.  
“do your stitches feel alright?” he hums.  
“shut u-up.” 
•✧•
if you know medicine and the nerves are wonky i'm begging you. remain quiet. thanks to ⚡ anon for requesting the first part of this!!! love u all!!
@lost-in-time-wanderer ur tag &lt;3
734 notes · View notes
There is love in me, I swear (tell me there's something in you, too)
let me wrap my teeth around the world - series masterlist here
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pairing: poly marauders x reader (gender neutral)
length: 1.3k
genre: fluff, hurt/comfort
warnings: slytherin reader, they're all big partiers, reader has a bad attitude but in a nice lovable way
a/n: I warned everyone that I would be posting for someone new and now you all must suffer the consequences xoxo but also do please be nice abt it I beg
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There's always an air of confidence amongst the three of them, the way they lounge on one of the larger couches in the Gryffindor common room, legs overlapping and shoulders pushed up against one another. They're completely at ease, your brain supplies as you step up to them, and you remember vaguely that people have said the same about you more times than you can count.
There's none of that from you now, though, as you perch on the armrest and look down at James's beaming smile.
"Hey lovely, what brings you here?" The way he lets an arm grip your waist is natural, pulling you closer so that your hip is against his shoulder.
"Finally needed to come up for air? Snake pit getting to be a bit much, hm?" Sirius's tone holds no real malice and neither does the glare you shoot him or Remus's chiding look. 
"Came up here for some peace and quiet. Guess I'm not getting that, though," you shoot back good-naturedly, a hand running through James's hair as he begins to let his thumb rub circles on your hip where his arm is anchored around you.
"You, uh, came up to the Gryffindor common room for peace and quiet, love?" says Remus, amusement tinting his voice. You let your bottom lip jut out slightly in response.
"Desperate times. They're getting ready to throw another rager tonight and I'm just too tired for that," you say, a long sigh leaving your lips as you speak. James pauses his soothing hands to pull away from you enough to look up at your face, his brows furrowed and eyes big in that worried way of his. Remus and Sirius have perked up as well, and you find yourself sitting straighter at the attention.
"...You feeling alright, sweet thing?" Sirius asks. Your mouth falls open in shock.
"I'm not - I'm not that much of an alcoholic. I don't need to go to every party - you three aren't there, either." You look back and forth between the three focused gazes.
"Yea, but… what's a Slytherin party without you there? That's like - there wouldn't be a Gryffindor party without us." James points out. You arch a brow at him.
"Maybe you three just think too highly of yourselves," you respond dryly. Sirius barks out a laugh from where he's lying across Remus' lap and James makes a big show of pretending to be offended.
"Wasn't it you who called us Gryffindor's golden boys last week, dove?" Remus points out, a smile stretching across his face. You glare back.
"Alright, you can all shut up now. I didn't come up here to be accosted." You say haughtily, but Remus's smile doesn't falter and Sirius coos at you the way you assume he'd coo at something rather small and fluffy. You sniff indignantly and plant yourself more firmly on the armrest while James makes some gentle attempts to pull you down onto the couch next to him.
"Come on, lovely," James tries to coax you. You look down at him indignantly. "You can relax. It's just us," he prompts, smoothing a hand over your back. You shoot him another withering glare and, when met by nothing but his beaming smile, let your stubbornness slacken just enough that he can haul you up off the armrest, manhandling him so that you're suddenly squished on the couch between him and Remus, Sirius still lounging on his lap.
Remus puts an arm around you, the weight familiar as it falls over your shoulders and you begin to slump into it despite your stubbornness. 
"Aw, your ice melts so fast for us, baby," Sirius teases, leaning to poke your cheek gently with his forefinger. 
"I'll break that finger, Black," you shoot back, but there's no fight left in your voice. Sirius just laughs, leaning even more to press a kiss to your cheek, instead. You deflate a bit more, relaxing into the cushions and the heat of James pressed against you. He visibly sweetens at that, leaning towards you to press his own kisses up and down the side of your neck as Remus's fingers tangle with the hair at the nape of your neck, massaging slightly. 
"Alright, alright," you murmur, voice breathy as you squirm under the attention. Remus eases up, his arm wrapping around your shoulders once more to let you relax against him, James pulling back to look at you fondly. 
"Sorry, lovely," he flashes another smile. "Don't mean to overwhelm you."
"I'm fine," you say stubbornly. Sirius giggles in a way that you're sure means he doesn't believe you, and the faces of the other two reflect that sentiment. They let the silence hang, though, letting you gather your bearings.
"It's not fair," is all you finally say, in a voice too small to be your own. "I always know exactly what I'm doing and what I'm saying and what I'm feeling - until you three show up. Then I don't - I don't know." No one responds immediately and you wince internally, as you're sure it's so that they can all choose their words carefully. Like you're some kind of timebomb, your mind prompts you. Like they're waiting for you to just explode.
"I do," Sirius supplies, his voice carrying a sombre air that it doesn't typically. "I know what you mean, love."
"No you don't," you murmur petulantly, but he takes it good-naturedly, his face softening with nothing but love. The other two stay quiet - it's like they've suddenly stepped into a private conversation, even though they've been there the whole time.
"Sometimes," Sirius begins carefully. Tick, tick, tick, your mind reminds you. You bite your lip at your own perceived volatility. "When we're not loved the way we should be, it just takes a while to get used to suddenly having it. I… I do know how that feels, love." Your shoulders tighten at his words, something that feels almost like guilt burning in the back of your throat.
"I'm sorry, Sirius - I didn't mean -"
"Don't apologize. There's nothing to forgive. You haven't done anything wrong here. You aren't doing anything wrong with us." You bite your lips harder at Siriuis' words, his gentleness, tasting a hint of copper in your mouth when you bite too hard. Remus steps in at this, clicking his tongue in that gentle, reprimanding way that you recognize as he uses his thumb to smooth over your lip.
"We love you," James reminds softly, his hand finding a home on your thigh, fingers pressing into your skin ever so slightly as he holds onto you firmly. "Never-ending bad mood and all." You open your mouth to snipe back but close it again quickly when you see the humour in James' eyes. "Sirius is the biggest drama queen alive and we still love him," James continues. Sirius makes an indignant, wounded sort of noise that goes ignored. 
"Well… that's alright, I suppose," you huff, your arms crossed as you sit sullenly. James coos at you in a way that you should hate as Remus slides one hand against your cheek, guiding you to look at him so that he can pass a long kiss to your lips. You make an embarrassingly needy sound somewhere in the back of your throat and grip onto the front of his shirt, but the only evidence that Remus has noticed is the way he smiles against you. That and Sirius's jealous huff as he watches, unsure of which place he'd rather be in.
The three of you settle in as you and Remus part, him smiling lazily and thumbing over your lips. You press a quick, delicate kiss to the pad of his thumb before letting yourself relax fully into the couch, the silence that blankets the three of you forming a soft, comforting sort of thing.
"So…" Sirius begins. "You're really not going to go down to the party? At all?" You sigh and tilt your head back to stare at the ceiling.
"Yea, alright, we should go. Come on."
"Knew you couldn't stay away."
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bowlofsoob · 3 months
Text
ACCIDENTALLY TEXTING YOUR EX BFF
choi soobin x gender neutral reader
where you and soobin were once close friends until he confessed a year ago and you rejected him because you didn’t want to ruin your friendship. after that he asked for some space and you guys haven’t spoken since. one late night you wallow in your pity and reread your old texts and accidentally send one.
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__________________ ׂׂૢ་༘࿐
Truth was you didn’t have a meeting with any advisor, but you’d been up all night going through every scenario on how today would go. And most of them ended with Soobin hating your guts forever, so you made up a lie to delay seeing him.
The air was thick with a mix of anticipation and nostalgia as you made your way towards the cafe, the bell chiming and notifying your arrival. You immediately spotted a head of blonde hair in the corner booth, where Soobin was waiting for you. He was dumping way too many packets of sugar into his coffee and looked just as you remembered. Like home.
It had been a year since the both of you last spoke, a long twelve months filled with the echoes of a friendship. You, fueled by a sense of longing and the accidental press of a send button, had reignited a conversation that had been put on hold for far too long.
As you made your way towards him the atmosphere tightened as you started to feel the weight of unspoken words brewing inside you.
Soobin looked up at the sound of your footsteps and mustered a hesitant smile, a mixture of relief and uncertainty dancing in his eyes as you sat across from him.
“Hey,” he greeted, his voice a careful blend of warmth and reservation. You had almost forgotten what he sounded like.
“Hi,” you said, returning the greeting as a nervous smile played on your lips. A sense of awkwardness hung between you two, an unspoken acknowledgement of your last conversation a year ago.
Soobin pushed a cup towards you, steam rising up from it as he placed some creamer beside it.
“I ordered for you, you still like it the same way right?” he asked.
“Yeah, you remembered,” you comment, looking up at him as you take a sip.
“How could I forget?” he laughed. A laugh you could recognize anywhere.
“It’s been a while,” you start, awkwardness still lingering between you both.
Soobin took a sip of his drink, his hands too big for the cup as he broke the silence.
“Yeah, it has,” he spoke, memories of a year ago still weighing on him. It was like a barrier that the both of you wanted to dismantle.
“You know, I’ve missed you,” you admitted, finally meeting Soobin’s eyes. The vulnerability laced in your voice was palpable, yearning for a connection that once was.
Soobin’s expression softened, a flicker of emotion crossing his face. He hesitated before nodding, “I’ve missed you too.”
There was a weight of unspoken words hanging between them and you could sense Soobin’s guarded heart, a reflection of the hurt you caused him a year ago.
After a few more awkward glances you finally navigated the delicate dance of a conversation with someone who once confessed their love to you.
Soobin told you about Yeonjun’s crush on Beomgyu and how he called it months ago. He showed you new photos of his pet hedgehog and how he shit in Yeonjun’s room. You learned about all the gossip he’s heard from the semester and the professors he’s grown to hate. As you both chatted about the past year you couldn’t shake the desire to address the lingering emotions. You knew Soobin wasn’t going to bring it up, leaving you guys standing at the edge of a confession that neither was brave enough to voice.
Soobin feels it too, the precipice you both are on.
He wants to jump.
“Bin, there’s something I want…no. I need to say,” you confess, earnest.
Soobin looked up from where he was in the middle of showing you photos from his summer trip, curiosity and caution wavering in his eyes.
“What is it?” he asked, shutting off his phone.
You forced yourself to take a deep breath and continued, “Back then, when you confessed your feelings, I was scared. Scared of losing our friendship if things didn’t work out. But over this year, I’ve realized I miss more than just our friendship.”
Soobin’s gaze on you intensified as he searched for the unsaid words.
“I missed you…because I have feelings for you too,” you confess, “Back then and I still do.”
Soobin’s eyes widened, a mix of surprise and relief washing over his face as he set his mug down.
“Yn, I…,” Soobin swallowed, a hint of nervousness stopping him, “I never stopped liking you,” he admitted, his tone sincere. “And I wouldn’t let our feelings ruin what we have, I value our friendship too much to let it be overshadowed by my feelings. If you’re still willing, maybe we could figure this out together.”
As the weight of the confessions hung in the air you found yourself at a loss for words and could only dumbly nod back at him.
“I'd like that,” you managed to say.
Soobin’s gaze softened, a hint of remorse in his eyes. “Yn, I want to add something,” he begins, voice tinged with shame, “I’m sorry for asking for space and leaving you for a year. I regretted it everyday and it wasn’t fair to you, I could’ve dealt with it better.”
You met Soobin’s nervous gaze, the air heavy with unspoken forgiveness.
“I understand,” you reply, “How could I not? We both could’ve done better but let’s just move forward.”
“I'd like that,” Soobin smiled, “Can I sit next to you?”
You scoot over and let Soobin join you on your side of the booth. His body was pressed against yours in the small booth as he kept sending you glances. You were still in a state of disbelief as to how things worked out, fully expecting Soobin to laugh in your face at your confession.
Instead here he was, cheeks turning pink everytime you guys brushed shoulders.
“I know we’re in public but…I really wanna kiss you,” Soobin whispers, turning towards you.
“I’ve been wanting to for a whole year,” you whisper back.
Soobin holds back a smile and fails. He cradles your head, his hands swallowing you whole, and leans in to give you just a peck.
“Not enough?” he asks coyly as you pout.
Soobin surges towards you again, this time licking your mouth open and tasting your coffee flavored breath. You’re both the same amount of desperate and assertive, a year’s worth of lust fueled into one kiss.
Soobin catches your bottom lip between his teeth and swells them prettier.
He feels like home.
__________________ ׂׂૢ་༘࿐
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823 notes · View notes
thesummerpetrichor · 10 months
Text
𝓞𝓯𝓯 𝓽𝓸 𝓽𝓱𝓮 𝓡𝓪𝓬𝓮𝓼
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Javier Peña x afab!reader
Summary: You’re a sociology student writing your final thesis, you shouldn’t care whether the new DEA attaché is an asshole, you shouldn’t be getting on his nerves every chance you get, shouldn’t be dreaming of him the way you do, and you certainly shouldn’t be bent over his desk in the middle of the night– letting him fuck you senseless.
Warnings: 18+ minors DNI you will be blocked. Mentions of DEA, big girthy age gap [reader is in her early twenties Javier is in his mid 40s], petnames [sweetheart, girlie, baby, babygirl etc], smut, explicit sexual content, explicit language, daddy kink, dom!Javi, mean brat tamer! javi, sub!reader, major size kink, reader is a menace and a brat, cheek pulling, like two spanks and a slap, minor choking, degradation, name calling, fingering, semi public sex [in his office], rough sex, unprotected P in V [don't do it you’re better than them!!] let me know if I missed anything!!
Word count: 8.7k
A/N: Lotsa porn, lotsa plot. Filthier than I’d like to admit but here we are. Javier is emotionally unavailable but I don’t care. Enjoy nasties. Mwah 💗
Masterlist
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My old man is a bad man, but
I can't deny the way he holds my hand
And he grabs me, he has me by my heart
He doesn't mind I have a Las Vegas past
He doesn't mind I have a L.A. crass way about me
He loves me, with every beat of his cocaine heart
You were sure you looked nothing short of unstable– the way you were smiling to yourself as you hit the ‘submit’ button on the first checkpoint of your research paper. The past few months had been absolute chaos, and you weren’t really sure what was worse; the fact that your workplace had become an HR nightmare, or the way you were enjoying every goddamn second of it. 
Not long ago you’d been lucky enough to pack your bags and board a flight to Bogotá, where you were going to be writing your final sociology thesis. You’d fought tooth and nail with the department for this opportunity, and the fact that you were finally going to be there doing the work you’d always imagined– it was a dream. While you were initially a little weary of having to go through the American embassy to access records, and archives, you knew this was the best deal you were going to get, so you pushed your hesitation aside and took them up on their offer. You were obviously aware the department was going to give you hell for it– your work would be put under immeasurable scrutiny, they were going to bother you with emails all day every day, snoop around your work through their contacts at the embassy, and take any chance to fly you back. But it didn’t matter; it was going to be a dream. 
Impressing the ambassador was your top priority, impressing everyone around you really was. For as long as you could remember your bright smile, hard work and sunshine attitude had only worked in your favor. If there was one thing you enjoyed, it was the great privilege of being all your professors’ favorite student. That’s how you’d even convinced them to let you travel thousands of miles away on the university’s dime in the first place. 
The world of academia was hard, especially when you were starting out, everyone you dealt with wasn’t a progressive professor who valued your opinion despite your age and gender. Sometimes you needed help from the sleazy HOD, or the grumpy receptionist and neither cared about your expertise on Helmut Schoeck. It didn’t bother you, all you cared about was the quality of your work, and you were not going to let anyone get in the way of it. So, if good work and behaviour didn't get you what you wanted you just used your batting eyelashes, innocent pout and harmless bribes– the receptionist had mentioned liking strawberry shortcake nearly two years ago in passing, and that information sure as hell came in handy when you needed to get your paperwork sorted out. 
Boy did that skill of yours come in handy during your time in Bogotá
No one was going to make this experience anything but splendid, you were going to get to the embassy, meet the ambassador, charm her and all her coworkers in no time, make some trusted allies and go about your research unbothered and unfazed. You were determined. It was going to be a dream. 
That was until it was an absolute nightmare. The moment your plane’s wheels hit the tarmac you were slapped with wave after wave of absolute frustration. Your phone was inundated with missed calls from an unknown number, and when you called back you were promptly informed by the Ambassador’s secretary that due to spacing issues you were being relocated to the DEA offices at the far end of the embassy. 
Great, nothing better than being around a bunch of cops 24/7 .
You hadn’t made it three steps off the aerobridge before two men– both of whom looked terribly out of place in their baseball hats, grabbed you by the arm and dragged you through the airport. You wouldn’t say the word ‘accosted’ was dramatic when describing the way two employees of the American embassy had apprehended you. They didn't seem much older than you were, but they sure as hell thought they ran the damn place. When you thought about elitist diplomats thinking they were doing god's work you could be sure you imagined Agent Daniel Van Ness and Agent Chris Feistl’s faces before you’d even met them. 
“Ow! What the hell do you think you're doing?!” Van Ness pretty much tossed you into his suspicious, unmarked vehicle, and as if you weren’t sore from your excruciatingly long flight you were sure you were going to need some ice packs when you got to your service apartment. “Okay, let's not make a scene, as I said we were told to get you as soon as you got off that plane” Feistl started the engine with one hand, and put the other one up in mock surrender. 
“Didn’t know kidnapping was part of the Ambassador's agenda in Bogotá” .
The car ride to the embassy was mostly quiet, and you took the time to enjoy the beautiful Colombian city as it came into view, clear your head and mentally plan for your stay. That was, save for the two men’s grumbling about a certain Javier Peña. “Yeah, we miss this meeting and Peña’s gonna be on our ass for the next week” You’d quickly learnt he was a little bit of a hero in the DEA world, whatever that meant– took down Escobar and all. And if you couldn’t loathe him more already he was now promoted to attaché. From what Van Ness and Feistl told you  he sounded like a character– hard ass, stubborn, insolent, the list went on and on. This Javier must really be something
How bad could he really be? Probably some grumpy old guy you’d run into once in a while at the water station or fax machine. He’d pay no mind to you; some irrelevant college student. Besides, you’d win him over with your signature smile. Who knew maybe you’d even become friends? “Well Im looking forward to meeting this Javier Peña” 
 “No one has ever said that. I don't think his mother said that when he was poppin’ out.” 
And boy were they right, Javier Peña really was something. The elevator doors opened to what would soon become a familiar sight– Javier trailing the ambassador as she tried to escape him and the DEA offices. “With all due respect, if I wanted to be a babysitter I would've taken up a job with the RIPs”  She turned to face him, her back to you. “Agent Peña, I'm going to repeat myself one more time, and I really shouldn't have to, but please stop referring to them as the “RIP’’s ”. Talk about professionalism, you definitely weren’t expecting whatever the hell this was when you thought of diplomatic work. 
Noonan almost unceremoniously bumped into you as she skirted away from Javier, raising her hands in absolute elation now that he had to take care of you, and couldn’t bother her any longer. “There you are, perfect! Agent Peña show her around, and please, be nice.” She all but pushed you into him, and you heard Javier helplessly and pathetically yell after her as she walked to the elevator. “I still need that clearance ambassador–” 
Despite the fact that he was looking at you like he wanted to tear you apart you didn't let that distract from the absolute marvel Javier Peña was. If you didn’t know any better you’d be on your knees for the man, and you couldn’t trust that you did. With the way his hair sat messily ruffled atop his head in soft curls, falling dangerously close to his eyes, or the way his now crinkled button up from the tiring workday hugged his forearms, who could blame you? Who knew, maybe you even liked the way he looked at you? 
You shot him your signature smile, and extended your hand to introduce yourself. Forget about Noonan, she’d probably retire soon anyway, it was his approval you really wanted now. With brows raised he took his time assessing you. You didn’t miss the way his eyes raked over your body, or the way he chewed on his lip as he did so. Feeling a little, or maybe very, hot under his gaze you shifted uncomfortably, still holding your hand out politely, but all you got from him besides his shameless gawking was a condescending chuckle, and he was turning away and walking back inside. 
So he really was an asshole. 
You stood in shock for a moment. Was this some sort of odd hazing process at the embassy? What the hell was going on? His voice zapped you out of the absolute embarrassment of an interaction you just had. “You gonna stand there all day?” God he was such a prick. You’d barely been there two minutes and you were already on Van Ness and Feist's team. You couldn’t even imagine what life would be like if he was your boss. Or could you? 
Your gaze hardened at the realization. If there was one thing you were not going to do it was lust hopelessly after a man who didn't even want to give you the time of day, someone who thought he was so much better than you were. You were not going to inflate his already massive ego by crooning for his praise, no! You were not going to let him wield that kind of power over you. 
You watched as he walked through the office, the man sucked the air outta the room with the way he quite literally strutted across it. Practically dragging yourself behind him you tried your best to compose yourself, you were not going to let Peña and his asshole ways ruin your stay– he was going to like you, going to give you the time of day– and if hard work and a good attitude didn’t do it, your batting lashes certainly would.  
Swimmin' pool glimmerin', darling
White bikini off with my red nail polish
Watch me in the swimmin' pool, bright blue ripples
You sittin', sippin' on your Black Cristal, oh, yeah
In the subsequent days you surprisingly had made yourself quite at home in the embassy– after all you did spend almost all of your day there. Van Ness and Fiestl soon became great friends, and would often drop by your workstation during breaks, or to invite you out for drinks after work. Things were going rather well, there was nothing much to complain about. The people who worked at the embassy were really friendly, and many of them took a liking to you. If charming your way into everyone's good graces was still your plan it sure as hell was working. 
You’d even met a certain blonde haired, blue eyed office heartthrob. While they were both certainly easy on the eyes, Agent Murphy was otherwise little like his partner, he was friendly, helpful, and generally in a good mood. Hell he even wished you ‘good morning’ when he got into work everyday. In due time you could even say Steve Murphy had become somewhat of a friend, he was quite fond of you– then again everyone in the office really was. 
That is almost everyone. 
Progress in the Javier department of your life had barely made moves. He was such a dick. On your second day you remember knocking on his door and politely asking if he could sign some papers that would get you some cultural records in Bogotá. You didn’t know what response you’d been expecting, but he'd essentially told you to leave him the hell alone.  
You wondered if being such a bitter jerk was exhausting. “Now girlie, runalong..” And with that he shut his door. You didn't want to let it affect you, but it did. You crooned for his attention, but he was so cold and detached, and nothing seemed to get through to him. The smiles, the ‘good mornings’, the way you’d offered to drop his files at the Ambassador's on your way there, it did nothing. He only smiled at you condescendingly, and at one point even joked about how he wasn’t sure you were capable of making it to the other side of the building. 
“Don't worry your head about these files, wouldn’t want you wandering around, lost, tryna find Noonan’s office.” 
Not to mention how he couldn’t keep his mouth shut about your “silly little paper”, how your work was “cute” or “funny”. God, you couldn’t stand it. The way he leaned over your desk, jumbled up your resources while he carelessly looked through them. With his messy, loose tie, and his sideways smile, and warm, comforting brown eyes, and that mocking teasing tone…... 
—- 
My old man is a tough man, but
He got a soul as sweet as blood-red jam
And he shows me, he knows me
Every inch of my tar-black soul
“If he can’t drink it, or fuck it, he’s not interested.” When Feistl had told you that on your first day you scoffed, but it proved to be valuable, and unbelievably, true information in no time. Unintentionally Javier had condemned himself to an eternal state of perdition, you were not giving up, and this time you were going to drive him crazy. 
He surely wasn’t prepared for the little menace you became in the following weeks. You only felt pride when you’d catch him looking at you– embarrassing how he couldn't keep his eyes off. You and your cute little dresses, skirts, those you didn’t initially plan to wear to the office. His glare almost burnt a hole in your back everyday at midday, hotter than the afternoon sun peaking through the blind covered windows as you sat on Van Ness’ desk, laughing at something Feistl said. If there was one thing worse than an HR violation, it was an HR violation with a girl nearly half his age.
You’d found a fancy for discovering his ticks, new ways you could push his buttons. When you weren’t calling him sir as you addressed him, or taunting him with your dopey eyes and girlish smiles you were making his life a lot less convenient. 
“Where the hell is Peña” at least twice a week Stechner would all but slither into the office, talking about congress people, funding and how the DEA was raining all over his parade. As much as you hated the man, he was your trusted ally in trying times, especially when you decided breaking the office’s unspoken rule was going to be your new favorite pastime. That rule was of course, never telling anyone, especially his colleagues, where the hell Javier Peña was at any given time. 
So when Bill walked up to you and leaned beside your desk you faithfully pointed to the filing room you knew Javier was quite literally hiding in. When he walked, more like stormed out with Bill you were sure he could break you in half, the way he was looking at you, but you had given up lying to yourself, you loved it. Every morning he’d come into the office and have to find other places to escape to– from Noonan and Murphy and all other accountability. But for a cop he was pretty shit at it, and you always found a way to tell where it was he'd gone to. It also helped that nearly everyone enjoyed it when Javier had to deal with the bureaucracy, it was free reality tv, and you could be sure if you didn’t know who or what he was trying to avoid, someone else in the office surely would.
You had simultaneously become a great asset to Steve Murphy, who was, more than you expected, willing and enthusiastic about getting shit done, shit that Javier’s stubbornness would only prolong, especially because he knew the mix of Peña and the CIA was anything but productive. Whether it was distracting him while he got support for their missions, or rushing to answer the phones and covering for him and making Javi deal with Noonan you were always game. Murphy was always appreciative. 
“Steve’s out right now, but Javier’s in his office if you’d like to speak with him…” Steve pretty much cackled behind his desk as you handed the phone’s receiver to Peña, and watched as he exhaled heavily through his nose, using every bit of restraint he could possibly muster not to kick the two of you out of the building. He settled for flipping Murphy off instead. 
As someone who wasn’t an embassy employee you pretty much had free reign over the place, and you knew it only made Javier more upset knowing he couldn’t do anything about it. You were thoroughly enjoying your time in Bogotá, you knew Javier was thinking about you, you knew how much you got on his nerves, you loved the way he’d glare at you, boss you around, get annoyed at your little antics. You craved his attention and you were finally getting it. 
Though every once in a while you’d feel a little pang in your chest, at the way he’d roll his eyes at you, be his regular mean self. But you shoved that feeling aside, you did not want his approval. That would be pathetic. You just wanted a little payback.
He doesn't mind I have a flat broke-down life
In fact, he says he thinks it's what he might like about me
Admires me, the way I roll like a rolling stone
Javier had been avoiding you like the plague for a good two days. That was after he overheard a conversation you were having with your supervisor he wasn’t really meant to be a party to. You remember twirling the cord wire between your fingers as you updated her over the phone. “Yeah, I need to get to the congress library, they have all the copies there.” You pushed the speaker button, letting go of the receiver to sift through the piles of printed paper on your desk. “Do you have access, did the embassy get you an ID? I spoke to Noonan but she’s busy babysitting her employees.” You bit back a smile. Javier and Murphy sure were a handful. 
“No, of course they didn’t. They don’t give a rat's ass” Frankly, you were exhausted from having to get or find somebody to do anything around there. Noonan was practically no help until the dean was breathing down her neck, for people who had been working in Bogotà for years very few in the embassy knew the directions to anyplace that wasn’t a bar, and everyone was far too busy kissing each other’s ass to get things done. “The DEA can go, can't they? Get one of em to take you” Before you could respond you heard the rattling of the water cooler behind you, and you caught Javier’s half shocked half annoyed expression in the reflection of the window as he scrambled for a paper napkin to wipe the water off his dress shirt.  
“Hmm, I didn’t think of that…..that's a great idea” 
That was on Monday. Tuesday and Wednesday were spent turning in the opposite direction anytime you approached him, sneaking past you on his way in and out, and begging Murphy to take that trip to the Congress library instead. On Thursday you were sure you won the lottery. 
Both Murphy and Carillo in the same room, and better yet in the office before Javier had made his grand entrance. They stood over what looked to you like a large map, arguing about something with far too much energy at eight in the morning. You saw this as your little opening. Where the hell was Peña? 
Turns out he was with the Ambassador.  
—-
Likes to watch me in the glass room, bathroom, Château Marmont
Slippin' on my red dress, puttin' on my makeup
Glass room, perfume, cognac, lilac fumes
Says it feels like heaven to him
“And you’re going too?” Ambassador Noonan sat back in her chair, twirling her pencil between her fingers, looking expectantly at the irate face in front of her. You thought you’d spare Agent Peña his white lies, answering promptly in that sweet voice of yours.  “Yes, Agent Murphy told me, and besides, if he's around I can access all the archives..” You shrugged your shoulders and shot her your most persuasive smile. “Government ID an’ all” . You almost felt bad for Peña, the way his friends were so quick to rat him out. But then again he’d stirred up enough petty fights over the years so that nearly everybody was quick to get their petty revenge. That jerk was planning to take his little trip to the library– with Carillio of all people, and he was going to leave you behind? Not anymore.
“Well, I don't see the problem, just take her to the goddamn library. Jesus Peña why is everything so difficult with you.” Javier shot you a glare you could only describe as deadly, but you could only giggle at his exasperation. He rose from his chair, leaning on her desk, like he was trying to seduce her into getting out of this situation. You wondered how Noonan showed so much restraint, if you were her you’d be giving into anything he said no questions asked. 
“Ambassador, really, all that is below my paygrade, don't ya think?” Your mouth fell agape, and you turned to him to find he was smiling, looking directly at you. Asshole  “This whole conversation is below my paygrade. You’re bothering me Peña, get to work..” and with that the two of you were practically kicked out of her office and thrown into the hall,  where in the deafening silence you heard the large wooden doors slam behind you. 
You were lucky there was no one else around, especially when he practically slammed you against the wall. “What the hell do you think you’re doing? Tryna fuck my whole day over baby?” You had to physically fight yourself to not give into the death grip he had on your shoulders, to hold yourself up as he caged you against the corridor.  “I just really need these papers, and only you can get ‘em for me ” You bat your lashes at him, and he pressed his forehead against the wall beside you in complete frustration, sighing. He knew that wasn’t true, and he knew you did as well. Any intern could have gotten them for you, but who was an intern in comparison to him? 
“I won't bother you again, promise” you bit your lip and held your pinkie finger up in what Javier saw as practically an act of war. His hands moved from your shoulders to grab you by the waist as you looked up at him. Despite your smiley exterior you were all giddy on the inside, especially when he leant beside your ear and warned in his low whisper, thumbs drawing circles on your flesh. 
“You're playin’ with fire baby..” 
— 
I'm off to the races, laces
Leather on my waist is tight, and I am fallin' down
I can see your face, is shameless, Cipriani's Basement
Love you, but I'm goin' down
As much as you wanted to bother Javier during his little snoop session with Carillo, you still had a job to do, so you shoved your brattiness aside for a few hours and got to work finding the documents you needed from the archives. You were honestly expecting a medal for your self restraint, because once you were done you waited patiently till he strutted outside after his meeting, barely holding up the heavy box with all your findings. You’d been standing there for almost two hours, and the jerk hadn’t even given you a heads up so you could sit inside.
“Finally.” He rolled his eyes, and like he was running some sort of marathon didn’t bother even helping you, speed walking across the parking lot as you stumbled and struggled behind him– attempting to keep up. 
“We gotta get back, now.” 
You buckled your seatbelt as he pulled out of the driveway, and relaxed against your seat as you caught your breath. “Where’re we going?” He turned to you and smiled, but it was in that signature condescending way that he always did. Meanie You thought to yourself. “We are not going anywhere. You are going back to the office, and I am going to take care of something you don't need to worry about.” You didn't know whether there was any use still being offended by his patronizing attitude, he could’ve just said you were going back to the office, but that was too normal, too dignified of a response for the great, cartel busting Javier Peña 
“I could come.” He laughed at your pout, as he turned to look at you, rounding the corner. “Baby, don’t ya’ think that's a little ambitious comin’ from someone who got winded carrying a box across a parking lot.” You scoffed, yes, it would've been nice to have some help. “Don’t worry, I don’t want anything to do with whatever it is you're going to do, anyway” Wanting to turn away from him you looked out the window, but that only lasted so long. 
“If this lead comes through, everyone in Bogotà’s gonna want everything to do with it.” You watched as the setting sun drenched your surroundings in a golden glow, and you couldn’t look away from the way Javier’s brown eyes too turned into pools of gold as the sun caught them. His voice a low hum just a little louder than the radio he habitually played as he drove around. It took a special type of maniac to go on missions off the clock. 
“Who’s it for, the lead?” He hummed, and smiled to himself as he spoke, that look on his face you couldn’t quite place– like he was just waiting for his opponent to slip up.  “One of the big guys. You should meet him when we bring him in– you’d get along–  he's a pain in my ass” 
You turned your gaze from the opening embassy gates to meet his eyes, your own narrowed into slits as you stared him down– he was smiling, and you hated it. “Mean.” He shook his head at your irritation, and wordlessly pulled up into the driveway. “Now, you're gonna take those files, and you're gonna sit your bratty ass down, and you're gonna work on that silly paper of yours” You were halfway out the door, lifting the giant cardboard box off the floor of the car with embarrassing difficulty.
Great, there was another thing he could berate you for. 
“That's a lot of instructions..” Your voice was muffled behind your paperwork, but you’d be lying if you said you didn’t enjoy it when he tried to boss you around. 
“Well here's another– don't touch anything while I'm gone.” He laughed to himself as he caught your rolling eyes peering at him over the top of the box, that being the only part of you that was really visible to him. Waiting for you to make it to the entrance he watched as one of his colleagues, one of the many heading out for the day, took it from you, and helped you inside. 
The low hum of the radio replaced the sound of your voice, an old spanish tune coming over the static as he drove out and away from the embassy. 
God, I'm so crazy, baby
I'm sorry that I'm misbehaving
I'm your little harlot, starlet, Queen of Coney Island
Raisin' hell all over town
Sorry 'bout it
“Didn't I specifically tell you not to touch anything” You lifted your head in the direction of that familiar voice, irritated as usual, but also a little more gruff, a little more tired. For a moment you regretted annexing his office while he was away. You watched as he sauntered in and towards his desk, opposite the little workstation you’d set up on a spare table where he’d dumped his tie and blazer for when the Ambassador popped around. He propped his hands on his desk, leaning against it to meet your gaze. 
God did he look good, the day had taken its toll on him, but it was only doing him favors. That soft brown hair had been ruffled out of place, and that crisp button up sat wrinkled on his back, loosely and messily tucked into his navy dress pants, sleeves haphazardly rolled up his forearms. While he looked like he worked a regular nine to five, from the little you knew about his job, an intentionally minimal amount, you were sure the unkemptness was the result of some high stakes chase, raid or whatever it was he’d set his head to doing that day.  
“‘M not touching, I just needed the AC” He rolled his eyes, but his neatly hung blazer and rolled up tie caught his attention from across the room. “See.. Untouched” You shot him that smile that you knew drove him up the wall, and he shook his head, now concerned more with sorting the paperwork splayed out in front of him. “Must be real hard, highlightin’ all that paper” He pointed to your reference material. As bad as the day was, it wasn't bad enough to persuade him to stop being a jerk.  
The place was a mess, and he couldn’t leave it this way till the morning, that would be a hit to his professionalism far worse than any of the shady shit he’d done over the years. He didn’t have time for your childish antics. At least for the moment. It’d been a long day and he wanted nothing more than to get it over with. Boy did he look like he needed to let off some steam, and while at first glance your actions were doing anything but helping him relax, couldn’t he see you were just begging for him to use you for exactly that? 
Maybe it was because he was tired of your shit, or because he was far too preoccupied with his work at the time, or because the office was dark and quiet and cold, but the next few minutes passed in uncharacteristic silence. You gazed up once in a while to see Javier’s scrunched brows sort through an abundance of filing. He’d sigh heavily every once in a while, and you could only wonder what or who, besides you, got on his nerves that much. You were almost eager to eliminate the competition. The world drowned out in the white noise of shuffling documents and clicking pens and you were once again lost in your paper. 
Every part of you really wished he wasn’t such an asshole. What had you ever done to him anyway, for him to be so cold and mean? You couldn’t pretend you had nothing to do with it, you'd egged him on beyond measure, but you’d only ever wanted him to like you. Okay maybe you thoroughly enjoyed his irritation, but you only really ever wanted his attention. Pathetic.. You thought to yourself. You pretended he wasn’t bothered by you taking over his office for a moment.
“Done yet?” You hadn’t even realized how or when Javier had crossed the room and made his way in front of you. His fingers danced on the edge of your laptop screen. You didn’t feel like answering just yet, so you typed away at your keyboard for a while longer. The silence wasn’t appreciated, and you could feel the exhaustion radiate off him like heat. You caught him fiddling with the pens on your desk, and skimming over some of your printed material from the corner of your eye, and you bit your lip to stifle your laughter when he chucked it back on your desk in what you assumed was complete disinterest. He was going to try harder to get your attention. 
You weren't prepared however when he practically slammed your laptop shut, forcing you to stop ignoring him. Talk about disrupting the workplace. Groaning, you rested your chin in your palms and peered up at him through dopey eyes. A man who had been driven to the edge, that's the gaze you met. It was not going to affect you, that muted rage, that wrought iron glare. You promised yourself. But your desires were already betraying you.. you rubbed your thighs together to alleviate the ache. 
“There a problem?” With a tone that set his last teeth on edge you kept up the facade, against your better judgment. It was just too much fun not to. When you looked up at him through your lashes you could almost see the slight tick in his jaw, and your mind wandered to what other ways you’d like this type of view. “Yes, in fact there is. It's 1am” He leaned forward, dangerously close, to the point you could feel the warmth of his breath fan against your lips, the tip of his nose brushing against yours. You caught the faint smell of cigarettes off his disheveled clothes, the scent of whiskey on his lips. You felt your breath hitch, but you hoped he didn't notice. How naive, that was. 
“And” Your eyes darted to his mouth momentarily as you spoke, voice wavering. He raised his brows, almost to tell you not to push him any further than you already did. It was too late, however. Whatever this was had spiraled far out of your control, and he could see the way you squirmed under that commanding gaze of his. Your brain was screaming at the attention, and you had to inwardly yell at yourself to stop being so needy. 
“And?” Your brows furrowed, your lips forming that signature pout when you heard him mock your tone, your voice.  “I've had a long day, baby, and I wanna go home” You huffed girlishly at his ridicule, the way he liked to humiliate you by throwing your attitude back in your face with his snide imitations, his raised brow and faux sympathy. He talked like one does to a misbehaving child. In that patronizing, explanatory melody. You watched him chuckle with slitted eyes, though you were slowly turning to a puddle underneath it all.
“Go home then Mr. Peña. I'm not stopping you am I?” You watched his eyes darken, and you weren't even sure that was possible, but you didn’t have much time to think because before you knew it he was pinching your cheeks between his fingers, his other hand still holding him up on the table. You could only whine under his rough touch as its effects licked between your thighs. He laughed when you mewed at the sting. 
“Oh but you are. You're just beggin’ me to stay, aren't ya’ baby?” Your soft and pathetically unconvincing ‘no’ was muffled as he squeezed your cheeks in his large hands, yanking you in his direction as you fruitlessly attempted to free yourself from his grip. Unable to help yourself you were almost crooning into his touch, your body basically begging him to rough you up. “Such a fuckin’ brat. Runnin’ your mouth all day, showin’ up in those clothes, fuckin up my schedule, acting like a whore” His soft whisper made you shiver, your skin now on fire. He spoke slowly, and every syllable made you want to drop at his feet with a vigor you could only be embarrassed of. He made you feel small, made you feel helpless under his touch. 
You wanted to push back, wanted to defy his accusations.“‘m not a whore” He smiled at your whining, and if you were delusional, and you were, even hopeful,  you’d say he did so endearingly. But Javier Peña didn’t care about endearments, and after the way you’d acted you’d be crazy to think he thought there was anything endearing about you. “Right baby. You're not. Gotta pay girls to act this way ‘round me. But look at you. Didn’t spare you a fuckin dime.” 
He had let go of your face, and had in a moment, quickly and uncaringly dumped you on the table in front of him. You let out a soft “ow” when you felt your knees bump the wood before your legs were dangling off its edge. You were far closer to him now, and if you had felt small before you thought you were only shrinking in comparison to his domineering frame– physical, mental, everything. Your brain was mush, your body was mush, and you could only lean into his touch– benevolent or not. 
In an uncharacteristically gentle gesture he patted your cheeks with the palm of his hand, lightly, as if to soothe the sore flesh, but it only made the way he pulled them mockingly far more jarring. “Know what that makes you babygirl?” He paused for a moment, knowing you couldn't answer, looking down at the way your eyes were now welling with tears at the pain, and reveling in the sight. 
“Makes you a little slut” 
You wanted to respond, wanted to defend yourself, but you could only settle for grabbing his dress shirt in the balls of your first. The fabric of your panties had pretty much soaked through, and you felt it cling to you uncomfortably as you shifted on the table to pull him closer. Practically begging for his touch. 
He let go of your face, but he didn’t plan on being any more gentle. He knew there was nothing you could do, nothing you could say at that moment, and he took full advantage of your silence– telling you everything he’d wanted to scream in your face for the past month. It was even better now however, because as a fun bonus, for his superhuman self control, you were even pleading for him to do so. He could see it in your eyes, feel it on your hot skin, the way you subtly rolled your hips against the table to ease the pang between your thighs. He reduced you to a dumb, empty headed bimbo, with his words alone. He couldn't help but rub it in a little. “Aw baby, no words for me? Where’s that snappy mouth now?” That faux sympathy was back again
His hands rubbed up and down your sides, moving to toy with the buttons of your top as he spoke. Fiddling with them he popped the first few open, enough to expose the swell of your breasts to the cool of the air conditioned office. With lust blown eyes he trailed his thumbs along your collar bones and then down to your admittedly skimpy lingerie– you gasped when he yanked it down, practically tearing if in a swift motion. He admired you for a moment, held you in place when you squirmed against him, wrapped your legs around his waist. 
You shifted on the desk, leaning your face against his torso, looking up at him,  pleading with your eyes. “Like you better like this, clothes half off like a desperate slut that couldn’t even wait to get undressed.” He paused, still admiring, tracing your cheekbones with his thumbs. “Oh, and fucking quiet”  he flipped you on your stomach, your legs dangling of the table when you writhed under his punishing grip– pushing your face down against the wood, bending you over it. “Whaddya think baby?” 
As if he had enough of just looking you felt him flip your skirt up with his vacant hand, and yelped when his palm came down harshly on the flesh of your ass, the sting only egging on your tears of desperation. “You know what I think baby? Think I needa fuck some manners into you.” He smoothed his hands up and down your warm thighs, fingers finding the soaked fabric of your panties as you moaned and sighed above him. He knew what he did to you and he loved it. “Can pretend there's anything in that head of yours besides the thought of goin’ dumb for me”
You lifted your head to look up and behind you, you’d give anything to witness the sight you’d touched yourself to for the past month, but Javier was quick to slam you head back back to where it came from, and send your eyes rolling back into your head as he shoved your soaked panties aside and roughly pushed two fingers into your sopping cunt. "Fuck, look at this tight little pussy, can barley take my fingers." He groaned in your ear, leaning up against you as his digits fucked you at an agonisingly slow pace, just barely soothing the burn of desire building in your core. “Bad girls don’t get a view.” Light headed, you could only squeal, could only hide your face from him as he leaned over to catch a glimpse of your knitted brows and that pout. 
"Y'know how messy y'are baby? Feel how this pussys cryin' for me, drippin' all over my hand?"
You kicked your legs in protest, salty tears streaming down your face and pooling at its side on the wood beneath you. He wasn’t happy when he found you pushing back against his fingers, grinding helplessly on them. For a moment you thought your wish was granted, but he was only yanking you off the desk so you could have your back flush against him, and he could get his hand wrapped tightly around your throat. Still languidly pumping his fingers in and out of your soaking pussy he turned your face to meet his, and sneered as his palm collided with the side of your cheek. 
Smack 
“Watch it” You wanted to be a brat, wanted to defy him, but it was all too much to handle at once. You felt fuzzy all over, and who were you kidding you were always going dumb for him. Besides, how could you even keep your mind steady, not when you felt his hard length against you. You gazed right up at him, pushed back against him, eyes rolling back into your head as you did. He only laughed. “Oh baby, think it's gonna be that easy? Think ‘m gonna let you cum jus’ like that? After you've run me up the wall?” He squeezed your breast in his palm, bending you back over the table, now more gently, extending the olive branch, giving you a chance to repent. “‘M not a needy slut like you baby, those little tricks ain't’ gonna work” Javier was an asshole, but he’d be lying if he said he wasn’t waiting to ruin you. But first he wanted to have a little fun. 
“Please, please, promise I'll be good.” He hummed, pretending like he was debating whether he was going to give into your pleas yet. He wasn't. He wanted to soak in the sight– you splayed out on his desk, begging him to fuck you sensless, his hands roaming your body torturously teasing you as your pussy clenched around nothing, dripping for him. 
“So now ya wanna be good? Well baby I'm not buyin it yet. Gonna take a lot more convincing than that.” His fingers found your clothed cunt once again, drawing soft circles on your clit. You wailed, knuckles going white when you gripped the table edge in front of you. "Feels good doesnt' it babygirl, I know, feels so good when you finally fucking listen." You pushed back against his fingers, practically humping his hand. The tears were back, and he loved them. “Aw, poor baby, too much?” He wasn’t asking, and you knew he didn’t care what you had to say anyway. He wanted one response, and you were far too wound up not to give it to him. 
“Please please please. Won't be a brat, wanna be your good girl.” He kept you waiting and distraught, fingers still rubbing you through your panties as he spoke, knowing very well you could barely concentrate when he touched you, the squelching of your wetness only drove you towards the edge. “Now babygirl, you're gonna listen, and you're gonna listen good, and do exactly what I say. Ya hear?” You nodded your head vigorously, but a smack to your ass reminded you to use your words. “Yes. promise” He laughed. “Such an easy little slut.” You heard the jingle of his belt behind you. 
You shivered when you felt his cock drag against your drenched cunt, tip bumping your clit with every pass as he wet himself with your slick. Your hips moved frantically, unable to get enough of the friction, but he held you back just enough, to where you would remain unsatisfied and frustrated.“Say" I'm sorry daddy. I'm sorry for being a tease.” You could hear the smirk in his voice, and the command alone was enough to send you over the edge. 
“‘m sorry for being a tease daddy ” 
“Say “I'm Sorry for being an easy whore”” 
“M’ sorry for being an easy whore” You’d never been more shy in your life, forget around Javier, who could never guess you had it in you. “That’s my good little slut.” But the way he was speaking to you, teasing, mocking, telling you what to do, what to say– you were hot all over with humiliation. You hid your face, pretty much smashing your forehead against the table, making sure no matter how far he lent he couldn't see the way you were coming undone under him. 
He could probably sense it, though, especially by the way you reacted to his little praise. “That's it babygirl. Comin around now are we?” You didn't want him to have that on you, but you were lucky, in a way, because he didn’t care much to tease you anymore. He grabbed your hips harshly and with a rough thrust of his hips he was fucking you into the mahogany desk, your ribs bruising as he held you down against it. He wasn’t wasting any time, wasn’t stopping or going slow to let you adjust, he was reminding you of how tightly you’d wound him up.“So fuckin tight” his voice was a strained whisper behind you, and you made a noise you could barely recognise as your own at his words. “Hurts” you were whining again,this time at the sting,  and you knew he didn’t care but you couldn’t help yourself. “Yeah baby hurts when daddy stuffs you full of his cock? My poor thing.. But you like it don't you babygirl? Like it when I stretch you open” he wasn’t wrong. The feeling of him splitting you open had turned you into a puddle, a moaning mess. “”S too big” his hands smoothed up and down your back erratically.  “I know baby, I know, but you’re gonna take it aren’t you? Gonna take it how I give it to you dirty little girl?” You were, you took it how he gave it to you. “Gonna ruin this pretty lil pussy” He squeezed the flesh of your hips till you squeaked, the pain only adding to the pleasure as his hips smacked against yours. 
You felt your legs shake as his cock pounded your aching pussy. “Jus’ needed daddy to fuck all that brattiness outta ya huh?” You nodded your head and he cooed at the way you melted into his touch. “Oh baby, that’s it, just like that.” Gazing up with hooded eyes you caught his reflection in the glass of his office window, half illuminated by the dim lighting– his own face scrunched up with pleasure. The sight only had you fucking back against him. You felt like jello, your heart pitter pattering at his little praise. 
“My good little slut” 
Wrapping his arm around you he grabbed your face roughly again, dragging you up and against his chest again. 
“My slut, hear me?” 
Yours, yours, yours 
Your brain was a fog, and the only thing you could focus on was the way his cock was hitting that sweet spot inside you, making you clench around him as that burn built in your core– a string of incoherent “daddy’s” being the only thing you could manage to get out your mouth.  “My dumb fuckin baby, my whore, squeezin’ my cock”. You repeated like a broken record; “daddy’s, daddy’s daddy’s”, the feeling of your slick running down your thighs making you go dizzy. 
“Look at you, daddy’s little cumdump” your cheeks were burning, your eyes barley staying open. He pulled your face up from the desk. “Can barely look straight huh baby? Gettin all cock drunk on me.” You made out his dark eyes in the reflection. But you couldn’t bear to meet them. It didn’t matter. He was always looking at you.
“Only for you daddy”
Your release was building, like an inextinguishable fire, your pussy throbbing with need, just begging for it, and he knew it too, the way your walls quivered around him, the way you were moaning and panting, whispering soft calls of “daddy” when he held you against him. “Gonna cum babygirl? Gonna cum on my cock, bent over my desk? When ’m usin’ ya like a fuckin toy?” 
Your body went lax in his arms as you came, your lips parting in a wordless cry, eyes fluttering shut. “That's it… cum for me”. You cherished that almost gentle encouragement as you came undone, tummy swarming with butterflies as you shook in his arms. He was still fucking into your sensitive pussy, pushing you further into the desk as he neared his release. You heard a strained curse behind you, before he was fucking you full of his cum in deep, hard thrusts, your legs dangled off the table as you milked his cock. Shivering at the feeling you closed your eyes, his spend leaked out of your sore pussy when he pulled out, dripping down your inner thighs obscenely. You heard his belt jingle again as he caught his breath behind you, and you felt silly for the way you missed his warmth when it was replaced by the chilled office air. He quickly shifted your panties back in place, making sure you stayed stuffed full of his cum. You winced when he smacked your pussy lightly. Raising your head you caught his reflection again, but you hid your face back against the desk almost immediately when you saw the way he admired his work in the reflection, like he could see the way he’d fucked the brattiness out of you. 
With closed eyes you hummed as he turned you over and sat you on the desk. Now that you’d finally got Javier’s attention you were satisfied– all sleepy and fucked out. You wished he’d hold you, but you had to remind yourself fucking you hadn’t taken the asshole out of him. He was still Javier. Hardass DEA attaché Javier. You sat there for a while, and when you opened your eyes you saw him picking up his blazer and briefcase. 
“If you're not up in 10 seconds I'm leavin’ ya here.” He was back to usual in a moment, and in your fuzzy little head you heard a well meaningness in that tone. “In those messy panties.” You pouted at his words, once again, and he watched as you hopped off the table, rubbing your eyes as you gathered your things, albeit clumsily–your knees wobbly to the point where you could see Javier’s smirk behind you as you shoved your laptop into your bag. 
Turning off the table lamp he motioned with his head for you to get moving along, and you rolled your eyes at him as you walked out the door, stumbling slightly as you did. He gave you what you now recognised as that look, brows raised, and you didn’t have the energy at the moment to be combative. 
Maybe you didn’t want to be. 
“Come on now, runalong”
My old man is a thief, and
I'm gonna stay and pray with him 'til the end
But I trust in the decision of the Lord, to watch over us
Take him when He may, if He may
I'm not afraid to say that I'd die without him
Who else is gonna put up with me this way?
I need you, I breathe you, I'll never leave you!
They would rue the day I was alone, without you
You're lyin' with your gold chain on
Cigar hangin' from your lips, I said, "Hon'"
"You never looked so beautiful as you do now, my man"
And we're off to the races, places
Ready, set, the gate is down and now we're goin' in
To Las Vegas, chaos, Casino Oasis
Honey, it is time to spin
Boy, you're so crazy, baby
I love you forever, not maybe
You are my one true love
You are my one true love
You are my one true love
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Let me know what you think please!! I’d love to hear your nasty thots. I really hope you lovelies liked it. Thank you to everyone who reblogs my work. You keep me writing! Dividers and banners by @ saradika 💗💗🐝🐝
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softevnstan · 1 year
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(nsfw) random prompt event generator for bucky!!
Bucky and Y/N going back to one or the other's house after a date, where they eventually end up dry-humping on the couch. Y/N only intends this as foreplay, but Bucky is already getting overwhelmed. Y/N finds this amusing and endearing, leaning close to whisper something teasingly into Bucky's ear. It turns out that Bucky is more excited than Y/N thought, and hits orgasm without any further stimulation, to the surprise of Y/N and the embarrassment of Bucky. What happens next?
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pairing. bucky barnes x gender neutral! reader
summary. After a date night out with Bucky as you explore your new relationship, you unintentionally wind up taking your makeout session a little too far. Quickly you learn it's been far too long since Bucky has had a partner.
warnings. SMUT - minors DNI. kissing, praise kink, dirty talk, size difference, beefy bucky, dry humping, masturbation (bucky and you), implied/referenced trauma, reader has v but still gender neutral. p with plot, recovering!bucky barnes (half-way).
a.n. ok, i have other things to write and originally i was gonna let this wait... until i read the prompt again and saw this as an opportunity for some mild bottom/fluffy bucky. (bucky is a bottom you can't change my mind, but i'll write top for you all i promise) starts a little fluffy at first because idk how to not write some sort of context to situations, and bucky is still in recovery reasonably so
w.c. 7.6k howdidthishappen
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Your date with Bucky exceeded your expectations. Wary that things would potentially be a little rough around the edges while the soldier was still trying to put himself back together, you were pleasantly surprised when he picked you up at your apartment with a bouquet of flowers - specifically an interesting combination of sunflowers and roses. You couldn’t remember the last time someone had bought you flowers, and after running them inside so as to not ruin them by taking them on the trip, Bucky held your hand all the way to his motorcycle and helped you settle comfortably before embarking on the evening together. No awkward pauses or tense, heavy moments with Bucky; It was sweet and a dream come true that you didn’t even know you’d had.
He’d surprised you on where you both were going initially. Blindly trusting Bucky with wherever he chose your date location, he decided that the Art Museum was the safest choice. Dinners could be awkward - what if you don’t like the way someone chews their food? Movies hardly left time to actually get to know one another, instead just sitting in the dark with occasional spared glances. Anything too physical could be exerting and hinder you from another date with Bucky. So after indecisively pondering, Bucky had chosen that an art exhibit was the best way to go.
You loved it.
So many classic paintings and countless mediums of art filled the halls as you two strode hand in hand. Bucky was on the quieter side, but not enough to deter you. He’d smile and watch the twinkle in your eyes when you both came across a particularly marvelous work of art that you loved. Bucky had listened smittenly as you gushed about the way some pieces of art made you feel or the message you interpreted behind it all. Eventually, Bucky had begun to open up throughout the night to do the same. What felt like hours of enriched conversation and two people simply being in the moment.
Sometimes people don’t need candles and rose petals, sometimes people just need someone to talk to and feel just as down to earth with. 
Unfortunately, neither of you had finished going through the whole museum together in one sitting.
Bucky had used that as the opportunity to salvage the situation; “I guess that means we’ll just have to come back together.” He’d said fondly when you both stopped at the mini-cafe built in the museum before you both left.
Instead of letting the date die down when the museum began closing for the night, you offered to bring the party back to your apartment instead. Tempting Bucky with a bottle of wine sitting in your kitchen so you two could just spend some more time together, he didn’t need too much convincing. Any excuse to stay close to you, to steal some of your time just a little longer before returning to his dull apartment. 
‘How could I say no to you, doll?’ He had said, and you’d beamed at the small victory.
Truly, you hadn’t meant for it to end up where it was (not that you were complaining). When you asked Bucky to come into your apartment building, when you’d walked together hand in hand, you didn’t think you’d wind up like this. But somewhere between being plastered against Bucky’s backside and having the privilege to let your hands wander and explore tight leather hiding thick arms or the adrenaline of feeling the wind whipping in your hair, you’d started to become insatiable on the trip back.
Bucky had this way with you that made you feel like a teenager in love all over again.
Sure, he was quiet, but he was misunderstood. Soft and sweet, he had a compassionate heart and an intelligent mind, the gentle giant. 
It’d taken some time to help Bucky bring down those walls initially - countless weeks you’d spent just trying to be his friend before he finally caved and agreed. He was a private person, you learned, but once peeling back all the layers, Bucky was amazing and worth all the work that went into opening him up. Creative and smart, a book-lover and funny, he was gentle and tender and emotional in every way that a man could be if they let themselves. He wasn’t afraid to be honest, but was instead afraid to voice that too loud. He wasn’t afraid to be emotional or vulnerable with those he trusted - not the unfeeling machine that so many had made him out to be. Bucky had simply needed someone who understood him - or was willing to if nothing else.
Once you’d gotten past all of it, all of the rough nights and moody days, it was worth it. You’d watched Bucky become something he never was before…
He was the one who had taken your relationship a step further. 
Tentatively and timidly, might you add. Always endearing. He’d been anxious asking you to come out with him - as though he’d been fighting with himself for a long while on whether or not he should even ask. When he finally called you and asked if you’d like to go out on a date with him tonight - yes, he’d used date - you’d been elated. 
And sure, you were moving a little too fast at that moment, but life is short and he’s already on seventy years of borrowed time. Bucky deserves to be loved.
Warm hand had rubbed up the length of Bucky’s bicep, and you gave his shoulder a squeeze when getting off of his motorcycle with a teasing glint in your eyes.
When he walked with you into the building, you hugged his left arm to your side - refusing for any additional space to come between the both of you as you prattled on about 'Birthday', by Dorothea Tanning and how you interpreted it as the door into the imagination, and Bucky was busy trying to remember which painting it was you were talking about - it was 'the winged scared cat-creature on the floor' that rejogged his memory.
Bucky was just happy you clung so easily to the cold and hard metal of his vibranium arm as if it were his own.
Turning into your hall, you’d begun to pull Bucky by the arm. Turning on your heel and offering him a smitten smile when you tugged him closer to your body in a backward walk. His eyes crinkled at the corners with his smile, his smile wide and showing off pretty white teeth. Even the sheepish duck of his head was precious when you led him into your apartment, finally excited to have time where it could be just you and Bucky without prying eyes.
"If you were eager to get home, you could've just said so," Bucky teased you, and you gave a playful smirk in response.
"M'not, I'm just excited to finally be alone with you." you'd cooed, attempting to make the words seductive but honestly they came more sentimental than anything.
The door gave way behind you when you twisted the knob with your one hand, the other still clutching to Bucky's sleeve. It didn't give Bucky a chance to respond to your retort when you tugged him right on into your apartment. Instead, it earned a chuckle that snapped into a gasp with your pull.
It was when that door shut that something came over you. Tucked into your own little corner of the world, you didn’t fear overwhelming Bucky with affection that made him uncomfortable. No worries about people gawking and making him feel out of place (or him being afraid of gawking, really). 
When you both were just past the threshold of your apartment, you turned and used your foot to push the door shut. Fingers sliding up Bucky's arm, you used the moment to grab the lapels of his leather coat and step back - coming flush with the door and dragging Bucky right on into your tight space.
Hardly giving him a chance to protest. Wide cobalt eyes study you when you both are finally still, Bucky's hands hovering a little uselessly briefly and while shocked, still pleasantly surprised by your bravery.
"Someone is a little impatient," Bucky comments, expression softening. "Not impatient, just excited." You defend with a loving smile. "I could've sworn there was a bottle of wine mentioned..." Bucky trails. "Can you even get intoxicated?" You rhetorically question with a curious tilt of your head and a knowing grin. "Can't I drink for the taste like most people do?" Bucky retorts. "Touché."
You both fall into a small fit of giggles and soft laughs, the small talk helping to alleviate some of Bucky's nerves. His hands slowly come to settle on your sides since you're not budging from where you'd pressed flat against the door. Enjoying being wedged between a door and Bucky - you'd be crazy not to.
Despite the way, your mind is running a million miles a minute and your gaze can't seem to draw away from Bucky's pouty lips, Bucky doesn't seem to be picking up as easily on your advances. That's okay. He's always been worth the wait.
“...Did you have a good evenin’, doll?” he asks, flesh hand smoothing down to delicately rest on your hip.
“I was with you, wasn’t I?" Bucky looks at you for a beat as if slightly unconvinced... "Yes, Bucky. One of the best dates I've ever been on... ‘S a shame, I don’t want it to end.” You coo, drawing Bucky in closer until you’re both flush against each other. His left-gloved hand lifted to push your hair from your face tenderly. 
“Who says it has to end right here?” Bucky hums with his signature playboy grin - no wonder why he had every girl in Brooklyn creaming their panties.
The low husk of his voice strikes you to your very core, allowing your imagination to run wild with the countless thoughts of what the man before you could really do if he tried. Really, it wouldn’t take much; Bucky already had you curled around his finger, whether he knew it or not was another question.
“I thought you’d never ask,” pleased, you lay your hands flat on Bucky’s chest. Feeling under his open coat and hands finding the expanse of muscle. You tilt your head back, biting your bottom lip seductively with a cheeky grin.
You aren’t ready to find Bucky’s eyes watching you so intently. The way he wets his bottom lip before worrying it between his teeth and releasing that pouty lip of his. Eyes boring right into you and keeping you pinned between him and the door. Ever so carefully, Bucky cups your cheek in his large gloved palm. There’s hardly a missed beat when you turn your head and nose affectionately into his palm, able to hear the soft whirring of the machinery before pressing a chaste kiss to leave behind.
“I had fun tonight,” You reiterate to him softly - the drag of your lips accentuated with every word against his palm.
“M’glad. You look good when you’re happy.” Bucky murmurs, but he seems distracted. Cobalt eyes follow every drag of your lips, Bucky exhales a shallow breath. 
“I bet I could think of a few ways you could make me even happier, Bucky,” you singsong, hand sliding up over Bucky’s that hold your cheek to press affectionately into his touch. Always grateful for anything, nuzzling into him like a needy kitten. 
Part of you is waiting for the next step. For him to make the next move - that’s the dance between you two. You step, and Bucky steps one more further. Playing off of each other. It doesn’t come.
“M’sure you could, sugar,” Bucky starts, and you’re waiting for the ‘But’... “But,” There it is. “Maybe we should slow down just a little. It’s been such a good night…”
“We could make it better,” you offer, and Bucky flushes slightly at the implication.
“...I don’t want to move too fast,” Bucky says after a pause in a hushed whisper - as though scared if he speaks any louder, the universe may come in and rip this good thing away from him as it has a history of doing.
“Listen, I care about you. And I had a really, really good time with you - I’m still so happy you agreed to come out with me. But you’re not- Not some dame. I’m not just trying to get into your pants, Y/N…” Bucky elaborates tentatively, and you watch him with understanding in your gaze.
“I know,” You softly lament. “You’re not that kind of fella, Bucky…” “I want you to feel comfortable with me - happy,” Bucky emphasizes, and for half a moment your heart hurts for the man in front of you. So convinced he’s still capable of doing harm, even after all of this time. “I can’t think of a time I’ve been uncomfortable around you at all, actually,” Softly you contest, and Bucky offers you a briefly amused smile. 
“We can take our time,” Bucky presses; You can tell it’s more for him than it is for you. “Anything you need.” No questions about it. Nuzzling into Bucky’s palm, your lips form a chaste smile. “You’re too good to me, sugar…” “Funny, I’ve found myself thinking that all night.” Bucky finds humor in the words; expression softening and some of the tension that had begun to rebuild in him falling away. Bucky laughs. Soft, but rich. He leans in and presses a lingering kiss to your temple; Protective and loving. “Earlier, you said you had fun… So did I. This was one of the best nights in a while for me,” The admission comes with the feel of Bucky’s lips ghosting your skin. It’s distracting.
“I’m glad; You deserve good things, too, Bucky.” Something you tend to try to remind Bucky of often; You’ll slam that fact into his head until he one day decides to believe it for himself and see what everyone else sees. “You are my good thing,” he whispers even quieter; Unintentionally dropping the tone of his voice and sending shivers down your spine.
No words are exchanged when your hands lift and find Bucky’s defined jaw; cradling him gently and drawing him in for a deep but loving kiss. The first of many tonight.
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Both you and Bucky had soon migrated from the door in the foyer to your cozy living room. You both struggled to keep space between one another; Lips meeting together over and over again. The only sound was your own heart pounding in your ears and the soft breaths between you and Bucky. 
You were planted in his lap. Sat on strong, thick thighs - your arms draped around Bucky’s broad shoulders. His hands sat comfortably on your sides; gloves abandoned on the coffee table when he’d wanted to feel you. Not leather obstructing him from feeling the proper warmth of your flushed skin. His head tipped back to accommodate the way you had gained a few inches on him upon being seated in his lap.
Despite the way you two were entangled, it was nothing more than kisses. His hands hadn’t dared to venture below your belt, and while the kisses were definitely full of passion, it wasn’t the flame you were yearning and burning for. To respect Bucky’s request though, you didn’t proceed any further. Content with the taste of Bucky on your tongue, the warmth of his breath, and the barely there noises you were able to draw out of him that rumbled in his chest. His lips were soft and moved naturally against one another - It was a moment of euphoria.
Just the way your mouths slotted together alone was enough to rile you up; It’d been so long, and no one was as tender a lover as Bucky was with you. Each time he touched you, it was with consideration and care for what you wanted, what would feel good. Never in the means of his own self-gain. It made you that much more desiring of him; the connection that you both maintained had been there for months, it was simply that you both had finally begun to act on it. 
You’d told yourself you’d be slow. Take this at your own pace. No one wants to rush into a relationship that has the potential to end messy. But there you were; Necking in your living room with Brooklyn’s finest bachelor since 1936. Truly, you were only human, and it hadn’t escalated further than that. Breathing each other in, heated and heavy. You hadn’t even done it intentionally.
One could only fault you so much when your hips rolled into Bucky’s. Formerly nestled still in his lap, you found yourself moving without thought. Grinding down into the soldier’s lap, it elicited a deep groan from his throat, and tilted his head down to pull your lips apart. His hands instinctively moved to your hips; Clutching moderately tight to still your ministrations. You relished in the subtle pressure that came with Bucky’s hands securely enough to hold you still for hardly a moment. It was enough time for you to have realized the mistake you’d made.
“Shit, I’m sorry–” you stammered between the both of you, and Bucky instead took a shallow inhale. “No, no– It… It was good. It felt good, it’s-... It’s just… been a while.” Bucky timidly expressed, cheeks flushed and breathless. You noticed how he struggled briefly to maintain a heated gaze with you, eyes averting before pinching shut altogether.
“Do we need to stop? It’s okay if we do, Bucky…” Let him know that he had that out if he needed it; You wouldn’t be upset.
That option left Bucky shaking his head profusely. “No,” he rasps out, and you can feel his breath fanning your face. Can still taste him on your lips. You’re both still so close… You can feel the faint flex of his fingers holding you. “I want to keep going… Just… Give me a moment, alright?” He requests, and you give him a comforting smile and an understanding nod.
Your fingers card up into Bucky’s disheveled locks and brush thick hair back from falling in his face. Some of the tension leaves his body when you press a chaste kiss to his temple. 
“Whatever you need,” you softly let him know. You’re both still for a minute or two. Simply letting Bucky hold your hips while you kept some of the pressure on your knees - dug into the cushions on either side of his thick thighs. Soothingly rubbing your fingers through Bucky’s hair and giving him a tender hug he relishes in.
Then, slowly, he pulls you back down. Guiding your ass back into his lap and bodies coming flush together. The moment is experimental and you allow Bucky to take all the time he needs even if there is a burning in your thighs from the awkward position. Basking in the relief with a soft sigh and nosing into Bucky’s hair. His hands experimentally dare to explore a little further down. Rubbing from your waist down over your hips to the tops of your thighs. His hands feel like that of a bear's paws in comparison to your physique. 
“How are we feeling…?” You ask, checking in on him. “A little better… I’ve been using that 4-7-8 breathing method my therapist recommended, actually,” Bucky says, and you can tell for a moment he just needs to play it by ear. Even if you both don’t do anything tonight, he’s worth the wait.
“Really? That’s good,” Indulging in the moment of chit-chat as his hands still continue the back-and-forth motion. Hypnotizing and leaving your thighs tingling.
Bucky’s reply comes in a soft hum, tilting his head down to nudge his nose at your neck. You tilt your head enough for him to burrow in the hollow of your throat and nose affectionately there. His warm breath makes your skin break out in goosebumps. You let out a shaky exhale before a sappy grin spreads across your face.
He begins to slowly mouth at the sensitive skin of your throat. Gentle kisses and the faint scratch of his stubble that initially tickles enough to make you wiggle in his lap. 
“Bucky!” You squeak and you feel the grin against your skin.
“Easy, easy…” Bucky lowly tells you and it burns into your core. It’s easy to go lax when he’s the voice coaxing you back. “Good doll,” Bucky says with a chuckle - clearly teasing but it makes you feel warm and fuzzy inside. 
“M’ticklish,” You defend as your arms squeeze around his shoulders. “I can tell. Might come in handy one day…” His lips still ghost over your skin; ever so distracting.
“You wouldn't.” “I might,” Bucky says, his voice smooth but thick like honey.
A playful pinch to Bucky’s shoulder makes him surrender with a laugh before tipping his head up to press your foreheads together again. This time you’re surprised to find his eyes meeting yours head-on.
“Thank you for being understanding,” Bucky addresses the elephant in the room, traces of anxiety in those gray eyes. “I’m still trying to learn how to let myself be with someone else…”
The words feels so raw; A hushed confession and a moment Bucky is being fully honest with you. Not hiding from it or skirting around it - communicating his boundaries and being able to give himself the time he needs. Your chest swells with pride for the man before you in his growth; You’re so inlove. 
“It’s okay, really. I’m not here just to get into your pants, Bucky. I care about you, and we can go as fast or as slow as you need.” You affirm, always wanting Bucky to know that. That he’s safe with you the way you are with him.
“I know,” he whispers, tipping his head up a little further to let your lips brush. “It’s why I like you so much…”
You smile, unable to help but feel a fluttering in your chest. Bucky draws you the rest of the way to press your lips together again. Starting from scratch so that Bucky is able to be more expecting and prepared this time. The build-up doesn’t bother you in the slightest, and it doesn’t take the both of you long to build up where you once were. Bucky’s comfortable kissing you. It’s everything else that daunts him.
Bucky is the one who holds your hips tight against his lap as he gives an experimental roll of his hips up into your ass; feeling the semi-bulge through his jeans. You gasp against his lips, and he seizes the moment to lick hot into your mouth. He doesn’t do it again; Teasing you and inviting you to take the next step. Experimentally, you return the gesture when you grind against Bucky’s lap. It draws a noise from both of you at that time.
“Yeah..,” Bucky huskily groans. “That’s good, fuck…” Bucky’s praise eggs you on to keep pressing down into Bucky. Rotating your hips to allow both of you to grind through your clothes; Traces of Bucky’s arousal evident in his jeans.
He steals your breath with a claiming kiss. Strong hands trailing up your thighs to test the waters. Feeling over the swell of your ass and encouraging you to keep pressing down into him. Rutting against his constricted and half-swelled cock. You’re unsure what to do with your hands other than planting them firmly on Bucky’s chest as you grind your sexes together. Fingers curling into bunch fabric of his shirt as Bucky’s head tilts to deepen your kiss further.
With each second that passes, you feel dizzier. High on the endorphins and lack of oxygen - your chest felt warm and fuzzy. Kissed senseless as Bucky’s firm hands squeeze the globes of your ass and rips a needy keen from your throat, drawing your grinds to a controlled halt. Right when you fear as though you might be too light-headed from the lack of air, Bucky shows some mercy. Freeing your lips and leaving you to gasp; Bucky licking his lips with a satisfied grin.
“I think I taste mint, did you pop a tic-tac earlier when I wasn’t looking…?” Bucky breathlessly teases, both of you so close that you can feel his smile. In that moment, you’re simply trying to return to Earth for a moment between soft, airy breaths. 
When you will yourself to finally look at Bucky again, his eyes are blown. His black pupils swallowing the blue of his eyes; leaving behind a thin ring. Something inside of him looks livelier than you’ve ever seen, Bucky’s cheeks flushed and lips swollen. 
“Jesus, Bucky,” is all you manage, earning a cheeky grin from Bucky - proud. “Speechless? I’m relieved to know after nearly a century I haven’t gotten rusty… It’d be embarrassing if I was 107 and didn’t know how to kiss,” Bucky jokes, and something inside of you feels so warm and fuzzy.
That you both can joke while still being in the moment and grinding into each other moments prior.
“Cocky, are we soldier?” You hum after regaining some of your composure, hands lifting to hold his face. Before Bucky has a chance to speak, the wiggle of your hips draws a reminder of the length in his jeans. Bucky chokes on a stifled groan low in his throat at the way you frott into him.
“Very funny,” he asks, still slightly out of breath.
“You took me by surprise,” you admit softly, “You never seem so brave…” “Frankly, sugar, it’s… Been a really long time. I’ve spent a too long runnin’ and not getting to actually feel alive - I’m not just surviving anymore. It’s taken time and it’ll still take more, but you make me feel better.” Bucky confesses fondly, and you snort with amusement. Pressing a loving kiss to his lips.
“Sap.” You murmur between soft pecks. “Only you could turn something hot into something sweet.” “Can’t we have both?” Bucky cooes. “Absolutely.”
This time, you take lead. Pecking kisses down from Bucky’s lips, over his stubbled cheek and defined jaw. His head tilts back to accommodate the way you nudge, leaving open-mouth kisses in your wake. Sucking the salty skin to leave behind loving bruises that will only last so long with Bucky’s healing factor. He groans; Adam’s apple bobbing when you stamp kisses back up his neck to the juncture of his ear and jaw. A soft kiss before you take a playful nip at his earlobe and send shivers racking through the man under you. “Oh, babydoll,” Bucky sighs airly, taking it upon himself to guide your hips. You move on your own accord as Bucky grinds you into his lap; Moving you back and forth to rut together through your clothes. You don’t have to do any of the work, instead just taking some time to give Bucky the loving he deserves.
When you peer at his face, his eyes are closed. Lashes kissing the tops of his cheeks and lips parted with soft breaths; the occasional clench of teeth pulls out a gravelly rumble from his chest. All of it has you so hot, so riled up. It’s just the two of you alone in the apartment; The air is charged with electricity between the two of you. The scrape of your teeth makes Bucky’s lips curl into a devious grin.
“You’re doin’ so good for me,” Bucky praises. “My pretty baby, yeah… God– Do you feel what you do to me, honey…?” Bucky’s voice was hoarse, the friction working him up just as much as it was you. The throbbing between your legs was becoming insatiable - your answer coming in a whimper as you sucked another purpling bruise into Bucky’s throat.
Your hips move enthusiastically. Trying to meet Bucky for every grind; Becoming too much for him to handle at one point. 
“Sl-Slow down, baby… Easy, we’ve got time,” he attempts to coax, but you’re busy chasing that high at that moment. You want to make Bucky feel good - this is doing that for him; Pleasing him. 
“What’s wrong, big guy?” You ask with an airy giggle, nosing up to Bucky’s ear. Your lips press against the shell of his ear; “I can’t get enough of you touching me, Bucky. I just want to make you come, thinking about it turns me on so much…”
You don’t realize until it’s too late what the words do to him, whispered out right in his ear. Bucky’s nose scrunches up and his jaw goes slack. His body becomes taut underneath you; Hands clutching hard and leaving a dull ache in your bones despite the way you’re still trying to move. Bucky’s hips stutter harshly, and suddenly he’s gasping out. Moaning low and breathy as he rides out his orgasm with half-hearted bucks up into your ass.
Your eyes widen with a sense of wonder as Bucky comes undone in those short few seconds. His lips curl into a perfect ‘o’ and he shudders, eyes pinched shut. “Ohhhh fuuuck,” Bucky moans, long and drawn out, and there’s not a hotter sight than Bucky Barnes coming because of you. You smile; Pleased with yourself and priding yourself on the fact of being able to be the one to do this to Bucky. You continue the grueling roll of your hips into his hard dick - little left to the imagination while your fingers tangle in his hair and you hold him close. Watching his face all the while; Not wanting to miss a single moment.
Bucky rides it out until he’s left with beads of sweat misting his hairline, panting with the rise and fall of his chest. Taking his time, licking his lips before seemingly becoming sheepish of how easily he’d just fallen apart. No warning; It’s been so long since he’s had another sexual partner to experience these things within a positive environment.
Your hips only stop when he’s well and done, knowing that most guys half the time are one-and-done. “That… That felt really good, m’sorry, it’s– it’s different. With, y’know, someone else… Versus alone…” Bucky manages awkwardly, and you simply draw him in for a lingering kiss. 
“I understand,” You murmur comfortingly against his lips. “You can clean up in the bathroom; I don’t have anything in your size for underwear, unfortunately, but I can find a pair of flannel bottoms that might fit…” “What about you?” Bucky asks, raising a brow. “Me?” “You.. You didn’t get to… Y’know.”
It’s oddly endearing how he worries about the fact that you weren’t able to get off the way he had. “What, we’re afraid to use adult language now?” You tease, and Bucky rolls his eyes. “M’bein’ serious. I want you to feel good…” Bucky says, rubbing your thighs soothingly. “I can get it up again if you give me a minute.” He adds, and for a moment you’re confused before placing the answer upon a super soldier refractory period.
“You’d be comfortable with that..?” You ask with a curious tilt, and Bucky bites his lips together; you can see the lingering daze in his eyes from the post-orgasm haze. “No,” he answers almost nervously. “I… Tonight has been a lot already. I don’t think I want to go there yet…” And you expect it to end there, but: “I have something else in mind, though.”
“Oh, do you now…?” you muse, curious. “Have you ever heard of mutual masturbation…?”
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You’re both sat facing one another on the couch; One of your legs tucked under your body and pants long abandoned to the floor leaving you in nothing but your underwear. You’d felt far less reluctance than Bucky had when it came to stripping down; The layers shed easily as your anticipation festered more and more to the surface. 
You’d be lying if you said you weren’t excited. You’ve known Bucky for a while now, and let’s not lie to yourself - He’s a good-looking man who can do things with a single look. The ‘Barnes Charm’ he was so popular for when he was young was still there; Showing itself in small flickers of moments from time to time. The only instances in acting on it on your behalf were in the comfort of your bedroom, alone in the sheets. No one’s business but yours. 
But now you’re there with him and no one else. No one to disturb your private moment.
Touch was something that was hard for Bucky - he’d expressed that to you when he stammered over what he’d been asking of you. That he’d rather watch one another right then.
Bucky had no problem drinking you in, either. His eyes were fixed on every movement you made - when you’d peeled your shirt off his eyes followed the expanse of glowing skin and studied it all. Every curve and slope of your body; There was no question of how enamored he was with you. It was the first time in a long time you’d felt truly seen. Someone who wasn’t just trying to get into your pants but found you breathtaking.
It was flattering; You could feel the heat in your cheeks and the way it flustered you to be looked at in awe. There was something about Bucky that made you feel perfect. He was a man that was genuine in everything he did; Not much of a people-pleaser if he doesn’t have to be. Arguably a little stubborn, actually. You knew nothing about the way he looked at you was feigned.
He chews his lip as his eyes study you. Leaned more forward from where he’s sat sideways on his half of the couch. Left hand clutching the back of the couch cushion, Bucky had that familiar bulge in his jeans (which were now unbuttoned and peeled open to show off his navy blue briefs). 
“You look so perfect, doll…” Bucky murmurs lovingly after a moment, and your heart melts in your chest.
The words felt too intimate for you to accept easily, but you didn’t want to reject the compliment either. So rather than reply verbally, you leaned back into the cushion propped up behind you and drew your right leg up; Pressed into the back of the couch. Your right leg dangles off the side of the couch and leaving you exposed to Bucky. A welcome invitation if he decides to change his mind and wants to touch you. 
Bucky breath hitches; shuddering out a slow exhale through his nose. His gaze is hungry, his hand thoughtlessly moving to his own groin to palm the returning erection.
“I’ll love you right, one of these days, sugar.” Bucky promises with a lick of his lips. “This is just fine for tonight, Bucky,” You reassure him, and his gaze racks up to your face. “Thank you again for understanding,” And the softness in his hungry eyes sends a cold desire to your core - something more intimate about that look than the one threatening to eat you whole. “Anything for you.” You tell him, meaning every word.
With that, you make a deliberate show of teasing your fingers down your chest and tummy before slinking between your legs. 
“Aww, that’s it, sugar,” Bucky hums fondly with a breathy chuckle. “Eager little thing, gonna put on a pretty show for me..?”
“Only if you promise to do the same; This is just as much for me as it is for you,” You tease affectionately, mood defiled when you trace your hole with your middle and ring finger. The pads of your fingers are cold on sensitive skin, leaving you to shiver and sigh out an airy moan.
“M’not in nearly as a rush as you are, sweetheart.” Bucky hums, and you catch the way his hand slides down to palm at his cock through his underwear. “So excited to be on display, are we?” “Just for you,” you exhale, preening at the way he looks at you while experimentally dipping the tips of your fingers into your wet and wanting hole.
“Thank God, might have to wring someone by the neck if I gotta share a sight as sweet as this...” The tone is playful and joking, but there are traces of genuine possessiveness in Bucky’s voice. The idea alone is enough to have you showing off; gathering the wetness and making a deliberate show of smearing it over glistening skin. Bucky licks his lips with a look as though he wants to eat you alive. 
Atleast it’ll give him something to look forward to for when you both do get to the point you can be physically comfortable with intimacy. You can have more than enough fun with this. 
“Mother, mary, n’ joseph…” Bucky drawls; that Brooklyn accent of his coming through thick with the rumble of his words. He relaxes back into the couch while you continue the steady stroke of teasing yourself, playing with your clit and leaving your cunt throbbing. Bucky properly slides his jeans down his thighs and bunches his briefs along with them.
The evidence of his previous orgasm smeared in his soiled briefs, his cock thick and bobbing at the cool air. Bucky hisses through his teeth before spitting into his hand and stroking himself off languidly. 
“Don’t stop, sweetheart. Keep touchin’ yourself for me, I wanna see how you like it…” the words were hummed low, squeaking a moan out of you with just the way he spoke to you alone. “Aww, did you like that, baby? Like the way I talk to you..?”
You bite your lip, swallowing back the noises and answering Bucky’s question in a profuse nod. Fingers still insistently tracing yourself to that sweet spot, you could feel the slow knot building in the pit of your tummy.
“Ah, ah, ah… If m’gonna talk, I wanna hear those sweet noises, babydoll. Sing for me,” Bucky cooes with a breathy chuckle, still fucking his fist on the length of his cock. Pre-come beading at the slit and making the tip glisten with the signs of his arousal.
“Oh, Bucky,” You wantonly mewl out, surprising yourself with how helpless you sound. Trailing your slick fingers down to press the tip of your middle finger into your weeping cunt. Experimentally pressing in, having been pent up for what felt likes ages and aching for relief.
“That’s it, baby,” Bucky’s hand begins to speed up over his aching cock; His thickness jerking in his palm whenever you make a particularly sweet noise. “Show me how you stuff that needy cunt; I wanna see how you - fuck - take care of yourself…”
You moan for Bucky; needy and high and airy. It just feeds into his own arousal as he jerks off across from you. His own groans deep and rough - Piercing gaze keeping you pinned to the couch. Unable to look away from the way Bucky’s gaze bore into you.
His eyes watch you expectantly; Waiting for you to do what he’s asked. You oblige.
Your fingers press knuckle-deep into your cunt; Experimentally thrusting into your channel and leaving your back to arch slightly off the arm of the couch.
“Oh,” you mewl out, fingers driving into your hole, stretching your tightness and leaving your arousal to spill out. 
Bucky jerks his thick cock, hand sliding easily and the ministration made easier by the pre-come that spills over his fist. He shifts his hips, licking his lips and grinning at the way you fuck yourself open.
“Look at you, such a pretty baby,” Bucky breathes low between pants for air. “If I didn’t know any better I’d have thought you – mmh, god - were waitin’ for this. So eager to get that hole wet…”
The way Bucky talks to you makes your chest flutter. Your face feels hot, gasping as it drives the way you fuck your hole. Watching the up-stroke on Bucky’s cock - imagining the length sliding home into you and whimpering at the thought. Your eyes screw shut, the room filled with the slick sounds of your fingers in your hole.
“Oh no, babydoll, open those pretty eyes. I want you to watch me,” Bucky demands, and your eyes open on command. “Yeah, that’s it… Good baby, see this?” Bucky stops the stroking of his dick to let his fingers wrap around the girth and give a little tap of the tip to his thigh. Showing off the girth and his thick balls.
“Yeah, yeah this is all for you, honey. M’so hard for you, all for you…” The rumble of his voice was soothing as it was arousing.
“Bu-Bucky,” you squeak past trembling lips. Thighs softly quaking — Bucky’s words could get you off alone. Who knew he was such a filthy talker?
“I’m right here, sugar. ‘S okay, make yourself feel good. Don’t gotta hold back for nothin’, show me, pretty thing. I wanna see it all…” It’s permission if you’ve ever heard it, and suddenly at that moment, you realize how dependent Bucky’s say was over your building orgasm. As if your body knew it was waiting on his approval before you could let yourself come undone. 
Your legs draw up to clench your thighs – Stopping yourself when you remember Bucky’s eyes are still fixed upon your flushed body. Watching the hypnotizing display of the quick work you made fingering your needy cunt while he relished int he display. Stroking his cock languidly before building up a pace that matched your own; Wanting to follow your arousal with you. 
Just because you both weren’t touching doesn’t mean he couldn’t work with you.
It doesn’t take much; Not that it surprises you. You’d been pent up from the previous grinding into one another; hot and bothered by kisses that gave you a hint of what more could be like. 
While your one hand is busy playing with your nub, your free hand smooths up to ruck up your shirt. Bucky’s dilated eyes light up even more when your hand moves under your top; Rolling a nipple between your fingers and drawing even more whorish noise from your swollen lips.
Bucky downright growls, hips arching subtly off the couch as he fucks up into his fist.
“Fuck, you like to play with your nipples, baby? Aww, bet you’re so sensitive… Mm, fuck, yea… M’gonna love gettin’ my hands on you when we’re ready. Gonna learn every nook n’ cranny of you; Wanna worship that pretty body of yours.”
He keeps talking like that; each word straight to your aching core and leaving you soaked. Bucky picks up on it in the way you get louder — noisier.
“You like that? Of course you do — who knew you were so fuckin’ filthy, sugar? Aw, m’gonna come, baby,” Bucky’s voice even until it begins to find a sense of urgency towards the end. A sharp breath from him, both of your hands moving while you watch one another. Pleasuring yourselves and being your most intimate selves; On display for one another.
Your jaw is slack, gasping and moaning out pitiful squeaks while you touch yourself. Bucky’s hand moves smoothly over his arousal, the sound of skin on skin as he jerks himself off.
“Oh, oh fuck, please, I-I’m gonna come, Bucky,” you cry out, and Bucky thumbs at the tip of his cock; wrist twisting towards the head. 
“Come for me, baby. C-Cream all over your pretty fingers — come for me, come for me,” Bucky’s words drive you over the edge.
Your walls flutter emptily; begging to be filled as you come undone under your fingers. It’s cloud nine, riding out your high on your familiar fingers. Thighs trembling and soaked with your wetness, hips canting up into nothing as you finish on your fingers. Gasping and squealing out until you’re reduced to pathetic whimpers.
Bucky watches you all the while. Fucking his fist and growling out through his bared teeth when you come. Reaching his own orgasm and painting his fist in thick stripes of creamy white that you want to lick clean. He pants, face flushed as his cock spills his heavy load. Staining the denim of his jeans and leaving a mess (though he’s careful of the couch). 
You both slump into the couch, still facing one another when the high has passed. Panting for air, the smell of sex and sweat heavy in the air. You’re the one to break the quiet with an airy giggle, which Bucky grinds widely in response to.
“Are you alright, honey..?” Bucky asks curiously, his own voice hoarse and quiet. “Perfect. How’s about a shower…? You’ve already seen me from the stomach down, I’ve already seen your dick. That’s practically all we have. Nothing to hide,” you offer with a roughness to your own voice, swallowing thickly. You smile, still lingering in the soft air of the post-orgasmic haze.
“Sounds perfect, baby. I’ll go get the shower runnin’, okay?” Bucky offers, tucking his mess back into his underwear (he won’t be wearing them much longer anyways). Scooting forward, he uses his clean hand to cup the back of your head and press a gentle kiss to your temple. 
You nod with a soft, ‘mhm’. Enjoying the settling moment's peace and serenity despite the cooling wetness coating your thighs. Moving will be awful but it was well worth it.
Bucky certainly leaves an impression. Kicking off the evening with flowers and a ride to the art museum, strolling the halls lovingly with him while partaking in art, only to come back to your apartment and masturbate together. Bucky might be more full of surprises than you thought. You couldn’t be more excited.
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cerise-on-top · 4 months
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Cuddling HCs
TF141, LVQ, Valeria, Graves, Alex, Farah, Laswell and Nikolai, again. These are the last batch of HCs I have written out for now. I do have two stories written out, one for Ghost and one for Graves, but I'm not sure I should post those. Anyway, for the most part these are sleepy cuddles, I suppose. Very self-indulgent, but that's what writing something like this is in general. SFW and gender neutral, as per usual.
Price: He’s a captain, so naturally he loves being the one to hold you, doesn’t matter if you’re spooning or you’re safely tucked away under his chin. Of course, he’s the big, strong man in whatever your relationship may be, so he just wants to protect you. He’s so used to taking care of others and making sure they’re alright, that it comes second nature to him to try and make you feel safe too. If you ever suggested him being the one to be held he’d smile, almost laugh, at the idea, thinking it to be rather silly. But when he’s in your arms for once? He gets very comfortable and sleepy, it never occurred to him that being cuddled would be so nice. He has no qualms about asking you to hold him either, he knows you understand.
Gaz: Such a cuddlebug, honestly. You wanna hold him? You wanna be held by him? Either is fine, as long as you switch it up from time to time. Becomes especially cuddly if he’s tired, that’s when he’d love to simply grab you and lie down for the night with you. Even just a nap is alright, in spite of him not taking them very often. Loves putting his head on your chest, something about hearing a loved one’s heartbeat is just so calming to him. Every time you’re cuddling he simply closes his eyes and there’s a chance he might just fall asleep. While he might be willing to engage in conversation while cuddling, don’t expect him to always respond with full sentences, sometimes he’ll barely even hear you with how relaxed he is. Doesn’t have an iron grip on you, but it will tighten for a moment when you try to get up. That’s when he snaps back to reality and needs to remember where he is for a moment.
Ghost: This guy is actually so touch-starved, but he’d rather do anything else than admit it as he’s afraid of becoming too much. Give him a taste of what a good cuddle session is like, he’ll think about it constantly. The first few times will be him holding you only. After that? You may request holding him, if you ask him a few times he’ll crumble eventually. It’s one thing to hold someone, because if you do it right then they can’t hurt you. But being held? Being spooned, cradled or given affection otherwise? He actually becomes so soft. If you gently rub his back or run your hand over his skin otherwise you can get him to fall asleep and snore softly. Doesn’t move in his sleep but good luck trying to get out of his grasp. If it’s you he’ll try to not have an iron grip and hurt you, but it’s not exactly something he can control either when he’s asleep.
Soap: Despite being open to either, he prefers being the one to hold you. It makes him feel more masculine, but that’s what he tells himself. In reality he simply sleeps more easily holding something, or someone. When he falls asleep holding you, you can actually watch his facial expression be relaxed, his mouth somewhat curving upwards too. Nuzzles into you like there’s no tomorrow, either that or he’s nestling into you like a dog or cat moving the blanket to make it just that bit more comfortable. Sleepy talks are a given for him, he loves hearing about anything and everything as he takes in your warmth. In return, he’ll tell you about how he convinced Gaz he stepped on a ladybug, when it was really just a red Skittles. If you’re spooning and he’s feeling a little bit mischievous he might graze your tummy with his hands to make you giggle.
Alejandro: He has a high rank, but he’s aware of how cathartic being held can be. Thus he’s not above asking you for some cuddles. If neither of you have anything important going on, he might just pick you up and carry you to the nearest soft surface. Loves gently scratching your scalp and feel you melt under his touch, especially if you only respond to him via humming after some time. He slightly prefers holding over being held, but on a bad day he loves nothing more than to have you run your fingers through his hair instead. If you’re lying on a bed together then he loves facing you, whoever moves first to hold the other gets to be the bigger person for the time being. Very much a talker before sleepy time, he has so much to tell you about. Besides, hearing your voice heals his soul just as much as being physically close to you.
Rodolfo: He’s more inclined to admit he’s touch-starved than Ghost, but he feels a bit embarrassed to do that. Likes holding you, but if he could choose, then he’d choose to be held every single time. There’s just something so nice about not having to worry about a thing, about being the one who gets protected for once. Trust me when I say that if something were to happen he’s the first one to jump into action, he can be quite ruthless, but putting your trust into someone else, difficult as it may be, really pays off when you have found the right person. However, even if you just hold his hand while you’re lying next to each other, he’s quite content. Not much of a talker, plus he gets a bit self-conscious as well. He’s a sergeant major, that’s not too low of a rank, should he really be the one to get treated like this? Pull him close to you and reassure him that you love any sort of cuddling with him from time to time and he’ll be very happy, though.
Valeria: Much like a hug from her, it’s hard to get her to cuddle you. She’s not entirely opposed to it after a lot of time has passed, but she will be cautious. Even then, she’ll, for the most part, only agree to spooning, but she will absolutely never be the smaller spoon. It doesn’t matter how awful she feels, she’ll never be comfortable in that position. She doesn’t have the most time for that sort of thing either, something always comes up and she can barely get any rest. While she likely won’t fall asleep cuddling someone, what you can do to ease her nerves is give her a plushie. She’ll scoff and make fun of it, but she appreciates it. Hell, from time to time she’ll fall asleep cuddling it and think of you. As much as she hates to admit it, if she’s had it for long enough she’ll grow a bit softer around you and give just the tiniest amount of more physical affection. Don’t mention it, though. She’s aware, but she can’t particularly help it.
Graves: Another guy who prefers holding. However, it’s much harder to get him to be the one being held. He has too much pride for that sort of thing. Yes, he dishes out physical affection like it’s nothing, but he’s rarely on the receiving end, especially for something along the lines of cuddling. And yes, that is because of his own doing. If you beg and plead enough, though, he might let you. Feels pretty indifferent to being held, but if it makes you truly happy he can indulge you once or twice. But be aware, the second he can, he will switch it around so you’re being held again. You can fight all you want, even when he’s tired it’ll likely be a losing battle for you. Not too much of a talker when he’s about to sleep, but he’s more than happy to listen to you talk about whatever is on your mind. Loves having you bury your face in your chest and fall asleep like that, like Soap, it makes him feel very manly and needed.
Alex: It doesn’t matter to him which way you want it, he’s happy with any position and any role. Hell, he’s a true switch at heart when it comes to something like this. Loves just coming up to you and putting his arms around you. And if either of you are tired the chances of that happening increase exponentially. Nuzzles into you, adjusts himself so both of you are comfortable, might hum a small melody as well. Latter is something he sort of just picked up from Farah, but he likes the idea of humming a small tune to make you relax. Not too much of a talker, he just gets sleepy when he gets to cuddle you. If it isn’t too hot then you can expect him to grab a fluffy blanket and put it over the two of you, even if he doesn’t want to let you go. Nothing beats holding a loved one and hearing them talk about anything and everything while under a comfortable blanket.
Farah: Gives off the impression that she prefers to do the holding, loves being held just as much. It grounds her and reminds her of her cause. As mentioned, she might hum a tune when she’s very comfortable, or when she wants to calm you down. During night time, there’s a chance she might become just a tad more melancholic, but it won’t deter her from sleeping. She does sleep especially well if the both of you are cuddling. If she trusts you enough she can go any way with cuddling as well. Her and Alex seem to influence each other quite a bit. While she may not have the most time to cuddle with you, she does like to do so whenever she can, it reminds her of some good, gone-by times. Despite not liking to dwell too much on the past, there’s nothing wrong with remembering the nice things that have happened. Life can’t always be suffering.
Laswell: Not always too big on cuddling, but she does like it from time to time. When she’s had a rough and exhausting day, nothing beats holding a loved one under the covers. It’s those days that she sort of does think about being held from time to time, putting her head on your chest. Her job is rough, so having someone and something to do to decompress is a pleasant change of pace. Cuddles are infrequent, mostly because of her job requiring her to be everywhere at once, but it’s worth it when she does have the time. Not much of a talker when she’s just about to fall asleep, but doesn’t mind you talking either. She especially loves it when you tell her a funny anecdote or a joke, it’s something soft and easy to drift off to sleep to. Her brain goes haywire, even in her sleep, but when she falls asleep cuddling you then she dreams about you very often too.
Nikolai: You’d need to be especially close for some cuddles, but once you are, then you can just go for it. As long as he isn’t busy and you aren’t in public you can just walk up to him and wrap your arms around him. If you drag him onto a couch, a bed or any other soft surface he’ll just let you. It’s a bit funny to him, he lets you do just about anything, you get away with so much, even though, if he really wanted to, he could eliminate you in just about every way possible. Loves cradling your head and pressing it to his chest. More of a cuddler, but if you ask to hold him, you may. Takes a while to fall asleep, but if you’re awake to hear it, you can hear him slip up from time to time. In the linguistic sense. He knows eight languages, it’s not gonna get more coherent when he’s about to doze off. His grip, however, does not falter when he’s asleep. Once you’re stuck, you’re stuck with him and you won’t get out of his grasp until he wakes up again.
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midmourn · 4 months
Text
like the movies
♡ nct dream ﹒ gender neutral!reader genre fluff, slice of life, angst, suggestive warnings language, suggestive on jeno’s, brief death joke on haechan’s note if yall have any requests let me know 🫶 here’s the tropes if you can’t tell: mark: best friends to lovers. renjun: enemies to lovers. jeno: fwb. haechan: fake dating. jaemin: second chance. chenle: arranged marriage. jisung: brother’s best friend. i cant remember who inspired this but i do know it was for enhypen lol ( masterlist )
resting on his elbow on your bed, mark’s mouth is agape as he stares at you, blinking furiously. was he dreaming? you, who stood in front of the floor length mirror, smooth down your clothes for non-existent dust and smile to yourself, “okay, how about this outfit?” you wait a few seconds before frowning, “mark? hello— mark?” you wave a hand in front of him and he jolts, “wha—? oh, um, yeah, it’s great. you look really good— … dude.” he winces inwardly at the name, but you don’t bat an eye at it and frown at his seemingly insincere words. “you’re right, it’s bad. i’m going to change.” mark catches your hand with a laugh, “dude, no! seriously, you look really— …” he trails off, looking hesitant to say the next word, even though he’s said it so many times before so easily. what was different now? “— pretty. gorgeous,” he says it without even thinking, realizing it the moment you smile bashfully, ducking your head to your chest to try and hide it but failing miserably. he studies your face for a second, eyes flickering from your eyes to your lips. and— oh. he wants to kiss you so bad. you, his best friend. oh. oh shit.
renjun doesn’t know when the lines blurred from enemies to frenemies to … lovers? crushes? all he knows is that the burning rage that used to fill him every time your mouth opened was now replaced with warmth spreading over his chest and the urge to kick his feet while giggling. words neither of you would dare to speak around your mothers, intended to hurt, were replaced with teasing, playful words with no hint of malice. your head turns swiftly, knocking him out of his daydream as you raise an eyebrow at him, “take a picture, maybe it’ll last longer.” cheeks flushing a subtle red, his eyes narrow at you, “you might break my camera.” but his pinky creeping towards yours and lips curling up at the ends says how he really thinks. you smile, flipping your hand over and making the first move to intertwine your fingers. his heart stuttered in his chest, “i— you—” you laugh, squeezing his hand once before going back to your textbook. and, yeah, he was certain he’s never felt this before.
“if you squeeze any harder, i think you’ll break the glass,” mark attempts at a joke to diffuse the tension radiating off jeno. jeno’s lips barely twitched up as he glanced down at the glass in his hand before setting it to the side, done drinking for the night. he didn’t feel like it anymore when he saw how closely some guy holds you to his side, hand on your waist. he didn’t like the funny feeling it gave him and he could only imagine how it’d feel when alcohol was added into the equation. “jeno, dude, when are you gonna make a move? you guys have been—” he glances around, checking for eavesdroppers even though the music was far too loud for anyone to hear, “—messing around for months, basically a couple without the label. and you know there’s more people interested in y/n than just him.” the two look back to the opposite side of the room where the guy was whispering something in your ear, a smirk on his face. “you need to tell them you want something more than just fuck buddies. or else you’ll lose them forever.”
“you— WHAT?” haechan winces as your voice grows louder in his ear, casting a quick look around to see if anyone could hear you through the phone. “hyuck! what the fuck?” “don’t act like it wouldn’t be a privilege to date me,” haechan scoffs playfully, hiding his nervousness behind humor; as he always did with his emotions. “i’d rather die.” “okay, well, please! my mom’s already told everyone in my family that i’m bringing someone, including my sisters!” the mention of his sisters have you going quiet, and he hopes you’re thinking about it on the other end. “god, haechan— i—” you sigh in frustration, “how was my name the first name to pop up in that tiny brain of yours?” he ignores the jab, thinking back to that moment. truthfully, he already knew why you were the first name to pop up in his head when his mom mentioned bringing a date to his family reunion. but you didn’t need to know that. not right now, at least. “you weren’t, you were actually my last choice but all my other choices would’ve said no,” he teases, hearing you scoff in disbelief and he grins. “whatever. you’re lucky i love your sisters and hate letting them down.” “and me?” he raises an eyebrow, maybe a hint of hope in his voice. “you wish.” he does.
jaemin swears he’s dreaming when he looks up and sees you. never in a million years did he think you would come back home. not when you tried so hard to leave, anyway. you’re across the aisle, switching your gaze between two spices in your hands when you feel the back of your neck prickling. your head lifts, making eye contact with jaemin immediately. your breath catches, the world freezing around you as the two of you stared at one another. jaemin had only seen glimpses of you through social media the last four years, living your life in some prestigious university with your dream job and dream life in america. he watched your life through pictures like he used to watch you sleep. you break first, raising a hand to wave shyly at him, attempting a weak smile as you didn’t know how he’d react. jaemin abandoned his cart, walking closer to you as you set the spices into your cart. “hi,” you breathe out once he stands in front of you. for years, it seemed like you could never catch your breath, always missing just one thing. and now, it seemed like a breath of fresh air, standing in front of him. his lips turned up into a soft smile, eyes shining as he said softly, “hi.”
the hotel room is silent as chenle unlocks the door with the cardkey, letting you in first and doing a quick check of his surroundings before following in. he listens to the click of the lock, eyes following your movements as you grab a change of clothes and your skincare items from your suitcase. he loosens the tie around his neck, kicking his dress shoes off and turning his back towards you. he doesn’t intend on saying anything, knowing that this situation is definitely not your favorite thing in the world. while he wished it was on his own terms, he liked that it was you. it was only ever you for him. you just didn’t know that. “chenle?” he hums in reply, shrugging off his suit jacket and throwing it on the loveseat. “you don’t … hate me, do you?” his head snaps up, brows furrowing, “what?” the word comes out incredulous and you bite your lip, embarrassment sinking in as your cheeks begin to feel warm. “i … i know this isn’t ideal, but for me, i know it’s not the worst thing in the world.” he blinks at you. you smile slightly at his dumbfounded expression, “i was angry at first, and i was so … betrayed. but, i’m glad it’s you.” you don’t expect a response, heading into the bathroom quietly. he smiles to himself once he fully registers what you just said. i’m glad it’s you. he was, too.
from your spot on the armchair, you watch as jisung rises from his seat on the couch, next to your brother. “i’m getting a drink, anyone want anything?” the rest of your friends and your brother’s friends chime in with their answers, and you wait a second for anyone to get up and follow after him. but no one does. you smile to yourself before standing, “i’m going to help him, since you assholes won’t.” your brother waves you off, too far into the video game to give a better reply. you sneak up behind jisung, sliding your cold hands up under his t-shirt and he jumps, neck twisting to look at you. “ah!” he says a little too loudly, and you shush him. you stay silent before you hear shouts of excitement and disappointment from the living room, turning back to him. “what if—” he starts to say. “as far as they know, i’m helping you with the drinks and snacks,” you poke him in his ribs and he jumps, making you snicker. you stare into each other’s eyes for a few seconds, enjoying the small moment you’ve rarely got since you all came home from college for the summer. at the thought, your face falls and jisung frowns, brushing a stray hair away from your eyes, “what’s wrong?” you shake your head, not wanting to ruin the moment but he insists. “i … i really want to tell him, ji.” you frown, watching his face carefully. “the longer we keep this a secret, the more he’ll be mad. i think we should just rip the bandaid off.” at his hesitation, you sigh and step away from him, making him take a step forward to close the distance again. “jisung, if we’re really serious about this, we have to tell him at some time.” you hesitate, “… are you serious about me?” his eyes widen, “what? yeah, i am. i’ve been serious about you since we were seventeen. i…” he looks shy, “you’re it for me. you’ve always been.” your cheeks heat up, eyes darting away shyly at his words as you allow him to close more distance between you two and press a meaningful kiss to your lips. “we’ll tell him … after everyone leaves, okay? i don’t want to hide anymore. i didn’t like it in the first place.”
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radioactivesweet · 11 months
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Ok hear me out, what about moon god s/o x Poseidon, its been itching my mind cause of the sea x moon troupe.
What i imagine is, s/o being a powerful god like nyx but rarely appears so only a few gods know or saw them so Poseidon became curious about this mysterious (beautiful) god. Feel free to add more about this!! im just really craving for someone to write this 🥹
Uhhh I like this concept a lot!! I tried to keep the reader's gender kinda neutral, I hope it's fine^^ btw I really enjoyed writing this!
word count: 1.2k
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Poseidon often found himself staring at the moon. He couldn't really explain why he would do that - not that anybody would dare asking the God of the Sea what he was doing. Unbothered, Poseidon would stand silenty on the ivory balcony, looking up to that apparently endless sky. Even for someone like him that domain appeared far and full of mystery.
It was a dark night, its only beam being the peaceful and perlescent light emanated by the sleeping moon. He was once told that a god inhabited the moon, far from all other living beings. It wasn't known the reason why the deity ended up there, observing humankind from the satellite. Some believed they refused to get involved with human affairs and chose to live as a hermit instead; others claimed the god was exiled and was cursed to live on their own, bound to live in loneliness; some believed that god to have died long ago, the moonlight being their only inheritance, the memento of a god who existed no more, the reminder of a otherwise forgotten past.
Poseidon, everytime he would look at the moon, would wonder the real story behind it. None of the moon goddesses he knew could give him a response, despite asking themselves the same question - with whom were they sharing their moon? A god, a ghost or nothing at all?
Not knowing made the God of the Sea restless. He wasn't supposed to be this ignorant - it was his duty and right to know the truth. Yet, all he knew didn't make sense to him at all. He couldn't find a reason why a god would choose to abandon their place a seek shelter on the moon; if a deity was trapped on the moon, he would have surely heard of it somehow. It wouldn't have been just a rumour; lastly, gods weren't meant to die, it wasn't their nature. They didn't have an expire date nor any time limits, so it was impossible to begin with. If there really were someone looking down on him from the moon, Poseidon would discover it.
Poseidon spent that whole night reading books and looking for information regarding the legends surrounding that mysterious and mystical figure. There weren't many references and he couldn't even find the name of that god, yet there were reported some events which most likely involved them. A beautiful deity whose melancholic face was reflected on the moon on certain nights, someone wearing a silvery armor while riding a shining chariot across the sky. Also, a powerful god who could conceal the sun and the earth. A god capable of moving the stars and making humans into constellations. A god who could flex the tides to their own amusement - which meant disturbing the God of the Sea too - the moon phases and the sea had always been strictly connected to one another, but the thought of someone directly interefering had never crossed his mind. An ancient deity whose name had been long forgotten and all traces canceled, no statues nor temples left, their believers long dead and turned to ashes.
Poseidon was intrigued to say the least. He couldn't recall even if tried the last time he had felt so interested in someone - maybe last time was when he recognised Hades as his brother thousands of years before? He didn't remember anymore, and it didn't really matter to him neither.
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Rumours spreaded fast across the Heavens. It was a matter of days before everybody knew what the lonesome Poseidon was looking for, yet nobody dared approaching him nor suggesting him the information that could have helped him reach his objective. Yet, everybody was curious as to why he was interested in that legend in the first place. Poseidon was used to those lower deities' gossips, so he didn't pay them much care, they were nothing more than a bother and wasn't expecting them to act some other way. He was more interested in what certain gods had to say.
Zeus, despite his prestige, knew no more than him but reccomended talking with the goddess Nyx, whom he was afraid of, much more ancient than he was. Hades and Hermes agreed with Zeus and added some rumours that had been circulating for ages in the Underworld regarding a moon deity who lead the souls of the dead to Hades' domain. Beelzebub clearly remembered studying moon's phenoma and seeing that legendary face. They didn't ask him the reason why he was looking for the god. He wouldn't have answered anyway. Without a single word, he left, approaching his next destination, the goddess all gods feared: Nyx.
He respected the goddess, recognising her value and strenght, but didn't understand the reason why even the almighty Zeus feared - he could only suppose it must have been because of one of his many affairs that didn't end the way Zeus imagined. Poseidon didn't have anything to do with that though, therefore had no reason to fear her.
Nyx knew it all, the story of the human who ascended to the skies and then flew even higher above. That god's name was (Y/n), the vagabond of the stars, the hermit who found a home in the dim light of the moon. Poseidon was satisfied by the answers he had finally found - and a way to reach the moon itself. He was close to his goal.
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He had finally landed on the moon. Poseidon had never been there before. It was the first time he got to see the sea he ruled from that perspective. It was a foreign feeling to him. He could almost understand the reason why humans tried so hard to leave Earth and reach the space - it was undescribable. He couldn't even blame (Y/n) for hiding in that timeless place. Poseidon felt as he could touch the stars if he only wanted to. And he was just about to do it, if only a sudden voice hadn't interrupted him.
"I've heard someone was looking for me. I don't receive many guests, so I suppose you must be that person." it was quite, almost a whisper. It didn't surprise Poseidon. (T/n) mustn't have had someone to talk to in a long time.
"You are Poseidon, aren't you? You often stare at the moon, I noticed it." a voice comparable to the music of the spheres, the musica universalis, the harmony between the celestial bodies.
(Y/n) seemed to have no material consistence, one with the stars and the deep blue sky surround them, floating on the ground, detached from the earthly beings. Poseidon almost felt unworthy of being before someone surrounded by such a, otherwordly aura, belonging to a different dimension. On the other hand, he was attracted by that holy creature.
"You are welcome here, God of the Seas." almost as if they had read his mind, (Y/n) reassured him "We all belong to the moon, all beings are made of the same stardust. There are no differences between us."
For once, Poseidon, enchanted and bewitched, couldn't reply. He was part of that symphony too - he could feel it resonating deep into his bones.
The everlasting sea below him, the everlasting stars above him. Poseidon felt whole for the first time in his equally everlasting life.
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its-freaking-jordan · 11 months
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Hihi!! First off all I hope you are having an excellent day / afternoon / night! May I request some headcanons of the hashiras seeing reader (who's also a hashira) as an older sibling figure (Gender Neutral if possible!)?? If it's possible all of them, if not that's alright! Please and thank you! ^^
-🌸✨
Hi! I can do this request no problem and thank you!!!
Hashira seeing you as their older sibling figure
Tokito Muichiro
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First off, your 17.
He would be by your side 24/7, not giving you any type or space.
You are overprotective of him, because he’s 14 and a hashira at that.
You remind him of his twin brother a little, which he told you about one day.
Once he told you about his twin, it did make you sad, and you promised Mui that you will make sure nothing happens to him.
You take him out at night to just look at the stars and talk, or just sit in silence. Which neither of you mind.
He will try his absolute best to not forget you, but sometimes he does and say “Who are you..why are you following me?.” You just watched him in a shock but then remembered Shinbou said he has a bad memory. You’re very patient with him.
Once you both were making paper planes in your Estate he forgot what he was even doing and just walked out. It did make you confused but you laughed it off when he came back and remembered why he was even there.
He holds on to your uniform whenever he can, so he wont be “lost” but in reality he just wants to be close to you <3
Sanemi Shinazugawa + Genya
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You’re 28.
He tends to be more comfortable around you, (besides Obanai.) He feels as if he can talk with you about deep things.
He interrupted the Master once at a important meeting, you glared daggers at him. You scolded him in front of everyone, he just stared at you, while the others were giggling.
He didn’t intend on bringing up Genya al all.
You found out about Genya regardless, you saw him with Sanemi, but Sanemi was yelling at him.
He slapped Genya, well almost did, but you somehow managed to stop him right before he could.
You demanded explanations from him, he wouldn’t tell you, but end up doing so because you kept nagging him.
You scolded the HELL out of him and, demanding he apologize to his younger brother.
He flipped you off, basically saying no and went on with his day. Thats when you ignored him.
You found Genya again but in the forest, and decided to talk with him as well. He was the opposite of his older brother.
He did end up apologizing to you and Genya. Now you three are a little happy family <3
Mitsuri Kanroji
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You are 20
Please help her with her hair once in a while, she loves when you do her hair and style it.
She adores you 24/7. Literally every little thing you do, she gives a compliment.
Often ask if you would want to make food with her, and ofc you wouldn’t say no to her.
You both often go out shopping together, to buy gifts for the other Hashira’s.
She would tell you about her love life with a certain hashira.
You support her 100% and help her with anything she needs.
Once she came crying because she “thought” she messed up on Obanai’s gift.
“Y/Nnn! Please help me! Pleaseeee! I gave Iguro-san the gift I picked out and he just nodded and walked away!!! I think I did something!!!”
You just stared at her while she was clinging onto you sleeves as she was crying. You just smiled and hugged her, telling her she didn’t mess up anything and, maybe that Obanai was just shy to say anything and, that she shouldn’t be harsh on herself.
She suddenly looked at you, crying more and just tackled you to the ground hugging you tight. “Wahh! Thank youu! I dont know what I would do without you Y/N!!”
Obani Iguro
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Your 22.
He would often watch over you as if he’s the “older sibling” Which you don’t mind at all.
He would do small talks with you before any Hashira meetings. He mostly tell you how he feels about the Love Hashira.
You support them 100%!
He would often ask you for advice because he doesn’t know what to say sometimes, which you gladly help him out with.
He did show you his scar before, but he never meant for that to happen. He is ashamed of it, but you told him that it was a beautiful scar, which he didn’t believe at first, until you had to show him how beautiful he was without his bandages.
He takes pride in it now, but still decides to keep the bandage on.
He came back with a gift Mitsuri gave him, being the nosy one that you are. You started teasing him about, which caused him to slap you.
“Are you actually older than me? You act like a child for your age Y/N.” He gave you a side eye when he heard you whine from the slap.
He ends up putting ice on your face, as a apology, which you accept fully, dragging him into a hug, he hesitated for a moment before he gave in.
Giyuu Tomoika
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You’re 23
He feels more comfortable around you than anyone, minus Sabito and and his sister.
He’s still introverted but makes any effort around you.
He would often ask if you would like to accompany him during his missions, which you accept.
He would smile when you’re around him, but you cant see it.
You would try to make him not be introverted as much, which was a complete fail. You honestly didn’t mine trying though.
Whenever his haori ripped, you’re very quick to fix it up. He would try to tell you, he can do it but you didn’t listen.
“Y/N please, I can fix it myself..You don’t have to keep doing things for me.”
You told him, thats you we’re alright with helping him with almost anything, even if its small things. He simply signed knowing you wouldn’t budge, he just placed a hand on your shoulder with a genuine smile, which melted your heart.
“Fine, but let me at least take you out, as a Thank you.”
Gyomei Himejima
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You’re both the same age, but you’re only older by a few months.
Jeez, you are WAY shorter than him, he ends up thinking he’s the oldest sibling just by your height comparison.
You would often meditate with him whenever you get the chance.
You both would go out just to walk and talk. That’s his favorite thing to do with you.
He has a cat, and once shows you his pet cat.
You both would always talk about your days,whenever you’re done with missions.
You’d often ask about his beads, which he would happily talk to you about.
“Y/N can you please put my weapon down..It’s not something to be toyed around with.”
You kept examining his weapon, asking how does he fight with it. You were just amazed by it. He was kinda stunned from you asking questions about his weapon and how he fights with it.
He took his weapon back, which caused you to stop smiling. He then sat you down by him and started to explain his fighting skills to you.
Shinbou Kocho
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You’re 20.
You often hear her teasing Giyuu, which always make you laugh.
You then apologize for her teasing at the end.
You know about what happened to her eldest sister Kanae.
She would often do checkups on you everyday to make sure you’re not getting a cold.
You helped her around the Butterfly mansion a lot than needed which she’s very thankful for.
Which caused you to be her “sibling” now.
Whenever your both alone you would ask her, how is she doing. Which she replies:
“I’m quite alright Y/N. I appreciate you asking me.”
Which was bullshit in your eyes. You end up having that same talk with her, that she had with Tanjiro.
She honestly thought you didn’t know about her sister at all. Which caused her to stop “smiling”.
“I see…So I’m assuming you knew her then?”
You end up explaining how you promised Kanae that you would watch of her and Kanao both. Which caused Shinbou to actually smile.
You hugged her out of nowhere, not really sure of what to do about the silence in the room.
“Thank you..Y/N.”
Uzui Tengen
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You’re a few months older than him.
This man had a-lot of energy, which drains you every time.
He always tease you and call you “Un-flashy”
Often mocks the smallest things you do, which ends up you hitting him on his head.
He introduced you to his wives, which caught you off guard, when he said that he has 3.
Expect dinner parties almost every week at his place.
He made you a headband like his.
“Ah! My dearest sibling Y/N! I made you thee most flamboyant gift you’ll ever receive! No need to thank me, it’s just something I thought of.”
He gave you a headpiece just like his but your stones had a heart on it.
You wore it almost everyday, somewhat matching with Uzui.
You both were close than ever.
Rengoku Kyojuro
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You’re 21.
Expect to be woken up very early, by his crow.
Everyday he would compliment you once he gets the chance.
You help him with Senjuro, that he is thankful for.
You would make bentos before he leave for his missions and, he swore he will owe you back.
He never lets go of a promise, he always have a gift for you and his brother once he’s back from missions.
You him and Senjuro would all make sweet potatoes together, even if Kyojuro can barely cook.
One time he wanted to surprise both you and Senjuro, so he woke up very early than usual. He made your favorite food along with Senjuro’s.
A few minutes later you woke up to find Senjuro shaking you to wake up. You both made your way to the kitchen only to find it a complete mess.
Rengoku was done with the food he prepared, with the ingredients on him and on the counters. He had the biggest smile on his face when he served the food to you both.
“I made you both a treat! As a thank you for everything you’ve done for me. Even if it’s not the best, it’s the thought that counts, right?”
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trans-axolotl2 · 1 year
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I've been reading Cripping Intersex by Celeste Orr and one concept that I think is absolutely crucial and one of the best resources I've found for understanding my own experiences as an intersex person is the term Compulsory Dyadism.
Dr. Orr coins the term: "I propose the expression 'compulsory dyadism' to describe the instituted cultural mandate that people cannot violate the sex dyad, have intersex traits, or 'house the spectre of intersex' (Sparrow 2013, 29). Said spectre must be, according to the mandate, exorcised. However, trying to definitively cast out the spectre via curative violence always fails. The spectre always returns: a new intersex baby is born; one learns that they have intersex traits in adulthood; and/or medical procedures cannot cast out the spectre fully, as evidenced by life-long medical interventions, routines, or patienthood status. And the effects of compulsory dyadism haunt in the form of disabilities, scars, memories, trauma, and medical regimens (e.g., HRT routines). Compulsory dyadism, therefore, is not simply an event or a set of instituted policies but is an ongoing exorcising process and structure of pathologization, curative violence, erasure, trauma, and oppression." (Orr 19-20).
They continue on in their book to explore compulsory dyadism as it shows up in medical interventions, racializing intersex + sports sex testing, and eugenic and prenatal interventions on intersex fetuses. This term makes so much sense to me and puts words to an experience I've been struggling to comprehend--how can it be that so many endosex* people express such revulsion and fear of intersex bodies and traits, yet at the same time don't even know that intersex people exist? Why is it that people understand when I refer to my body in the terms used by freak shows, call myself a hermaphrodite, remember bearded ladies and laugh at interphobic jokes--yet do not even know that intersex people are as common as redheads? Understanding the term compulsory dyadism elucidates this for me. Endosex people might not comprehend what intersex actually is or know anything about our advocacy, but they do grow up in a cultural environment that indoctrinates them into false ideas about the sex binary and cultivates a fear of anything that lies outside of it.
From birth, compulsory dyadism affects every one of us, whether you're intersex or not. Intersex people carry the heaviest burden and often the most visible wounds that compulsory dyadism inflicts, as shown through often the very literal scars of violent, "curative" surgery, but the whole process of sex assignment at birth is a manifestation of compulsory dyadism. Ideas entrenched in the medical system that assign gender to the hormones testosterone and estrogen although neither of those hormones have anything to do with gender, a society that starts selling hair removal products to girls at puberty, and the historical legacy of things like sexual inversion theory are all manifestations of compulsory dyadism. For intersex people, facing compulsory dyadism often means that we are subjected to curative violence, institutionalized medical malpractice that sometimes includes aspects of ritualized sexual abuse, and means that we are left "haunted by, for instance, traumatic memories, acquires body-mind disabilities, an ability that was taken, or a 'paradoxical nostalgia....for all the futures that were lost' (Fisher 2013,45)." (Orr 26).
Compulsory dyadism works in tandem with concepts like compulsory able-bodiedness and compulsory heterosexuality to create mindsets and systems that tie together ideas to suggest that the only "normal" body is a cisgender one that meets capitalist standards of function, is capable of heterosexual sex and reproduction, and has chromosomes, hormones, genitalia, reproductive system, and sex traits that all line up. Part of compulsory dyadism is convincing the public that this is the only way for a body to function, erasing intersex people both by excluding us from public perception and by actively utilizing curative violence as a way to actively erasure intersex traits from our body. Compulsory dyadism works by getting both the endosex and intersex public to buy into the idea that intersex doesn't exist, and if it does exist then it needs to be treated as a freakshow, either exploiting us to put us on display as an aberration or by delegating us to the medical freakshow of experimentation and violence.
Until we all start to fully understand the many, many ways that compulsory dyadism is showing up in our lives, I don't think we're going to be able to achieve true intersex liberation. And in fact, I think many causes are tied into intersex liberation and affected by compulsory dyadism in ways that endosex people don't understand. Take the intense revulsion that some trans people express about the thought of medical transition, for example. Although transitioning does not make people intersex and never will, and the only way to be intersex is to have an intersex variation, I think that compulsory dyadism affects a lot more of that rhetoric than is expressed. The disgust I see some people talking about when they think about medical transition causing them to live in a body that has XX chromosomes, a vagina, but also more hair, a larger clitoris--I think a lot of this rhetoric is born in compulsory dyadism that teaches us to view anything that steps outside the sex dyad with intense fear and violence. I'm thinking about transphobic legislation blocking medical transition and how there's intersex exceptions in almost every one of those bills, and how having an understanding of compulsory dyadism would actually help us understand the ways in which our struggles overlap and choose to build meaningful solidarity, instead of just sitting together by default.
I have so much more to say about this topic, and will probably continue to write about it for a while, but I want to end by just saying: I think this is going to be one of the most important concepts for intersex advocacy going into the next decade. With all due respect and much love to intersex activists both current and present,I think that it's time for a new strategy, not one where we medicalize ourselves and distance ourselves from queer liberation, not one where we sort of just end up as an add on to LGBTQ community by default, not even one where we use a human rights framework, nonprofits, and try to negotiate with the government. I agree with so much of what Dr. Orr says in Cripping Intersex and I think the intersex and/as/is/with disability framework, along with these foundational ideas for understanding our own oppression with the language of compulsory dyadism and curative violence, are providing us with the tools to start laying a foundation for a truly liberatory mode of intersex community building and liberation.
*Endosex means not intersex
Endosex people, please feel free to reblog!
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